#If I ever remember what it was for I’ll use it for that later

[azzifuddslover]

off the court

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: angst, jealously

tw: swearing (i think that’s all?)

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i had fun with this chapter! excited to continue writing 😋 i had to ofc add the lil dijonai & lyss foul haha. also if u have any one shot suggestions please please lemme know! enjoy

CHAPTER TWO

“oh my goodness, hi!” nika pulled each one of the freshmen into a warm embrace. “we’re so excited to have you guys here!”

we? paige thought to herself, that she didn’t dare speak out loud.

“we’re excited to be here!” caroline smiled at the three older girls, as aubrey and azzi hugged.

paige purposefully put distant between herself and the curly headed brunette, not wanting to start arguments her first day.

“so, where do you guys wanna see next?” aubrey questioned, while paige remained silent, keeping to herself.

“you tell us,” ashlynn said, excitedly.

“alright,” nika slung her arm around paige’s shoulder, “let’s go show you the dorms then.”

as the seven girls made their way to the dorm rooms, azzi walked behind aubrey who led the way, while nika and paige placed themselves in the back.

“you good, p?” nika whispered, “it’s unlike you to be this quiet.”

paige plastered a smile on her face, “all good, nik.”

“no, seriously, what’s up?”

“i’m fine, really. just tired,” she reassured her close friend, gently squeezing her shoulder.

minutes later the girls arrived at the dorms when nika spoke up.

“i think it’s best to divide into groups so we can still get lunch. aubrey, show caroline and yanna your room, paige show azzi yours and i’ll show ash mine.”

of course nika would place azzi with paige. alone.

“um, i’ll take ashlynn,” paige suggested, but it was too late. ashlynn was already off with nika, aubrey was leading carol and yanna to her dorm.

azzi stood awkwardly in the hallway, eyes focused on the floor, as paige glanced once at her before taking off to her room.

“cmon,” she muttered, passing azzi.

azzi was hesitant to follow, but she did regardless, keeping her head low while nerves twisted in her stomach. azzi couldn’t remember the last time she was alone with paige, if ever. the pair have clearly never gotten along, so she was nervous to see where this would go.

paige opened the door to her dorm, that she shared with another teammate, dorka, who happened to be laying in her bed.

“hey dorka,” paige said, announcing her presence along with azzi’s.

“hey p,” dorka looked at her, then at the freshmen, “who’s this?”

“one of the new freshmen, azzi.”

dorka smiled at azzi in a reassuring manner, then pulled her in for a quick hug. “welcome to uconn, azzi!”

azzi gently hugged the older girl back, feeling less nervous with dorka being there. “happy to be here.”

“you’re going to love it. i’m a transfer, and its absolutely amazing. the girls are all so great, geno can be a bit tough, but he means well,” dorka explained.

azzi was genuinely excited for her start at university of connecticut. she’s always kept uconn as an option for her future school, and finally was able to commit just a few weeks ago. she figured it’d be the best fit for her, despite paige being here.

“well, i told lou i’d meet her in the dining hall, so i’ll catch y’all later,” dorka said, grabbing her bag and phone before quickly leaving.

the silent in the small dorm was haunting. paige’s eyes were focused on her phone, while azzi motionlessly stood against the wall, waiting for any sort of conversation.

“so, do you like it here so far?” paige asked, finally breaking the silence.

azzi looked over at paige, “it’s nice, yeah. the girls seem nice.”

“that’s good,” paige replied.

“are you excited to meet-“

“you don’t have to make small talk, paige. we both know you aren’t happy with me committing here,” azzi bite out.

paige scolded her eyes, “you’re right. i’m not happy with you being here. but i can’t change it, can i?”

“nope, you can’t. let’s just ignore each other like we’ve always have.”

secretly, paige didn’t want to ignore azzi. she couldn’t. but she pretended to did it anyway.

“fine by me,” paige shouted, walking towards the door.

“where are you going? this is literally your room!”

“anywhere else but here, with you. go catch up with nika or something,” paige muttered as she left, leaving azzi staring at the door.

it was the first day of practice with the new additions to the uconn team, and paige successfully avoided azzi at all costs. whenever the team got together, they’d always converse with other players, never daring to look each other’s way.

paige brought the basketball up the court during a 5v5 match. she directed the players on her team to her liking, then passed it to lou who made the open 3 shot. aubrey secured the rebound, threw it off to azzi, who began to bring it to the opposing net. paige, of course, was right on her heels, defending her. azzi noticed the blonde from the corner of her eye, looking unbothered as ever.

reaching the 3 point line with paige right there, azzi considers all the potential lanes to the basket. when nika, part of the opposing team, goes to defend aubrey, azzi sprints through an open lane, going for the layup.

paige was quick to notice her plan, though. she blocked the ball from entering the basket, hitting azzi in the process. it was an obvious foul.

“hey, that’s a foul!” azzi shouted.

paige, who’s grinning to herself, adverted her eyes to the brunette. “no it wasn’t, it was clean.”

“bullshit!”

“you’re just mad you can’t make a shot on me,” paige replied.

“please. like i haven’t done it before!” azzi exclaimed loud enough for heads to turn.

“ladies!” coach auriemma interrupted their argument, “make sure to stay after practice.”

for goodness sake, paige thought to herself.

“this is all your fault,” paige whispered, loud enough for only azzi could hear.

azzi simply rolled her eyes at paige’s remark. she wasn’t going to let the older girl distract her further; she’s already done it enough.

practice quickly came to a close; azzi managed to put distance between herself and paige, not wanting to cause any more trouble than she already had.

each one of the basketball players made their way out of the gym, while azzi and paige anxiously remained, waiting for coach.

his office door opened, “come on in.”

paige took the left chair as azzi took the right, both not saying a word. coach auriemma looked pissed.

“your behaviors is unacceptable. if you both want to help this team succeed, we’ll all need to get along, including you two. especially you guys. you both are two of the best players we have, and i’m going to need y’all to quit it with the bickering and focus on the game. am i clear?”

“yes, coach,” paige and azzi say in unison.

“alright then. with that being said, go out to eat with one another. get to know each other. i don’t know what caused your disliking of each other, but it’s got to change immediately,” geno auriemma instructed the girls.

paige’s eyes widen as azzi shifted uncomfortably in her seat, clearly not pleased with his suggestion. but azzi was new, and she only wanted to please her coach.

“that sounds fine by me,” azzi said, despite her brain saying she’d rather do anything else.

paige stole a glance at the younger girl, before also agreeing.

“good. when tomorrow comes around, i better not hear any arguments. and if i do, the pair of you will face further consequences. am i understood?”

paige nodded her head rapidly, “yes coach.”

“so, where do you wanna go?” azzi questioned the blonde after exiting coach auriemma’s office.

paige rolled her eyes, “we aren’t actually going anywhere together. if you thought that, you’re crazy.”

azzi couldn’t help but be slightly shocked that paige would lie to their coach. “paige, i’m not getting into more trouble just because of you. look, i don’t want to go anywhere with you either, but we have no choice. let’s just get it over with.”

paige absorbed azzi’s words, carefully considering them. “alright, fine,” she sighed, “where too?”

“do you like chick fa la?”

“uh, yeah. who doesn’t? that’s like asking if i breath air.”

after a silent car ride with paige driving and azzi being the passenger princess, the two ordered their meals and sat in an open booth, facing one another.

paige continued not to look azzi in the eye. azzi, however, was harshly glaring at the older girl. “are you going to ignore me forever or actually acknowledge we’re teammates?”

paige finally locked gazes with azzi, “i was planning to ignore you forever.”

azzi couldn’t help but softly chuckle, “of course you were.”

paige lips rose at the sight of azzi’s breathtaking smile, “you make it impossible, though.”

“oh, really? it seems you’ve been doing it pretty damn well for as long as i’ve known you.”

paige didn’t dare to tell her that ignoring azzi is the hardest thing someone could do. it wasn’t just her skills on the court, that could make anyone, including paige, second-guess their game. it was the way azzi carried herself, making everything she did seem effortless, even when it wasn’t. her silent confidence and her ability to make everyone feel included even in a busy crowd. paige hated how much she admired the young girl from afar; how looking at azzi made her forget about everything and everyone around her. it was impossible to ignore a girl like azzi.

instead, paige settled on, “you’re just a pretty good player. i always notice good players.”

after swallowing a bite of a chicken nugget, azzi leaned her elbows on the table, a small smirk lingering on her face. “so now you admit to me being good?”

paige couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her comment regarding USA basketball days. “whatever, whatever.”

azzi laughed to herself, and continued to enjoy her meal, while paige also focused on eating rather than the conversation.

azzi and paige eventually relaxed to each other’s presence, feeling more comfortable than before. they discussed the challenging classes they were taking and geno’s firm coaching methods; the girls began to somewhat enjoy each others company, when a boy around their age walked up to their table.

paige and azzi both looked up at the man, who was directly eyeing the brunette. azzi’s cheeks reddened at the sudden attention.

“can we help you?” paige asked, making the man turn to look at her.

“yeah, uh, i was wondering if i could get your number? you’re, like, really pretty,” the man said to azzi.

her cheeks were basically inflamed at this point, “uh,” she tried to think of the words, “sure, i guess?”

paige scoffed at azzi’s interaction with this random guy. they were finally talking and she had to ruin it. paige clenched her fists and suddenly rose from the table, causing the man and azzi to look at her.

“i’m going to the car,” paige announced, taking off before azzi could get another word out.

after paige’s exit, the boy looked helplessly at azzi, beaming regardless of paige’s reaction. he was pretty cute, but azzi didn’t have the time to focus on anything but basketball and her classes.

“i’m kameron, by the way,” he said.

“i’m azzi, but i gotta go, sorry,” azzi replied, trying to hurry out of there as soon as possible.

“wait, your number-“ but azzi was already out the door.

azzi climbed into the passenger seat, immediately aware that this ride will be even more awkward than the one they previously had.

paige’s grip on the steering wheel caused her knuckles to turn white. when azzi noticed, she softly asked, “are you okay?”

“are you kidding me, azzi? we were finally getting along and you had to ruin it by giving some dude attention. what the actual fuck?”

“it wasn’t my fault he came up to me!” azzi shouted at paige.

“you could’ve said no! but instead you agreed right in front of me!”

azzi gaped at paige, “why do you care who asks me for my number?”

“i don’t!” paige answered defensively, although it was a complete lie.

“what are you, jealous?”

paige’s cheeks tinted at her comment, “don’t be silly, azzi.” she turned on the car and began driving down the road.

arriving back on campus, paige instantly took off without as much as a glance at azzi. after their short argument in the car, paige blasted music to avoid further comments from azzi.

azzi scrolled into her dorm that she shared with caroline, letting out an aggravated sigh.

“you good, girl?” carol asked azzi, with her eyebrows drawn together.

“yeah. coach auriemma made me and paige go out to eat, trying to make us get to know one another. complete bullshit, if you ask me.”

“why don’t y’all like each other, anyway?” carol questioned her friend.

“i don’t know! i have no idea what i did to her. she’s hated me ever since USA basketball,” azzi complained.

caroline looked around in confusion. “wait, so what went down when you guys were out?”

“we were actually talking, without arguing, and a guy came up, asking for my number. paige just got up and left. then in the car, she got all pissing and screamed how i said yes ‘right in front of her,’” azzi made quotations with her fingers.

caroline laughed at azzi’s explanation. “what?” azzi smiled.

“she was jealous!”

although azzi accused paige of being jealous earlier, she didn’t exactly believe it to be true. how could paige be jealous of someone hitting on azzi? she hated her.

“no, trust me, she wasn’t. she was just upset for some reason.”

“oh my god, she’s totally in love with you or something,” carol suggested as azzi turned pink.

“caroline, she’s not. she’s constantly avoiding me and is always mean. does that really should like her liking me?”

carol held out her hands like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “um, yes!”

azzi couldn’t comprehend how caroline got the impression that paige was in love with her. that was beyond crazy. paige’s hatred for azzi has been going strong ever since USA basketball tryouts. there was just no way.

practice the next day was going smoothly; paige and azzi didn’t interact much, like the usual, which didn’t cause geno to enable further consequences for the young girls. azzi was showing off her 3 point shooting skills, while paige continued to be an assist machine.

it was time for another 5v5, and of course paige and azzi were on opposing teams. azzi drained 3 after 3, getting impressive looks from her teammates as well as the two coaches.

a long rebound ended up near the 3 point line, to which azzi managed to secure it. however, she didn’t see the older blonde who was also going for the rebound right behind her. paige crashed into azzi, knocking her to the floor face first. paige maintained her standing position, with each one of her legs around azzi’s torso.

without thinking, paige reached down to place both hands on azzi’s hips, gently pulling her up. azzi’s ass was flush against paige’s front, sending unwelcome feelings throughout the blonde’s body.

there’s a brief moment of awkward silence, azzi still slightly disoriented from the fall. paige’s hands lingered on azzi’s hips a second too long, not that azzi made any hint to move them. she can feel the older girls hands on her body, steady and warm, making her heart skip a beat in her chest.

“you good?” paige whispered, practically in the curly brunette’s ear, given the distance between the girls.

“yeah, thanks,” azzi replied breathlessly, trying desperately to hide the flush creeping up her neck.

after noticing her lingering hands on the hips of azzi, paige removes them acting as calm as possible. paige notices a shift in tone and smirks, teasing the younger girl, “didn’t think i hit you that hard.”

azzi responds with a snark of her own, “i’m not fragile, you know,” attempting to look tougher than she truly is.

paige’s smirk widens as she allows her eyes to take in the sight of azzi. messy bun, leg sleeve, practice jersey slightly ruffled. she looked good.

“like what you see?” azzi commented on paige’s wandering eyes.

embarrassed, paige looks away, “you wish.”

azzi softly chuckles as the freshmen makes her way over to caroline and yanna, ready to continue the 5v5.

in a dais, paige stands motionless in the spot of her and azzi’s interaction, silently wishing she could have one more excuse to talk to her.

but the older girl didn’t, so she walked back into position, ready for the next play to come.

[msschemmenti]

fun police - 4

bau x reader / eventual emily prentiss x reader

“What is this place?” Emily asked, walking across the parking lot toward the younger woman. She’d received an email the night before with a location, a time, and a rather direct order to be there or ‘be square’ that she really had no choice but to chuckle at.

“Good morning to you too. It’s like you’re allergic to those words. Haven’t you ever had a good morning?” Y/n asked with a teasing grin. When Emily was close enough for her to see her scowl, she answered. “Oh alright, grumpy. This is the Mental Health Oasis. A twenty-four-hour wellness center.” 

“So a gym?” Emily summarized, with a smirk– aiming to ruffle the younger woman’s feathers. 

But as if reading Emily’s mind, Y/n just smiled and moved toward the door. “No, it’s a wellness center– like I just said. Now come on, we’ve got an appointment with Marta and she hates tardiness.” As the younger woman held the door open and urged Emily forward, the older woman finally relented and stepped into a space that was definitely more than a gym. Her eyes glazed over at the all-white interior and cushy receptionist area that met her. She turned to grumble some sort of statement to Y/n but was interrupted by a girly squeal behind the reception desk. 

“I totally thought Marta was lying this morning!” The young woman grinned as she made her way around the desk to pull Y/n into a bone-crushing hug. 

“I hoped you’d be working during my visit.” Y/n smiled before pulling away from the woman and turning her attention to Emily, who was perplexed. “I’ve got a challenging client and figured I’d bring her to the Mecca of Relaxation.” 

Emily scoffed, “I am not difficult!” The indignation was clear and Y/n and her mystery friend’s laughter only made Emily frown deeper. 

“Oh look at that frown, I bet she’s got so much tension behind her eyes.” The receptionist observed, stepping into Emily’s personal space to scrutinize her face. She brought her finger up to poke at Emily’s forehead and just as Emily was considering biting her finger, Y/n grabbed her wrist with a knowing smile. 

“Nina honey, remember our personal space conversation last time I was here?” Nina nodded with a grimace and took a step back sheepishly. Y/n smiled and nodded encouragingly, “Is Marta ready for us?” 

At the mention of the other woman’s name, Nina nodded and ran behind the desk to page the woman over the intercom. Once satisfied that the woman was coming, she turned her attention back to Y/n and Emily. “I wish you’d come by more often, it’s not the same without you here.” 

Y/n smiled and leaned over the desk, “I’ll try to stop in more often, but from what I’ve heard, everything has been running smoothly since I left.” Nina made to disagree but Y/n stopped her as she caught sight of Marta. With a promise to catch up later, Y/n grabbed Emily’s wrist and all but dragged her over to the open door being held open. “Thanks for fitting us in Marta.” 

“Anything for you, Y/n.”

They all stopped at a hallway and Marta finally turned her attention to Emily with a smile. “Hi, I’m Marta. And welcome to the Wellness Oasis. A sure-fire way to ensure even the most stressed individual discovers their inner calm. ” 

-

Emily couldn’t think of a time when she’d felt more comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time in her life. Hidden beneath a sheet, both she and Y/n were being rolled out like freshly formed dough. A mid-day massage, that she could get behind. The uncomfortable part was all in her head. As soon as they’d stepped into the dim candle-lit room, all she could think about is how her wellness agent was naked under that sheet and so was she. And had they been alone, she’s not too sure what she would’ve done. 

“Agent Prentiss, you carry so much tension in your neck.” The masseuse chided, as she added more pressure. They’d been doing that the entire time, interrupting her extremely unprofessional train of thought with a morsel of information. Sleeping positions, morning stretches, and all that stuff. But as soon as she mumbled out something close to acknowledgment, her brain was back to working overtime creating images and scenarios of how this could end. 

Lost in her thoughts, she seemed to miss the movement in the room altogether. But the new hands on her back brought her back to reality instantly. Emily cleared her throat roughly and tried to force her body relax as she caught the marruesus’ shoes leaving the room. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I just couldn’t resist putting my hands to good use.” Y/n spoke quietly as she slowly worked Emily’s shoulders. 

Emily fought tooth and nail trying to suppress a moan, “Do you even know what you’re doing?” She stuttered, grappling for a playful nonchalance.

Y/n rolled her eyes, pressing a bit firmer into Emily’s back and when she felt the older woman wince she answered. “Yes, I’m a licensed massage therapist. I also used to run this place.” 

“Oh?” Emily moaned out giving into the pleasure a bit too freely. 

“Yep, only started doing private sector work this year. Bureau scooped me up rather quickly. And now that I’ve gotten my hands on your back– I’m starting to realize why.”

“I’d pretend to be offended if you weren’t so good at this.” Emily groaned, rolling her neck to the side in content. 

“Gosh, if I knew this was all I had to do to get you to be more agreeable, I would’ve done two sessions ago.”

Emily didn’t say anything but she surely wished Y/n had started with this too. 

-

“So how do you feel?” Y/n asked as they both returned to the front of the building in their clothes again. 

Despite Emily’s dirty mind, she had to admit she felt much looser than she had when she walked into this session. “I’ve always been partial to a good rub down.” 

Y/n shook her head in exasperation, “Is there like a rolodex of innuendo up there?” Y/n asked prodding softly at her forehead. “Do you feel more relaxed? Feel like massages might be a beneficial wellness practice to incorporate into your life?”

Emily swatted the offending finger away softly before shrugging, “Sure, why not? If not for relaxation– for enjoyment.” 

“God, you’re ridiculous. I’ll see you next week. Your office, our usual time.” Y/n sighed. 

“Yes ma’am.” Emily saluted and headed for her car.

[bookshelf-dust]

you’ll find it in a dresser drawer

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @suledins

word count: 2,550

warnings: mainly fluff and romantic stuff, a little bit of suggestiveness at the start, playful banter/swearing/name-calling (it’s all out of love)

synopsis: on a journey to declutter your little home, you and billy find lots of memories on the past and sit down to reminisce.

a/n: my bestie girl @clovermunson put this idea into my head actual ages ago, and i finally managed to get it done!! besides, we could all use a little love and care right about now <33

————

“BILLY!”

The shower cuts off, leaving only the sound of water dripping from your loofah, down the ends of your hair. 

“Huh!” Billy shouts, already making his way towards the bathroom. He doesn’t need a verbal cue—the tone of your voice is enough. Each lilt you take on tells him what he’s walking into.

You’ve hastily wrapped a towel around your midsection, and he walks in on you waving your leg around in his direction. “I shaved my legs.”

Billy laughs heartily. He leans down, cupping the back of your calf with one hand so he can kiss the skin of your shin. “That’s what you were doin’ in here all this time? Thought maybe you were rubbin’ one out or something.” He winks, dragging his hand up your now very smooth leg. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and let him lift you over the rim of the tub, setting you down securely on the bath mat. “You know I’m too loyal to the fancy shower head for all that manual labor.” You smack a sweet, slightly damp kiss on Billy’s lips. “But seriously, aren’t you impressed? I don’t remember the last time I shaved them.”

He drags his hand up your knee. “I’m so impressed. Even more that you managed to go without a nick.”

Your eyes crinkle up with the biggest smile, reserved just for him. “I know, right?” You lean your head back, allowing Billy to kiss at your shoulder where he’s been nosing at you this entire time. 

“Smell good,” he mumbles. 

“I used the same things as always, pretty.”

Billy’s thumb presses gently under your chin, molding you so he can kiss right where your collar bones meet. “Always smell good. Could eat you right up.”

“Maybe later?” you quip, sneaking out from his hold. He drags his gaze up your legs as you go. Six years in and he still looks at every part of you like it’s the first time. 

“No doubt, pretty girl. When you’re dressed you wanna help me with this box?”

“‘Course! I’ll just be a minute.”

The both of you have made it your mission to sort through every room in your little house. It’s not much, but there’s plenty of room and you take good care of it. Billy’s had more fun painting than he’d ever admit, and he helped you set up flower boxes so you had something to take care of. 

The lone hallway closet, the bane of your existence, was your last task. The one you’d been avoiding. A small, dark hell of clutter. Tubs full of trinkets and memories from you or Billy or both. Extra blankets, board games. Anything that didn’t have a home, or that you’d just rather not deal with on any given day. 

You slip on an oversized sweatshirt you’re sure you’ve had since college and a pair of Billy’s boxer shorts. He never wears this pair anyhow, and who are you to leave them gathering dust in the back of a dresser drawer.

Billy hears your bare feet pad against the hardwoods. You reach for a pillow, meaning to prop yourself up on it. 

Billy grunts. You look up, where he’s motioning towards his lap with his free hand. The one not flipping through what looks like a smaller box full of pictures. You comply, walking over to him. He reaches upward, big hands holding onto your hips as he coaxes you down between his legs, your back resting against his chest. 

“Hair smells good,” he mumbles, kissing the nape of your neck. He always tells you how good you smell. You never tell him that you always use the same things and, therefore, always smell the same. 

“Thank you,” you say. He pushes the thick cotton of your sweatshirt aside, the pilling fabric catching on his calloused fingertips. He presses a kiss to your shoulder and sets the material back where it was. 

Your teeth close around the inside of your cheek, hiding the giddy smile that threatens to appear. You lean forward just a bit, your gaze catching on a pile of photographs that look like they got developed and then set away, their finishes as pristine as if you’d just pulled them out of the paper envelope. 

You suck in a breath. Billy’s hand drags up and down your freshly shaved and moisturized knee fondly. 

“Are these the ones from the disposables?”

Billy grabs a handful of the glossy paper. “Think so. Remember you asked me to get them developed when we moved? So we didn’t take shit we didn’t need.”

“Yeah. I meant to buy an album for ‘em. Thought it seemed very grown up of us to have a photo book.” 

“Even more grown up to leave it disassembled.”

You gaze over your shoulder and lock eyes with Billy. He’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, the first signs of a laugh at the corners of his eyes. You snort.

You grab the photos from his hand, along with the rest, and shift so you can spread them out on the floor between you. The first thought that comes to mind is how your living room floor desperately needs a rug. But then you catch a glimpse of someone’s tummy against a bright, summer sky. 

Your index finger and thumb press against the corner of the paper, lifting it closer. It’s a picture of Billy and you at the beach, the date scrawled messily in his chicken scratch writing along the back: 07/26/91

In the photo, Billy stands under a tilted umbrella, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, the other pointing at the camera. You remember now that he’d been trying to get you to look at Robin, because she was trying to take your picture. There’s a cocky smirk on his face and a smear of sunscreen on his neck. 

You’re wearing a pair of overalls, but one of the straps is falling down since they’re two sizes too big, your one piece swimsuit showing from underneath. The bottle in your hand and cream on your fingers all act as evidence towards your attempt to protect your boyfriend from the sun.

“I don’t remember Robin taking this,” you laugh, grinning up at Billy, more than pleased to know you have this moment captured forever. 

“I do,” Billy says, flipping the image over to look at the date he saw you glance at seconds before. “She took about a thousand pictures that day. I’m surprised there aren’t more. And I remember writing this when it got printed.”

He turns it toward you once again, pointing out a small line of script at the bottom you’d failed to see before. My pretty girl, it reads. 

You lean forward and kiss him, squeezing his cheeks between your hands because you know he hates it when you do but he looks too damn cute to resist.

There’s a couple of photos mixed in that are older—some from high school, a few baby pictures. You snag one of Billy from prom.

“This Billy would never have been such a sap.” 

He glances at the picture. He’d rented a tux. Worn a red button up underneath it. No tie, no corsage or anything. He wasn’t going to go, but he got in his car about half an hour after it started and drove himself there because you’d mentioned you were going with a couple of friends. 

“That’s because he also kinda had a stick up his ass,” Billy mumbles, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. 

“Even a cute ass like that couldn’t repel that big ‘ol stick.” You wink, looking at the other prom pictures. Billy pinches your thigh but it only makes you chuckle.

There’s a strip of you and Robin from the photo booth, her hair all frizzy, your forehead glistening with sweat. One awkward picture of you and Billy in front of the pitiful backdrop the student council had put together. Both of your smiles are soft, but it’s obvious neither of you were really comfortable with one another yet. What with the way his hand sits on your rib cage, one of yours on his hip and the other hidden in the tulle of your dress. 

“You know I bought my first push-up bra for that night?”

Billy’s trademark cocky grin appears. “What?”

“I had Robin help me pick out a push-up bra because I was hoping to impress you. I thought maybe if my boobs looked good you’d think I was hot and we could be more than classroom friends. The bra ended up leaving my ribs sore for days after, but my boobs did look good.”

Billy looks pointedly at your boobs in the photo. “They really did. But I already thought you were hot. Why else would I have come in the first place?”

You blink at him. “I dunno, to do like, anything else?” He laughs at your remark. “I figured you wanted to party afterwards or that maybe there was a girl you wanted to see afterwards.”

Billy holds up a photo of you at your college graduation. He cried that day, watching you walk. He thinks you don’t know, but you could tell. 

“I did. She’s right in front of me.”

He passes you a picture from Halloween two years ago. You were Tiffany Valentine and he was Charles Lee Ray. It was much easier to convince Billy to wear a trench coat and go without shaving for a few days than to even attempt putting him in a Chucky costume. 

“Quit fuckin’ with me, baby. You did not want me when we were in high school. Don’t you remember how awkward I was every time we worked on something together?”

Billy leans forward, his lips hovering inches from yours. “You weren’t awkward. I just saw a girl I would’ve sold my soul for because she was so perfect.” He laughs when you try to pull away from his kiss, a result of that cheesy line. You kiss him back all the same.

“You realize we’re not sorting through this box at all?” You say, that matter of fact tone in your voice. “We’re reminiscing. Let’s set the photos aside and finish, yeah? Then we can put them into albums.”

Billy gives you a two finger salute. “Yes ma’am.”

The both of you spend the next few minutes sorting. There’s receipts from years past, piles of number two pencils left from college, stray earring backs, a couple scraps of fabric from when you’d tried to take up sewing. You even find a couple of textbooks—some possibly stolen from the library of Hawkins High School—Billy’s birth certificate, a spare key to his car. 

Just when you reach the bottom, you spot a little wooden box. You’re not sure what it is, but based on the size you’d guess it might be for trinkets or it could have had Billy’s college ring in it. 

You glance over your shoulder at him where he’s sorting through a stack of papers, every once in a while scratching the tip of a pen against a spare piece to see if it’s got ink in it. You don’t think he’s paying you any mind. 

You place your thumb nail under the ledge of the box where it has the smallest groove in it where it’s meant to be opened. You open it haphazardly, with a sharp snap as the hinge widens. 

Your breath catches when your thumb grazes velvet and you realize there’s something inside. You’re too curious, too focused, to notice that Billy has moved closer to you, that he’s now watching your face for any emotion you might show, his own heart smacking against his ribcage. 

He thought this was a clever way to do it. The least stressful one he could think of, anyhow. He knows you don’t like much spectacle and figured keeping it intimate like this would be best for both of you, really.

The box opens with a small click and your eyes start to go all teary, despite the fact that you haven’t registered what’s happening or even looked at Billy or even looked at the damn thing you’re holding. 

The ring is simple: it’s thin silver, with a small, diamond shaped emerald front and center, the prongs and basket twisting gently so that it almost looks like they’re hugging the stone. It’s not too much, but it’s gorgeous. It’s you. Unmistakably. 

You turn to look at Billy. He smiles at you, his eyes all gentle.

“You fucking dickhead,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. He laughs. 

His hand comes to rest on your cheek, thumb caressing away any stray tears. He’s doing his best not to cry himself. “What do you think, huh?” 

You look down at the ring and back at him. Down and back at him. “It’s so pretty.”

“Fitting for such a pretty girl,” Billy says. You’d smack him if you weren’t so busy crying. He gently removes it from your hand, holding it out to you. 

“So, babydoll, how’d you feel about marrying me?”

Your eyes flick back and forth between his. You let out a giggle. “You’re not on one knee, Billy.”

He shifts awkwardly into the “proper” position and you both stare at each other, the beginnings of a hysterical laughing fit on either of your faces. You’d think someone had just made a “your mom” joke—not that you were being proposed to. 

A tear chooses that moment to escape your lash line. 

“I bought this for you about a week ago,” Billy starts. “I couldn’t have it too long because I knew I’d have a panic attack. I went to four different jewelry stores until I saw this one. I remembered, when Robin proposed to her girlfriend, that you said you’d always loved emeralds. Thought diamonds were overrated. And you always gravitate towards that color stuff in the store, y’know?”

“Like that dress you bought on sale for your birthday or the blanket for the couch. I’m hoping you’ll like this one.” He looks down at the ring and back up at you. “I love you, you know that? I know you know that. And I think lately I’ve just realized that I shouldn’t wait for good shit to go down. I don’t need to, especially when I can make it happen.”

“I want you for the rest of forever. Me and you. So really, what do you think? You wanna marry me?”

You blink at him. “Dunno. Jury’s out. Could take a while to reach a verdict.” 

He laughs into your hair, one arm wrapping around the small of your back, the other cradling your head. This feeling right here, of being held, is something you’ll never get over. The way his body feels wrapped around yours. A lifetime of this safety? Duh. 

You slide your hand under his shirt and gently scratch his back. His skin is always so warm. 

“Of course I do, you fucking dumbass,” you mutter, watery eyes overtaking your every sense. Then you kiss him on the cheek and whisper into his ear, “Honestly kinda felt like we were married already anyhow. Now I just have a pretty token of your affection, too.”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner by @steph-speaks

[blissfullyecho]

Hey echo!! I’ve been following you for a while on my old tumblr account and even bought your book and toolkit which has been a game changer! Was wondering if you have some tips on looksmaxxing for black women- I do agree that looking the prettiest does get you far in life. Also where can I preorder your book? Thank you for the advice you post- I love how you keep it real! I used to be one of the girls that believed in manifestation, affirmations and subs, but you brought me back to reality!

Looksmaxxing Tips

Source: I’m from Miami and currently live in LA.

Disclaimer: I already know I’ll get cancelled for this but this is for the girls who get it.

Hey! Aw you don’t have to be anon 🤍 thank you so much for your support!! Like truly that was very nice and I’m happy you’re still around after my hiatus. First things first, this post is going to get me in trouble but… I’ll do it lol. Remember that time I was cancelled for saying we should be shaving our underarms?

YOUR BODY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR FACE

You know it’s true. You know when you look like you take care of yourself, people treat you better. Yes, you NEED to make sure you’re at a healthy weight. Your face can be absolutely busted, but if you have a nice body, you get a pass. I’m half Hispanic, and my background and your background tends to get on the heavier side pretty quickly. There is so many scientific research about how we develop Type 2 Diabetes quicker and we’re globally at a higher weight. So this is the part when I’m gonna get cancelled: you have to be fit. You have to be in shape. You have to have muscle. You have to be tight and toned.

———- WORKOUTS I RECOMMEND

1. Pilates $$-$$$

2. Barre $$-$$$

3. Running/Sprinting/Walking/Stairmaster $-$$

4. Kickboxing $-$$

5. Solid Core, Barry’s, SoulCycle, Pelaton, etc. $$-$$$

6. Growing Anna Nas (YouTube. For some reason I can’t link YouTube links) $0

7. Pamela Rief (YouTube) $0

8. MadFit (Youtube) $0

——— MY DIET TIPS

1. I eat whatever I want, but I eat so in moderation. It’s so important that you don’t deprive yourself because this should be a lifestyle. I get lunch portions, kids meals, the smallest size of unhealthy foods (like I would get a small fry for example), etc. Ben & Jerry’s has the really tiny ice cream cups that I’ll get if I want something sweet. But food known to cause weight gain, I’ll still eat them but I won’t have normal portions of it because normal portions of those kinds of foods are literally 1,000+ calories.

2. I’m against drinking my calories unless it’s a meal replacement (like a smoothie)

3. I practice intermittent fasting. I’ve done 18:6, 16:8, 20:4, and 23:1. They are all great. I think it’s healthy to give your body a rest from eating throughout the day to allow it to digest. I eat from 12pm-6pm some days, but some days if I’m going out to dinner, I push it back to maybe 4pm-10pm. So many benefits to this, do your research.

4. I don’t eat carbs for dinner. Carbs are essential for energy. Why do I need energy at night? Protein, healthy fats, and veggies is what I stick to. I limit carbs to my smoothie and lunch. But my main dish is never a carb; I like fat and protein as my main dish with a SIDE of carbs like rice or a side pasta dish.

I don’t recommend Ozempic or other alternatives! You’ll get the Ariana Grande sunken in face and look absolutely insane. That’s the side effect that scares me the most, and it usually happens later on after being on Ozempic for it to take affect. I want to keep my face plump.

DON’T TOUCH YOUR FACE SURGICALLY

I’m always a fan of a good rhinoplasty, but make sure you come to LA for one. NYC has really good doctors too. Never, EVER get your surgeries done in Miami. Business is so shady in Miami that I don’t trust it. I’m not telling you to get a nose job— I’m saying that’s the only procedure I’m actually for and not against.

I used to get Botox and I stopped. The problem with Botox is that is prevents muscle movement, which will develop muscle atrophy. Meaning, your face muscles will lose shape and strength sooner than normal, and your face will start to sag. My credentials is that I have a nursing degree and I dated a plastic surgeon over the last year.

I’m sure you don’t need lip filler, but a little (like half a syringe) to make your lips go out further is a GAME CHANGER. Just make sure you dissolve filler each time you decide you want a touch-up.

Another trend is buccal fat removal— I don’t know WHY people are wanting the snatched face because it makes you look so horse-like and old. I’m only talking to those who don’t naturally have a snatched face. There’s a difference between looking puffy, and having face fat. Face fat is good, it keeps you looking youthful! So don’t get that done.

Stay away from all other fillers.

COME TO LA FOR BODY PLASTIC SURGERY

I’m the biggest advocate for breast augmentations. I got my boobs done because I wanted them to look more perfect. You just have to make sure you go to a good doctor. Don’t be cheap with it. But getting your boobs done just elevates your look but don’t get crazy. A perky C cup is fine, even a perfect D cup is fine. Get the boobies up and perky. Push-ups and other chest workouts are good to start doing but they’re not going to be total game-changers. If you like your boobs, great. But if you want that perfect body inside and outside of clothes, get the girls up. Give them some volume.

If you have extra flab or skin, go for the non surgical procedures!! I got Morpheus8 done on my inner thighs because I had a bit of loose skin from weight loss (it was like 50lb weight loss and I lost it fast) and my thighs are sucked in and cute now). But it depends on what they have but go to a medical spa ran by a plastic surgeon. Don’t go to the commercial med spas or anything.

Body Gua-Sha is really good to do as well to help shape you up a little. I do this after every morning shower.

GET A SPRAY TAN

Yes, you should get a spray tan. I know you don’t need one, but your skin tone would pop so much more if you got one and they hide so many imperfections on your skin. Everyone looks better tan— everyone. It’s giving summer vibes all year round and I’m here for it. My black friends get spray tans and I’ve seen the difference in real time. Skin just looks so much healthier and younger with a spray tan. But it has to be a spray tan, it has to be a little artificial to look good lol. I know people swear the sun is the best but when I go out in the sun, I turn grey!!!! I turn such a weird color but because I fake tan, I keep my golden color without looking moldy lol. It’s giving that SpongeBob episode when he had the suds. Try it once and tell me how it goes lol. I swear you’ll be obsessed. I actually want you to message me and lmk.

MAKEUP, LASH EXTENSIONS, MICROBLADING

Your lashes should be undetectable. Classic natural set with a wispy and individual mix ONLY. Lashes should only be used for a thicker lash line, NOT for length. If you get strip lashes, make sure they’re natural and WISPY. The more natural and effortless the better. You also look younger and classier too. I’m a fan of a natural looking micro blade, but keep your brows natural. Don’t fan them out or fluff them, but don’t have IG brows. You want to fool people into thinking you’re just naturally like this. Obviously when you go out, do the brows or lashes, but on a normal Wednesday 2pm, it’s not necessary. Makeup should always be glowing. Matte makes you look like a grandma. A subtle glow in the cheeks or nose just gives healthy. Matte gives chalky.

HAIR

Keep it SAFE with hair. Natural color, natural length, healthy hair. How you style it is up to you but make sure it goes with your face shape. Hair that’s too long can be too much and hair that’s too short can make you look a little older. I don’t know if you wear your natural hair or if you install, but if you install keep it at an appropriate length. Think VS model. If your hair is natural and you wear it out, scratch everything I just said :) but keep colors natural and your hair healthy!

—-

I’m running out of space to type, but I’ll say this. Your BEST template is a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Not the new ones lol that show was embarrassing. I’m talking about the OG VS. That’s if you want to be universally stunning. Everyone will turn heads at a VS Angel. You want to give classy, but you also want to give youthful and sexy. Look at paparazzi photos of them being off-duty. Gain style and look inspiration off of them. They got CANCELLED for not being inclusive and it hurt feelings. Now they aren’t making nearly as much money before and the brand is tainted because a few insecure women decided to be all emotional. See what happens when you listen to insecure toads?

I didn’t want this post to be something you can find on the internet because there’s so much about this on the internet, but I gave you some opinions based off things I see that I agree/don’t agree with.

🖤🍸Make sure to check out my book called The Luxe Girl’s Playbook to Life for a fresh perspective on reinventing yourself for 2025. You’ll receive immediate access after purchase.

[m4rv3l-girl]

I got this idea from another user @logansgaar who recently posted about Bucky language switching. I thought it’d be a funny and interesting post, our Bucky Barnes forgetting the English word and maybe Sam and the likes really confused and he keeps repeating the word he’s meaning in another language? Idk.

Can you make it a Bucky x Reader?

In English, Bucky

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: None

Bucky wasn’t new to the chaos that came with remembering—or forgetting—things. After decades of Hydra programming and years of self-reclamation, some parts of his life still felt like piecing together a shattered mirror.

This week? It was the languages.

It started small. Just a few words slipped through the cracks, ones he couldn’t quite catch in English even though they floated vividly in Russian, Romanian, or even German. At first, it was no big deal. Y/N was used to his occasional mutterings in foreign tongues when he couldn’t quite put his thoughts into English. But now? It was different. He’d been waking up thinking in one language, holding a conversation in another, and ending his sentences in a third. The confusion? Bucky’s teammates—and poor Sam—were the first casualties.

Sam squinted at Bucky, who was pacing the room, waving his hand wildly as he gestured at the television.

“Ты не понимаешь, да?!” Bucky exclaimed in Russian, throwing his hands in the air.

“What. The. Hell.” Sam deadpanned, looking toward Y/N as if she were his last lifeline. “Seriously, why does he keep yelling at me in Russian?”

Y/N stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “He’s saying you’ve got the remote in your hand, and the volume is too loud.”

Sam glanced down at the remote, blinking as realization dawned. He turned the volume down, but that didn’t stop him from pointing a finger at Bucky. “Man, if you’re gonna yell at me, at least do it in a language I understand!”

Bucky groaned, running a hand down his face. “I said that, didn’t I?”

“No, Buck,” Y/N replied with a smile tugging at her lips. “You said it in Russian. Twice.”

“No, Buck,” Y/N replied with a smile tugging at her lips. “You said it in Russian. Twice.”

Bucky froze mid-gesture, his brows furrowing in confusion. He opened his mouth to argue, only to shut it again, his eyes darting toward the ceiling as if replaying the conversation in his head. A moment later, realization dawned, and his shoulders slumped.

“Seriously?” he muttered, scrubbing his flesh hand down his face.

“Seriously,” Y/N confirmed, biting her lip to keep her amusement in check.

“I thought I—” he began, then groaned, cutting himself off. “Great. Now I’m yelling at people in the wrong language. Next thing you know, I’ll be ordering coffee in German and getting blank stares from the barista.”

Y/N tried and failed to stifle her laughter, the sound bubbling out of her as Bucky shot her a half-hearted glare. Even Sam, ever the instigator, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You know, Barnes,” Sam said, leaning back with his arms crossed, “it’s bad enough you’re already hard to understand half the time with your whole grumpy-man shtick. Now you’re throwing in Russian? Man, no one’s gonna bother arguing with you anymore—they won’t even know how.”

“Thanks, Wilson,” Bucky deadpanned. “Really helpful.”

Sam shrugged, grinning. “Anytime.”

Y/N shook her head, stepping closer to Bucky as she placed a hand on his arm. “Hey,” she said softly, her tone cutting through his frustration. “It’s not a big deal. You’re juggling more languages in that head of yours than most people could even dream of.”

Bucky huffed, his metal fingers flexing absently. “Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like my brain’s broken.”

“It’s not broken,” she assured him, her voice firm but warm. “It’s just...overloaded. Like trying to open twenty browser tabs at once. You just need a minute to figure out which one’s playing the music.”

Her analogy earned her a faint, lopsided smile. “You always know how to make me feel better, Doll.”

“Someone has to,” she teased gently.

Sam, watching the exchange, rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, cue the rom-com moment. Can we get back to the part where Barnes was yelling at me in Russian, though? I feel like I deserve an apology in English for that.”

Bucky’s smirk returned in full force as he glanced at Sam. “Apology? I think I said it perfectly the first time, Wilson.”

This time, it was Y/N who groaned. “Here we go again.”

🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺

Later that evening, Bucky was sulking. Y/N watched him as he slumped into the couch, his metal hand twitching against the fabric as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“You okay?” she asked gently, settling beside him.

“I’m losing my mind,” he muttered, switching back to English. His Brooklyn accent was thicker when he was tired, which only made Y/N’s heart squeeze. “I used to be fluent in English. Now I can’t even remember how to say…ugh…what’s the word for when someone’s being difficult on purpose?”

“Stubborn?” she offered.

“Yes! Stubborn!” He sat up, glaring at his own hands as if they’d betrayed him. “I tried to tell Sam that earlier, and I said it in Romanian instead.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers brushing against his metal arm in a soothing motion. “It’s not a big deal, Buck. You know so many languages—it’s bound to happen sometimes.”

“Yeah, but it’s annoying. And embarrassing.”

“Not to me,” she murmured, her voice soft. “I think it’s cute.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her in mock suspicion. “Cute?”

She shrugged. “Cute.”

The next morning, Y/N walked into the kitchen to find Bucky hunched over the table with a stack of index cards, a Sharpie, and a determined expression. He was muttering to himself in what sounded like Polish as he scribbled words in different languages on each card.

“Are you…making flashcards?” she asked, stifling a laugh.

“Don’t laugh,” he grumbled, holding up a card. “If I write them down, maybe my brain will keep them where they belong.”

Y/N bit her lip to suppress her smile. “Baby, your brain isn’t a filing cabinet.”

“Yeah, well, it’s acting like a busted one right now,” he retorted, flipping through his growing pile. “You know how frustrating it is when you’re trying to say something and your brain’s like, ‘Nope, here’s the German version instead?’”

She slid into the seat beside him, resting her chin in her hand. “Maybe your brain’s just reminding you that you’re more than just an American soldier. You’re a man who’s lived through so much, in so many places, and somehow you’ve carried all that with you.”

Bucky paused, his blue eyes softening as he looked at her. “You’re too good to me, Doll.”

“You’re just lucky I took Russian in college,” she teased, nudging him playfully.

🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴🇷🇴

The multilingual confusion came to a head during a mission briefing.

“Barnes, are you ready?” Sam asked, looking expectantly at his friend.

Bucky nodded, and he blurted out, “Да.”

“...What?” he blinked.

“I mean, ja! No—uh, yes!” Bucky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sam burst out laughing, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Man, he’s broken.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky snapped, glaring at him.

Sam only laughed harder. “Dude, you just said yes in three different languages in under five seconds. Are we sure you’re not a Hydra sleeper again?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching toward the knife strapped to his thigh.

“Bucky,” Y/N said gently, placing a hand on his arm. Her tone was soothing, pulling his focus back to her. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous he can barely speak one language.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing under her touch. “Yeah, well, it’s still embarrassing.”

“It’s endearing,” she corrected.

🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪🇩🇪

When the day crawled in and night came, as they lay tangled together on the couch, Bucky buried his face in Y/N’s hair. “You really don’t think it’s annoying?” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

“Not at all,” she replied, turning her head to kiss his cheek. “I think it’s a reminder of how far you’ve come.”

“How do you figure?”

“You’re not just James Barnes from Brooklyn anymore. You’re Bucky Barnes, a man who’s lived a hundred lives in a hundred languages. And you’re mine,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what matters.”

He pulled back to look at her, a rare smile curving his lips. “I’m yours, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a grin.

“Then I guess I can deal with forgetting a few English words every now and then,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

The next morning, Bucky walked into the kitchen to find Sam waiting for him with a smirk and a stack of flashcards.

“What’s this?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Your new study guide,” Sam said, flipping through the cards. “I took the liberty of adding a few important phrases. Like, ‘Wilson is the coolest.’”

Bucky groaned, snatching the cards and tossing them onto the counter. “You’re the worst.”

Y/N walked in just in time to hear Sam reply, “No, I’m the coolest—remember?”

Bucky turned to her with a pleading look. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You’ll live, Sergeant Barnes. You’ll live.”

——————————————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed this, it was so much fun to create! I love acknowledging Bucky’s past without it having to be upsetting, thanks, Hun. 🫶

Requests Open!

[staticvoidzz]

Ok, uhh here’s a small deep dive into a silly headcanons and I’ll spilt it to make it more organized

HAZEL

Hazel, from the beginning has been shown to have a huge admiration for her older brother, Antony. It’s her driving motivation as a character in the first few episodes. Not to mention she sounded rather blue when she mentioned that she moved ACROSS THE COUNTRY from Antony and he can’t really visit since he’s a college student. Hazel, from the start loved her older brother, when she ever got upset about being alone in a completely new area, she keeps on telling herself that Antony visiting her will make it all worth it. Then Antony couldn’t visit do to a massive storm and he’s not able to catch up until the holiday break, which was months from now, this obviously makes Hazel very upset and she tries to hide it by being “mature���, Hazel immediately decided to run away to visit Antony herself, because she feels seen by her brothers presence, she feels comfortable and confident with him.

And yes, her parents also keep her company, they also unintentionally ignore her wants and needs to the point where Hazel sees Antony as her “parental figure” Hazels need to see Antony got so strong, it triggered Cosmo and Wanda’s powers, fairies who were in retirement at the moment, Hazel wish turned her into a literal fly and she just flies away, not even knowing where the airport is. Cosmo and Wanda chased her and tried to convince her that they could help her, but it wasn’t until Hazel was about to die in a gifted Venus fly trap, she had a conversation with a ant, who spend lots of time away from her ant colony, after that, Hazel was convinced that Her brother can do things on her own, as she can to. Hazel then becomes a human and a Godchild to Cosmo and Wanda, and she decides to take a day one step at a time….but stuff like this just doesn’t disappear, does it? Hazels made a new friend, Jasmine,

One day, Hazel suggested to Jasmine that they watch scary movies, because that’s what her and Antony did, But when Jasmines resented the idea, due to her dislike of horror, Hazel made the wish to make her fearless, which actually got her fears out and they are now there own beings, So, now Hazel has to right her wrong by making Jasmine face her own fears. Then, Jasmine got possessed by the consumption of fear, and it taunted Hazel, pointing out the obvious “manipulation” and the way “Hazel used Jasmine for her own needs.” Digging into her fears, which is “Afraid of Starting something New, so you try to repeat the past.” Hazel, was finally to face her own fear with support and she recognized her mistakes, and suggested they do something else they would both find fun. Eventually, Winn, The cool skateboarder kid, Joined in on Hazels and Jasmines friendship, becoming a friendship trio.

Some, time later, They all decided to take a quiz and when they scored a zero, Hazel went into a spiral and just assumed that Winn and Jasmine don’t know her well enough and secretly hate her, so Into her mind we go! It was all good,until she got into her embarrassing secrets, she tried to hide it, but that caused her to let her mind worm loose, which fed off her negative thoughts. Her deepest conflict is that her friends aren’t actually her friends and that they don’t care about her, it’s not until Hazel remembered what her mom said about not letting negativity control her, she’s eventually able to control it and get back with her friends. In a similar situation,

Hazel went into crisis about which class she should sign up for, Band or Orchestra. Since Winn and Jasmine are on both sides and that they are enemies, so Basically if Hazel decides one thing, she’s silently saying “I don’t like you and I prefer this.” And Hazel obviously doesn’t want that, so she gets musical talent and a clone of herself to make Jasmine and Winn happy, but it’s no use, they still fight and Hazel accidentally took away music, which is bad—because they can’t perform. So, Hazel decided to come up with a plan with the help from the help of the Nmusic Fairy, in which music was temporarily restored in order for Hazel to prove that she can get the band and orchestra kids together as one,

and she succeed as being their conductor of sorts, after the show, backstage, Hazel asked her parents if they sent the video to Antony (because he was going to see it via video) But Antony already showed up and watch the show live, he appears with roses and happy to see Hazel. Hazel was estatic, immediately jumping onto his arms and on the verge of tears, she was so happy to see her brother after so long. She even used to rule free wish so that her friends (family included) will remember fairies.

Hazels inner conflict are letting something go and the fear of losing something she care. She doesn’t want to lose anything again, but she has a good support system with Her mother, Cosmo and Wanda, Antony and Herself. She’s able to maturely handle the situation after she messed things up, because of that support system.

(Ok I was going to add Dev, but I’ve been typing for over an hour straight And my fingers are starting to hurt. I have a lot to say about Dev as a character regarding this head canon, but I hope for now, this’ll do. I’m still pretty new to analyzing, so I hope I did a good job :3)

Another HeadCanon (That’s Kinda a Projection but Shh)

Both Dev and Hazel have attachment issues, I’ll probably go on a deeper dive if I feel like it

[thepenultimateword]

Short Prompt #139

“Why would you help me?”

“I have a weakness for little cute things.”

[rikyos]

PLOTTING CALL. although this time with more focus on talking about dynamics / maybe setting up some pre-established relationships than actual plotlines .. i feel like plotting for me always tends to revolve around this at first anyway and usually those are the connections with people that end up sticking and not , like , quietly slipping away fkfjfh so here’s me being self indulgent. open to new mutuals and anyone who wants to kick me for forgetting to answer dm’s lmao

[cherienymphe]

White Lines & White Knights

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, pr*stitution, power imbalance, classism, mentions of death, jealousy, humiliation, revenge p*rn, drug dealer!Rafe, drug use, Pogue!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: You and Rafe are using each other until you decide that's not what you want anymore, and the spoiled rich kid will do whatever it takes to have his expensive toy back in his bed.

⭑

Your door shut behind you with a resounding click, and once in the comfort of your home, you took the time to decompress. You took advantage of your much needed reprieve, the back of your head grazing the wood as you allowed your eyes to fall closed. Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, and you wondered if a day would come where it ever wouldn’t. After all, this wasn’t exactly “new” anymore…

It had been five months since you buried your mom, five months since you discovered the mountain of debt she’d done an impressive job of hiding from you, and five months since you thought you’d be homeless on the street in less than one. In two weeks, you’d dealt with a loss you didn’t think you’d have to for at least another forty years or so and took on the kind of responsibility you didn’t think you’d have to for at least another three.

Your mom died 152 days ago…

…and you’d started fucking Rafe Cameron less than a month later.

You liked to pretend to not know why you slept with Kildare’s prime rich boy that fateful Saturday night, but you were far more self aware than you wanted to be. Even if you weren’t, it wasn’t exactly some mysterious string of decisions that lead to being tangled up in the sheets with Sarah’s asshole of an older brother. You didn’t need to pay someone to diagnose you.

You were grieving.

It was really just that simple, and the monetary stress on top of that drove you to find comfort in strange drinks and hard drugs. To this day you still didn’t know if Rafe just happened to be at the right place at the right time or if he heard whispers about John B.’s best friend snorting pills and getting shit faced when her usual crowd was looking the other way, but either way, the stuffy Kook clearly saw an opportunity to kill several birds with one stone.

“First two lines are free,” he’d told you that night, the bass of the music downstairs muffled by the expensive walls of some girl’s house.

You remembered how you’d chuckled, drunkenly shaking your head.

“Well, two lines is all I’m doing, I guess,” you’d murmured, throwing your hands up.

Rafe’s smirk had been cruel, a mocking glint in his blue eyes.

“What?” he’d dragged out, head tilted. “Spent all that life insurance money, already?”

Any other time and Rafe’s insensitivity might’ve upset you, but at the time you’d been drunk out of your mind and looking for more ways to forget the sudden absence in your life.

“I can’t imagine why Sarah hates you,” you’d sarcastically replied, approaching the impressive desk and leaning over to inhale a line.

You wiped your nose as you straightened, lashes fluttering as you ignored the feeling of Rafe’s gaze on you.

“I’ll be lucky if I even have a house to live in next week.”

The words had come out slurred, accompanied by a light chuckle, and deep down you’d felt the flutter of stress that you’d been desperately ignoring for weeks. You’d quickly snorted the other line, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Turns out my mom was skilled at hiding more than just illnesses…”

You remembered the silence—from both you and Rafe—and how in that moment you’d allowed yourself a solid four seconds of lingering on the reality of your predicament. In those four seconds, your eyes had watered and your lips had trembled and your throat had tightened, and after those four seconds, you were turning to Rafe with a haughty smile.

“Guess you won’t be finding a new client in me, huh?” you’d wondered with a shrug, finding a seat on the desk.

Rafe’s blue gaze had been unreadable as he eyed you, sitting in the chair at the desk, legs spread as he ran his eyes over you—slowly and in a way you didn’t hate at the time. You hadn’t been able to tell what he was thinking, although looking back, you wondered how it wasn’t so obvious to you then. Maybe because it was just too cruel of a thought, and while it was no secret Rafe was a spoiled asshole, you had never once thought of him as cruel.

Rafe had merely shrugged.

“There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” he’d slowly said, the corner of his pink lips curving upwards just a tad. “Besides…”

You’d watched him stand, rounding the desk to come and tower over you where you sat.

“I like to think of myself as a pretty ethical kind of guy…”

You’d started to snort at that before his gaze met yours again, and you found yourself swallowing whatever you were about to say. You hadn’t done a thing when Rafe reached up to touch your arm, the feel of his finger so light. You hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the way your heart skipped a beat at both his close proximity and the change in atmosphere. You hadn’t been able to ignore—however—the heat that settled in the pit of your stomach.

“...and I’ve been known to meet people halfway. Accept whatever they can offer…”

You remembered your internal conflict that night.

You’d been drunk and high and sad…not stupid. You knew exactly what Rafe was insinuating to you, and you’d struggled with the idea of really sleeping with Rafe Cameron for more drugs. The man was far from unattractive, sure that if drugs weren’t involved you’d still consider sleeping with him. If you’d believed in any of that, you’d imagine that your mom was turning over in her grave. At the time though, you hadn’t been quite sure as to what you believed in, so when he took your silence for consent, leaning in and touching your nose with his…

You hadn’t stopped him when he closed the distance.

You hadn’t even known whose house you were at, only internally apologizing to them for having sex on their expensive desk. You didn’t know if it was the drugs or the alcohol or simply Rafe Cameron, but it was easily the best sex you’d ever had in your life, and at one point you’d really considered how much better it could possibly be to fuck him without the condom.

You had no idea that you’d eventually find out.

Once dressed, you’d walked home with a small bag of pills and a satisfied grin. You knew that your friends would host some kind of intervention if they ever found out, but all you’d been able to focus on was the simple fact that fucking Rafe Cameron for a little coke and pills wasn’t sounding like the worst idea. Of course, if you’d known that you’d eventually start fucking him for your livelihood, you might’ve made different choices that night.

You pressed your hand to your face and pushed away from the door, eager to start the shower and scrub the stench of him off of you. Per routine, you took the money out of your pocket before getting undressed, eyeing the wad of one hundreds that now sat on your nightstand. Two grand was nothing to someone like him, but to someone like you, it made all the difference in the world.

…and Rafe knew that.

He’d known that when he handed you a thousand dollars one night, the coke in your system just starting to hit. You’d looked up at him from where you sat in confusion, hesitantly wrapping your hand around the money as you alternated between eyeing it and eyeing him. You hadn’t known how to feel about it, especially since it had only been moments ago when he was inside of you…and there he was handing you a grand in hundreds.

“Don’t look like that,” Rafe had chuckled, walking to his dresser in search of a shirt. “You know you need the money.”

He wasn’t wrong…and that was the problem.

Unless you hit a lucky streak in life, you’d always need the money, and that was exactly why you were in the predicament you were in—four months later and putting up with the monster that was Rafe Cameron just to keep a roof over your head. The thought brought tears to your eyes, positive now that your mom could see you and was beyond disappointed in you. 

Her disappointment could only be outdone by your own.

You were in a situation that you couldn’t get out of, on the verge of ending this arrangement so many times before asking yourself what better way could you pay your mom’s debts and survive? It wasn’t easy money by far, but it was fast money, and it was the kind of money that would take months to make at whatever low paying job you’d find around Outer Banks. Someone like you rarely got hired at the country club or working for some rich snob who wiped their ass with the kind of money you needed.

Rafe knew this too.

Tears kissed your eyes as you scrubbed your skin raw, wishing that you could scrub away the nasty bruise right along with the sweat and grime. You winced every time you touched it, cursing the blond and feeling one of those moments where you considered blocking him and moving on from this pathetic era in your life for good.

Fucking Rafe Cameron for drugs didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time, fucking him for money seemed like an even better one…until that entitled attitude started to extend to the woman he was paying good money to have access to. You remembered the first time you opposed something he wanted to do, the way in which he ignored you, the way he merely pressed your face into the pillow to shut you up.

It was the first time you felt truly icky about this whole situation.

Not even just icky.

…but afraid.

“I don’t pay you to tell me what you will and won’t do in bed,” he’d chuckled at you like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

You’d still been trembling and wiping mascara from your cheeks.

“I pay you because I want to fuck you,” he’d slowly whispered to you, leaning in. “...and you let me because you don’t want to be sleeping on the beach.”

He’d held your gaze for what felt like too long, impressing upon you the true dynamic of this arrangement, and you remembered the unease that had festered in your gut that day. Maybe all the drugs and alcohol hadn’t allowed you to fully look at this arrangement for what it was and the power imbalance here, but you had for the first time that day, and you hadn’t liked it.

You liked it even less now, wrapping the towel around you and wondering how you were ever going to get out of this predicament you’d put yourself into.

“My family’s going out of town for the weekend,” the familiar blond mumbled to you as he inhaled a familiar powdery substance off the back of his hand. “Pack a bag when you get home, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at that, huffing instead.

“I can’t spend the whole weekend on Figure 8,” you told him. “I have plans.”

Rafe nodded, and you hated the smile that danced across his lips.

“Okay, uh, be ready at 8, I don’t want-.”

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you cut him off, shrugging. “I can’t stay at your house all weekend.”

You watched him watch you, slowly swiping his tongue between his lips as a frown started to take over. His dirty blond hair kissed his brows, and the longer the silence stretched, the more nervous you grew. You watched as Rafe glanced away, seemingly deep in thought before those baby blues of his rested on you, much colder than they were a few seconds ago.

“What the hell am I paying you for?” he whispered.

The question was rhetorical, and you swallowed.

“Rafe…I’ve barely seen my friends in months. I finally made plans to meet up with them for more than five minutes and-.”

“...and whose fault is that?” he shrugged.

You frowned at him.

“Nobody told you to go off on a bender when your mom kicked the bucket…” you blinked at his callousness. “Maybe you should’ve been finding comfort in your friends instead of drugs and vodka…and me.”

He finished his sentence with a soft—and yet cruel—smile.

“I pay you good money—great money even!—to be available when I want you to be, and unless you’ve found some other rich asshole to open your legs for, which I doubt…be ready tomorrow at 8.”

He was standing, now, looking down at you where you sat on the bed. The harsh reminder of your roles here had you looking away, and Rafe turned away when he rightfully took your silence as confirmation. You stared at the wall for a few moments before turning to stare at his back, thinking to yourself that this couldn’t go on much longer. Whether it took 1 or 5 jobs, you couldn’t keep relying on Rafe Cameron forever.

What was once a weekly occurrence had turned into something entirely other, and it hadn’t bothered you so much when your mother’s death was still so fresh and you were seeking solace in the worst coping mechanisms known to man—including isolation. Now, however, you were waking up to the choices you’d made and you hated the feeling of being inebriated and being surrounded by people you barely knew.

You hated being away from your friends.

“I didn’t even know you’d gotten a job,” John B. said to you hours later, looking disappointed but understanding. “JJ’s gonna be real disappointed. He’s been talking all week about having you try some new weed he got.”

You gave a light laugh at that, a pang in your chest at how much you missed doing stupid shit with them.

“Yeah,” you sadly said. “The world—and bills—doesn’t stop just because my mom died.”

The brunette grew quiet at that, worriedly eyeing you now.

“You doing okay…?”

You sighed at that, looking out over the yard of The Chateau, fiddling with your fingers as you thought of a certain blond.

“I’ve been better, but…I’ve been worse too.”

Your answer was honest, and you briefly wondered what John B. would think if he knew just how bad ‘worse’ had been. You didn’t think any of them would hate you if they knew the full extent of just how far you’d fallen, but you knew they’d have a hard time wrapping their head around it. The drugs and alcohol were one thing, but Rafe Cameron was entirely another. The man was the worst example of a Kook if there was one, representing every bad trait attributed to them.

Your friends would not understand you essentially sacrificing your self respect for money and drugs.

Sometimes you didn’t understand it either. 

Most especially when Rafe had his hands around your neck.

He picked you up at 8 on the dot Friday night—a man of his word if nothing else—and less than a hour later you were bent over his father’s desk as he pounded into you. Your head was hanging off of it, fighting hard to not scrape your nails against the dark mahogany. It wasn’t the first time Rafe fucked you on Ward’s desk, and you doubted that it would be the last time. There’d even been a few rare occasions when he fucked you in the older man’s bed, and you didn’t know what complex the blond had that fueled these decisions, but you weren’t a psychologist so you figured it wasn’t anything to concern yourself with.

Despite the tight grip on your throat, a choked moan managed to escape every time Rafe pushed his cock into you. Sweat made his skin glisten, and you were sure you fared no better. His hair wasn’t so neat, now, and you had the stray thought that you preferred it that way. Rafe being so far from ugly definitely made this arrangement easier to swallow down at times, but other times it just made you angry.

How was it fair that someone seemingly had everything, including the big dick to match?

Rafe walked around like he was God’s gift to the world, possessing one of the most rotten personalities you’d ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of, and he seemed to be rewarded with it with everything the average person could only dream about. As if any of that wasn’t enough, you practically rewarded him with even more by essentially telling him he could do whatever he wanted so long as the price was right.

It made you disgusted with yourself at times.

When he pressed a hand to your stomach, hips slowing to a pace that made your breath hitch, you squeezed your eyes shut. In the quiet office, the sound of his cock disappearing between your folds was loud, the wet noise telling you that there’d no doubt be a mess left on Ward’s desk when this was all said and done. You heard Rafe curse, and you didn’t have the energy to lift your head from where it hung off the desk.

“...and to think,” he panted from above you. “You were going to pass this up to sit around with those dirty Pogues.”

At this, you did attempt to sit up, a hand against his chest and one on the desk as he thrusted into you.

“Those ‘dirty Pogues’ are my friends,” you forced out, lashes fluttering. “...and clearly you forget that I’m one too.”

Rafe merely chuckled at that, perfect teeth winking at you as he grinned.

“Yeah, but you’re my dirty Pogue so it’s a little different.”

His words had your frown deepening, disgust filling your chest at the way he talked about you while literally fucking you. Completely turned off, you turned your head away, attempting to separate yourself from him. That haughty laugh reached your ears, and to your dismay, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“What…?” he lazily drawled. “You don’t like the sound of that?”

“You’re being an asshole, get off of me…”

He jerked his hips against you, making you gasp, and you squirmed in his arms as you fought to get away. Rafe leaned in to harshly nip his teeth at your cheek, his movements growing rough, causing the desk to shake.

“I’ve spent too much money on you to not say whatever the hell I want,” he evenly said. “So, yeah, at this point, I’ll confidently say I practically own you.”

Tears kissed your eyes at the disgusting words, and fed up with your resistance, Rafe merely placed a hand between your breasts before harshly shoving you back down. You winced at the action, but you had no time to fully linger on it as Rafe started to roughly plunge his cock into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours reaching your ears. He wouldn’t allow you to sit up, both of his hands wrapped around your wrists now as he leaned over you.

This felt too reminiscent of the time he’d pressed your face into the bed, telling you to relax as he pressed the head of his cock just above where your folds were. You recalled the uncomfortable feeling and the tears that stained the pillow as he slowly fucked you in a place no one ever had before. The deja vu of it all had your mind wandering, eyes defocusing as you just waited for it to be over. It seemed like Rafe’s grunts sounded from above you forever, and when he finally came onto your stomach with a low moan, you didn’t move for some time.

You were slow to sit up as he got dressed, trembling as you steaded yourself for what you were about to say.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

The words came out whispered, but in the quiet study, you might as well have yelled them. Rafe didn’t acknowledge you, and you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Frustrated with his refusal to take you seriously, you hopped off of Ward’s desk, angrily grabbing your clothes.

“I’m serious, Rafe. After this weekend…this is done,” you continued, voice firmer, now. “Don’t call me or text me or worry about any more money. I can’t rely on you forever anyway.”

By now, Rafe was actually listening to you, and you avoided his gaze as you got dressed. His silence was loud, and when you were finally decent again, only then did you lift your gaze to glance at him. His visage was unreadable, and after some time, he merely blinked at you.

“If I remember correctly, per your own words, your mom had enough debt ‘to file for bankruptcy’.”

His words made you sharply inhale, and you bit your tongue as he ran his hands through his hair in a poor attempt to tame the damp locks.

“Don’t ruin your life just because you’re pissed at me,” he coldly added.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Personal feelings aside, I can’t rely on you forever, Rafe. That’s just the truth. I have to figure something out eventually, and there’s no time like the present,” your voice shook as he fixed you with an unnerving stare. “I miss my friends, and I don’t want to be the sad, damaged girl running to Rafe Cameron just so I don’t feel anything anymore.”

The blond followed your lead, folding his arms over his own chest as he leaned against the wall, staring you down with that annoying crooked smile.

“...and where exactly do you plan to find a job that pays you what I do?”

“There are jobs, Rafe. I’ll find one.”

You didn’t appreciate his tone nor the look he was giving you as he studied you. He was looking down on you, and yes while that wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence, this time was different. He was looking down his nose like he didn’t believe in you, like he expected you to be crawling back to him in no time, begging him to fuck you again.

After a few moments, that crooked smile curved even more, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes.

“Well, I wish you luck…”

His voice didn’t match the words that came out of his mouth, and his gaze most certainly didn’t.

“I literally called this morning and was told over the phone that you all were hiring...and now I get here, and I’m being told you’re not…?”

You tried to keep the skepticism out of your tone, but your frustration at your predicament was bubbling up and threatening to be unleashed on the lone man before you. The inside of the country club was practically empty—a slow Tuesday—and you briefly glanced around at the two staffers in the whole room. Sure, you could write it off to a slow day that didn’t need a full staff, but something in you told you that it was more than that.

You didn’t believe the man in front of you.

“Look, I don’t know what else to tell you, miss. Whoever you talked to got it wrong. I’m sorry for the miscommunication on our end,” was his only explanation.

You didn’t dare bother to point out that both he and whoever you’d spoken with on the phone sounded damn near identical.

When it became obvious that this conversation was over, you turned away with a small huff, breezing outside to a familiar dark car. Kie was standing by it, arms uncomfortably crossed over her chest, glaringly obvious that she’d rather be anywhere but here despite being from ‘here’.

“Well…?” she wondered as you got closer.

“They’re not hiring,” you mumbled as you slid into the passenger seat.

She joined you inside the vehicle a moment later, a frown on her face.

“...but you called.”

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence before she scoffed, reaching for her door handle.

“If this is because you aren’t some rich snob looking for play money…”

She trailed off when you spoke up.

“No, I don’t…I don’t think it’s that,” you stopped her. “Let’s just go.”

She eyed you for a few moments, frown deepening.

“Are you sure? Y/N, this is like the fourth place you’ve been to today,” she pointed out. “...and I don’t want to add my stress to your stress, but it’s kind of fucked up.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t possible for you to be any more stressed than you already were, simply signaling for her to drive. You could feel her eyes periodically landing on you as she did, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, wondering why the universe had it out for you.

It had been weeks since you’d last seen or talked to Rafe, weeks since you ended your little arrangement, and weeks since you’d had a consistent source of income. It wasn’t a pretty nor respectable way to make money, but you’d been making money nonetheless. However, you couldn’t find it in you to continue sacrificing your self respect to keep sleeping with Rafe Cameron. You’d also been telling the truth when you told him you didn’t want to be this messed up sad thing anymore.

You had long let go of the drugs and cut back on the drinking, and now you’d dropped Rafe too.

You’d had hope…but now it was dwindling.

No one would hire you. In fact, no one had even allowed you far enough to officially apply just to get a foot into an interview. It was always the same. You’d call ahead so you didn’t waste your time, they’d tell you they were looking for people, and then the moment you actually showed up and introduced yourself, it was an entirely different story. It didn’t make any sense to you, and the thought of ever proving Rafe right made you want to be sick.

“How bad is it?” JJ asked you a few days later, the both of you away and isolated in some corner of some guy’s party.

You looked down at the weak drink in your hand, contemplating on whether or not to be honest.

“It’s…manageable.”

A whopper of a lie.

“...then why don’t I believe you? Come on, Y/N, it’s me. I know your mom wasn’t the best when it came to funds, and when she died…” he scoffed. “You weren’t exactly in any shape to march down to anyone’s job and fight for work just to keep things afloat.”

You looked away at that, throat tight.

“I’m honestly shocked you’ve kept it up for this long.”

If only he knew…

You felt his gaze on you as you wondered just how truthful you should be, but you reminded yourself that this was JJ. If he knew the full extent of everything, he’d be likely to rob a bank. Nevermind the fact that it would just make him ask more questions, like how you’d even managed to keep things afloat all this time. You didn’t think you could lie to him, and you didn’t think you could handle being on the receiving end of whatever look JJ would undoubtedly give you if you told him you’d been sleeping with Rafe to pay your bills.

You didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that the subject of your thoughts walked through the doors to prevent this conversation from continuing. His presence shouldn’t have shocked you—the party was pretty mixed with people from all sides of the island after all—but it still gave you pause, and JJ noticed.

“This asshole,” you heard the blond murmur, rolling his eyes.

You were inclined to agree, and you shrunk in on yourself with your drink, unable to ignore the knowledge that Rafe was at the same party you were at. In the weeks you’d been free of him, you’d had time to really ponder on your dalliance, and while you’d long accepted your hand in your own life choices, it was now hard to ignore Rafe’s own opportunistic choices in the situation. Sure, yes, you fucked him for money…

…but what did it say about him that he was perfectly happy to enter an arrangement in which he kept you off of the streets so long as you opened your legs for him?

If he was a good guy he’d just…keep you off the streets.

Like JJ would if you ever told him the truth.

You’d just decided to stop hiding in the bathroom when you came face to face with the man himself, heart skipping a beat at his presence. He was leaning against the wall next to the door, and you had the sneaking suspicion he hadn’t been waiting for his turn.

“How’s the job search going?” was how he greeted you, and you hadn’t been able to keep the ire off of your face.

He softly laughed to himself at that, nodding.

“I figured you’d look a little something like that.”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, and Rafe frowned, tilting his head to the side.

“You were, remember? And then you stopped…and that’s how you found yourself back at square one,” he reminded you.

The music traveled from downstairs into the dimly lit hallway, and you looked away from him just as he heaved a tired sigh.

“Do I need to apologize for calling you and your friends dirty Pogues? Is that what this is about?” he lazily wondered.

You didn’t dignify that with a response, and when you lifted your gaze, Rafe was rolling his eyes. He fixed you with a look, reaching up to touch your hair with a tsk.

“Come on, Y/N. You need me…”

He leaned in.

“We both know it, and you’re never going to find a job in this town.”

“You don’t know that,” you fired back, slapping his hand away as you took a step away from him.

Almost instantaneously, Rafe’s entire expression morphed, and you swallowed at the shadow that passed over his features. His pink lips pressed together, and those blue eyes hardened in a way you’d never been on the receiving end of. You watched his nostrils flare.

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

The combination of his tone and his expression and his words gave you pause, and your brows pulled together as you stared at him. For a moment, the music in the house faded into the background as Kie’s words came to your mind. ‘It’s kind of messed up’, she’d said, and while you hadn’t given that much thought to the statement then…you certainly were now.

“What did you do?” you shakily asked the blond, skin growing cold.

Rafe didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it was a lie anyway.

“I don’t know what you mean,” was all he said, one brow raised.

You felt tears kiss your eyes, and you felt silly for not putting the pieces together earlier. You didn’t know how, but somehow, Rafe had a hand in your lack of employment. It seemed exactly like something he’d do, but the only thing you couldn’t understand was why. Why do it? Just to see you fail? Just to feel like he’d won?

“Look, this little rebellious act…it’s cute and amusing and all…” he shrugged off with a small smile. “...but it’s silly. We both know you’re just going to end up right back under me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you hissed, moving past him.

“Yeah, and you knew that when you let me fuck you for drugs on some guy’s desk,” he threw at you, making you flinch and slow down. 

“I was going through things then, Rafe! I didn’t…” you huffed a sigh, turning to glower at him. “I didn’t care about things I most definitely should have. It’s different now.”

You threw your hands up.

“I’m different, now, and I don’t want to keep sacrificing my dignity and self respect just to keep a roof over my head. I don’t want to sleep with someone who views me and anyone like me as beneath him. It disgusts me, and unlike you, I have no interest in sleeping with people who I claim disgust me.”

You watched Rafe’s lip curl over his teeth.

“Yeah, that’s real respectable and noble and all, but I wonder how noble it’ll feel when you’re being evicted,” he spat at you, moving closer. “You’re not getting a job in this town, that I can promise you, so you keep this up for as long as you want to, but we both know how this ends.”

You leaned away from the finger in your face.

“I fucking own you,” he bit out, roughly grabbing your arm and yanking you close despite your resistance. “You named your price, and I paid it-.”

“For a service! Not a person,” you harshly whispered.

Rafe’s chuckle was cold as he stared you down, perfect teeth winking at you.

“You think you’re the only girl in Outer Banks willing to spread her legs for some money? You think I’d have to pay any of them half of what I paid you?” your stomach dropped at his words. “I’ve been a lot more generous than you realize.”

He roughly let you go, practically shoving you away from him, and you stumbled. He eyed you with an expression filled with promise, and when you turned away to finally find your friends and hopefully leave, you descended the stairs on unsteady legs.

You pushed against Rafe’s arm and chest as he held your chin in a tight grip. The vehicle you were next to hid you both from view, everyone on the beach none the wiser to what was happening in the parking lot. Your feet tripped over one another as he forced you back, trapping you between him and the metal contraption.

“Is that what you came up with? You think that pathetic Pogue is going to pay your bills? Give you a place to stay when that eviction notice is taped to your door?”

“Get…off…of me,” you snarled, finally shoving him away with difficulty.

Your breathing was heavy as you glared at the blond, lips trembling and heart racing at the downright evil glint in his blue eyes. You glanced over his shoulder for any way to get away from him, your frustration growing as he moved closer.

“Color me curious, but is it somehow more dignified to fuck someone like JJ instead of me?”

The jealousy dripping from his every word threw you for a loop, and you weren’t in the right headspace to even linger on how strange that was.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re not like that,” you drunkenly choked out. “I don’t know why you feel like I need to answer to you about my personal choices.”

It had only been thirty minutes ago that you were dancing with your friends. JJ—ever the flirt—had gotten a bit handsy, but it was nothing unusual. He could get handsy with a tree, and you’d merely smiled at the behavior, ignorant to the heated gaze that was hyper focused on you. You hadn’t even realized he’d been following you when you went to get a drink from Hayward’s truck.

“Butt out of my life already. You’ve already done enough,” you hissed at him, moving to get past him when he stopped you.

“We’re not done talking-.”

His words were interrupted by your hand, the sound of the slap echoing in your ears, and he’d just harshly pushed you against the car at your back when a familiar voice interrupted you both.

“Get off of her!”

Kie was suddenly there, helping you in shoving him away, and she looked at Rafe like he’d lost his mind—like she’d bore witness to an even sinister side to him. The blond didn’t seem all that fazed by her presence, barely sparing her a glance as his jaw clenched, his eyes on you. Clearly he felt that whatever he was contemplating wasn’t worth it, because without another word—but not without a final scoff—he made his way back to the party on the beach.

Kie wrapped her arms around you when you started to cry.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

What a loaded question, and you realized that the truth was just on the edge of your tongue. Unable to stop yourself, you threw your arms around her, collapsing under the weight of all your choices and what had led you to make them.

“Kie,” you started, voice trembling in her ear. “I have to tell you something.”

If she was horrified by the truth, she didn’t show it much. You could tell she was shocked as the words tumbled from your lips, her brown eyes stricken and face draining of color. You didn’t know what bothered her more—the drugs, the prostitution, or that both involved Rafe Cameron. As it turns out, it was none of those things.

“Why didn’t…why didn’t you let us help you?” she tearfully wondered, looking between your eyes. “We know how hard it’s been for you, and we wanted to be there for you, but you…you just disappeared. You barely came around, and John B. heard things, but he didn’t want to believe them.”

She whispered that last part, and your chest ached at the thought of your friends hearing about your out of character behavior but feeling powerless to stop it, accepting it as part of your grief.

“Rafe’s a demented asshole,” she finally spoke on the elephant in the room. “...and we won’t let him win, okay?”

There was conviction in Kie’s voice, the kind of conviction that made you want to believe her, and so you nodded at her words.

She helped you straighten, wiping your face and taking you back to the party, quietly promising you that she wouldn’t say anything about any of this to the guys. She stuck to you for the rest of the night, and a week later, she made good on her promise, her parents shaking your hand as they welcomed you to their staff.

“We could always use the extra hands,” Mrs. Carrera told you one Friday evening. “It gets crazy busy, especially on the weekends.”

All the noise in the restaurant only validated her statement.

You’d been working at The Wreck for a week, and while it was nothing like what Rafe had been paying you, it was a job. It was a means of earning your own money that didn’t involve lowering yourself to the likes of Rafe Cameron. It was grueling, sure, and you sometimes wondered if it was truly worth the money, but then you’d think of the alternative, and you’d decide that it was worth something and that’s what mattered.

You hadn’t been paying that much attention when you approached your last table for the night, looking up from the apron at your waist and stopping in your tracks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you worked here too,” Topper said, a fairly neutral greeting.

Topper may have been just as much of an asshole as his friends, but he at least played nice for the public. Your gaze traveled around the table, quickly looking away when it connected with a familiar blue.

“It’s…a fairly new gig,” you finally said, getting your notepad ready.

“Hey, if you’re going to use your friends for anything, might as well use them to become a productive member of society,” he told you, his tone now making you frown.

Opting to ignore the comment, you asked them what they wanted. You didn’t make eye contact with Rafe when he gave you his order, hand unsteady as you wrote it down. When you left them to go and get their drinks, you weren’t surprised to hear the scrape of a chair behind you. You were focused on rounding the counter, reaching for some clean glasses.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You didn’t forget your last encounter with the rich blond, tempted to ignore his presence altogether, but you were unfortunate enough to know how Rafe operated. Pausing in your movements, you turned to look at him, not surprised at all by the unhappy look on his face.

“I’m working, Rafe. What does it look like?”

You eyed the way his jaw ticked, finger gently tapping against the counter as he simply…stared you down. You glanced away, realizing that he didn’t have any power over you anymore. No, you weren’t completely out of the woods, but you had a secured source of income, and you’d happily struggle and scrape over sleeping with Rafe ever again.

“Go find some other struggling girl to take advantage of,” you finally said to him, grabbing their drinks and making your way to their table without a backwards glance.

Working at The Wreck was hard work, and no matter how many shifts you covered and how many tips you got, it was still long and hard work for half the money Rafe had ever paid you. You knew this when Kie came to you about the job, but on the other side of it, you were so beyond grateful for it. You were still stressed, of course, your monetary problems not going away anytime soon, but it was the normal stress of the average working twenty-something.

It wasn’t the kind of worry that came from a violent and abusive lover.

Rafe had been by the restaurant a few times since that day, and each time was more nerve-wracking than the last. Sometimes you served him, sometimes you didn’t, but it didn’t really matter because his gaze always found its way to you either way. On the days when Kie worked too, she’d ask you if you wanted her to do something about him, but you always declined.

After all, what reason would you have her give to her parents for kicking out the son of Ward Cameron who—to their knowledge—hadn’t done anything to warrant it?

Maybe you should’ve listened to Kie though. While you didn’t know if that would’ve changed things, you at least would have felt better about attempting to do something. Perhaps it was the mere sight of watching you work—watching you earn money independent of him—that made him snap, made him drop all pretenses completely. Barring him from the restaurant while you were there might’ve triggered some out of sight, out of mind response. It might’ve forced him to slowly get over whatever this thing was that he had about you.

It might have…

…and it also might not have done shit. Perhaps nothing would’ve changed, and you still would’ve found yourself tearfully staring at Kie’s mom as you took off your apron for the last time.

It was a normal Saturday when the texts and emails came through. The busiest day of the week, the most packed the restaurant ever would be for the next six days, and you’d been placing some fries down in front of some family’s kid when the noise in the restaurant…changed. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint how it changed, but if you did your best, it was like the chatters went from excitement about their food or whatever happened during the week to something else entirely.

One single thing that everyone was talking about.

You weren’t getting paid to mind your patrons’ business, but you started to think differently about that when the people at the table you were next to started to heavily eye you. The whole restaurant was loud with hushed chatter, so you couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the glances between the phones in their hands and you had you frowning.

You were slowly glancing around—realizing that that table wasn’t the only one—when you were yanked by your arm off the floor.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” you worriedly wondered the moment Kie had you hidden from view.

The look on her face was hard to read, but her parted lips and wide eyes told you that she was horrified. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, seemingly unable to get the words out before slamming it shut, swallowing. The combination of her expression, her silence, and the lack of silence out there had a ball of dread forming deep in your gut.

“Kie,” you softly said. “What…what’s wrong?”

It took her a moment to speak.

“It’s Rafe,” she softly said.

Your confusion only grew, still not quite understanding. 

“What happened? Is he bothering you? Did…he do something to you?” you hesitantly asked, fearful that your former tormentor had turned his sights onto your friend.

“Not to me.”

That simple sentence started to put the pieces together, and you turned your face towards the front of the restaurant, recalling the stares and whispers and listening to the excited chatter. Your skin grew cold, goosebumps erupting all over you, and that dread was long gone. It was instead replaced by nausea.

“He sent everyone something…”

“No,” you heard yourself whisper.

“...a video.”

You turned to her with wide eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. Glancing down, you caught sight of her phone in her hand, and before Kie could stop you, you’d snatched it out of her grip. You moved out of her reach as she extended her arm, desperately trying to protect you, but it was too late.

You felt like you were weighed down by bricks as you stared at the two familiar faces on the screen.

It had to have been taken months ago, during one of the first few times you’d slept with him. You both were in Ward’s bedroom, and you remembered the day all too well, recalling the feel of his palm striking your skin and his voice in your ear before pulling your head down to his lip. Of course, it was that one and not one of the ones where he’d held you down and forced you to take his thrusts.

Your hand was empty, not even realizing when Kie had taken it back, simply staring into space at the memory of what was on that screen.

“Y/N, when my parents find out—and they’re going to find out—they…”

Her words died in the air at the sound of footsteps behind you, and you flinched when you heard a familiar voice call your name. Mrs. Carerra didn’t sound happy, and her expression fared no better when you turned around. You couldn’t stop your tears from spilling over as she gestured for you to follow her further into the back of the restaurant. You knew what was coming, what Kie was trying to prepare you for.

It was what Rafe wanted, after all…and he’d gotten it.

It was hours later when you were sitting with your back against your door, your phone turned off, overwhelmed by the influx of missed calls and messages from your friends. You’d only gotten a glimpse at them before finding your head bent inside of your toilet. Every single one of them bar Kie were shocked, their horror and confusion clear as day through their words. Only Pope had eventually sent a text that asked if you were okay.

…and the truth was that you weren’t.

You were so far from okay.

Rafe had won, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, and even though Mrs. Carerra had expressed sympathy for your plight—more angry at the situation than anything else—she’d still had no choice but to let you go. Every other business in town valued the Cameron family way too much, and the only place that had been willing to hire you had been swayed by Rafe too in the worst manner possible.

It was well after midnight when your door shook from harsh knocks. You hadn’t moved in hours, just blankly staring at the wall, and you closed your eyes at the sound, positive it was one of your friends. You didn’t have the strength to face them, to answer questions and either break down or pretend you felt far better than you actually did.

You did, however, have the strength to face Rafe, your gaze lifting when his voice met your ears, demanding that you open the door.

His fist was still in the air when you swung it open, looking at him like he was something you’d find on the bottom of your shoes. He looked as put together as ever, completely unfazed by what he’d done. And why wouldn’t he be? This wouldn’t hurt his reputation and success in this town a bit. If nothing else, the video would have even more girls falling at his feet, but for some reason he didn’t seem to want that.

He preferred to force your hand instead.

“What is wrong with you?” you tearfully asked him, throat tight.

He didn’t respond right away, touching his tongue to his lip as his gaze roamed behind you.

“You gonna let me in?”

Your eyes almost popped out of your sockets, and he gave a haughty laugh.

“It’s not like I’ve left you with much of a choice, now, have I?”

He sounded so…proud of himself, and all you could do was cry as he brushed past you. He closed the door for you, noticing that you were struggling to move, and he kept his hand on the wood, his chest grazing your back as he pressed his face into your hair. You heard him deeply inhale, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I told you how this would end,” he whispered. “I gave you a chance to be smart about this.”

You went to move away from him, but his other hand shot out to grip your arm.

“You’re the one who made things way more difficult than they needed to be.” he continued. “We had a good thing going…and then you had to go and get sensitive and sentimental.”

When he forced you to face him, you kept your eyes on the collar of his shirt. The silence stretched as you refused to look at him, and you eventually heard Rafe heave a sigh. He let your arm go, and you watched him reach into his pocket, disappointed but not surprised by the roll of one hundred dollar bills he pulled out. When he straightened, he took your hand and placed the money in your palm, clasping your hands together.

A few more tears escaped when his fingers threaded through yours.

“Do you still feel like fighting this?” he quietly asked. “Let me know, right now, because I have all the time—and money—in the world.”

He slowly pulled you closer.

“You don’t.”

You shakily exhaled, reluctantly lifting your gaze to meet his own. You stared at one another for what felt like too long, and when he leaned in, taking your silence as defeat, you let him kiss you. It was a salty kiss, your own tears mixing in, but Rafe didn’t seem to mind, moving his lips against yours with a growing smile. His arm snaked its way around your waist, and the animalistic noise he let out told you just how excited he was to have you back under his thumb.

The couch seemed sufficient enough for him, bringing you both to it as he peeled your clothes off. You shuddered as the air hit your naked skin, thoughtlessly moving closer to his own body heat, and Rafe pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he laid you down. It felt like ages since you’d last slept with him, but you knew that wasn’t why you were trembling.

You were trembling because you finally realized you were sleeping with a monster. Before, Rafe had just been an opportunistic asshole to you. Rich, spoiled, selfish, the list went on, but now he was so much more than that. He was now someone who’d raped you on more than one occasion, and who had proved that he’d do anything to make you completely reliant on no one but him.

How else could he ensure that you’d never leave him? Never have any other choices but him? You’d eventually have to leave Outer Banks one day, you knew that to be true if you ever wanted a life independent of him, but that video could follow you around for the rest of your life, and very probably would.

When Rafe sheathed himself inside of you, stretching you out in a way that was regularly familiar to you, you gasped. The blond wasted no time in adopting a steady pace, fucking you hard against your couch, his fingers pressing into the arm of it. His grunts were soft in your ears, and despite your combined hatred and fear of him, you weren’t able to swallow down the whimpers that escaped your lips too.

You didn’t know what kind of hard on Rafe had for fucking someone he deemed so far beneath him, even more so to go through so much trouble of forcing you right back into his bed. You didn’t understand it one bit, and part of you never wanted to. You didn’t want to understand a thing that went on inside of his head, didn’t want to understand the thought process behind doing what he’d done to you.

His fingers scraped down your thigh before yanking you forward as he sat up some, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you. He was focused on the sight, lips parting as he panted from above you. He didn’t lean back down until your leg was over his shoulder, preventing you from moving much as he used you to chase his high, hips repeatedly curving against yours and forcing you to grip the couch.

“I missed this pussy so much,” he murmured, lips grazing the corner of your mouth as he spoke. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You hadn’t before, but you did, now.

When his hand landed on your throat, it didn’t hurt, but his thumb applied just enough pressure to keep you alert.

“I’ll stop calling your friends dirty Pogues if that makes you feel better,” he whispered, a gentle kiss from his lips to yours. “...but you still belong to me.”

[tender-rosiey]

maybe jelly — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: gojo getting jealous? 👁️👁️

you arrive at jujutsu high, as you prepare for your guest lecture. you’ve given these talks before, but this time, something feels a little different—satoru is acting strange.

not that he’s ever normal, but today he seems extra…dramatic.

“you’re going to kill it, babe,” satoru says, draping his arm over your shoulders as you walk toward the classroom. his blindfold hides his eyes, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze, more focused than usual.

“you okay?” you ask, glancing at him with a teasing grin. “you seem a little... off.”

“me? off? never,” he replies, lips pulling into his trademark smirk. “just making sure no one gets too cozy with my brilliant wife. gotta make sure these kids remember you’re taken.”

you roll your eyes playfully, “I think everybody and their mother know that, satoru.”

time passes by, and now, you stand at the front of the lecture hall at jujutsu high, wrapping up your talk.

the students seem genuinely engaged, and one in particular, a young sorcerer named ren, is practically bouncing with enthusiasm, asking follow-up questions.

“and how did you manage to seal that curse without any physical confrontation?” ren asks, his voice brimming with admiration and curiosity.

before you could respond, satoru appears at your side with his usual confidence, his presence instantly commanding attention, “well, she is the wife of the gojo satoru. kinda comes with the territory,” he interjects, flashing his signature grin.

you shoot him an exasperated look, “I’m pretty sure my skills had something to do with it.”

satoru leans in close, nuzzling against your cheek affectionately before pulling back slightly. “oh, of course, sweetheart. you’re amazing, but it doesn’t hurt to be married to the strongest sorcerer around, right?”

ren blinks, clearly caught off guard by the interaction.

he glances between you and satoru, his expression a mix of confusion and awe. “I wasn’t aware you were married,” he mutters, his gaze flickering between you and satoru as if trying to process this new information.

you smile and give satoru a jab into his ribs that he takes like a champ, “yeah, he likes to remind people. it’s kind of his thing.”

satoru, never one to miss an opportunity to make a grand statement, leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of your head.

his arm slips casually around your waist, “just keeping things clear. y'know, in case anyone forgets that I get the honor of calling you mine.”

ren tries to steer the conversation back to his question, “so, about the sealing technique…”

satoru cuts him off again, stepping slightly in front of you with a playful yet firm stance.

“hey, hey, let’s not bombard her with too many questions now. she’s been on her feet alllll day, talking about all the cool stuff she’s done and showing everybody just how badass she is.”

you roll your eyes but can’t suppress a small smile. stepping around him to face ren again, you continue, “ignore him. the technique I used requires focusing on—”

satoru clears his throat dramatically, pulling you back to his side and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, eyes boring into the poor boy even through his blindfold.

“you know what I think? I think my lovely wife deserves a break. maybe some alone time with her handsome, strong, and incredibly talented husband?”

you raise an eyebrow at him, your tone teasing. “handsome and humble, I see.”

satoru’s grin widens, and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I can be both when it comes to you.”

you are about to retort back, but then you remember that ren is still here.

you turn to the boy with a smile and assure him, “anyway, ren, if you want to chat more about techniques, we can catch up later. after my husband gets over himself,” you hiss at the man who raises his hands in surrender.

ren, now visibly flustered and unsure, mumbled, “uh, I’ll… catch up with you later then. thanks for the talk!”

ren dashes out the room, slamming the door behind him. you tap your feet against the ground for a few minutes, before you elbow satoru again.

he stays standing up, chest puffed out and a big grin plastered on his face. you deadpan as you stare at your husband, “you really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

satoru shrugs nonchalantly, still holding you close. he hums, giving you a kiss on the forehead, “what can I say? I don’t like sharing. besides, you are the wife of the strongest sorcerer; it’s important to make sure that’s clear.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile helplessly at your husband. your fingers find their way through his hair making him instantly melt. you giggle at your puddle of a husband, “you’re so lucky I love you.”

he tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I love you more, soooooooooooo—”

“oh my god, I get it,” you laugh as you try to push him off. he resists with a whine as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder. you yield and let the silence fill the room.

he hums softly as you both sway mindlessly.

“but y’know,” you pull back slightly, smiling up at him, “you really do like to make an impression.”

he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mischief, “just doing my part to ensure everyone knows how lucky I am and how lucky they should feel to be in the presence of my extraordinary wife.”

he intertwines your left hands together and raises them slightly, showing off the rings. the sun makes them shine quite brightly, and it makes you sigh with a smile and satoru let out a huff of laughter.

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[sourcherryandsprinkles]

boob obsessed ethan!!

I have very few smut requests for Scream characters and I'm in that mood to write that... Please send more for Ethan and Billy (I can do Billy x reader x Stu too)

Warnings: 18+, boobs touching/sucking, Ethan being obsessed

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It all started clicking one night you and Ethan were studying for finals. He was having difficulty concentrating, easily distracted by flipping his pen or even whistling, so you decided to give him a little bit of motivation.

‘’If you get five answers right, I’ll show you my boobs.’’ 

Automatically, Ethan’s eyes lowered to your boobs — still covered by your shirt — and bit the inside of his mouth to not moan. 

‘’And if you get ten right,’’ you added, ‘’I’ll let you touch them.’’ 

His jaw almost dropped. There was no way you were being serious. No one ever made deals like that and honored their part of the deal — except in his late night fantasies.

‘’Y-you’re playing,’’ Ethan said, shifting on the bed, feeling himself harden just at the thought of your breasts.

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘’I’m not. You helped me when I was struggling last semester, now it’s my turn to help you. Do we have a deal?’’ 

Seventeen minutes later, you put the pile of flashcards down and Ethan held his breath, knowing what was coming. He got five answers right. It was an understatement to say he was nervous, however he was also so excited — very excited. 

You grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off, then unclasped your bra, nipples hardening from the cool air of the dorm. 

Watched intently, Ethan let out a strangled moan, his eyes wide with wonder and staring directly at your chest. ‘’Holy fuck, those tits are so nice. Way better than what I imagined through your shirt,’’ he said, his blunt honesty making you laugh. ‘’Shit. Did I say that out loud?’’ His face flushed, embarrassed at himself. He really wanted to crawl into a hole and die right here.

‘’You did,’’ you confirmed. You gave Ethan a soft smile, pulling him out of his trance by placing your hand on his kneecap. ‘’Let’s not get distracted. If you want to touch, you gotta give me five more good answers. Remember?’’ 

Ethan nodded, shifting again to cover the slight tent in his pants. Controlling that part of his body was impossible. He took a deep breath and you hit him with the next question. 

It was harder to concentrate this time, his eyes dropping back to your chest every three seconds, but he did it, successfully correctly answering five more flashcards.  

‘’Can I touch them, now?’’ he asked shyly, his fingers tingling with excitement. 

‘’Go for it.’’ 

That's exactly what he did. Ethan placed both of his hands over your boobs, covering them with his palms and splayed fingers like a kid discovering something for the first time. He squished them both, his fingers sinking into the softness of your breasts. 

Ethan could feel his cock twitch slightly in his pants as he continued to feel you. ‘’Oh my god. Oh wow,’’ he said, breathing heavily. His finger tweaked your nipple, experimentally pinching at it and rolling it between his fingers, drawing out a soft gasp from you when he used more pressure than you were expecting. ‘’I could cum just from touching them—’’

‘’Ethan!’’ you gasped, shocked by his words. 

His eyes snapped up and he mumbled apologies, but you just laughed.

—

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[luveline]

JADEEEE i'd love to see an interaction between hotch and teacher!reader outside of school? maybe jack sees her first and step away from hotch for a moment to say hi, hotch gets scared when he realizes jack left but reader comes with him just a moment later because she's panicking too like 'why are you alone? where's your dad?' and jack takes her to him. is that ok??? i hope so! love you <3333

I love you ty for your request! —Hotch flirts with Jack’s favourite teacher, because he’s never as subtle as he should be. fem, 2k

Jack reads a couple of books a week now his dad is home more often. His mom used to read to him some because he loves them, but she preferred to tell her own on the fly. His dad isn’t as good a story teller, and when he does try the stories don’t end up very happy, so they read. Sometimes two or three books a night if they're short ones. 

With Jack’s library card they can borrow ten books. With his dad’s, another ten. Twenty altogether, enough to last the month if they’re careful or if dad gets called away a lot, which he usually does. 

“Can I look for Super Pup?” Jack asks his dad. 

Aaron sits on a chair a little too small for him in the kids section. “What?” he asks, looking up from the back of the large picture book Jack’s just handed him. 

“Super Pup?” 

“I’ll help, buddy.” Hotch looks like he’s going to stand, then hesitates. “In a second. Don’t go where I can’t see you, Jackers.” 

Hotch is tired. He didn’t come home until very late, but he’d woken Aunt Jess anyway and, when Jack woke, there his dad was sleeping in the beanbag by his bed. He’s sore all over now and exhausted from a restless night. Jack feels sorry, as much as he can for being six nearly seven, but he also knows that his dad doesn’t mind the hurting. It was nice to wake up together after a few days apart. 

And now he’s brought him to the library, and after that they’ll go for groceries. Jack should be quick. If they get home before dinner time his dad will ask him if he wants to nap together, which is the best. They just lay there in the big bed with the fan on and snooze until it’s too late to cook, so his dad breaks out the takeout menus, and promises he won’t do it again with a quick hug from behind. 

As though it makes him a terrible parent for feeding his kid. Jack can’t know how guilty it makes Hotch feel to do it, and Hotch doesn’t seem to notice how much Jack loves these days where his dad is exhausted and totally his. 

Jack runs around looking for Super Pup. Hotch’s phone beeps in his pocket, and he fights to keep his eyes open.

A ways away, you browse the fiction section in a crouch, knees somehow totally under your skirt, flicking aside spines of skinny books for something you can read at lunch time. Something that doesn’t require much attention, and could be read in short intervals. You used to demand a half hour to yourself when you first started teaching, but that was before the lonely kids started cropping up. Kids with no friends, or sad smiles, who want company and quiet alike. 

You reach for a pink-spined Japanese translation as a little hand pats your elbow. You’re so used to kids you say, “What’s up?” before you remember you aren’t at work. 

You turn in your crouch to look behind you. “Oh, hi, Jack! What are you doing here?” 

“Me and dad are looking for books.” 

You smile at him genuinely, happy to see your favourite student, even if you’re terrified on the inside at the prospect of his father. He’s the most gentlemanly man you’ve ever met. He’s arduous in how respectful he is, he’s understanding, and he’s tall, dark, and handsome. It is a chilling collection of traits. You stumble whenever you have to talk to him. 

But Jack is easy. You and Jack talk every day. “What sorts of books? Just for fun?” 

“I want to read Super Pup.” 

The kids love Super Pup and his magic bark. You stand promptly, suddenly much taller than Jack as you brush down your skirt. “Wait,” you say. Mr. Hotchner gets called away for work all the time, but he wouldn’t leave Jack alone, would he? “Where’s your dad? You’re not by yourself, are you?” 

Jack laughs. “No! I’m looking for Super Pup! Dad’s tired.” 

You can’t decipher exactly what those two things have to do with each other, but you can guess how panicked his dad will be to find Jack so far from the kid’s section. Fiction is the other side of the library. “How did you end up over here?” You offer your hand. “Should we go back and find your dad?” 

“I saw your skirt, Miss L/N. I like the flowers.”

He takes your hand, clumsy to your gentleness. “Thanks, honey. Let’s go find dad before he calls his scary friends and has your name on the news.” 

You get to the kids section slowly. Endearingly so, but nerve-wracking, too, because Mr. Hotchner can be intimidating. Jack likes holding your hand, you think, clinging to your fingers as he guides you across the library, past the staircase down to the first floor, and back to the kids section. 

“Jack?” Mr. Hotchner asks loudly, turned away from you both near the graphic novel selection. “Jack.” 

“Mr. Hotchner,” you say. 

“Dad!” 

He spins on his heel. His shoulders relax noticeably, but the stress in his gaze remains. 

“Jack, I said stay where I can see you,” he says, not half as scolding as he could be as Jack lets go of your hand and runs to his legs, where he stops. “Please, buddy. You gotta listen to me.” 

Jack turns between you and his dad with a smile, “But look, it’s Miss L/N.” 

“I can see,” he says softly. 

Mr. Hotchner leans down, taking Jack up into his arms with impressive ease, and begins the walk to you where you’ve stayed. 

“I hope he didn’t interrupt you,” he says. 

“Please,” you say, “he’s my favourite. Just–” You wince. “Don’t tell anybody at school I said that, Jack. Please.” 

“I think we can keep this secret,” Mr. Hotchner says. 

“He was just telling me that you’re looking for Super Pup. If you don’t find it, we have copies at the school library. And we can always order you one.” 

Mr. Hotchner gives you a small, and what you know to be rare, smile. “I don’t think he even looked.” 

“I did look!” Jack disagrees, though his disagreement barely has any attitude to it, a credit to his upbringing. 

“You clearly weren’t looking in the right place.” 

“I was too. How would you know, you were sleeping!” 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Mr. Hotchner says to you. 

You tuck your hands behind your back. “It’s okay, Mr. Hotchner, I believe you. In my classroom we like to say we’re resting our eyes.” 

“Aaron,” he says, as he says whenever you speak to each other, and as you always forget to call him. Not a demand but a suggestion you’d swear to be bordering affectionate. 

You’ve been Jack’s teacher for two months this year, and almost the entire year previously. In the summer when they leave, you’ll find out if you’re moving up a grade with him, but until then, you’ve made the most of such a nice kid, and you aren’t shy to tell that to Aaron. You don’t mind that Jack spends his lunch time with you. He embodies all of the reasons that pushed you to become a teacher in the first place. 

And his father is a good reason to stay. He’s one of the only nice (hot) dads. 

You do worry often that he can read your expression. His lips have quirked into a bemused smile, what’s so funny? He’s terrifying. 

“Aaron,” you rush to say, and fill the silence you’ve made, “It’s nice to see you.” 

“It’s nice to see you, too. You’ll see me on Monday, so you’ll be sick of me by Tuesday.” 

You rock ever so gently on your heels. “You aren’t working.” 

“It’s Jack’s birthday.” 

You nod, pleased. “I know! I know, we already talked about what cupcakes he wants, didn’t we? Everybody’s gonna have rainbow sprinkle, and for a treat we’re going to watch a movie before lunch.” 

“Do you do that for every kid?” 

“I do.” 

“How do you afford it?” He lowers his gaze. “I just mean, it’s expensive to do that for every birthday.” 

“Luckily for me and unluckily for the kids, quite a few of them have birthdays outside of term time. Thirty students is three trays of ten, and that doesn’t usually break the bank, even if things get tight. But… I don’t know, I guess I just have to make room when it does. It’s special to feel special, and,” —you smile, exuberant and a little shy at once, clutching your elbow in your hand— “Jack always makes everybody else feel special. ” 

The boy in question turns into his fathers chest, pleased beyond words. 

Aaron gives you a long, long look. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Oh, you’re welcome.” 

You say goodbye to Aaron and Jack and wish them both a good weekend, which you spend wondering what the pressure of Aaron’s hand would be like on your shoulder, and if you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking about it at all. He seems like he’d give a good hug. You catch yourself picturing him opening a door and ban yourself from thinking of him at all. 

Monday morning, you stand at the door ushering your students inside, and you can’t help beaming when Jack and Aaron arrive. 

“Aw, Jack, where’s your birthday badge?” you ask, fall air nipping your nose. 

“He was feeling too shy,” Aaron says. He’s in casual dress again. Some men should be banned from half-zips, it’s inhumane. 

“You were?” You bend just a bit, hand in your pocket. “Well, I thought you might be, so I brought my badge from home. It’s super shiny, bud. What do you think?” 

You show Jack the badge, It’s My Birthday in silver against a rainbow backdrop. 

Maybe it was silly to bring, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t want to wear one, and maybe he should. He deserves for all his friends to give him some attention, and to have them fight over who gets to sit with him at lunch. 

“We have something for you,” Jack says. 

You stand straight. “You do?” 

Aaron hadn’t been expecting to be the one to give it to you, that much is obvious. He hesitates for a second before he passes you a small brown box, the top of which is made up of four leaves folded into a dome. You have an inkling of what it might me. 

“Thank you… Can I open it now?” you ask. 

“I think you should wait for lunch,” Aaron says. 

You raise your eyebrows but abide by his suggestion, murmuring another thank you as Aaron bends to give Jack a hug. “Have a good day. I’ll be here to pick you up, I promise,” he says.

It’s a great day. The kids are excited for cupcakes and overjoyed to get them before lunch. Not a crumb goes uneaten, and as they all sing for Jack with his borrowed badge, he’s actually happy for the attention. He doesn’t eat with you at lunch, which is a great thing even if you love his company. 

Alone, you fold back the leaves of your mysterious box and smile like an idiot when you confirm what’s inside. A cupcake slightly more sophisticated than rainbow sprinkle spreads icing across the brown carrier, and a business card leans against the other side. 

The front of the card is as you’d expected it to be spelling out Aaron’s contact details from work, and you combust thinking he wants you to call him, but it’s the back that you’d been meant to see. You read it as you fold down the leaves of the cupcake carrier, 

Thirty students, three trays of ten. What does that leave for you? —Aaron. 

Flirt, you think firmly, happily. He’s such a flirt. 

[sparklingchim]

you're losing me 03 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

rating: 18+

warnings: oral (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, spit kink 👉🏼👈🏼, oc is horny for her man 😋☝️, dirty talk, implied shower sex!! teasing, her dad is a meanie </3, but jk lowkey too :') ... but he's saur sweet as well 🥺 ugh!!, jk's niece yumi is the cutest ever <3, oc feeling sad/lonely/neglected/not loved enough, u know just the usual :')

summary: probing questions and rising tensions cloud the family dinner.

a/n: she posted !!!! 🫢 are u proud of me !! 🫂

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Something tickles your back.

You roll over on your side, mumbling incoherent words.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispers. “You’re having a bad dream?”

You nod against the pillow. You don’t remember much now that you’re awake, but the dream left you feeling upset.

He pulls your body to his, keeping a safe arm around you.

“You’re okay now?” His knuckles trace softly over your cheek.

Fluttering your eyes open, you turn your head to him. “What time is it?”

“Just past six.” Jungkook pulls up the strap of your lacy nightgown. “Gotta get up for work soon.”

“No.” You hug his chest. “They won’t care if you go in a little later.”

A faint smile curves his mouth. “But I care,” he says. “The company doesn’t work without me.”

You frown and dig your pointer finger to your chest. “Me too.”

Jungkook catches your finger and intertwines his hand with yours. “I’ll be back early today,” he promises.

And while you’d usually be excited about it, you’re a bit frustrated that he’s only promising it because you’re having a family dinner at your place this evening.

“Dad would be upset if you show up late.”

“I know. He’s been watching my every step these days.”

Your dad once trusted Jungkook without question, but now he seems to be keeping a closer eye on him. You remember the day you told your dad about dating Jungkook. His expression had softened, a rare sign of pride. Though you knew it wasn’t because he was happy his daughter found a loving partner. Still, you tried to absorb any positive attention from him, recognizing that his approval was more about how the relationship could benefit him.

Your father has always been more interested in what you create or gain and how it can serve his interests.

“Is he upset with you?” you ask. Brows furrowing as you think about your own question.

“Not yet. But he’s still eager for a partnership between our companies and wants to launch a joint venture.”

You pull a face, groan a little. “Don’t tell me more. I don’t want any knowledge of this, so my father can use me to get what he wants from you.”

“He shouldn’t dare.” A stern look crosses his face. “I won’t let him drag you into it.”

But just because you’re curious and way too nosy, you ask one more question. “What do you have that he does not?”

“I have more connections than he does,” Jungkook says. One corner of his mouth slightly pulling upward. “Your father can be ruthless, but people like working with me. I’m way nicer than he is.”

“You are?” you question with a teasing lilt to your voice. You drag your finger across his chest. “Then be nice and spend some time with me before you go to work.” Your finger travels down his abs, stops at his boxer briefs. An amused smile blooms on his face as he watches you innocently bat your eyelashes at him.

With a playful grin, unable to resist you, he leans in closer. His hands find your waist. As your back sinks into the plush mattress underneath, you feel his weight pressing against you. His lips capture yours in a deep, lingering kiss, and you can feel the heat between you both rising.

He pushes your silky nightgown up your tummy, continuing his kisses on your neck to your chest and then your ribs and your belly button. Little, satisfied moans leave your mouth.

“Spread your legs for me,” he whispers against your skin. With his hands on your thighs, he gets comfortable on his tummy.

“I didn’t even get to tell you about the exciting new offer I got yesterday.”

“Tell me, love,” he says softly, continuing to peck your exposed skin. His breath tickles your thigh.

“Dasom called and told me Calvin Klein wants me as an ambassador,” you explain. The same joy floods your tummy as when your manager told you about the news, but maybe it’s Jungkook’s mouth teasing you on your inner thighs.

“That’s exciting.” His thumb rubs over your ribs in appreciation. “You’ve been wanting to work with them for so long.”

“I know! But you know what’s even more fun?” Your voice drowns in excitement, eyes sparking with enthusiasm as you look down at Jungkook between your legs.

He licks a stripe up your clothed pussy. Your inhale shakily.

“Jungkook.” You tug at his hair to make him look at you. “Are you listening?”

“I am listening.” He keeps looking at you while he tugs your panties to the side. “Go on,” he tells you, sucking on your clit right after.

Your back arches. A surprised moan bubbles from your throat.

“They- they want us two to do a shoot together,” you utter between heavy breaths. “Said it would be great for their new campaign. They love our chemistry."

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s eyes lock onto yours, and you suddenly find it hard to hold his gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the sheets between you.

“They thought about an underwear shoot, but we could do whatever we’re comfortable with.” Your tummy clenches when Jungkook adds two fingers. “They just- Jungkook, fuck.” He curls his fingers and grazes your sweet spot, pleasure jolting throughout your entire body. “They just really want us both for their campaign.”

Your fingers tug at his messy hair, hips moving against his face.

“What do – what do you think?” You bite your lip. Just a little bit more and you’re cumming.

His mouth leaves your clit. You whine at the loss. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.”

“You’d be okay with it?”

“Yeah.” He gives your pussy little kisses, trailing upwards to give your tummy a few too.

You impatiently push his head back between your legs. “Please, finish what you started.”

Jungkook hums in satisfaction. “So well behaved. That’s my good girl.” His tongue glides over your clit while his fingers move at a languid pace.

“Remember the perfume ad?” you ask, eyes slowly closing as he continues to torture your swollen nub with his tongue. “They only saw your back in the video and loved it so much. They’ll... they’ll die seeing this campaign.”

His left hand travels up your body, vanishing underneath the soft fabric that just barely covers your chest. “Do you have a date?” he asks, mouth full. He makes you feel dizzy.

“No-uh – oh.” You gasp when he pinches your pebbled nipple. “Not soon, though. Sometime next year, I think.”

“Sounds good.” His fingers are deep inside you. Wet noises fill the room and you want to cum so badly.

“Faster, please.” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, heat spreading over your entire body.

Jungkook looks so hot between your thighs. Eating you out with his skilled mouth, his cheeks flush a dusty pink as he watches your gentle reactions through his still sleep-laden eyes

“Jungkook.” The creases around his eyes soften when he hears you moan his name in a meek, lewd way. He can feel you being so close to coming undone, and he’s eager to see you writhe for him, make a little mess.

“Gonna cum for me, love?” The way he asks is so sweet that you nod eagerly You don’t ever deny him anything, wanting nothing more than to be good for him.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to slip between breathy moans. “Wanna cum for you.”

When the pleasure finally hits its peak and you’re so full with it, your thighs begin to tremble around his face and your head sinks into the pillow. Jungkook’s tongue continues to swipe over your sensitive clit and you whimper, pushing him away.

“Felt so good, didn’t it?” He withdraws his fingers from your clenching walls and runs his thumb over your wet, creamy pussy. He licks them clean and you swallow. He’s so irresistibly attractive it leaves you feeling light-headed.

Rising from his spot between your legs, he holds your face. His fingers dig into your cheeks. “Open your mouth.” When you do, he spits in your mouth and you swallow the mixture of your arousal combined with his spit.

“So good,” he murmurs, patting your head. “I’ll go take a shower.”

You throw your arms around his little waist. “No, stay a little more.”

“I have to leave soon, love.”

His semi is poking your tummy through his briefs and you wriggle around a little just to show him what he’s missing out on.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, sighing deeply. “Join me in the shower?”

You giggle, tugging at his hair to kiss him on the lips. “Fine.”

As he walks towards the bathroom, you take a moment to sit on the edge of the bed, your nightgown falling back over your body, feeling the lingering warmth of his body. You hear the sound of the shower turning on, and the steam starts to drift out into the bedroom.

Before joining him, you decide to select today’s perfumes for the both of you. You pause in front of the vanity, eyeing your collection with a silly excitement.

Chanel Chance Eau Tendre? Delightful and light, but not today. Marc Jacobs Daisy? Sweet and floral. Maison Francis Kurkdijan Baccarat Rouge 540? A favourite, but it doesn’t feel right for the moment. Gucci Bloom? Tempting with its fresh notes.

Finally, you settle on Dior J’adore – you’re just obsessed with Dior scents.

Moving along the row of Jungkook’s fragrances, your finger dances over each bottle, contemplating.

Creed Aventus? A bit too fruity. Tom Ford Oud Wood? Very exotic. Dior Sauvage? Immediate skip. Bleu de Chanel? Elegant but maybe another day.

You pause at Tom Ford Amber Absolute. That exotic scent – ugh, you’ve never liked it at all. Jungkook used to wear it occasionally until he noticed your distaste and stopped.

At last, your finger lands on Yves Saint Laurent La Nuit de l’Homme. You love the cedarwood and vetiver smell in this one. Perfect.

With a satisfied smile, you set the chosen bottles on the counter.

“Love?” Jungkook calls from the bathroom.

“’m coming!”

~

You’ve successfully avoided your father all evening, managing to stay out of his way whenever possible.

You know he’s itching to discuss the incident from a few weeks ago when you were seen at your gynaecologist. He loves prying into your life and demanding answers, a way of “checking up” on his youngest daughter that feels more intrusive than caring.

So, as he’s deep in conversation with Jungkook’s brother and dad, you seize the opportunity to slip out of the living room. You're in search of Jungkook, who left a few minutes ago, and you could really use his comforting presence.

As you move quietly through the house, you hear voices coming from the dining room. You pause at the doorway and catch Jungkook’s mum ask in a hushed tone, “Is the same happening as with Eunji?”

“No. Everything is fine,” Jungkook reassures her.

“I don’t want to witness something similar again,” she expresses, clearly distressed.

Jungkook’s soothing voice replies, “There is nothing for you to worry. I promise.”

Your tummy knots with unease.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the mention of Jungkook’s ex-wife only heightens your discomfort.

You’re desperate to know why his mother is mentioned Eunji and what the conversation is about, but you decide to ask Jungkook later, in a subtle manner.

With your eyes fixated to the floor and thoughts muddled, you enter the kitchen. Sunhee, the chef who has been part of your family since you were little, is preparing dinner for you tonight.

“Who was the cause of that sad face, my dear?” Sunhee asks, worry crinkling her forehead while she puts the food on the plates.

“I’m not sad,” you deny, leaning against the counter. “Not yet, at least.”

“Why are you anticipating becoming sad? That’s not a good thing to do,” Sunhee says, shaking her head in disapproval. “Who are you hiding from?”

She knows you so well. Ever since Sunhee became your family’s chef, it’s been your habit to hide in the kitchen when the atmosphere at home became too overwhelming for you. When your father was angry or your parents argued, you’d slip into the kitchen, and Sunhee would lift you onto the counter to watch her cook.

You used to just hide in your room, but you found that life was easier to bear when you didn’t have to carry all the sadness alone. When you were ready to face the world again, Sunhee would slip sweets into your hands. You mum hated treats before dinner and never allowed them, so this became your little secret with Sunhee.

It might seem trivial, but those moments meant the world to you when you were a little girl.

“My dad,” you huff. “He’s been unbearable since...the pictures.”

Sunhee gives you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear that, dear. I know how tiring his behaviour can be.”

“He’s like someone straight out of the gossip rags.”

Sunhee chuckles softly. “He does have a flair for drama, doesn’t he? But you shouldn’t let it get to you. You’ve always been good at handling him.”

“It’s just exhausting.”

She pats your hand gently. “Don’t let him bring you down. Remember, this kitchen is your sanctuary.” The little anxious ball in your tummy fades with each comforting word Sunhee speaks. “Dinner will be ready shortly. You can sit down in the dining room. I’ll let everyone know.”

“I’ll do that for you,” you offer, and leave the kitchen.

Heading to the living room, you announce, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Have you seen Yumi?” Jungkook’s brother asks, referring to his four-year-old daughter.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen her,” you answer and he immediately gets up. She must be up to no good if she’s been unsupervised for longer than ten minutes.

“Yumi! Where are you?” Jungkook’s brother calls in the hallway. “Dinner’s ready!”

Loud, hectic thumps erupt from upstairs.

“When did she get up there?” you ask puzzled.

Jungkook and his mother emerge from the dining room.

“What happened?” he asks.

Before anyone can respond, Yumi’s usual small pitter-patter of footsteps becomes a series of high-pitched clatters. She appears at the top of the stairs, dressed up in your clothes.

“Oh, God,” her dad utters.

“She found ___ closet.” An endeared smile crinkles Jungkook’s eyes.

Yumi proudly walks down the stairs in your Louboutins, a hand on the rail to keep her from tumbling. Jungkook rushes towards her, keeping a safe hand on her shoulder.

“___!” she exclaims, her wide smile puffing her cheeks. She’s wearing your soft pink corset from Dior and your mini skirt from Giambattista Valli’s vintage collection over her own dress.

“Had fun in my wardrobe?” You laugh as she nods vigorously.

“You have soo many clothes!” she says, eyes turning big. “And everything is sparkly!” She turns to her dad. “Daddy, I want a sparkly bag like dis too!” Yumi shoves your Prada clutch up in the air.

Jungkook’s brother emits a strained sigh, although a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you have a sparkly bag?”

Yumi frowns. “Not dis sparkly.” She points her hand at the bag for emphasis.

You giggle. Yumi was raised right. The sparklier the better.

“I hope you didn’t leave a mess in there,” he warns her.

“Daddy, the bag!” she yells, ignoring his words to avoid trouble, dangling it in the air.

Her dad ushers her into the dining room.

“Who made the bag? I’ll just buy her the same one,” he whispers in your ear.

“It’s a vintage Prada clutch from the fall/winter 2015 collection,” you answer, a confused pout gracing your face. “It’s no longer available for purchase.”

His eyes widen. He watches his daughter climb onto the chair with Jungkook’s assistance, the crystal embellished clutch sitting on the decked table near drinks and food that could spill onto it.

“Then we better take care of it.” He rushes to the table and places it somewhere safer.

As everyone settles into their seats for dinner, Jungkook’s brother breaks the silence, “Hyein was so upset she would miss out on Sunhee’s food.” His wife is pregnant and felt sick today, so she couldn’t come.

“How far along is she?” your mother asks.

“Just entered the third trimester.”

“I’m getting a baby brother!” Yumi exclaims, eyes wide with anticipation.

Jungkook pats her hair and falls into a quiet conversation with her.

“We’re very excited, but she’s been having a rough time lately.”

“Well, I hope she feels better soon,” your father says, his tone temporarily softening. “Take good care of her.”

As the conversation continues with lighter topics, you feel a momentary relief. But soon enough, you feel your father’s gaze shift back to you, a familiar sense of scrutiny returning.

“I wonder when it’ll be time for my daughters,” he says pointedly.

It’s funny he is using the plural form, given that, as far as you know, he never brings up this topic with your older sister, Jinah.

“I think we’ve talked about this last week,” you answer monotonous, eyes set on the plate before you.

“With you I’m just wondering whether I would receive the news from you personally or wake up to headlines telling me,” he says.

Your father called you as soon as the pictures were released, as hungry for answers as the press. Even accused you of hiring the paparazzi yourself when you told him you had merely gone to a check-up and assured him you weren’t pregnant; Jungkook was just comforting you after a rough day.

You used to pull a lot of silly stunts as a teenager to get your father’s attention. But staging a scene for the paparazzi, crying in your husband’s arms over a pregnancy scare, would be the last thing you’d do to get him to check up on you.

You did have your share of attention-seeking antics, like being spotted leaving the club with the son of your father’s rival company, stealing his jet or throwing lavish parties and inviting a mix of celebrities and socialites when your father was away on a trip.

“Didn’t Jinah talk about wanting babies in an interview? Ask her for grandchildren.”

Tilting his head, your father gives you a disapproving glance. “She’s busy with her law firm, don’t you think?”

The table falls silent, with only the faint sound of your breath as you open your lips to speak. Before you can respond, Jungkook steps in to answer for you.

“___ is quite busy herself – launching her clothing brand soon, starting the filming of her first drama, handling the countless photoshoots she has weekly.” Jungkook subtly places his hand on your bare thigh, the comforting press of his wedding band against your skin.

Your father’s features soften as he shifts his gaze to Jungkook. It still saddens you a bit that he seems to approve of everyone but you – it haunts you in the middle of the night, knowing that all you ever wanted as a child was to feel deserving of one of his approving smiles.

“I know she’s busy. It irks me what she keeps herself busy with.”

Jungkook is about to respond, but his mother steps in. “Your acting debut? Oh, I’m so excited.”

Jungkook’s hand slides to your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t take it to heart.

You remind yourself that you’ve long since stopped letting these comments get under your skin. Yet, a part of you – the little girl still longing for approval – feels a pang of sadness that won’t quiet fade.

As the conversation shifts, you find yourself staring at your plate, pushing the food around with your fork. The weight of your father’s disapproval feels heavier than ever. The rest of the meal passes in a blur of small talk and clinking utensils. You laugh at the right moments, nod when expected, but your mind drifts elsewhere. Eventually, the plates are cleared, and everyone begins to disperse.

“We should get going. It’s been a long day, and Hyein is alone at home.”

Yumi tugs at her dad’s sleeve, her eyes wide and hopeful. She glances over at you and Jungkook, then looks down shyly.

“What is it, Yumi?” her dad asks, crouching down to her level.

She whispers something in his ear, and he chuckles. “She wants to ask you guys something.”

You smile, kneeling down.

“Can we have a sleepover?” Yumi asks, her voice small and tentative. “Please?”

Jungkook grins and looks at you for confirmation. You nod saying, “Of course, you can. We’d love to have you.”

“Yay!” Yumi exclaims, jumping up and down excitedly. She rushes over to hug both you and Jungkook tightly.

As everyone gathers their things, your father watches you intently. His expression is hard to read, and for a moment, it seems like he might say something. But he quickly looks away, the familiar disapproval etched into his features.

You expected nothing less from him.

~

“Is Uncle Jungkook not playing dress up with us?” Yumi asks as she looks through the dress section of your closet.

“I’ll look for him, yeah?”

Stepping out of your walk-in closet and your bedroom, you walk down the hallway.

“Jungkook?” You hear his voice coming closer, and soon spot him walking briskly in your direction.

“Jungkook,” you call, trying to grab his bicep but he continues walking, and your fingers merely graze his arm. “Yumi wants to play before going to bed.”

Only when he turns around do you see him pressing his phone against his ear. Jungkook puts his pointer finger against his mouth and shushes you before he walks off in the direction of his office.

A startled laugh escapes your mouth.

As soon as your family left, his focus shifted back to his work. His excuse about being on the phone felt like a dagger, leaving you feeling disregarded and lonely – emotions you have been feeling too much lately, it’s starting to become a familiar ache in your chest, a constant reminder of the growing distance between you.

Watching Jungkook retreat to his office, you couldn’t help but wonder when it became so easy for him to prioritise work over your presence.

You turn back towards the bedroom and find Yumi standing by your open jewellery drawer, probably drawn by the bright, sparkly gems.

“Uncle Jungkook has some work to do,” you tell her.

Yumi just nods, staring at all the shimmery things in front of her. When she hears you sigh, she looks up at you, her little heart immediately sensing your change in mood.

“Are you sad?” Yumi asks, dragging her little finger over all your accessories, searching for the ones that shine the most.

“I think so,” you admit.

“Was someone mean to you?” She grabs a diamond necklace.

“A little, yeah.” You cross your arms, holding back the annoyed sigh.

Jungkook didn’t mean to make you feel upset. That would never be his intention. But you’re a sensitive person. And you’re his wife, so he should know better.

“My mommy always says when someone is mean to me to never be mean back to them, because – because that shows you are an ugly person.” She fiddles with your necklace.

“And we don’t want to be an ugly person, right?”

“No-uh.” She shakes her head, her little pigtails bouncing. “I wanna be pretty,” she says and holds the shiny necklace against her neck while looking at herself in the full-length mirror. “Where did you get this one from?”

Yumi’s second favourite game, after dress-up, is asking about the designers of your clothes and jewellery.

“It’s a Harry Winston piece. Uncle Jungkook gifted it to me,” you tell her.

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “He buys you so many sparkly things! Like that!” She points to your wedding ring. “Uncle Jungkook must love you so much. But – but he married you. So he has to.”

You help her put on the necklace. “What, you can’t love someone when you’re not married?”

Yumi shakes her head and giggles. “Noo, of course you can, silly. But you only get married when you know you will love them forever and ever.”

“You think Uncle Jungkook will love me forever?” You just feel slightly foolish for asking a child for reassurance.

She turns to you. A confused pout adorns her little face. It reminds you a bit of yourself.

“You don’t buy someone sparkly things when you don’t love them forever.”

You laugh. “Oh, is that so?” You grab her hand. “Come on, little girl. I got a few unopened gifts from designers I know you will love.”

Yumi squeals excitedly and follows you.

~

Sometime past midnight, Jungkook steps into the bedroom.

You lie in bed with your back to him. You were scrolling mindlessly on your phone – online shopping a little until Jungkook would come to bed, using his card just because. You put Yumi to bed in your guest bedroom hours ago.

“Jaehyun’s gala is in Italy next week,” he says, putting his phone on his bedside table. “You’re coming with me, right?”

You glance over your shoulder and glare at him a little. “No. Don’t wanna go all the way there just for a gala.” You hate flying. And flying to Italy to just stay there for a couple hours does not sound like something you want to do.

“We could have a little vacation for a few days.”

You tilt your head, watching him intently as if he’s setting you a trap. “How many days are we talking?” You sit up.

He ponders, probably going through his schedule in his mind. “Three days. At least.”

You sigh dramatically, though your chest feels giddy. “Fine. I’ll come. But I decide what we’re going to do every day.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “But I already know what you want to do anyway.” A little smirk dances on his lips.

“Oh, do you now?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he replies, eyes shining. “You’ll want to visit the Uffizi Gallery first, lose yourself in all that Renaissance art. Then, there’s the Pinacoteca di Brera because you’re in love with those masterpieces. Shopping at Via Montenapoleone is a given, of course.”

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably.

“You probably want to go to the Amalfi Coast too. You love the view and the town. And then dinner at La Pergola – you've been craving their dishes ever since the last time we went.” He sits down the edge of the bed, watching you with expectant eyes.

You shake your head at him. “You really do know me too well.”

His dimples appear. “Told you.” He looks so pleased with himself. “See? I like you way better like this.” Jungkook gently traces the curve of your smile with the pad of his finger. “And not when you’re glaring at me.”

“Then be nicer to me,” you huff.

His fingers hold your chin and his mouth meets yours. He kisses you so softly and you melt against him.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, love,” he whispers in between kisses. His hand is warm on your waist and he squeezes you slightly.

“Come to bed.” You plant a smooch on his jawline. “I can’t sleep without you.”

While Jungkook takes off his clothes, you lie down again, your mind racing with thoughts of what happened today.

“Why did you and Eunji separate?” you inquire, voice laced with curiosity.

You catch the exact moment Jungkook registers your question; one eyebrow lifts for a heartbeat before his lips pucker into a wistful pout, deep in thought.

He isn’t surprised by your random question. Jungkook is used to you asking things at unexpected moments. You always speak your mind when you’re with him. You’ve asked him this before, but you want to hear his answer again, especially after his mother mentioned her.

“It just didn’t work out anymore,” he says finally. He wears a pensive expression and you’d give everything to know which moments with Eunji are flashing before his eyes.

You wonder if he often reminisces about specific times with her, and your curiosity deepens. He still works with her, sees her quite often, so does he ever think about past times with her? When they were married? And a happy couple?

The thought makes your face twist into a little frown. Jungkook has you. There’s no reason for him to dwell on past relationships when he is married to you.

What kind of thoughts are these? You’ve never had them before.

“We had other plans on how our future would look like,” he tells you as he’s getting under the covers. “What’s wrong?” he asks once he looks over at you and sees your brows pulled together.

“Nothing,” you murmur, smoothing the blanket around you.

“Everything is strictly professional between us.” He’s watching you with attentive eyes. “We care more about our work than the personal stuff.”

You doubt you could say the same if you were in their shoes. But then again, dramatic as you are, you’ve never really gotten over anything in your life.

You still wonder why his mother mentioned his ex, but it doesn’t matter – she doesn’t. Jungkook loves you, and that’s all you care about.

“I know. I trust you.” With a knowing glint in your eyes, you nod once in agreement. “Have never trusted anyone as much, actually.” You turn on your side, resting your hand on his chest. He’s warm, and you feel a gentle calm settle over you.

Soft knocks interrupt you.

“Uncle Jungkook?” Yumi’s meek voice comes through from the other side. She slowly opens the door. “Can I sleep with you, please?”

Jungkook sits up. “Is something wrong?” he asks worriedly.

“Can’t sleep,” she mumbles and crawls up into your bed. Her curious eyes rake over the shiny, lacy nightgown you’re wearing as Jungkook helps her getting tucked in between the two of you. “That’s a beautiful colour,” she says sleepily, feeling the glossy material with the pads of her fingers.

“Thank you.” You smile down at her but she’s intensely staring at your nightgown with fascinated eyes.

“Such a sleepy girl and yet still wants to steal ___ clothes.” Jungkook boops her nose, and she giggles mischievously. “At this point, you just want everything that Aunt ___ wears.”

Yumi turns her head to him. “You have a very pretty girlfri – wife, Uncle Jungkook.”

Jungkook hums in agreement. “I know. She is insanely pretty.”

Your cheeks feel hot. And you feel silly, but so in love.

“Is that why you married her?”

Jungkook chuckles. “It’s one of the reasons, yeah.”

“When I grow up, I want to be as pretty as Aunt ___” Her little eyes sparkle when they shift back to you. She scootches closer to you, cuddling your side.

“Oh,” you coo at her sweetness. “But you’re so pretty already.” You hesitantly brush her hair, taming the crazy bed hair. Jungkook watches you two with fondness softening his features.

“I know,” she yawns and ever so slowly her eyes fall closed.

“How did she fall asleep this quick?” You stare at the way her body falls and rises in rhythmic motions.

“I ask myself that every time when we go to sleep together.”

You sniff a laugh. You tend to fall asleep extremely fast when Jungkook is next to you.

“You’re just very comfortable.” You yearningly stare at his chest and his arm. You won’t be able to fall asleep on him, because miss Yumi is clinging to your side.

“Apparently you are too,” he muses.

You smile softly, looking down at Yumi’s peaceful face. The warmth of her small body pressed against yours fills you with a comforting sense of contentment. It’s a simple, unconditional love that you’ve always yearned for.

The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of sleep. You close your eyes, feeling the weight of the day and the ache in your heart. As much as you cherish these moments, they also remind you of what’s missing.

But for now, you hold onto Yumi a little tighter, letting her innocent love soothe your restless mind, even as the doubts and fears linger in the corners of your heart.

[earthtooz]

fluff with a lot of angst, reader is injured and in hospital for one scene but it's not graphic, lovesick!bakugou

during the many years you’ve loved bakugou katsuki, you have only seen him cry three times.

the first time, you were alarmed. where you fell asleep on the couch awaiting your boyfriend’s return, you did not expect to wake up to the sound of sniffles and the sight of drying tears.

“katsuki? what’s the matter?” you asked cautiously, immediately sitting up to wipe his tears away.

your touch, like a healing balm to the blond, lets you treat him like glass when both of you know he is nothing akin to fragile.

“‘s nothin’,” he gruffly huffs, voice cracking a little.

“if you say so,” you murmur skeptically, knowing better than to prod when it’s bakugou involved.

“were ya waitin’ for me?”

you nod. “i thought we could eat together but- what time is it?”

“almost nine.”

“oh. i thought we could eat dinner together but your patrol must have ended a lot later.”

his heart aches pitifully, worsening when he watches you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “‘m sorry, i didn’t mean to come home so late.”

“it’s okay, i get it.”

“we can still eat together, if that’s okay,” he grumbles, looking away bashfully and missing the way your face brightens.

“that sounds lovely, i’ll go heat up dinner-“

“-no, i’ll do it. it’s my fault for coming home later, i’ll call you when it's done.”

bakugou is out of your sight before you can argue any further. as you watch your boyfriend disappear, you’re left pondering on the couch as to why he was acting so uncharacteristically. did he have a bad day? did something happen at work? was he unable to save someone? that’s can't be the reason, he always-

“dinner’s done!” your boyfriend calls from the kitchen, disrupting your thoughts.

when you asked, it didn't sound like he had a terrible day, in fact it sounds like he had a successful patrol, but you cannot fathom any other reason for his melancholy, but if he’s forgotten about it, then you will too.

but... bakugou doesn’t forget. he still remembers when midoriya first alluded to the inheritance of his quirk from all might, he remembers the night vision goggles kirishima broke when trying to save him that one time, he remembers your favourite things and what makes you happy; he remembers everything.

and he’ll never forget that the tears he shed tonight were over the fact that bakugou will never get to show you how much he loves you.

bakugou katsuki, for the first time, realised just how painfully human he is.

he has a heart that beats for you, limbs that longingly ache to be near you whenever he’s not, a mind devoted to you and a cursed mouth so incapable of expressing it all.

if he could, he would wrestle the night sky to give its stars to you instead because you love stars. you love the stupid things in life that bakugou can't give. he can’t give you everything you could ever want and with that realisation, bakugou discovered just how beatable he was.

you may never know the multitude of bakugou’s love for you, and that fact alone brings him to tears as he gazed upon your sleeping figure on the couch, resting peacefully until his arrival.

the second time, you wake up confused.

the lights in the room are dim, there's a machine beeping intermittently and you think it's a heartbeat monitor but you don't really think too hard about it because your body hurts.

you have to blink a few times to get the blurriness out of your eyes, but you eventually comprehend the sterile walls of a hospital room. then the memories come back one by one, a patrol gone awry, evacuating citizens and... ah, being slammed into a wall back-first by the villain. explains the pain.

then you register the looming figure beside your bed, a pair of widened vermillion eyes gazing into your own with untameable blond hair to match, you can't help the smile from spreading on your face when you see your lover.

"hey," you cough weakly, throat dry and scratchy from lack of use.

next thing you know, bakugou's bulky figure is draped over yours, forehead resting on your chest as his arms gently snake around your torso, bringing you into his chest and pressing himself firmly against you.

you feel him; his relief, his sorrow, his devotion, his painful sobs as he shakes against you and it kills you that the only thing you have the strength to do is run a hand through his hair. you want to kiss him, to tell him that it's okay and that there's nothing to cry about, that you're here and nothing will change that, but you're so very sore and barely in tact.

"don't do this shit again," he threatens weakly and you feel his tears seep through your hospital gown. "you had me so fuckin' worried, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, i can't believe you'd do this to me, do you know how much it sucked to be without you?"

"sorry, katsuki," you whisper and he looks up at you, glossy eyes and quivering lip.

"promise me you'll never do this again."

cupping his cheeks with your hands, there's a rush of deja vu as your thumbs catch his tears. "i don't know how realistic that promise is given that this is my job-"

"-your job is to save lives, not go crashin' into buildings, idiot."

you laugh gently, a stabbing pain making itself known in your gut when you do. your wince doesn't go unnoticed by bakugou, who knows you better than the back of his hand and his heart lurches at the slightest evidence that you're in pain. "still, i won't make promises i can't keep, you know how our jobs are, katsuki."

he frowns, furrowing his brows. "then i'll promise to always be there for you. don't go where i can't."

"that's not realistic."

"watch me."

"okay then, deal."

there are questions you still want answers to, but for now, you'll let the blond continue crying with his ear pressed against your chest.

(you won't ever know about the few days bakugou has spent in your hospital ward, absolutely miserable as he looks upon your gaze with anticipation. he hates how helpless he is, that he can't do anything to rid of this horrible feeling in his chest but wait for you to wake up. he hates that he can't any semblance of peace, he hates the man that love has made him, but most importantly, he hates being without you.

you won't ever know the struggle it was to get bakugou out of your room for even just an hour. midoriya and kirishima had to wrestle him in hopes of getting some proper food together, and yaomomo and todoroki had to literally block the door with various items to prevent his entrance.

you won't ever know how alienated bakugou felt, unable to face your shared home without you in it. without your music playing, without your shoes messily thrown at the genkan, without your comforting presence to return to when all is said and done, there isn't much of a home for bakugou.

you won't ever know how desperately bakugou clung to your hand, fiddling with it whenever he needed a safe haven.

you won't ever know the amount of tears the blond had shed by your side, hunched over your bed, with nothing and no one to comfort him but the sound of the heartbeat monitor.)

the third time, you cry too.

it's your wedding day.

when the news first came out, japan practically roared with excitement and anticipation for the special day that their two favourite heroes would wed. the enthusiasm has not dimmed down even months later, and now, as you're one door away from your lover, you feel it buzzing in your bones.

it all goes by in a blur. one second you're about to trip over yourself in nervousness and the next, you're walking down the aisle with a stunned bakugou failing to keep his composure at the altar. despite the amount of close friends and family around you, all you can see is the love of your life who looks at you with unmatched adoration and affection in those ruby irises of his.

up close, however, all you can see are the tears forming in his eyes, and his first sniffle takes everyone in the room by surprise. no doubt, this is their first and last time seeing their beloved hero cry.

more tears are shed and then, it's just waterworks from practically everyone in the room as bakugou breaks down even more.

thank goodness for a private wedding because you know he is never going to live it down if the press got their hands on this image.

a close friend of yours hands you a handkerchief and you wipe away bakugou's tears with a teasing smile, unable to keep your wobbly laughter at bay as your lover- japan's symbol of victory and heroism, turns to nothing but putty in your hands. he lets you treat him so delicately because you've seen him at his lowest, most shaken, and most unlovable, yet still decided to stay.

"sorry," he apologises as you dab at his tears, words reserved for you and you alone. "you're just so... divine. i can't believe i'm marryin' you."

you feel your first tear roll down your cheek and bakugou catches it before it can go too far, wiping it away.

"such an embarrassin' way to start our wedding," he grumbles.

"embarrassing for the both of us, but memorable no doubt," you try to reason.

"everything is memorable as long as i'm with you."

"such a sap," you whack his shoulder lightly. "have you been saving that line for today specifically?"

"you should wait til the vows. bet mine are better than yours."

"i didn't know you could be a poet."

"only for you."

"well then, i can't wait to find out what else you are, katsuki."

"i'll always be yours."

you laugh, "i'm glad to hear that 'cause i love you."

"i love you even more, i'm crying just to prove it."

"your tears are dangerous."

"yeah well, you're marryin' these tears so."

"like i said, i can't wait."

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[moonstruckme]

May I pleaseeee request poly!marauders x reader (gn or fem, up to you) where r and siri come home at like, 4 am from a rave (or clubing), and they are in makeup and have glitter all over them, and their exhausted and only slightly tipsy (from alchohol or drugs, up to whatever you think would be more fun to write) so they try to get cleaned up without waking up james or remus but ultimately fail?

I totally understand if you don't wanna write it 🫶

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: mention of alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

When Remus wakes, he doesn’t at first know why. James is asleep next to him, snuffling softly, his cheek smushed into the pillow and drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Remus’ fingers are woven loosely in the curls by his forehead. 

Then there’s a muffled thump from down the hall, followed by some hushed cursing, and he remembers. 

“They definitely moved the couch closer to the door to fuck with us.” Then, a moment later: “I am being quiet. Doll, you’re projecting.” 

Get a drop of alcohol in Sirius, and he becomes the worst whisperer in the world. 

Remus can hear your attempts at shushing your boyfriend as he slips out of bed. James is dead to the world, but he stretches out an arm as Remus’ fingers unwind from his hair as though feeling for where he’s gone. Glancing at the clock on his nightstand, Remus is gladder than ever that he and James had begged off this particular excursion. It’s past five in the morning. 

He goes toward the light they left on for you by the door, but you and Sirius have already migrated to the kitchen. Remus props himself up on the doorframe, wrapping his arms around his middle, and allows himself to just watch the two of you for a minute. 

“Water first,” you’re saying, voice hushed far more effectively than Sirius’. You grab two glasses with extreme care from the cabinet, setting them down slowly so as not to make any noise. 

“I think this makeup is going to be crusted onto me forever,” Sirius whines. “I’ll never be able to get it all off.” 

“I don’t know if I have the energy to try,” you admit. 

You do both have an awful lot of glitter on you. What was intentional and precise when you left that evening has now traveled down onto your cheeks, leaving you lustrous and disheveled-looking. When Sirius closes his eyes, tipping his head back as he leans against the countertop, the black makeup around his eyes makes them look like glittering chasms. Remus notes that your shoulder shimmers with a similar color, like he’d laid his head on it at some point in the night. 

You pass Sirius a glass and hoist yourself up onto the counter, the both of you falling quiet while you drink your water. You sigh at the end of it. 

Sirius hums in response, a tired sort of smile lifting his lips. He leans his head against the side of your arm and lets his eyes fall closed again. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks, softer now than he has been since you came inside. 

“Mhm.” You set your empty glass down, using that hand to comb strands of hair away from Sirius’ face. 

Remus' heart nearly turns to mush as he watches the two of you, each clearly exhausted and yet still trying to take care of the other. You, you’ve always been open with your tenderness, but Sirius has taken years to get to where he is now. It still surprises Remus sometimes to see it, his boyfriend’s caring out from under the shroud of insouciance and joking. 

“I have an idea,” you say. Your tone is warm and lulling, not unlike your boyfriend’s. “We could take the spicy crisps into the living room, and lay on the couch to eat them.” 

Eyes still closed, Sirius smiles. “What about bed?”

“Rem won’t let us eat them in the bed.” 

Remus suppresses a chuckle. 

“I know, sweetness. I thought you were tired.” 

You sigh, long and heavy. “I am. I think I’m so tired I almost don’t care if I go to sleep. I might die if I don’t have a spicy crisp, though.” 

Sirius seems to be contemplating this when James comes up behind Remus. His hair is askew and glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, and he has the glazed-over look of someone who themselves is not quite sure if they’re awake or dreaming. 

“How wasted are they?” he asks, voice weighted with drowsiness. 

“Not very, I don't think,” Remus murmurs. 

That’s when Sirius notices them. He picks his head up, nudging your knee with his elbow so you look over. 

“Oh.” You shrink a bit, expression pinching. “Sorry.” 

You so thoroughly look it that Remus can’t even feign upset at having been woken up. “Come to bed,” he says fondly. 

Neither of you move but Sirius opens his arms, beseeching Remus to come to him instead. Remus, too tired to pretend at being any less in love than he is, goes. 

“I thought you’d be in earlier,” he says into Sirius’ hair. It smells like sweat and a little bit like smoke. 

“The cabs were busier than we expected,” Sirius replies, voice even sleepier now that his face is in Remus’ neck. “We walked a while and then caught a bus once they started running.” 

Remus makes a disgruntled sound, but it’s James who says, “You should’ve called.” His voice sounds muffled, and Remus looks over to find it’s buried in your chest. You’re smiling faintly with your face turned down into his curly mop, your hands on the back of his head and his holding your thighs. “We would’ve come and got you.” 

“I wanted to,” Sirius defends himself, removing his face from Remus’ neck to cut you a teasing look. “She wouldn’t let me.” 

James lifts his head to look up at you. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you say, voice soft as though still trying to accommodate the sleep he really should be getting. “You both have work in the morning.” 

James groans at the reminder, hiding his face in your chest again. Remus sets a hand on top of his head, scratching James' scalp consolingly. 

“You should always call,” he tells you, just for the record. But really he’s in no mood to argue. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, slipping off the counter. 

James wraps his arms around your shoulders, forcing the both of you to walk with small, plodding footsteps, and Sirius also refuses to be out of Remus’ hold, clinging to his arm as you all start down the hallway. The bed is no sooner in sight that you let out a low whine. 

Sirius echoes it when you say, “We still have to take off our makeup.”

“What if,” James suggests, “you sleep now, and when Remus and I get up in an hour we can take it off for you while you stay in bed?” 

James hardly has time to let you go before Sirius is hanging off him, almost teary with gratitude. “God, I love you. That’s the best idea I ever heard.” 

[devilander]

a mirror in half-light

18+ 1.5k. homelander x supe f!reader. blood, dirty talking, cunnilingus, use of telepathic powers, acts of violence mentioned (not between reader and HL)

From someone so concerned with shielding his mind, Homelander quickly comes to appreciate your telephatic powers and how useful they can be. Especially during a boring Seven meeting.

prompt sent by @infinetlyforgotten, thank you so much 🤍

When you were first introduced to the Seven, many, including your new colleagues, compared you to Mindstorm. Sure, there were some similarities—the ability to see a person’s thoughts or to project specific images. But that’s where it ended. 

The ace up to your sleeve, which distinguishes you and earned your supe name as Quickstep, is both your telepathic precognition, giving you leverage in hand to hand combat, and your crown and glory—possession. Supe or non-supes, all could have their minds hijacked by you; an ability Vought decided not to publicize. 

Your fellow partners in fighting crime knew, though; and from day one you could feel Homelander watching you with suspicion, a stare so filled with distaste your knees almost buckled. 

Seeing you in a corridor, Homelander signaled for you to approach.

“Quickstep,” he sneered, invading your personal space until he towered over you and your neck ached from looking so high up. “If I catch you using your little powers on me, be sure I’ll crack your spine. It’ll be easier than stomping on an ant. Got it?” His sudden artificial smile did nothing to lessen the weight of his words. 

Homelander was your hero, always, since childhood. Not only that, ever since you saw him for the first time, the shining blue eyes, the softness of his blonde hair, that commanding voice... You were a goner. And he most certainly knew. The disappointment almost, almost broke your heart. 

Little by little, however, with the unspoken promise you wouldn’t pry on his mind, you’d grown close. Partners in fighting crime, yeah, of course, but you had his back, no matter what. 

In one of your missions together, Homelander smeared in an innocent’s blood from head to toe, your first instinct was to help him—clean the mess. And you couldn’t lie, him in his violence and brutality did something to you. 

“Hey, you,” you murmured. “Let me help you, okay? Let me take care of it. Let me protect you.”

Surprisingly, he acquiesced. It took no more than minutes to possess the mind of some poor bystanders, having them fight and commit atrocious acts; they wouldn’t know what came over them and Vought would be too happy not to disclose. In quick action, the narrative changed; from rabid supe, to terrorist crowd. 

Later, you found yourself in his penthouse, in his bathtub, naked and cleaning the gore as he squeezed your waist. When you sealed your relationship with a bloodied kiss, you knew there was no turning back—and you loved it. Loved his quirks, his humor, his beautiful nose and soft hair, loved his flaws and all that came with it. Loved the tie that bound you forever. 

“I love you. I love you so much,” you whispered in his ear as you lay in his bed, a few hours before your meeting with the rest of the Seven. “I ache for you all the time. It overflows, sometimes.” You giggled, remembering when your desire burned you so passionately, so intensely, your mind had one focal point: Homelander and what he could do to your body. Without realizing, all your wants and needs were suddenly projected on his mind.

In the first time, you were fearful he’d throw a fit, but he simply grinned devilish at you. 

“Wow,” he laughed. “If I’d known more about your dirty little mind I would have put it to use a long time ago, babe.” 

After that, it became a fixture, in bed, in daily moments where voicing your thoughts wasn’t an option, or in missions when silent communication was useful. And bit by bit, he delighted in it, veritable proof of your devotion and love.

As it were, in this stolen moment, cuddled in his bed, he answered. “And I love you, my darling, My own mirror.” He nuzzled your neck. “No need to scream in my mind, I’m gonna eat your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop.” 

“I’d never,” you said breathily. 

Slowly kissing from your collarbone, to your stomach and thighs, mischievously looking you in the eye as he bit and kissed and licked everywhere around your cunt. His strength was enough to keep you in the exact place he wanted. Such a delicious torture. 

Finally he turned his attention to your clit, dragging his tongue over it in elaborate patterns—he was relentless, and you both moaned at the contact. You were loud, thrashing and screaming at the slightest touch, but only for him. He played your body perfectly. 

Your hands found his hair, soft to the touch, and yanked, wanting him closer and he groaned—the vibrations going straight to your core. Soon he started tongue-fucking, just as you liked it, going deep and slow, alternating to trace your slit from your asshole to your clit; not one part of you ignored. 

“Fuck, you taste so good. You’re fucking made for me, your pussy is mine, mine, understand that?”

“It’s yours! It’s all yours. Please, Homelander, please—”

“Please what?”

“Let me come, let me come in your mouth, I want to feel you.” It was all too much, the mess his tongue made, the wetness running down your pussy and dripping in the mattress.

Moaning, he plunged two fingers deep inside you, as he squeezed your ass, bringing you even closer. You cried from the pleasure he woke in you, and even in this madness you caressed his hair, closing your legs until he was in the position you liked most: with a perfect view of his face, his soft locks, his bright eyes. 

He smirked, squeezing you tighter, until you no longer touched the bed, and he slapped your ass so hard your whole body trembled. 

“Like that, princess? Like when I do whatever the fuck I want with your sweet body? Now show me. Show me what you want.” 

You complied instantly. 

You imagined him feasting on your pussy, licking it all until his spit and your slick became one and the same. His fingers marking your ass, your thighs; biting so deeply even your invulnerable skin would cleave to his superior strength. You wanted his tongue deep inside you, for yours on end, fucking your pussy so good your legs would spasm and you would scream for all the Tower to hear, pussy clenching just the way he liked. You wanted it all—Homelander slurping on your clit and swirling his tongue, making you squirt and swallowing it all, leaving his chin a beautiful fucking mess. 

In the aftermath, body boneless and exhausted, you wanted his fingers, for him to drag it all over your juices and make you swallow and gag on it. Then, in a little tenderness, he'd give you a breathtaking kiss, further proof of your intimate lovemaking. 

As you projected all of this on his mind, his smile grew bigger, more wicked. And you knew he'd deliver it, or even more. 

“You really are such a slut.” You giggled; it was all in the game.

Later on, as all the Seven were debating their latest terrorist attack, and what plan they'd need to put in action, all you could think was Homelander. His hands on you, his tongue lapping at your clit and his disheveled hair—which, you noticed, he didn't fix for the meeting. It wasn't fair, he was too mean at taunting you.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him and he knew. Flashes of your morning together ran through your mind. No matter how satisfied you'd been, you wanted more, again, all the time. You wanted his kisses and devastation, his head between your legs and his mouth both teasing and giving you the most world-shattering pleasure. 

You wanted to caress his hair, your newfound obsession, while he fucked you, hiting that sweet spot and filling you up with his come.

In your daydreams, you tuned out from the conversation, and like being burned you found Homelander staring straight at you, an expression oh so familiar. Unintentionally he'd become the spectator of your fantasies. 

Rising from his chair so quickly you barely caught it, Homelander said, “That's enough for today. I have other things to take care of. Quickstep, you stay.”

Whispers of complaint were quickly shut down, as Homelander glared at them until each and everyone left the room.

“Well, well, seems like someone is still wantin' for more.”

He laid his hands on your chair, then turned it so you were face to face. 

“I couldn't help it,” you smirked. “I can't get enough.”

“But that's not fair, don't you think?" He clucked his tongue. "It's your turn to please me.” He pulled you from the chair, and manhandled you until you fell to your knees with a thud. “Now, princess, get to work.”