#L is an asshole and we love him for it but he's still an asshole

[numbuh424]

people have pointed this out before but I love how the death note jdrama highlights how needlessly cruel L is capable of being..... calling Light (and the other Kira suspects) early in the investigation to falsely accuse him of being Kira just to see how he'd react, taunting Light relentlessly while he was imprisoned and interrogated, and of course the mock execution. all while knowing no one can really stop him. the jdrama really said "btw don't forget this guy's an ASSHOLE"

[boneblushed]

You can hear it in the silence

synopsis: everyone in the Figure Eight is convinced you and your best friend Rafe Cameron belong together. In a bid to prove them wrong, you attempt to set each other up with someone else. (And fail miserably.)

wc: 14.1k

a/n: I love this dumb OOC Rafe so bad 🤗 hope you guys love him too, any and all feedback is much appreciated!

You aren’t sure why you say it, the words tumbling out of your mouth all erroneous. Plain dishonest in the name of being evasive.

From the perplexed look on Rafe’s face, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same.

Stupid, careless word vomit. You lied to your mother about having a boyfriend and then expected her to drop the subject without so much as a name.

In your defence, you were only doing it to get her off your back. She’d glimpsed Rafe Cameron in your room during your fortnightly FaceTime call, hunched over your desk in all his handsome, pixelated glory. (He was copying your accounting assignment as close to word for word as he possibly could. Asshole.)

Naturally, she’d ushered him over.

Infuriatingly, Rafe had obliged.

Even more naturally, she’d alluded to something boyfriend, something girlfriend, partners, lovers, whatever.

And so of course you’d said, unblinkingly, “Actually, no.”

To which she’d replied, “and why not?” Sounding a pathetic mix of devastated and indignant.

Probably, a normal person would have used this opportunity to explain that the two of you were just friends. Guys and girls could be that… right? Extremely platonic, totally boring friends.

You weren’t normal, though. Neither was Rafe Cameron.

No, you guys were exes.

Sort of exes. In second grade, you’d played at the significant other thing. Held hands for two weeks straight, ran around the playground together, shared arts and crafts memorabilia. Kissed each other on the cheek, once. Got bored of the relationship once the novelty of romance wore off.

Basically not exes. Definitely just friends, with shared custody of cheek kisses.

Not that it matters to your mom. Or to Rose. Or really, to anyone who lives in the Figure Eight.

For some strange reason, they all seem to think that your friendship is a cover for something more serious. Fate, or a concept similarly ridiculous.

You’re fucking sick of it.

Hence the reason you say, “because I’m seeing someone else,” when your mother questions you on why you and Rafe aren’t together.

She’s at a loss for words. You’re momentarily chagrined.

“Oh!” She exclaims after a beat, sending Rafe a doubtful glance. “And Rafe is…?”

“Seeing someone else too.” Shit. You aren’t sure why you said that either. “We both are. Uh… right Rafe?”

If Rafe looked perplexed before, there’s something worse than astonishment on his face now. Alarm. You’ve dug your own grave and managed to drag him into it with you.

“Right?” He says it like it’s a question. You grimace.

“That’s… great,” your mother replies slowly, sounding unconvinced. You’re losing her. You need to think fast if you want her to believe this farce.

“And you get to meet him… and her — them,” you add quickly. “Um… this summer. They’re coming to the Eight for a few. Isn’t that great?”

Rafe’s had enough now — you’ve damn near given him an aneurysm with this revelation. He throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side, giving you a squeeze that says: shut the fuck up immediately.

Warm and firm, the rough lines of his palm like pumice, but there’s a gentleness to his touch that’s almost imperceptible.

“So fucking great!” He announces then, quick with his words lest you say more. “Shit — I mean… uh,” he balks, grinning sheepishly, “excuse my French Mrs Y/L/N. Just stoked that you’re going to meet my girl.”

Another rough squeeze, gentler still. Almost like you’re the ‘his girl’ he’s referencing. As if. “And blink’s guy. Obviously.”

Your mother raises her eyebrows. “You’ve met him?”

“Oh yeah. He’s great!” Rafe’s still grinning, a little pained now. “Anyway, we better go. We’ve got a shi—a lot left to go of this assignment. Nice talking to you!”

He uses his free hand to swipe the phone from your grasp and end the call, cutting off you and your mom’s farewell.

“Hey!” You frown at his haste, reaching for your phone again. “I wasn’t done with—”

“Yes you were,” Rafe interrupts, swivelling you around so you’re facing him fully. “You absolutely were fucking done.”

He has one hand on each shoulder now, your phone in his back pocket. You cross your arms over your chest and continue to frown at him, your irises dappled yellow by sunlight.

Rafe’s always thought your eyes are pretty — in a fact kind of way, totally platonic. He thinks your pretend boyfriend would probably agree with this sentiment, think the eye contact would make him lose it a little.

He glares at you, mean but soft. Like his touch. “Don’t look at me like that. The fuck was that about?”

You sigh. “I panicked, alright? Sue me.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“I just… I didn’t want her to start harping on about me and you,” you say, your crossed arms acquiescing a little.

“But why?” He adopts a sombre expression, hands moving up to cup your cheeks faux-tenderly. “We’re betrothed.”

You make a face, ducking out of his grasp. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

If Rafe focusses too hard, he’ll clock how soft your skin is. The thought flits away quick. He grins, watching you walk away and flop onto your bed in defeat.

“Why do you care so much?” He asks. “She can harp on about us all she wants, we both know that it’s complete bullshit.”

“Still,” you groan. “I’m fucking tired of it Cam. I want her off my back for good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “So you invented a boyfriend?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your eyes at him. “You went along with it.”

“Like I had a choice,” Rafe scoffs, walking up to your bed until he’s towering over you. He folds his arms over his chest, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s like, super tall.

Annoyingly so, except for when he’s a pair of shoulders to climb onto at a gig. Or a windshield. A hoodie giver when he’s feeling particularly chivalrous (almost never).

“Regardless,” you say. “We’re in this together now.”

“Ha! Nice try.” He narrows his eyes in tandem. “You’re fixing this.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, blink. That’s why it’s you doing the fixing.”

“Rafe, c’mon,” you say then, looking pained. “You know I can’t do shit now. What’s said has been said. We need to follow through.”

“Dude, how the fuck are we going to find you a boyfriend on such short notice?” He reaches down to pinch your cheek, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “This is a face only a mother could love.”

That earns him a scowl. You push his hand away, scrubbing the skin he squeezed exasperatedly. “We need to find you a girlfriend too, remember?”

It’s a weird angle, you below and him above. He pivots to the thought of other girls instead of this.

“I’ve got plenty of those.”

“You’re awful,” you say, making a face.

“I am,” he agrees, grinning roguishly. “They love it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Enough to come all the way to the Banks over summer?”

Rafe hesitates. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” you say. The timbre of his voice gets rougher when he’s bluffing. “They’d never miss a Malibu summer. Not even for Phi Delt’s chief exec.”

“Why not? The Eight’s pretty lit over summer.” He sinks down on the bed beside you, placing his hands behind his head. “Dalt and Heath are coming for a bit, and I think I could convince Adi to as well. And they’re all like… fucking Beverly Hills royalty or some shit.”

“Wait a minute…” you pause, an idea dawning on you, “they are?”

“Oh yeah, they’re fucking pumped. We’re going to —” he falters at the look on your face, frowning bemusedly, “what?”

“Dude.” Your eyes widen, a triumphant smile on your lips. “That’s perfect.”

Pretty eyes, as previously mentioned. Though his frown acquiescing a little, the questioning look on his face endures them. “What’s perfect?”

You turn so you’re on your stomach now, head propped up on your elbows. Your forearms are pressed against Rafe’s side, legs dangling over the side of your bed.

“Tell me, Cam,” you begin seriously. “Any of your boys got a thing for me?”

Rafe cocks his head toward you, raising his eyebrows. “What do you think, blink?”

You frown. “Um. Is that your rude way of saying no?”

“C’mon.” He sounds bewildered, which is odd. “You know they all do.”

Your cheeks warm, abashed. “Oh. Wait — really? Why haven’t any of them made a move then?”

“I didn’t think you wanted them to,” Rafe replies, an edge to his voice now. It undercuts his aforementioned bewilderment. “Didn’t realise frat boy was your type.”

“Guy that likes me is my type,” you say then. “Reciprocity is my type.”

Rafe scoffs. “Right. So ninety percent of the guys at UCal then. Got it.”

You think it’s a compliment, which is also odd. Like finding you attractive is this matter-of-fact thing Rafe’s well aware of.

You wonder whether he agrees with the sentiment. The skin where your forearms meet Rafe’s side heats traitorously.

“Very funny,” you deflect, rolling your eyes. “Moral of… one of the guys you’ve invited to the Banks over summer could be into me?”

All of them. Sometimes he thinks they’re trying to goad him with how often they bring it up. Not that he’d care if you went out with any of them — they’re good guys, textbook charmers, would treat you right if they knew you were into it. If they knew Rafe was critiquing them.

He’d be happy to see you with one of them, he thinks. His blink.

“Uh huh. So?”

“So,” you reply, grinning now. “I just like… get one of them to be my guy.” Rafe’s train of thought snags. Your guy? “We could even go on a date or two before summer break, so we’re legit seeing each other. Wouldn’t even be a lie anymore. It’s fucking genius — I’m a fucking genius.”

“Alright, yeah, that’s pretty good,” Rafe allows. “What about me though? Can’t exactly get one of them to be the girl I’m pretend dating.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Maybe you come out as gay this summer.”

“I’ve seen enough locker room dicks to know I’m definitely fucking straight.”

You let out a laugh, and it unfurls over Rafe like warm sunshine. He used to dislike the sound when he was younger, too loud, all brazen and unabashed. It represents different things now — you delighted, you happy, him being the root cause of both of these emotions.

This he likes.

“Fair enough,” you say, amused. “How about… alright, how about I invite some of my friends to the Banks too? I’m sure I can convince one of them to tolerate you.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have friends?”

You scowl, giving him a reproachful shove. He doesn’t budge, not even a little, just grins at you all roguish. Asshole.

“Very funny. I know you follow all of them on Instagram, Cam.”

Rafe nods solemnly, giving you a mock salute. “Loyal story liker, baby. Gotta maintain the Phi Delt rep, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got all of them under your spell,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to take one on a date if this is going to stick, though. Think you can do that?”

“I date,” he replies, defensive.

“Giving sorority girls a tour of your frat is not a date.”

You’re only teasing really, Rafe’s one of the good ones. Sometimes, when you’re alone, he lets down his armour of insouciance and acts like a chivalrous fool. Makes things feel less platonic — you know, if you were that way inclined. If you were his pretend girlfriend, for example. You think she’d eat that sort of thing right up.

Rafe grins then. “It’s hardly a tour if we’re in my bedroom for the majority of it.”

“Okay, ew,” you cringe, making a face. “Gross. Moving on.”

“Don’t be jealous, blink,” Rafe teases, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “You know you’ll always be my number one girl.”

“Focus, Cam. That’s the problem.”

Neither of you deny it, you being his number one girl. Like it’s obvious. You know, in a just friends sort of way.

“Alright, alright, you’re right. Who’re you going to pick?”

The tips of your ears warm. “Um. I don’t know. I could really choose any of ‘em?”

Rafe nods, bewildered again, because you being abashed doesn’t make any sense. He almost says: even me if you wanted, to properly drill in the fact that you really could have anyone on this planet.

Good thing he catches himself at the very last minute, speaking nonsense about his best just friend in a romantic sense.

“Ah,” your elbows tire from holding your head up, so you let it flop onto Rafe’s chest, chin to t-shirt. His heart beats steadily. “Why don’t you choose for me?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Uh-huh.” You pause, tilting your chin to him. “You know them better than I do, and you definitely know me better than I do, so who better?”

“True.” Rafe grins. “Alright, deal. I pick for you if you pick for me.”

You smile in tandem, nodding. He leans in then, the hard ridges of his abdomen tensing. “I’m a boob guy, by the way,” he adds conspiratorially. “Keep that in mind when you’re picking a worthy suitor.”

You make a face like you’re going to retch. “I won’t.”

“Good thing all your friends have default massive racks.”

“Rafe.”

“Speaking truth, blink. Anyway — once we’ve picked, how do we play it?"

“Double date this Friday? We bring our picks to that new Asian fusion place on the edge of campus?”

Rafe doesn’t think a double date is a good idea. It’ll probably ruin the mood, having you bear witness to all of his God awful flirting.

Or him yours, now that he’s on the subject. Whichever brother he picks too, all their moves the same as his, charming but terribly predictable. Their rough hands on you, your bare skin on display.

No, not a good idea at all.

“Hm.” He pauses. “Nah. How about we all meet in between lectures on Friday afternoon? We can plan our dates then. Better alone than double, don’t you think?”

You begin to raise your eyebrows, acquiesce when you deep it a little. Rafe, you, the beautiful friend you choose, him not acting like your him all evening.

Bad idea. You nod your agreement. “Okay, yeah. Deal.”

Rafe holds out his hand for a fist bump. There’s something oddly sacred about the touch of your knuckles when you meet it with yours.

—

Rafe chooses exactly who you think he’ll choose: Aditya ‘Adi’ Patel of Patel & Co law firm fame, the only guy you know who openly studies for A grades.

He’s bring home to your mother sweet, his dark hair always windswept and his eyes the colour of thick molasses. The sensible choice.

And though you want to believe you aren’t as predictable as he is, you pick his date the same way he picked yours — finding a mirror of his outward persona, not the inner one you know. Reciprocally, platonically.

Phoebe, your darling roommate and friend, is frat guy bait disguised as a 5’5 brunette. The kind of girl you’d see at the airport once and think about for months. Unforgettable.

When you and Phoebe meet Rafe and Adi on Friday afternoon, you fail to mention how reluctantly Phoebe agreed to it all. Adi’s hesitation isn’t disclosed either. The pair of them seem not to think this is such a great idea.

Which is weird, because Phoebe’s as perfect for Rafe as Adi is for you — romantically, the way it matters.

All you guys need to do is prove it.

Rafe and Adi stand in the shade of a viridescent birch tree, freshly mown grass underfoot. The latter wears a stylish crew neck and Ralph Lauren shorts, an easy grin on his face and a Rolex glinting on his wrist. He looks cuter than he usually does, like he’s trying to impress, and you feel your cheeks warm as this revelation washes over you.

The former does too, though that’s no longer your job to notice. Rafe’s taller than Adi by a noticeable inch, the dappled sun painting his dirty-blonde hair a lighter golden.

Also not your job to notice.

Rafe’s noticing things too, like the fact that there’s something iridescent—highlighter?—making your cheekbones shine. That’s new. The shorts you’re wearing are new too, he’s guesses they’re Phoebe’s by the way they fit. You know… well. His gaze moves from Phoebe’s bare legs to yours, equally exposed but somehow far worse. Rafe’s gaze snags.

Very new. Thank fuck you decided against that double date you’d originally proposed.

“Phoebe,” Rafe says, all charisma as he accentuates his Southern drawl. You try not to smile. He’s told you way too many times how adorable girls find his Carolina accent. “Boy am I glad you see you.”

As he leans in to hug her, you hear him whisper, “I was praying it would be you, by the way. Gotta start believing in the big G now.”

Your heart flounders a little at how smooth he is, even if the amused part of you almost lets that aforementioned smile break through. It’s Adi’s voice that shifts your focus.

“Hello gorgeous,” he greets, pulling you into an equally cozy embrace.

“Hello,” you respond, a little breathless. Pet-names are new. Rafe thinks so too.

Your hugs break in tandem, Phoebe laughing at Rafe’s silly pick up line as she pulls away. It’s a melodic sound, far less annoying than yours.

Apparently, Rafe’s ribcage disagrees.

“Adi was pretty set on Malibu this summer, blink,” he says then, faux-solemn. “You being a million miles away was the only thing that convinced him to change his mind.”

Your cheeks warm. You still feel a little breathless. “Well I’m glad you’re coming,” you say to Adi. “The Banks is the best place to be over summer.”

“Yeah?” Adi grins, raising his eyebrows. “Will joining you in the OBX unlock the story behind your nickname, blink?”

It sounds weird coming out of his mouth, Rafe thinks. He realises then no one else calls you that but him.

He prefers it that way. Your bare legs snare Rafe’s traitorous gaze again.

You scrunch your nose up at Adi playfully. You’re fucking good, Rafe thinks, because that move is textbook adorable. “Depends how well dinner goes, I guess.”

“It’s all about location, baby,” Adi replies seriously, his dark brown eyes sparkling. “C’mon. Can I walk you to your next lecture while we decide where to go?”

“Anywhere but Lillian, yeah?” Rafe says then, sending Phoebe a meaningful look. “Wanna book that entire place out for me and Phoebs tonight.”

Phoebs. It’s so cozy your eyes staccato on his handsome features.

Blink’s cuter, right? Not that it really matters.

“Phoebs and I,” you correct.

Rafe makes a face. “You’re such a cock-block, y’know that?”

“Shoo,” you reply, ushering them in the opposite direction.

Rafe grins then, nudging your soft jaw with his knuckles before throwing his arm over Phoebe’s shoulders. His touch raises treacherous goosebumps in still air.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases, sending Adi a grave look over your head. “Don’t let her take advantage of you, Patel. She’s a fucking menace when she wants to be.”

You clasp Adi’s hand, using your other to flip Rafe off before turning. Where Adi’s thumb grazes your wrist, even more goosebumps bloom. Less treacherous. You let go of his hand so you can entwine your fingers in his more surely.

Once you’re out of earshot, Adi breaks the silence again.

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” He asks, the bones of his knuckles brushing the raw hem of your denim shorts.

You look up at him grimly. “Unfortunately.”

He laughs at your expression, shaking his head bemusedly. “C’mon. You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe not,” you allow. “Although sometimes, I wonder whether we’re almost too close.”

Adi nods in agreement, ducking his head until his lips are at the shell of your ear. “I wonder that too,” he murmurs lowly, his voice softening. “Whether this whole thing is overstepping.”

You shake your head quickly, looking up at him in earnest. “It’s not! I swear it isn’t. The fact that you even think that confirms my point.”

Adi cocks his head to one side questioningly. “And what would that be?”

“That we’re totally overkill. We’ve got everyone convinced that we have a thing for each other, and it’s scaring away the people we’re actually crushing on.”

Adi’s knuckles press skin this time, lower now, a surer pressure. “People like…?”

“Fishing for compliments is totally lame, by the way,” you tease, grinning up at him.

“Shit, noted,” Adi replies. “How about giving them?”

You smile gentler now. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’re really fucking pretty.” Now free from the shade of the yawning birch trees, the yellow sun mutes the dark brown of his irises. Burnt sienna. “I get why Rafe refused to give us your Instagram when we first met him.”

You balk. “He did what?”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “Uh… refused to give us your Instagram? Pretty sure it was Dalt who’d asked — he’d seen you guys walking to a class together I think. Was pretty stoked when he found out you weren’t like, his girlfriend or some shit.” He grins then, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “We all were, to be fair.”

Your skin warms, but you’re still balking, eyes unblinking. “But… why?”

“Shit… I don’t know. We all thought it was cause he was into you at first.”

“He isn’t, though,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Adi pauses, surveying you. “Right. So I guess it’s because he didn’t want the douchebag mob to lay any hands.” He shrugs. “Like I said, I get it. I’d probably do the same if I had such a hot best friend.”

You turn to him then. “You would?”

“Uh huh. He was being protective.”

This makes your skin feel even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible. Protective Rafe who acknowledges the fact that you’re sort of attractive, platonic status notwithstanding.

“Weirdo,” you joke, deflecting hard. “You guys can’t actually be that bad.”

“You’d be surprised.” Adi’s timbre drops, faux-sombre. “Not me, though. It’s why Rafe’s letting me take you out.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Rafe is? Or I am?”

“Shit.” Adi grins, reproached. “I guess you are, huh.”

“Dunno, Adi. Don’t think you’ve even asked.”

“Shit,” he repeats, ducking his head sheepishly. “You’re right. Dinner at 7? What kind of food do you like eating?”

He flounders more than you think Rafe would, less debonair and more endearing. It’s sweet.

Unlike Rafe, who’s as confident as he is charismatic, who has a way of making the most ridiculous pick-up lines work. Not that he’d ever use one on you. Even if he does think you’re beautiful enough to protect.

“Anything, honestly. You know LA better than I do Mr 90210. Let’s go to one of your favourite spots.”

“Damn. That’s a lot of pressure.”

You grin. “You can handle it.”

Several feet away, Rafe’s arm slinks down Phoebe’s back until he’s circling her waist instead. The exposed waif of skin he finds here is soft, glowing in the sun. Like yours.

“You’re crazy, Rafe Cameron,” Phoebe announces, breaking the silence first.

Rafe glances down at her in surprise, balking. “I am?”

“You are.” She looks up at him in tandem, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got this beautiful best friend who’d do almost anything for you, and you’re just like… going to let some other dude date her?”

Rafe probably shouldn’t have eaten those two cheeseburgers at lunch, because there’s this sensation in his stomach like heartburn but worse. There for a second before it’s gone, with the same permanence as the words coming out of Phoebe’s mouth. Anything for him.

To be fair, he’d do just about anything for you too. In a best friend kind of way, obviously.

“As opposed to…?”

“Dating her yourself.”

Fucking burgers. It’s that fake Kraft crap they use instead of real cheese.

He makes a face. “No way. Blink’s a handful. Besides, I don’t like her like that.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, surveying him with interest. “You really believe that, huh?”

“You don’t?” He replies, frowning.

“Absolutely not.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at that, trying for a grin but landing on a grimace. “Shit. She was totally right about all this.”

Phoebe’s brow furrows in questioning. “Hm? Right about what?”

“Everyone being convinced by this bullshit concept of us liking each other for real.” He glances down at Phoebe faux-sombre, giving her bare waist a squeeze. “Alright Phoebs, this shit is business now, you being seriously hot aside. You’ve gotta let me take you on this date, yeah? Think of it as charity work or something. You making sure my street cred’s intact.”

Phoebe lets out a dulcet laugh, softer than yours. Rafe’s ego swells, gratified by her amusement.

His heart doesn’t budge, though.

“Your street cred?” She echos, still laughing. “And how exactly am I taking care of that?”

“By proving that Blink’s not a massive fucking cock-block.”

Phoebe scrunches her nose up, mildly chagrined. “She isn’t! It’s not her — it’s girl code.”

Rafe raises her eyebrows. “Girl code’s stopping you from going out with me?”

“Girl code’s stopping half her friends from going out with you,” Phoebe returns, her cheeks growing pink. “You know we all totally think she’s hit the jackpot, right?”

Rafe grins. “The jackpot, huh?” He releases her waist to throw his arm around her shoulder again, pulling her closer so she’s forced to look up at him. She’s frowning, mostly playful, the light streaming through the trees mottling her face in golden shadows.

She’s really pretty up close, all flawless skin and rosy cheeks, a Cupid’s bow that makes him think devastating things.

You have a Cupid’s bow too. And flawless skin that nine-year-old him has kissed.

He blinks. His grin’s faded a little and he fears it might be that awful heartburn he was suffering from a moment ago.

“I won’t be elaborating,” Phoebe declares.

“Not even if I bought you dinner?” Rafe returns.

“Rafe Cameron buying me dinner.” Phoebe shakes her head, bleak. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

Rafe’s fingers brush the exposed skin of her forearm, raising amaranthine goosebumps. “Fucking hell Phoebs, if I’d have known that some bullshit girl code was the only reason you hadn’t shown any interest in me, I would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”

Phoebe glances up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Who said anything about not showing any interest?”

Rafe lifts his in tandem, intrigued. “Like I said… flattery will get you everywhere.”

Phoebe rolls her eyes then, but there’s a smile on her face that juxtaposes her exasperation. “So maybe we like bringing up how hot you are often… you know, to fuck with Y/N’s head a little. And maybe it works like, really well. Maybe she’s so sick of the ab and bicep talk that she’s banned all mention of it in our apartment.”

“Ab and bicep talk, huh?” Rafe’s grin returns, cheek-achingly fond. “How come this is the first I’m hearing of this?”

“Because Cameron,” she says seriously, “it’s top secret information. She’d kill me if she knew I told you this.”

“Ah.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have to go on a date with me now Durrant. Otherwise I’m definitely snitching.”

She groans, mostly teasing. “Shit. I do, don’t I?”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll let you cop a feel of my biceps and my abdomen.”

“Oh to be so lucky,” Phoebe jokes.

“Seriously though,” Rafe says then, meeting her gaze with an easy, almost charming look of sincerity, “let me take you to Lillian tonight. I can pick you up at 7.30?”

Phoebe raises her eyebrows. “You’ll let me keep interrogating you about Y/N?”

Rafe makes a face. “If I have to.”

She breathes a laugh, slightly amused. “Alright, deal. Guess you want this more than I thought.”

“Just call me pussy whipped, yeah?”

“Charming, Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe gives her a wink, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Blink would disagree.”

—

Your date with Adi is nice.

He’s as charming as he is endearingly gauche, with innocent hands and less chaste lips.

Your farewell kiss at the end of the night is textbook — all soft and fleeting, the promise of more ever-lingering.

So it’s weird when you realise your heart isn’t in it. You’re all giddy and breathless and yet it feels like you’re performing.

Nice. Just like Rafe’s date with Phoebe.

With her bringing you up as often as she did, it’s no wonder his thoughts kept straying to you and Adi.

Interrogating, but it’s his heart working overtime not his brain. Adi’s hand on your back, on your waist, his calloused fingers pressed to your soft skin. No longer untouched. Awfully chivalrous all night, definitely sweet, funny enough to be on the receiving end of your laugh.

And kiss you, probably. Cruel.

Not that he actually minds for real, he’s just doing that platonic protective thing again.

Besides, once Phoebe’s sick of lamenting you and Rafe, she begins leaning into his flirting and he begins enjoying himself a little. Thoughts of you endure though, like that double date plague the two of you were avoiding.

It doesn’t stop him kissing her. A nice feeling, sure with teeth-scraping pressure, the lust it awakens urging his roaming hands to search for more.

Not as tender as he predicts your kiss with Adi was. Tenderly is how he’d kiss you anyway, if it was him in Adi’s shoes.

“Did you tell him?” Rafe asks in lieu of a greeting, handing you an iced coffee and taking a sip of his own. Beads of condensation roll down the plastic cup ominously.

You frown, bemused. “Tell him what?”

“Why I call you blink, blink.”

The pair of you exit the café in tandem, walking onto the sunlight pavement. Dry leaves crunch underfoot, a blur of ochre and terracotta.

“Oh.” Your lips pucker around your straw when you taste your own, leaving a chaste sheen of gloss. Rafe’s never noticed it before today. His gaze has flickered to your mouth a perplexing amount. “Nah. Didn’t really come up.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t come up, huh? What did come up then?”

“I don’t know, lots of things! We talked for ages.” You glance up at him then, smiling fondly. “He was sweet, Cam. Good choice.”

He was sweet? That’s all Rafe’s going to get?

He wants to ask exactly how sweet his friend was, whether he was saccharine enough to earn more than an embrace. Whether that shiny stuff on your lips left an imprint on his, whether the echo of his touch still lingers over your skin.

He wants to ask you whether you’re genuinely going through with this whole thing, but he knows this is unfair, it was his idea in the first place.

You and Adi in the Banks, visiting all your favourite spots as handsome tourist and cuter tour guide. Adi charming your family, meeting the old crowd from the Academy, buying you dinner at the Island Club and watching the sunset straight after.

Like you and Rafe always do. Fucking awful.

“How about you, though?” You ask then, breaking his train of thought. Hardly introspective, self-destruction in the name of being overprotective. “How was your date with Phoebs?”

Right, he has gorgeous Phoebe. It isn’t like he’s some sort of glorified third wheel, doomed to lie in the same grave he dug by suggesting this date thing.

You and Adi and him and Phoebe in the Banks, the pair of you playing tour guide, showing them the places you collectively favour. Together.

Better.

“Good,” Rafe replies, sending you a wink. “Think we did a little less talking than you guys did though.”

You make a face, trying for a jibe but landing closer to a grimace. This caffeine is making your heart race a little. “You’re welcome.”

“For setting me up with your hottest friend?” Rafe asks, nudging your arm with his. As you lift it to take another sip of coffee, the heat of his touch lingers. “Thank you blink, I owe you everything, including the bra she left in my —”

“Rafe,” you groan.

“Kidding.” Rafe grins, teasing. Golden sunlight reveals the specks of green in his blue irises. “Sounds like you’ve been gatekeeping her a while, huh?”

“Me?” You say, cheeks warming. You haven’t blinked in a bit and Rafe notices. “What about you dude? What’s up with the whole not letting your frat brothers follow me on Instagram?”

He balks. “Adi told you about that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Told me they all thought you were into me because of it, too.”

If Rafe was hesitating before, he’s definitely buffering now. His poor heart flounders, troubled by the thought.

You’re nearing UCal business school now, the location of your afternoon lecture looming overhead.

He isn’t proud of what he says next.

“He’s fucking with you,” Rafe coughs out, taking another gulp of his coffee. “He just said it because he knew it’d piss me off.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply. Unsure. “Sure.”

“Because he knows I’m not into you like that,” he continues, overcompensating hard now. “Would be pretty convenient if I was though, yeah?”

You splutter in surprise, full well choking on the mouthful of coffee you just attempted to swallow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shit. He was being sincere but perhaps that’s the problem. He looks down at you abashedly, his features rumpling into a grimace. “Uh, you know… we wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble to convince people that I wasn’t.”

You swallow. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

You’re avoiding eye contact when you ask, “How do I feel about you in this hypothetical?”

Rafe wants hypothetical you to be into him too, in a dangerously un-platonic way. He’s still looking down at you, taking inventory of the planes of your face. The smooth column of your throat, unblemished.

The mouth he’d kiss fondly, if this was all hypothetical and reciprocal and you weren’t just friends like you insist you are.

You and Rafe in the Banks, no Phoebe, no Adi, visiting the same haunts you’ve loved since you were kids. Rafe buying your mom flowers, playing golf with your father, making fun of you flailing when Wheeze manages to rope you into doing Tik Tok dances. You lounging on the same weathered sun deck his mother used to when he was younger, back when she’d supervise the hand-stand competitions you’d have in middle school.

Rafe blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into him.

“The same as all your roommates, obviously,” he replies after a beat, grinning weakly.

You make a face. “Ew. So in this hypothetical, I’m totally pathetic. Noted.”

“So it’s true.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “They’re all in love with me for real?”

You send him a playful glare. “I wouldn’t go that far, Cameron.”

“You’re right. Maybe it’s more lust than love, yeah? Because Phoebe did tell me something about my sexy fucking abs…”

This gets your attention. You glance up at him in surprise, looking equal parts pained and chagrined. “No she fucking didn’t.”

He knows he shouldn’t enjoy your embarrassment as much as he does, the way your eyes grow wide and your nose scrunches up.

It’s sort of adorable. He thinks he knows what Adi sees in you when your face is this sweet and abashed.

Amongst other times.

“Oh, she did,” Rafe returns, sending you a significant look. “Told me all about how talk of me is banned in your apartment.”

“For good reason,” you reply grimly.

“Cockblock,” Rafe teases.

“Hardly,” you scoff, making a face. “There are girls out there who don’t happen to room with me that’d hook up with you in a heartbeat.”

“And what if I want the girls that room with you, blink?” Rafe returns, nudging your shoulder jokingly. If his tongue faltered the same way his pulse did from the skin-on-skin, it might’ve skipped over “the girls that room with” bit and made a claim far more dangerous than this.

Even worse, you might’ve wanted him to. Your skin warms at the thought, and you send him a playful glare in retaliation. “You don’t, Cam,” you say. “You’d have to deal with me every time you came over.”

Rafe faux-grimaces. “Shit. You’re right.”

“Which means,” you continue, “now that you and Phoebe are dating, you’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me than you want to.”

In the beat that passes, Rafe thinks, no way. He isn’t sure there’s any amount of you that’ll ever be too much for him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Tragic, blink. Guess all good things come at a price, huh?”

You glance up at him then, more curious than you should be. Almost wretched. This close, you can take inventory of every freckle that dapples his cheeks, trace the sharp line of his jaw even where the shadow of his stubble softens it.

He’d probably arrived to his date clean shaven, lest he mark Phoebe’s face when he kissed her. Smelling of something awful and woodsy probably, leaving his cologne where he touched her skin, where he embraced her.

You’ve held hands with your best friend Rafe Cameron before. Platonically. So you aren’t sure why the thought of his calloused fingers entwined in someone else’s is giving you a stomachache all of a sudden.

You try for nonchalance. “Your date went that well, huh?”

You fail miserably.

Rafe nods, almost thoughtful as he slurps down the deliquesced remains of his drink. “Way better than I initially thought it would.”

“How so?” You ask. The coffee you’re almost through with swirls uncomfortably in your stomach.

“Because it started kinda rough.” He looks down at you then, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Phoebe was fucking adamant we should be a thing. Didn’t know why the Hell I was taking her out instead of you.”

You balk. “She was?”

Rafe nods again, holding out his hand so he can discard of your plastic cup along with his own. Where his fingers brush your skin, unfamiliar goosebumps bloom.

Like they would have on Phoebe’s hands too, equally unblemished. Perhaps it’s the buzz of caffeine in your veins, but this revelation makes your pulse thrum a little faster.

Pathetic.

He says, “she was. Told her it was bullshit though, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You pause. It shouldn’t feel this awful agreeing with him. “Maybe she’ll believe it if it’s coming out of your mouth.”

“Maybe,” Rafe agrees. Another pause before he adds, “especially now that you’re seeing Adi, yeah?”

If it wasn’t him speaking, the same boy you’ve known since before puberty changed his Southern timbre, you might’ve missed the odd inflection in his voice as he says this.

Seeing Adi. As opposed to what? Seeing Rafe?

Reticence as you navigate the crowd gathered in the business school courtyard, thick as honey. As you ascend the steps leading to your lecture theatre, Rafe turns to you, brow furrowed in thought.

“You know what’d be good though?” He asks, pulling open the door. “If our next date was a double.”

As he ushers you in, you’re struck by the fact that his bicep is this awful, formidable shield of body heat and muscle. Your shoulder bumps it as you squeeze past him, expelling a traitorous jolt of static.

Pathetic.

You frown, bemused. “I thought we agreed that was a bad idea.”

“For a first date, yeah,” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “But now that we’ve got the ball rolling, it might be good for Adi and Phoebs to see how much we definitely aren’t into each other.”

“By going on a double date,” you echo, still skeptical.

“Exactly.” Rafe doesn’t really know where he’s going with this either. You’re wearing a new perfume, something floral and unfamiliar, and he’s dwelling on the fact that it’s probably for Adi’s benefit. It’s stuck to his bicep where the skin-on-skin stunned him, and he’s still trying to figure out why it’s making him feel so strange.

Bad strange, almost wretched. Like he wants to go on this double date to keep tabs, not prove your friendship status.

“Um.” You pause. “I mean… I guess that makes sense?”

Besides, it’ll be interesting to see just how enamoured Phoebe is with Rafe. And vice versa, more so vice versa.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

“It does,” Rafe agrees. “Next weekend, yeah?”

You nod, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. The eye contact you share vacillates, and in the beat that passes, you’re sure you’re probably thinking the same thing.

That this is a bad idea, desperate as you are to see it through. That you’re totally fucking fucked, even if your traitorous heart doesn’t share the same sentiment that you do.

—

When Rafe’s red Ford ranger pulls up to your apartment, Adi hops out of the car to hold the door open for you.

Rafe stays idle, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, impatient. He hears your fond voice thank Adi, hears Phoebe do the same, and resists the urge to push down on the accelerator and rev the engine.

He thinks about all the times he’s picked you up over the years. Alone. Fresh-faced at fifteen driving his dad’s car on a learner’s permit, seventeen in his first car, nineteen in his second.

Twenty-one and sober when he drove yours home from Kelce’s birthday party, where you’d sworn you’d only have one but well overshot that number.

Where you’d called him cute whilst being cute yourself, all drunk and cross-eyed with shiny gloss on your lips.

Every summer since he’d got a car of his own, and never once has he offered to open the passenger’s side door for you.

It’s a dreadful revelation. He feels his throat burn like the belch of stale leftovers.

Except worse, because there’s something green and angry and wholly emotional about this. Something terrifying that he doesn’t think he’s ready to come to terms with.

“So you going to tell us what we’re doing tonight then Cameron?” You ask, getting into the backseat with Phoebe.

You’re wearing a blouse he hasn’t seen before with a heart-shaped necklace that he has, exposing kindling-like skin which makes his throat burn harder. And Phoebe looks gorgeous beside you, the way she always does, her brown hair styled in curls and her full lips a rosy pink.

That’s unfair. You always do too. It’s just that this fact is extra debilitating right now.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rafe replies, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. He flicks on his blinker before pulling out onto the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the centre console.

His bicep in your direct line of vision, the entire length of tanned muscle bulging.

You narrow your eyes. “I hate surprises. You know I hate surprises.”

Rafe nods. “Exactly.”

“Don’t worry Y/N, Rafe said you’d love it,” Adi says then, grinning.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Sweet, näive Adi. He’s forgotten the importance of taking everything Rafe says with a grain of salt. “Are we going to mini golf?”

Adi balks at you through the rear-view mirror, bemused. “Wait. Shit. You don’t like mini golf?”

“I don’t like mini golf with Mr Island Club’s under par champion,” you correct grimly, glaring at Rafe.

“Under par champion?” Phoebe echoes, raising her eyebrows. “I’m almost impressed, Rafe.”

“Shit Phoebs, how do I get you the rest of the way there?” Rafe asks, grinning.

“Prove it tonight I guess.”

Rafe sends her a salute through the rear view mirror, faux-sincere. “Aye aye captain.”

Adi must notice that you still look fairly indignant, because he pipes up then, tender bordering on abashed.

“Don’t worry Y/N, he only planned half of the date,” he says. “The other half’s all me. We’re going to that restaurant in Wilshire you’ve been dying to try.”

Your frown acquiesces a smidge. “Wait… seriously? I don’t even remember telling you about that!”

“You didn’t.”

The look on your face melts into surprise, almost endeared. Rafe aches. “Then how did you…”

Adi raises his eyebrows, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “I’ve got spies everywhere.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You ask then, turning your head toward Phoebe intently.

She raises her arms in surrender, shaking her head. “Wasn’t me, babe, looks like Adi’s got moves.” She sends him an approving look, her bright green eyes sparkling fondly. “Not bad Patel, now this I’m totally impressed with.”

Rafe’s ego takes less of a blow than his wretched heart does. “Oof,” he says, trying for a grin and landing closer to a grimace. “I’m wounded.”

Phoebe winks. “Thought man-eater was your type, Rafe Cameron.”

“Nah,” he returns, mirth returning to his features. “More like women so beautiful they can get away with fucking anything.”

“So Y/N then,” Adi says.

You smile bashfully, cheeks warming. “Okay cute, but definitely not Rafe’s type.”

Rafe disagrees — he thinks it’s pretty obvious that you’re his type. Not in a romantic sense, or anything, it’s just that he’s a straight guy that resides on Earth and he doesn’t think there’s any of those whose type you aren’t.

Not that he’s going to disclose that at a double date with your friend and his.

“No,” he accedes, lying through his teeth. “Blink’s way too Outer Banks for me.”

“Exactly,” you agree, raising your eyebrows significantly. “We’ve got to bring new people in before our shitty bloodlines destroy us.”

“Fucking hell,” Phoebe says then, amused. “You guys are doing a great job of selling this place as a holiday destination, y’know that?”

“Hey now, don’t judge the place by the people,” you admonish, nudging her shoulder with yours. “If it wasn’t for my overbearing parents, I probably would’ve picked a college in the Carolinas.”

You don’t tell them that it’s really Rafe’s family that catalysed the move, how his mother passed away and his relationship with his father subsequently disintegrated. You don’t tell them about the quiet abuse he endured, how it prompted him to apply for a university a six hour flight away. For you to follow him, no questions asked, because in what world would you have survived three years away from each other?

“We both would’ve,” Rafe agrees, his gaze hesitating on you before moving to Phoebe through the rear-view mirror. “Glad we didn’t though.”

Phoebe turns to you, smiling fondly. “I’m glad too.”

“For me, yeah?” Rafe asks, his momentarily stoic features softening into something playful.

Phoebe rolls her eyes, mostly affectionate. “Who else could I possibly be meaning?”

“Well I for one,” Adi declares then, faux-sombre, “am extremely grateful for you brother.” He glances at you over his shoulder, winking. “For having a friend as gorgeous as Y/N.”

Rafe makes a face. He’s trying for a jibe but his heart isn’t quite in it. Begrudgingly, he says, “I’ve got plenty of gorgeous friends.”

That I’m not this protective over, his mind privately adds.

“Me and the boys don’t count,” Adi replies, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, none of us tolerate you as much as she does. That shit takes superhuman strength, Cameron.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed. Not for Rafe. It makes his wretched heart feel awful. “Finally,” you say. “The recognition I deserve.”

“Hey hey, what about me?” Rafe asks, admonished. “We did grow up together, you know. If anything takes superhuman strength, it’s living through all of blink’s tragic phases.”

Adi meets your gaze through the rear-view mirror, his hazel eyes mirthful. “Phases plural? Please elaborate.”

You send Rafe a warning look. “Don’t you dare Cam.”

Rafe grins in response, a dangerously roguish expression on his face. “Don’t you think it’s time everyone heard what your first ever Instagram handle was?”

“Okay,” Phoebe says, leaning forward in anticipation, “now I’m interested.”

“Rafe.” You’re basically begging now. Pathetic. “C’mon. I’m serious.”

Rafe hesitates. He doesn’t think your eye contact has ever left him this debilitated, all wide and pleading with sunset speckling your pretty irises. “Alright, chill, a story for another day.” Another pause. “Besides, memory lane is probably easier to go down with some visual aids.”

You groan. Adi and Phoebe perk up, grinning playfully. “Stop,” the latter says. “Like baby photos?”

“Blink’s mom is a hoarder,” Rafe returns, nodding. “She’s got so fucking many photo albums filled with digis of us, it’s embarrassing.”

“Both of you?” Phoebe asks, meeting Rafe’s gaze. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like Ward Cameron’s much of a memory collector,” Rafe returns, suddenly diffident. He coughs. Your features soften on instinct. “Someone’s gotta keep track of us I guess.”

“Besides, my mom’s more than happy to do so,” you add, attempting to shift the focus away from Rafe. “Before she married my dad, she worked as a wedding photographer.”

“Shit, that’s pretty cool,” Adi says, smiling kindly. “I’ll have to get some tips off her this summer. I’ve always been pretty into that stuff too.”

You glance up at him in surprise, a little endeared. “Wait… really? I didn’t know frat boy prodigies could have creative interests.”

Rafe’s heart pulls, something terrible and envious threatening to rear its ugly head.

You’re lying, you do know that they can — it was your mom that gave Rafe his first camera as a young boy. This antiquated old thing with a scratched up Canon logo above the lens; it was your mom that told him he had a good eye, your mom that encouraged him to transform his pain into meaningful images.

He’s finding it difficult enough to share you with Adi, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to bear lending him his favourite hobby. Or your mom, basically his mom, especially after his own passed away.

It’s dreadful.

He turns into the mini golf carpark and pulls into the nearest spot, quick to turn off the ignition and unfasten his seat belt so he can be the first person out.

He’s going to hold the door open for Phoebe if it kills him.

And he’s quicker than Adi this time, making his chivalry difficult to ignore. Adi says, “you’d be surprised,” in response to your previous remark, but you’re too busy taking inventory of Rafe’s fond expression to register it at all.

Him and Phoebe are all sparkly eyed with tandem smiles, his hand taking hers and her figure proximal to his. Devastatingly proximal, almost skin-on-skin with this promise of more that makes your chest feel awful.

“Oh,” you breathe out. It doesn’t matter that Adi’s opened the door for you too. “Right, yeah. Clearly.”

“Alright,” Rafe declares then, throwing his arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. More awful now, cloying as it climbs to your throat. “We going to make this game of mini golf interesting or what?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Interesting how Cam?”

Adi falls into your step seamlessly, knuckles brushing yours a beat before he’s entwining your fingers. He squeezes your hand comfortingly, the rough ridges of his palm exerting a grounding pressure. Your shoulders relax a little.

“Well,” Rafe begins, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. Faltering in surprise when his gaze drops to your interlocked fingers. “Uh… I don’t know. Loser pays for dinner?”

Phoebe frowns her disapproval. “Uh, no deal hot shot. If I have to pay for anything, I’m not counting this as a date.”

“Woah slow down, who said you’d be doing any paying?” Rafe returns playfully, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Don’t worry Phoebs, I’ll make sure you aren’t the loser.”

“By being the loser yourself?” You ask, raising her eyebrows.

Rafe lifts his in tandem. “This coming from the girl who hasn’t made par in the history of the game.”

“Hey!” You defend, faux-admonished. “Every other time we’ve played I’ve been half cut on shitty beer.”

“So have I,” Rafe returns, grinning triumphantly. “Still manage to smoke everyone’s asses.”

“Not that it’s hard or anything. Kelce and Topper play more tragic than me, as if that’s fucking possible.”

Rafe lets out an appreciative laugh, his hold on Phoebe’s shoulders loosening a smidge. “Fuck, do you remember that time Top fell into the pond at Holey Moley?”

“Hard to forget,” you return, laughing in tandem. “Wasn’t that the night we took him out because we were sick of hearing him cry about John B and Sar?”

“Shit, it was! Back when Kelce was seeing that foreign exchange student… what was her name again?”

“Oh, um…” your hold on Adi’s hand acquiesces as you think on this, your brow furrowing in concentration. You don’t notice. Rafe’s arm has slipped down Phoebe’s back, lingering at her waist absent-mindedly before falling to his side again. He doesn’t notice. “F something…”

“Florence!” Rafe exclaims.

“Oh my god, yeah, Florence!” You reply. Adi and Phoebe share a look. The pair of you don’t notice. “Speaking of, did you see that hard launch he posted on his story? Since when does Kelce fucking Smith have a girlfriend?”

“Dude, fuck if I know, you know he’s always been so secretive about that stuff. Remember how long it took him to tell us him and Flor were a thing?”

Another amused laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed and all Rafe’s. His chest swells. “Until after she’d gone back to London,” you reply. “Classic Kelcey, huh?”

“So,” Adi interrupts then, sounding gauche. “This Kelce guy is one of your Outer Banks friends?”

You glance up at him in surprise; it’s as if you’d forgotten that he was there. That this was a double date with him and your gorgeous friend Phoebe, not just another Friday night hang-out with Rafe. The aftermath of this revelation is more sheepish than it is bashful, like a switch in your brain that reminds you that you’re supposed to be performing.

Double dreadful. You’re standing at the mini golf reception and you can’t even remember how you got here.

“Oh, yeah!” You reply, momentarily chagrined. “You’d like him Adi. He’s pre-law just like you.”

“Is he the hot one or the cute one?” Phoebe asks thoughtfully.

“Hot,” you reply without missing a beat. At Rafe’s raised eyebrows, you add, “not to me! They FaceTimed me the other day and Phoebs happened to get a glimpse of them.”

“Ah,” Rafe returns, and then he meets Phoebe’s gaze, looking comically grave. “Not as hot as me though, yeah?”

“Hotter,” she teases, smiling saccharine sweet. “Too bad they’re too polite to be my type.”

Rafe grins at this, sharing a knowing look with you. “Don’t know if that’s an adjective I’d use to describe Top and Kelce.”

You adopt a faux-bemused look, mirth hiding behind your expression. “Really? I don’t know. Remember that time Top politely told your dad to fuck off when he was wasted?”

Rafe cringes. “He’s lucky that the Ward Cameron didn’t press any charges.”

“Ha,” you scoff, “even if he had, it’s not like anything would’ve happened. Judge Thornton would’ve had that shit revoked within the hour.”

“C’mon, we can’t hate him too much for that. Remember when I got caught driving you guys around on my learner’s, and he managed to sweet-talk the cop out of confiscating my permit?”

Adi and Phoebe glance at each other awkwardly. They’re vying for a stake in this conversation and failing miserably.

Luckily for them, it’s in this moment that the receptionist beckons them over.

“Hey!” Adi greets in relief, springing into action. “Could we please grab four tickets?”

“Sure,” she replies, starting to ring it up. “Paying together or separately?”

“Together,” Adi and Rafe say in unison, just as you say “separately.”

You frown at the pair of them, shaking your head. “You guys can pay for dinner.”

“Loser pays for dinner,” Rafe corrects. “I’m paying for this.”

“You’re algood brother, I got it,” Adi insists, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket. “Besides, you’re going to be the loser that pays for dinner. The least I could do is cop this expense for you.”

Call it pride (even if it’s closer to something slightly possessive), but Rafe Cameron refuses to acquiesce on money matters. He has to pay, he always pays when it’s you and him.

Not that he particularly gives you a choice in the matter.

“Ha, very funny,” Rafe returns, activating the Apple Pay feature on his phone. “I’ve gotta pay Patel. If I don’t pay for this, I won’t have paid for anything tonight. It won’t even be like a real date. I’m paying.”

“Or,” you say then, sounding exasperated. “We could all pay for ourselves and not make a big deal out of this.”

The cashier lets out a beleaguered sigh, holding out the EFTPOS machine expectantly. “I assume you guys are on a double date? Why don’t the boys pay for their girls and we call it even?”

Rafe doesn’t like this idea either. The thought of Adi paying for you makes his heart drop to his stomach.

He knows this is kind of ridiculous. It’s why he’s forced to keep his mouth shut when the rest of you don’t share his sentiment.

“Very diplomatic,” Phoebe says approvingly. “I like it.”

Adi nods in agreement, tapping his card on the sensor once it’s ready for him. Rafe does the same, his lock screen displaying an old photo of you two before switching to his virtual credit card. His expression is almost unreadable — almost, perhaps to those who don’t know him very well.

To you, it’s clear as day. He’s resentful. It’s perplexing.

The emotion’s far too fleeting for you to comment on, melting into the same mixture of warmth and charisma you’re familiar with within a second. He grabs the equipment the cashier hands over, giving each of you a club with a charming grin on his face.

The yellow lights overhead speck his blue eyes with hints of aureate. As he smiles down at you, his ridiculous bone structure accentuated by the shadows they cast, you’re struck by the fact that your best friend Rafe Cameron is like… effortlessly handsome.

Double perplexing. You accept your club in a daze, missing the way his calloused palm lingers.

The rest of the night is similarly perplexing.

You and Rafe spend the first hole—which features an artificially azure pond—reminiscing over Topper’s aforementioned stumble.

At the fourth hole, he pulls a move that makes your traitorous stomach churn. When Phoebe hits it two under par, he lifts her up in triumph and twirls her figure around.

“That’s my girl!” He exclaims, the words tumbling out of his mouth all effortless. Holding her close with his strong muscles taut and looking like the absolute death of you.

“We’ll get them at the next one,” Adi murmurs comfortingly, ducking his head so his lips are at the shell of your ear. No sparks. He must think that your pained expression is a byproduct of your competitive spirit, not the surprise that jolts through you at hearing Phoebe is Rafe’s girl.

Not you. You could hold a mirror up to his resentment right about then.

It’s alright though, because diplomatic hole ten ensures you’re even.

When you struggle past par—and sure, perhaps more for Adi’s benefit than yours—it’s Rafe’s turn to feel his stomach pull despairingly.

“Here,” Adi says kindly, stepping toward you. “Mind if I…?”

When he embraces you from behind, chest to back with no regard for personal space, the crown of Rafe’s golf club forms a crater on the Astro turf.

At the tell-tale scrape of pressure, Phoebe glances down at the artificial grass, bemused. Adi’s rough hands find your waist and Rafe’s exert a punishing force on his handle.

“This is gonna sound like a line,” Adi murmurs, his deep timbre raising goosebumps on your neck, “but it really is all in the hips.”

He demonstrates by swinging them side to side gently, this effortless motion that makes Rafe’s heart flounder.

“Smooth Patel,” he calls weakly, trying for a jibe as if he isn’t attempting to throw him off.

Adi sends Rafe a pointed look just as you glance up at him, eyes widening in tandem. Unblinking. It makes him feel even more wretched, as if that’s fucking possible. Adi’s hands acquiesce on your waist so that they can fold over yours on the golf club handle. Arms and forearms touching, now.

No sparks. Maybe if Rafe knew this, he wouldn’t have left another dent in the Astro turf.

“So instead of pivoting with your wrists,” he continues, drawing your arms back with his, “you wanna pivot with your hips.”

When he brings the club down to take a hit, his chest presses closer to your back, emanating body heat and vetiver. He’s bigger than you, paradoxically strong as he is gentle.

Wearing a cologne you’re unfamiliar with. You’ve had Rafe’s woodsy cinnamon scent down packed since you were in high school together.

The golf ball rolls into hole ten easy. Rafe mistakes the triumphant smile on your face as a display of affection, hopelessly enamoured.

It fills him with this overwhelming urge to separate your figures now, to give his frat brother a baseless shiner, to replace his embrace with an even fonder one. He aches. You’re smiling an only-for-Adi smile that’s far from the platonic one he knows and he really aches.

“Hey,” Phoebe says then, breaking him out of his reverie. She’s staring at him with this funny look on her face that prickles uncomfortably up his neck. “Did you hear me Rafe? We’re heading to the next hole now.”

“Oh,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right, yeah.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, continuing to stare. Something knowing in her gaze that terrifies him. “You good?”

“Of course I am.” He grins weakly. “You’re just really fucking distracting, y’know that?”

A beat before she responds. She shakes her head soberly, turning to follow you and Adi to hole seven. “You’re a terrible liar, Rafe Cameron.”

By the time you’ve reached the last hole, both of you have already sworn to never do this again.

Privately. For less platonic reasons than previously mentioned.

You think your last straw was probably Rafe’s hole fifteen victory, when he asked his lucky charm Phoebe to give him a kiss before his final swing.

On the cheek, but still.

He’d wolf whistled approvingly when the ball had landed near the hole, beckoning her over to help him get it in in two.

“Me?” She’d asked, raising her eyebrows. Mostly skeptical; you think you’re the only one who registered the bashful lilt to her tone.

“You,” he’d returned, lifting his in tandem. Ducking his head when she neared, angling his sharp jaw forward. Accepting her kiss as if it wasn’t making your wretched heart flounder, and having the audacity to send you a wink when the ball rolled into the hole thereafter.

Payback, probably.

Because Rafe’s is earlier, when you comfort Adi for fucking up par at hole thirteen.

When Adi’s ball lands several meters short of its destination, Rafe lets out a delighted laugh, amusement evident on his features. He says, “Shit Patel. That’s gotta be a record.”

“Yeah yeah,” Adi mutters in response, slightly ruffled. “I’m just giving you guys a chance to win, alright?”

“My hero,” you tease, circling his figure to give him a reassuring squeeze. On your tip-toes, lips at the shell of his ear, you add, “don’t worry Adi. It’s a par four anyway.”

Awfully proximal, awfully liberal with your touch and disposition, as if that’s fucking allowed, as if Rafe’s supposed to be okay with it.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through dinner. You’re now at the last hole and it’s getting closer and closer.

“Fuck yeah!” Phoebe exclaims, getting the final hole in three. She was the last one to go; the rest of you have already made hole eighteen. “That’s us done, right? Because I’m fucking starving.”

“That’s us done,” you echo, smiling feebly. More a grimace than anything particularly delighted.

“And if my calculations are correct…” Adi says, squinting down at the scorecard in his hand, “Phoebe’s the one paying for dinner.”

Phoebe gasps, faux-scandalised, sending Rafe a playful glare. “We had a deal, Cameron! What happened?”

Rafe grins. “What happened is I can’t stand anyone else paying for my girl. It’s on me Phoebs, don’t worry about it.”

Your heart drops again, that ‘my girl’ phrase feeling a dreadful weight in your ribcage.

You miss the fact that he didn’t specify who his girl was on purpose.

—

The restaurant is a bustle of energy when you arrive, soulful jazz undercut by the steady hum of conversation. Retro wall sconces bathe it in muted auburn light.

The four of you approach the front counter, where a pretty waitress is scrutinising the laptop screen in front of her. When she glances up to greet you, you don’t miss the way her eyes linger on Rafe’s features.

It draws forth a hunger pang. What you presume to be a hunger pang.

“Hello,” Adi begins, sending her a smile. “Reservation under Patel? Should be for 7pm.”

The waitress’ gaze drops to the screen again before she nods her approval. “Oh yes, four for 7pm,” she says, grabbing some menus and stepping out from behind the desk. “Follow me.”

She leads you to the back of the restaurant, where a candlelit table is tucked into one corner. The orange flame flickers ominously.

“Here we are,” she says, placing the menus down with a flourish. “Can I get you still or sparkling water to start?”

“Still,” Rafe says, just as Adi says, “Sparkling.”

The pair balk at each other, hesitating.

“Uh,” Rafe glances at you, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “sorry brother, force of habit. Blink hates sparkling water.”

Your cheeks warm instinctively. “We both do.”

Rafe frowns. “I don’t.”

“Why don’t you ever ask for it when we’re out for dinner then?”

“Because you don’t like it,” Rafe replies, like it’s obvious. It makes your warm skin burn even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible.

“Oh.” You look from Adi to Rafe, momentarily bashful. Behind them, you see swear you see the waitress raise her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rafe replies, shrugging matter-of-factly. He takes a seat and gestures for the rest of you to follow, turning back to the waitress and repeating, “Still would be great, yeah?”

You slide into the banquette seat beside Phoebe, still abashed, the vivid merlot upholstery complimenting the orange mood lighting. She’s wearing a tandem expression to the waitress. You try your best to avoid eye contact.

“So Y/N,” Adi says then, passing the menus around, “I assume you already know exactly what you’re ordering?”

You grin at him, once gauche now a little more fond. “Obviously.”

“Good,” he replies, placing his menu back down decisively. “You can order for me too, then.”

Rafe sends Adi a pitiful look, faux-sombre. “Rookie mistake Patel. Prepare to eat the weirdest combinations of food known to man.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “This coming from the guy who dips pickles into peanut butter.”

“No way!” Phoebe exclaims then, letting out an appreciative peal of laughter. “I’ve never met anyone else who enjoys that combination before.”

Rafe regards her with surprise, this awfully pleased smile on his face that makes you rue bringing up the connection in the first place. “Holy shit,” he returns, his Southern timbre like smooth molasses. “We really are a match-made in heaven, aren’t we?”

Soulmates. The regret cloys at your insides, lamenting.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely only letting Y/N pick my meal,” Adi declares then, looking mildly disgusted by the pair of them. “You guys are fucking weird.”

You nod in agreement. “Thank you.”

Phoebe sends you a reproachful look, mostly teasing. “Alright hot shot. What exactly are you picking for us?”

Rafe responds before you can, the menu held up to eye-level as his thoughtful gaze pores over it. The emblazoned restaurant name stares down at you in mocking.

“Let me guess,” he starts, and then he pauses, contemplating, “edamame beans and vege tempura to start, obviously.” He looks at you over the menu’s edge, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No comment.”

He grins roguishly. “That’s a yes. And…” he glances back down at the menu “uh, gotta be the rainbow roll and avocado roll, definitely no sashimi, and maybe… the teriyaki chicken?”

“You forgot drinks, genius.”

“Too fucking easy, you’re obviously going to get a yuzu sour.”

Your eyebrows lift in tandem, juxtaposing the amusement that softens your voice. “And you’re going to get a Coors light and eat none of the edamame. Is that supposed to be impressive Cam?”

“Guilty.” Rafe shrugs. Adi and Phoebe share another reluctant look. “Edamame is fucking nasty.”

The waitress chooses this moment to return to your table with a notepad. She glances at the four of you in turn before her pretty gaze stalls on your features, expectant.

“Um,” you falter, the tips of your ears warming in gauche abandonment. You turn to Adi and Phoebe, directing your next question to them. “You guys happy for me to order for us?”

Phoebe’s got a funny look on her face that makes your skin feel terribly see-through, bare to the bone save the Rafe-sized box of details in your ribcage. You swallow. “Yeah,” she nods after pause. “If you’re gonna order everything Rafe says you will, it sounds delicious.”

“Agreed,” Adi says.

“Okay.” You look back up at the waitress, who’s stolen a quick glimpse at oblivious Rafe beside her. Oblivious handsome Rafe. What you assume is another hunger pang sears through you like a bullet. “Um… we’ll grab the edamame and vege tempura to start if that’s okay.” A pause. “The rainbow and avocado rolls too, please. And, um… the agedashi tofu.”

Rafe sends you a look. “No teriyaki chicken?”

You shake your head, looking at the three of them in turn. “Not unless you guys want any?”

“But it’s your favourite,” Rafe says then, ignoring you. Like there’s no way he’d pass up a dish that you’re fond of.

Like there’s a you-sized box in his ribcage too.

“If it’s your favourite, we’ve gotta try it,” Adi declares, looking up at the waitress. “Can we grab that too please?”

She nods in response, jotting down the menu items. “Any drinks?”

“A Coors light and a Yuzu sour,” Rafe replies before you can, ordering for you. As if it’s you and him on this romantic rendezvous, not you and him on dates with two other people.

Just shy of platonic, almost chaste with his intentions. He glances between Phoebe and Adi as you balk, adding, “You guys know what drinks you’re getting?”

They share another secret look that you’re sure Rafe clocks too. You swear you catch his ears redden as his eyes dart to you, almost sheepish. Flecks of ochre juxtapose the bright blue of his irises.

He knows you’re pretty the same way he knows the Earth is a sphere, but he finds this fact extra debilitating when you’re sitting opposite Adi Patel. Not him. Flirting all saccharine sweet with his good friend Adi Patel, smiling with your eyes when you regard him, wearing shiny lipgloss for his benefit.

Not Rafe’s. It’s absolutely wretched.

“A negroni for me,” Phoebe replies, sending the waitress a smile.

“Coors light too, please,” Adi says. He has an unreadable expression on his face.

The remainder of the dinner proceeds in much the same fashion, progressively devolving into this awfully gauche nightmare. Every attempt you make at flirting begins to fall short for some reason, and you find yourself grappling for purchase on something familiar.

Something you know. Like Rafe.

He does the same, even if his teasing jibes land easier. He’s doing a winning job at courting Phoebe; it’s a shame her heart isn’t quite in it.

The four of you probably come to the same conclusion at different points in the night — that this double date thing was definitely a bad idea. That perhaps you don’t gel as well with each other as your hopeful minds once predicted.

Except you and Rafe. Obviously.

Phoebe and Adi aren’t shy to bring this up with the pair of you when the night is finally over.

After saying farewell to Adi and Rafe—no goodnight kisses, thank God—you and Phoebe walk to the front door of your apartment in awkward silence.

Phoebe breaks it first. “Well. That was interesting.”

You look over at her, pathetically hopeful. “Interesting fun?”

When she meets your gaze in turn, there’s an undercurrent of skepticism painting her green irises deeper verdant. Your stomach turns. “Interesting interesting.”

At your reticence, she raises her eyebrows, adding, “Interesting sort of weird, don’t you think?”

“Only because we’ve never done that before,” you defend, frowning. “We tend to stay out of each other’s love lives, alright?”

Phoebe guides her house key into the mortise lock, opening the front door. “I wonder why.”

The tone of her voice suggests she knows exactly why. Your cheeks warm. “Obviously because we’re grade A cockblocks to each other.”

Phoebe enters the apartment first, your figure following close behind her. At your response, she turns to face you, hands on her hips with an arch expression on her features. “I wonder why,” she repeats, eyebrows still raised.

“Phoebe…” you sigh. “Lesson learned, okay? No more double dates.”

“No more Rafe and me either,” Phoebe replies with a snort, shaking her head. “You can deny your own feelings all you want Y/N, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that guy is totally into you.”

You eyes widen, unblinking, your wretched pulse thrumming. “He isn’t,” you reply weakly, hardly convincing. “If he was, why would he set me up with his friend?”

“Why would you set him up with yours?”

“I…” the answer seems less obvious now than it did when you first devised this plan, “I guess I thought you guys would be cute together.”

Half true. You fail to mention how this whole thing was borne as a bid to get the Figure Eight off your back, because suddenly they seem less imposing than seeing Rafe with someone else. Romantically.

Selfishly, you think you might want him both ways. Familiarly platonic and now also a little less chaste.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“D’you still think so Y/N?”

No. “Yes.”

She sends you a look. “Y/N.”

“He’s not into me Phoebe,” you return, hopelessly stubborn.

“He is,” she disagrees, crossing her arms across her chest. “He may not have known it before, but he sure as hell knows it now.”

She’s always been awfully perceptive; Rafe’s driving back to his frat now and his fists are tense against the steering wheel, troubled. He’s trying to find a way to tell Adi you’re his without saying it straight. He wishes his friend could just feel his cumbersome heart ache and just know it.

Good thing Adi’s pretty observant too.

Although is it that impressive when the pair of you make things so obviously un-platonic?

“You were right,” Adi announces suddenly, breaking the silence. “Blink and me really do make a good match.”

Rafe’s heart drops. “Yeah?”

Adi nods in response, hedging while continuing to sound painfully nonchalant. “No offense, but I kinda wish that was a solo date. The only reason I didn’t kiss her goodnight was because of you and Phoebe.”

Rafe thinks his heart is probably at his knees now, his ribcage empty. He forces himself to stretch out his fingers on the steering wheel, the tension in them beginning to hurt.

“Oh,” he says roughly. “Right, yeah. You think you gonna ask her out again?”

“I want to. She’ll probably say no though.”

“What?” Rafe frowns. “Why would she do that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s you she wants, Cameron. Not me.”

Rafe falters, glancing at him in surprise. “Huh? No she doesn’t.”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “At the risk of getting us into a car crash, yes she does.”

“Fuck off,” Rafe scoffs weakly, feeling his poor pulse jolt. “Blink doesn’t like me like that. She’s the one who wanted us to set each other up with our friends.”

“Bro.” Adi’s tone is firm, almost determined. “The female race is a fucking mystery, what’s new? All I know is she’s as into you as you are into her.”

Rafe’s foot staccatos on the brake, bringing them to a jostling stop in front of a set of traffic lights. He coughs. His Adam’s apple bobs awkwardly in his throat. “I’m not into Blink.”

Lie. He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s kidding.

“Yeah?” Adi raises his eyebrows. “Cause I clocked the look on your face when I said I wanted to kiss her.”

“Do you actually want to kiss her?” Rafe asks slovenly.

“Of course I do, she’s fucking hot.” A pause. “It doesn’t matter, though. I know she’s off limits now.”

Rafe glances at him as the light turns green, accelerating forward hesitatingly.

He knows his friend is right. Because it’s dreadful, the highlight reel of Adi’s unwanted touches that’s playing in his brain right now, taunting him. He wouldn’t survive it if you and Adi were actually a thing, if you and anyone on planet Earth but him were a thing. Romantically.

You’re his earliest platonic memory and now he’s wondering whether you’re his earliest ardent memory too.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“She… yeah. I guess she is.”

—

“You’re being weird,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at Rafe over your laptop.

Rafe meets your gaze sheepishly, and you’re momentarily thrown. A beam of sunlight divides his handsome face in half, painting one eye brilliant teal while the other hides in shadow.

You haven’t seen much of him since your disastrous double date, and you attribute this to the stress of studying for finals. Two weeks later with three difficult exams under your belt, the pair of you finally organised to study for your last one together.

Which is weird, because you seldom fly solo during exam season. Last year, you’d spend all your time together at this library table, laptops touching with tandem tired eyes and concentration aging your features. Last year, you’d take turns buying each other sugary energy drinks, alternating your all-nighters between his frat house and your apartment.

So maybe it’s more than the stress of finals keeping you apart. Maybe being cognisant of your romantic feelings for each other is also wreaking havoc on the poor chambers of your hearts.

“No I’m not,” Rafe murmurs back, his voice deeper when it’s quiet.

“You are!” You exclaim-whisper, frowning at him. “You’ve barely looked up at me since you sat down.”

Rafe sighs; he knows you’re right. He just doesn’t know how to tell you there’s a good reason why.

He can’t just say that it’s because of the window of blinding sunlight behind you, that it’s because it creates this golden halo around your face as it silhouettes you. So beautiful it’s distracting. Feels like the understatement of the fucking century.

“Because we’re in a library Blink,” he lies, frowning back. His eyes drop to the shine of gloss coating your bottom lip. “C’mon. Let’s take a caffeine break.”

You falter. You, Rafe, coffee without a buffer, no physical Phoebe or Adi but the memories of your last conversations with them ever present .

Terrifying. You nod after pause, slowly closing your laptop. “Yeah. Okay.”

The two of you walk out of the library in tandem, awfully proximal, the tip of your shoulder brushing his upper arm intermittently. Shifting a very un-platonic jolt of static through your skin everytime it does.

Outside, the tepid warmth of summer unfurls over you. You join the footfall heading toward the plot of cafés at the fringe of campus, a cloudless blue sky stretching out overhead.

When you glance up at Rafe with earnest eyes, you find that he’s already looking down at you. Coffee seems less important now than it did a second ago. “So…” you ask tentatively, “what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Rafe lies.

“C’mon, you can tell me. Did you bomb a final or something?”

Worse. “Way to believe in me Blink,” Rafe returns, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated.

You raise your arms in surrender. “I’m just thinking worst case here. What is it then?” You hesitate, the tips of your ears warming. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

Rafe balks. If he thinks on this too hard, he’ll say yes.

Except is it wrong for you to have inadvertently forced him to come to terms with his romantic emotions?

“Shit.” Your eyes widen abashedly, and you groan. “I did do something, didn’t I?”

You take his arm and pull him onto the side of the pavement, lest the steady foot traffic snag either one of you away. This is serious now. You’re to blame for his gaucheness and you need to get to the bottom of it before it kills you.

“What is it?” Your hand acquiesces on his bicep, and the skin where your fingers were burns traitorously in their absence. “It’s the double date, isn’t it? I was a total cock block and you’re pissed at me for it?”

Rafe opens his mouth to disagree, but you refuse to be interrupted.

“Fuck,” you groan, your pretty features scrunching up. Sunlight dapples them golden and Rafe’s skin burns harder. “I knew it was a bad idea. Listen… I can totally make this right. Did you ask Phoebe out again or something? Did she say no?”

You look up at him expectantly, and he’s momentarily thrown by the eye contact. It takes him a second too long to recalibrate and you mistake his silence as confirmation.

You swallow nervously, your poor heart in your stomach. “Right, yeah, of course you asked her out. She’s beautiful, why wouldn’t you? She’s silly for saying no.”

“No,” Rafe interrupts then, “that’s not —”

But you’re not listening. “Don’t worry though, okay? I’m gonna make this happen for you. I’m going to get you another date, trust me, I just need to have a talk with her.”

“Blink —”

You’re rambling hard now, eyes wide, and Rafe feels helpless to it. He’s struck by the memory of the first time he addressed you by your nickname, at your fourth grade science fair when you were presenting an experiment.

Floundering through it, really, dreadfully anxious and unblinking.

It’s the first of your tells he learnt, and he’s ready to admit that he thinks it’s kind of cute. He’s watched your eyes grow with every callow crush you’ve had over the years, every nerve-racking presentation, every blunder and improvisation.

He’s pretty chuffed to be on the receiving end of it now, all things considered.

“I’m serious Cam, I’ll do it tonight. She’s into you, I swear she is, she just has this stupid idea in her head that you’re —”

It happens so fast, you’re momentarily caught off guard. One moment you’re shaking your head at the pavement and the next they’re cradled sweetly in Rafe’s large hands.

When he kisses you, it’s with a sense of urgency that leaves you breathless. His lips exert this devastatingly ardent pressure on yours that makes you think he’s wanted to do this for ages.

And he has, if he’s being really honest with himself. As you melt into the embrace, something in Rafe’s ribcage cracks. He feels the tender press of your body against his, firm on soft, and figures he’s probably incapable now of letting go.

And he tastes like this heady mix of peppermint toothpaste and the absolute death of you, his sloven hands on your skin like the peal of a siren song.

You don’t want to pull away from him at all. You think you could stand on this pavement and kiss him until your poor heart finally stops.

So it’s him that finally breaks away, more to marvel in the luxury of your closeness than anything particularly chaste. Your long eyelashes flutter open, and Rafe’s heart fucking aches.

“That I’m into you?” He murmurs roughly, his calloused thumb swiping across your cheek. “Yeah. Not so stupid.”

“Awful,” you reply softly, still breathless. “We aren’t supposed to be into each other.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah? So you’re into me too then, Blink?”

You make a face. “Apparently it’s obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“Not to you.” You glance up at him through your eyelashes, suddenly bashful. “How long?”

“Apparently forever,” Rafe returns, grinning sheepishly.

“Awful,” you repeat, mostly teasing now. “Does this mean your friends aren’t going to be coming to the Eight after all?”

“Of course they are!” His thumb continues to brush absent-minded circles on your cheek, and you lean into his touch instinctively. “Adi’s still pretty keen. Just… maybe don’t introduce him as your boyfriend, yeah?”

You grimace. Rafe thinks you’re adorable in a wholly un-platonic way. “Is he upset?”

“Not at all. He’s been trying to get me to tell you how I feel since our double date.”

“Seriously?” You ask then, smiling abashedly. “You know what Cam? Think we need to set him up with Phoebe. Because they totally think alike and she’s totally been doing the same to me too.”

Rafe grins in tandem, his tender heart soaring. “No way. That double date really was pretty shit, huh?”

“Needed though,” you murmur.

“Needed,” Rafe echoes.

“Awful,” you say again, the jibe bordering on fond now. “After all that, the Figure Eight still wins?”

“No way.” Rafe ducks his head to sear your lips in another heady kiss, the feel of his mouth on yours the delicious opposite of just friends. Wholeheartedly romantic. “If you’re into me, I’m the one who’s winning.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

New Year's Night. l Joel Miller

Summary: not everything could be perfect

Warnings: fluff, some worries and concerns, they still don't tell others about the pregnancy, Joel is protective

A/N: what would life be without a little drama or angst?

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

As you entered the building, you quickly took off your gloves and hat; it was much warmer inside. You listened for a moment, then went deeper, searching for the source of the noise. Even though it was incredibly cold outside, the renovations were still going on. Another house had to be made habitable as soon as possible, and Jackson was steadily growing. Even without patrols, Joel had his hands full, but he was doing what he was really good at, so it gave him satisfaction. Although he never hid it - a well-stocked DIY store in the area would be nice too.

You peeked into one of the rooms and saw his broad shoulders as he crouched in the kitchen under the sink, struggling with some pipe.

“Fuck…” he hissed under his breath, “Fuck the valve, I should have fucked this whole thing up and…”

“Am I bothering you?”

Joel turned around abruptly at the sound of your voice, and after a moment of surprise, a smile spread across his face. “You came to the rescue?” he asked.

“With coffee, if that helps,” you replied, showing him the thermos of the hot beverage.

He stood up and reached for a cloth to wipe his hands. “It’s bloody cold, you should be home,” he said.

You opened your jacket, showing him the thick woolen sweater you wore underneath. “I’m wrapped up warm, and the cold isn’t scary to us.”

Us. Joel smiled, looking at the place where your child grew up safe and sound. The days passed, and everything became more and more real.

He took the thermos from you and poured himself some steaming coffee. The warm drink warmed his insides pleasantly.

"So, have you thought about it yet?" you asked, walking around the kitchen and looking into the empty cabinets. "Are you going to the party tonight?"

“I could have guessed you didn’t come here without a reason,” Joel mumbled, taking another sip to hide the smile that appeared on his lips.

The New Year’s party was a long-awaited event in town. You’d mentioned it a few days earlier and made it clear that you wanted to go. But Joel loved to tease you. “We have a lot of work to do,” he said as he left the house, and you rolled your eyes.

“I could always go with Jesse,” you threw it out casually.

“And isn’t he dating Dina?”

“They broke up a few days ago.” You leaned against the locker and looked at Joel. You knew his game perfectly and you loved playing it anyway. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Okay, we can go.” He immediately noticed how wide your eyes were in delight. “But I’m only doing this because I feel sorry for Jesse.”

“Asshole.” You hissed.

Joel spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness at your words, but the corners of his mouth turned up. Suddenly, the front door slammed shut and the quick steps of heavy boots headed your way. A moment later, a teenage boy with a shock of red hair appeared in the doorway. He must not have been expecting you, because he nodded quickly.

“Hi, Billy.” You greeted him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Miller.” He replied in a slightly frightened voice, you blinked in surprise, but he was already turning to Joel. “Mr. Miller, we have a problem with the sewage outside. Mr. Johnson wants you to come.”

“Sure, I’m coming. Bloody sewage.”

Billy was clearly pleased, he nodded in your direction and practically ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Mrs. Miller?" you repeated, surprised.

Joel waved his hand and closed the thermos. "He's young, and his mother raised him really well."

"Yeah, I can see that." you replied, pulling your gloves out of your jacket pocket. "Maybe I should go to that party with him?"

Joel looked at you, then burst out laughing. "Zip yourself up properly before you go outside."

The room was full of people, and the music mixed with the hum of conversation. Everyone was in a good mood. Good food, beer, and pleasant company. That was a great way to spend the last evening of the year.

“I don’t think we’ll be here long. Elijah’s been restless since morning. I think his teeth are coming out.” Ann corrected her son, who was squirming in her arms.

“Really?” you let the boy squeeze your finger. “I’m glad you came at all. Joel must have taken a lot of persuading.”

“You know damn well he does it to annoy you. It’s just his nature.” She laughed. “I’m surprised you’re even here. Didn’t he want to wrap you in a blanket and hide you safely in the house?”

“He tried! But I ran away.”

You both laughed. Ann had kept her word and hadn’t told anyone except Shane about your different condition, because it was obvious. Shane didn’t seem particularly surprised, but he was glad you hadn’t insisted on more patrols. “Joel would have buried me in the foundation of the house if I had agreed,” he said.

Your condition wasn't visible to others yet, and the thick layers of clothing certainly helped. The second trimester was slowly approaching, and you welcomed each day with relief.

Something small unexpectedly bumped into you. A group of children were running around the room to the sound of music and carelessly bumping into people.

"Hey! Watch out, kids!"

Joel's voice caught the attention of the children and they all froze for a moment before politely walking over to their friends.

"They're just kids," you scolded him, barely holding back your laughter.

"I know. Are you okay?"

You nodded. If Joel had always kept an eye on you, of course for your safety, now he doubled his attention. It was understandable and although you sometimes pointed out to him that he was overreacting and that if he was in such a state now, what would happen when you were already in the sixth or eighth month, but you were always grateful for his support.

It wasn't like you didn't worry anymore. Your jokes were only meant to mask the fact that every day you were grateful that your condition wasn't changing, that nothing bad had happened to you. And Joel knew it well.

“If the world was normal, I probably wouldn’t be so scared for you. Now I have more and more grey hairs every day,” he said one morning.

“This is our new normal. And I think we’re doing really well here,” you replied, stroking his cheek. “I know you want us to be safe. And we are.”

The music changed and soon you felt Joel place his hand on your back. “Will you dance with me?”

You couldn’t refuse and soon Joel was pulling you onto the dance floor, where a few people were already there. A strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to his solid body. He was a really good dancer, you had to admit that.

“So, what are your plans for next year?” you asked.

Joel cleared his throat and smiled. “You. And the little one. And Ellie, I promised to teach her how to play guitar, but we’re still bad at it.”

“I like those plans.” You replied, brushing your lips against his jaw. “Those are good plans.”

You danced in silence for a moment, but it didn't escape your notice that Joel was clearly worried about something. Even though he was smiling and being there with you, his thoughts were elsewhere.

"What's going on?" you asked as the music stopped.

He bowed his head, but then spoke again. "The last patrol found traces of a camp. Quite a large one."

"Are they refugees?"

Joel shook his head. He looked around the room and slowly led you to a place with fewer people. He took a deep breath. “Jesse and Shane noticed a large group of people. They’re riders or something. They’re hanging around.”

You frowned and crossed your arms over your chest. Suddenly, the charm of the party was gone. “Do you think we’re being threatened?”

He looked at you, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know…” He finally said, “I wish I could say no, but I can’t. We’re increasing patrols, we need to be more careful.”

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Joel tilted his head and looked at you with a mixture of fondness and concern. “Stay out of this, honey.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and smiled. “We could use your help, but you’ve got the most important cargo inside you right now. Okay?”

You nodded, allowing him to wrap his arm around you and kiss your temple.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson

[stnkiconverse]

Hello!! I wanted to ask if you could do Jeff, Masky, Hoodie and Ben (adult/fandom version of Ben and all separated) how would they react if their love didn't like the smell of cigarettes? (Because from what I know they all smoke ;3)

That's it! I love your writings they are so good to read <3

Luv u ^^

Smoker Creeps x Reader who doesn’t like the smell of smoke/weed.

J E F F T H E K I L L E R (cigarettes & weed)

- Instantly defensive when you bring it up. Not because he cares that much, but because he hates being told what to do :3

- "Oh, you don't like it? Damn. That's crazy." Proceeds to light up anyway.

- Expect him to make it your problem for at least a while. Blows smoke near you just to see you react. "That bad, huh?" Grinning like an asshole (i hate him 😒/j)

- If you really press him about it, he gets irritated. "You're acting like I pissed on the floor or something."

- But over time? He starts adjusting slightly without making a big deal out of it :p

- Won't smoke directly around you.

- Steps outside more.

- Maybe switches to edibles instead of smoking weed if you really complain.

- If you ever joke that he already smells like blood and sweat without the cigarettes, he'll flip you off but secretly be self-conscious. Might start chewing gum more. (not that he'll admit it)

T I M / M A S K Y (only cigarettes)

- Doesn't react much.

- You tell him you hate the smell of cigarettes, and he just gives a neutral nod, and goes “Okay.”

- He's been smoking for years, He's not quitting, but he respects your space.

- Always smokes outside 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

- Blows the smoke away from you. (If you’re near)

- If you mention it lingering on him, he washes his hands and changes shirts before coming near you (he hates doing it because it’s just giving you both more laundry to do, but he loves you 😫😫)

- The only time he gets annoyed is if you keep pushing him to quit. "I heard you the first time."

- If you're genuinely concerned for his health instead of just complaining, he might cut back a little :p

- He won't say anything about it, but you'll notice he smokes less often when you're around.

- If you say he tastes like an ashtray when he kisses you, he'll scoff but maybe pop in a mint next time. Maybe.

B R I A N / H O O D I E (cigarettes & weed)

- Smirks when you bring it up. "Damn. That's rough for you." Proceeds to exhale smoke dramatically (he’s so annoying >:(/j)

- Like Tim, he won't quit, but he won't push it on you either.

- Big on compromise. He's the type to be like, "Alright, I won't smoke inside if you stop giving me that look every time l smoke."

- If you hate the weed smell more than cigarettes, he'll just switch to edibles. "Doesn’t hit the same, but it’s more efficient."

- If you hate both, he sighs but starts covering the smell better.

- Sprays his hoodie more,

- Chews gum,

- & starts smoking outside.

- If you complain while he's high, he laughs his ass off. "You're literally mad at a plant right now."

B E N D R O W N E D (only weed)

- Fake betrayal. "Wait, you don't like the smell? Damn. Thought we were cool." Clutches chest dramatically (😒)

- Ngl- he's lazy as hell. He won't stop smoking weed, but he'll try to adjust in the easiest way possible.

- maybe opens a window,

- or uses a fan.

- Hotboxes his room instead of the whole house 😭😭

- If you really can't stand it, he might switch to edibles instead. But he's gonna complain.

- "Do you know how much more expensive these are?"

- "See what I do for you?" Says this while waving around his weed gummy.

- If you whine about it too much, he blows smoke in your face on purpose. "C'mon, it’s a plant."

- Laughing while you glare at him. (I’d break up w him right there 😭😭)

So basically:

- Jeff → Defensive at first, but low-effort adjustments over time. Won't quit but will smoke away from you more.

- Tim → Doesn't stop but respects your space. Only gets annoyed if you nag.

- Brian → Compromises easily, switches to edibles if needed. Still makes jokes about it.

- Ben → Lazy stoner behavior. Might swap to edibles, but expect complaints.

Sorry for making u wait so long 😔😔

Hope this was good enough tho!!

[freeabortionslol]

being best friends with the hughes and jack having always been in love with her and everyone knows but her. they finally get together and when jack tell everyone’s no one’s believes him and thinks he joking

okay...so i may have done like way too much plot for this but I honestly cant help myself. i also don't know if this was a request for a fic or a text but I wrote a fic (oops drop it in my inbox if you wanted it as a text and I'll do it)

it's nice to have a friend(jack hughes x bsf!reader)

summary: fluff! pining (from jack ofc), bsfs to lovers, luke being an absolute child, basically jack picking you up on a rescue misson

warnings!! cursing, kissing

wc: 3k

“Y/n L/n drunk and crying on the curb. You’re in your element.” Jack smiled at you out the passenger window from the driver's seat. You had been out with your friends for a girls night. It was supposed to be fun and you were supposed to let loose, but instead you found yourself chasing your wasted friends around all night. You were too busy making sure they wouldn’t do anything stupid to have any fun of your own. When you went to the bar to get a drink you turned around and they were gone. They left you by yourself in the city in the middle of the night, and being scared to ride in an Uber alone, you decided to call your best friend, Jack.

“I’m not drunk, asshole. I’m barely even tipsy.” You got up to stand, walking towards the car door, hopping in with one swift motion. You climbed into the seat, slamming the door behind you, and crossing your arms. Jack’s gaze lingered over you for a moment watching your misery which he hated more than anything. He graced you with an empathetic half smile before turning his hazards off and driving the car back onto the road. 

He sighed deeply, turning the radio down slightly “What happened?” he asked softly.

“Maria and Chloe left me in the bar alone. Some creep was all over me at the bar and I guess they assumed I was good with him.” You sniffled out, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I spent the whole night chasing them around.” Jack placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. “I just wanted one night of my own to let loose and have fun.” You flailed your arms in the air letting tears escape your eyes. 

“Hey, the night is still young.” You turned your head to look over at him, noticing how perfect his jawline looked through the street lights. “We can still have fun. Luke’s staying with Quinn in Vancouver. We'll hang out just the two of us like old times.” Jack’s words settled in, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Despite the situation, he always knew how to lift your spirits.

You glanced over to him, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah? Sure you’re up for it? It’s already almost one.”

Jack scoffed playfully and squeezed your shoulder. “Of course I am. You’re my favorite person and we can’t have you sad on a Saturday evening.” 

The drive back to the apartment was silent for the most part. You watched out the window, the familiar streets making you feel more at ease. You and Jack walked through the apartment complex in silence, watching as he fiddled for his keys in his pocket. You stepped through the door, letting the scent of the cinnamon candle fill your nose. You felt almost immediately at ease as you flopped onto Jack’s bed, letting his soft duvet entrap your body.

“Get out of my bed.” Jack laughed, pulling you up by your arm.

“Why? I’m so tired.” You pouted, giving him puppy eyes.

“You know the rule, no outside clothes in my bed. No makeup either, you’ll get it on the white sheets.” Jack smiled as he walked over to his dresser, pulling out a devils t-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear.

“Nuh uh. Your dick has been in those.” You crossed your arms, glaring at Jack who had the clothes in hand.

“They’ve been washed. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He threw them over to you.

“Correction, don’t get these Jack Hughes gray Calvin Klein boxers in a twist.” You said, making your way towards the bathroom. You slipped your sweaty black dress off your body, stealing some of Jack’s deodorant before pulling the shirt over your head. You took a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror, analyzing everything that had gone wrong tonight. You felt a small sense of betrayal from your friends as sadness crept up on you. You wondered what kind of friend would leave you alone in a bar with some random man in the middle of the night with no ride home. Jack would never do that, no he would’ve never let the guy get within two feet of you. Suddenly relief washed over you, realizing that you were safe at Jack’s house and not sleeping on the floor of Chloe’s apartment. He wanted nothing more than to make you comfortable, though you couldn’t tell why. You pulled the boxers up and began carefully wiping your makeup off with the neutrogena makeup wipes that Jack kept at his place for you. You started to glance around the bathroom noticing that he kept a lot of things here for you. You always knew they were there because you used them, but you never really took attention to the gesture. You looked down at the sink seeing your pink toothbrush, whitening strips, cerave face wash, and your expensive mouthwash he knows you like. You turned your head to the back of the toilet where Jack had put various feminine products in glass containers. You glanced at the shelves in the shower at your shampoo, conditioner, sugar scrub, shaving cream, and your razor. That’s a lot of things that cost a good bit of money. You thought to yourself, this place screams “I have a girlfriend” do girls not notice these when they come over? Come to think of it, Jack’s never really mentioned girls around you. You knew he had them of course from Luke and Quinn, but you never bothered to ask him thinking it may cross a line. You however, spent endless hours talking his ear off about your male conquests. Guys from work, home, bars, hinge, you name him and Jack’s heard about him.

“You good in there?” Jack knocked on the door.

“Y-yeah i’m alright just finishing taking off my makeup.” You replied, his voice breaking your trance.

“Just making sure you didn’t pass out.” You couldn’t see him, but you could sense his sly smile through his voice.

“I’m not drunk, Jack!” You shouted, kicking the door which resulted in several giggles from him. You wiped the final streak of eyeliner off your face and made your way out of the bathroom. You immediately caught sight of Jack lounging on the bed in his sweatsuit, computer in his lap. He looked up from the screen to subtly stare at you in his clothes. His eyes softening at the sight of you, his shirt fit comically large around your frame, but it was perfect to him in some way.

“Gonna keep staring at me like some fuckin’ weirdo?” You raised your eyebrows at him.

He scoffed, “Sit down, pretty girl.” He scooched over so you could lay beside him, your shoulders brushing against each other as you took your spot.

“No, pretty girl left a few seconds ago when I took off my makeup.” You turned your face slightly to look at him. A smile was already growing across his face.

“Impossible. There’s one looking at me right now.” The two of you held your gaze for a few moments, neither of you sure what to do next. Your heart began to pound as you thought of the possibility of him kissing you. You quickly turned your face towards the laptop screen.

“So what are we watching?” You cleared your throat, your head finding its place to rest on his shoulder.

“Not one of those stupid romcoms you like.” You smacked his shoulder playfully and scoffed.

“You love those movies!” 

“Wrong. I liked Ten Things I Hate About You.”

“So, that's the pick?” Jack groaned, throwing his head back.

“Fine! But no crying.” He started typing the movie into the search engine, clearly pretending to grumble about it. You settled against him, head on his shoulder, letting yourself sink into his skin as the movie started. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you tried to distract yourself from the way his thumb absentmindedly traced patterns along your arm. You could feel him stealing glances of you as the movie went on, his head shifting slightly. You felt the warmth of his gaze and couldn’t help to sneak a few back, each one resulting in a smirk or a soft laugh from him. It was enough to make your heart race. As the poem scene began playing, you couldn’t help but let tears fall. You shifted to wipe your eyes, feeling silly but not caring.

Jack chuckled, pulling you in closer, his voice low and teasing “I thought we agreed no crying.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, hiding your face in his shoulder. “I’ve seen it so many times, but it just gets me y’know?”

He rested his chin on your head, giving you a gentle squeeze. Your heart thudded as he pulled back slightly to look down at you, his face closer than ever, his blue eyes scanning your expression trying to read your thoughts. You felt a rush of courage and held his gaze, feeling the redness rise to your cheeks. Finally, Jack spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y’know you don’t need makeup for me. You’re perfect the way you are.” You blinked, catching your breath as his words sunk in. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and before you could think twice, you found yourself leaning in to close the gap between the two of you. Maybe it was the confidence of the alcohol, but that had almost entirely worn off. Jack’s eyes flickered with something unspoken as he met you halfway, his lips pressing softly to yours for a lingering kiss. The two of you held the kiss for a moment, his teeth subtly biting your bottom lip gently. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, as yours moved to his arm. The kiss intensified in an instant, releasing every amount of tension that kept it hidden for so long. You both pulled back, foreheads resting against each other, each of you breathless. He stole one last kiss, before pulling away entirely, smiles growing slowly as the realization hit.

“I love you.” He cooed out, his hand still resting on the back of your head. You let out a soft laugh, moving to rest your forehead in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his body.

“I love you too, Jacky.” He quickly moved his hands to wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body, letting the scent of your perfume entrap him. Your legs were tangled, letting yourself drift off to sleep as the tv played softly in the background, neither of you watching any longer. Jack waited until you were asleep before moving you over, so he could spoon you letting himself breathe. He pulled his phone from the nightstand with his freehand to text his brothers about tonight's victory.

Jack: Guys I did it. She’s mine. Told her I loved her.

Luke: Who?

Jack: Y/n

Quinn: HAHA no way

Jack: Yes way

Luke: No. Number one you're too much of a little bitch to ever tell her, two she would never ACTUALLY go for you.

Quinn: As much as I want you to go for it, you never would

Jack: I DID I SWEAR

Luke: Yeah okay pal cya tomorrow

The night was peaceful, you and Jack were wrapped in each other throughout your sleep. The morning light was harsh on your eyes which Jack took notice of, and got up from the bed to close the blinds. You subtly shifted your body onto the pillow at the sense of Jack’s absence. He chuckled softly and moved his way to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Luke was coming home today with Quinn alongside him. He didn’t expect to have you over last night, but my goodness was he happy about it. Jack began mixing batter in a bowl for the pancakes, letting his mind drag him to the memory of you sound asleep next to him in his bed. He wanted every night to be that way. He glanced over to his door hoping that maybe you would stumble out of his room, but he knew you were tired from the night before. He was in the middle of flipping a pancake when he heard the front door open, followed by the familiar voices of his brothers. 

“Guess who's back!” Luke shouted, walking into the apartment, throwing his bag on the couch. “Ooh! Pancakes!” Luke ran to the kitchen trying to get in Jack’s way, to which he responded by pulling the plate of finished pancakes out of Luke’s grasp.

“Uh uh! Go wash your hands first.” Luke groaned and made his way to the closest bathroom, which was Jack’s.

“You’re such a mom.” Quinn remarked, taking a seat at a barstool. “Funny joke last night, but seriously you need to tell Y/n how you feel. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, it’ll at least stop you from following her around like a lovesick puppy.” Jack slammed the stack of pancakes on the counter, pulling out four plates instead of three which Quinn didn’t take notice of.

“I’m not joking. I actually did it.” Jack scoffed.

“Uh huh sure, and I quit my job last night.” Quinn laughed out as Jack sent him a middle finger. The scene was quickly interrupted by Luke storming out of Jack’s room, running towards the kitchen. “Woah, Luke. Slow down.” Luke was panting, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath from the run he just took.

“There's…A…” He took deep breaths before every word.

“There’s a what?” Quinn questioned, pulling a pancake from the pile onto his plate.

“There’s a girl in Jack’s bed.” He panted out. Quinn’s eyes widened, immediately shifting his gaze to Jack who was smirking.

“So mr I confessed my love to Y/n last night has a girl in his bed?” Jack threw his head down at the stupidity of his brother. “Knew you were lyin”

“WHO DO YOU THINK THE GIRL IS?” Jack yelled, a wide smile across his face. Luke’s mouth dropped immediately, forgetting about the pancakes he ran back to Jack’s room, Quinn following close behind. Luke didn’t think twice before jumping on the bed throwing his body over yours. You awakened in an instant, you rubbed your eyes and looked up to Luke who was wearing a sly smile. 

“Gross Luke. How much axe body spray did you put on?” You groaned out, your eyes still not fully opened.

“No! Gross Y/n. You kissed our brother!” Quinn stated as he moved his way onto the bed, lying down next to you, propping himself up on his elbows. You squinted your eyes, trying to find the strength to keep them open. 

“She’s in his bed, they definitely did more than kissing.” Luke laughed out and you sent him a hit to the shoulder.

“Get off me you asshole!” You pushed Luke off, climbing your way out of the bed and towards Jack's dresser. 

“After all this time I can’t believe he actually did it.” Quinn let out with a chuckle as you pulled one of Jack’s hoodies from the drawer.

“What are you talking about?” You said pulling the hoodie over your head.

“Dude, Jack’s been in love with you since like seventh grade.” Luke shifted his position to the edge of the bed as you turned to face him.

“Are you serious?” You squinted your eyes, crossing your arms.

“Are you kidding? You never knew? He made it so painfully obvious.” Quinn chuckled, throwing his head back slightly. You stood there still processing what Quinn said, your heart pounding at the revelation. Jack had been in love with you since seventh grade? How did you miss that? All those little gestures, every time he was always there when you needed him, the way he’d listened to you talk about every guy you dated, even if you could sense his slight discomfort. It all made sense now.

Luke, still lounging on the bed, watched your reaction with a mischievous grin, “So do you like him back, or was last night just some…experimental sleepover?”

“Luke, stop. It’s- complicated.” You turned your head trying to hide your blush, knowing damn well that it wasn’t complicated. You just didn’t want to have this conversation with Jack’s teasing brothers who just so happened to be your best friends.

“Complicated?! He literall-” Luke started but was cut off by Jack walking in the room looking mildly confused and a bit exasperated.

“Hey hey! Let’s not harass Y/n right when she wakes up.” 

Quinn laughed and stood up, clapping Jack on the back. “Look, lover boy, we're just helping her process the last decade of weird repressed feelings the two of you have. She had no idea how obvious you were being.”

Jack turned pink, giving you an embarrassed smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t that obvious.” he mumbled, but you could see a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

You stepped forward, reaching for his hand. “Actually you might have been, and I…I might’ve been really bad at picking up the hints.” You laughed softly, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm on yours.

“Finally!” Quinn groaned out, Luke flopping himself back into the bed.

“Now we don’t have to watch you guys be grossly oblivious to each other anymore.”

Jack rolled his eyes slightly, keeping his gaze on you, a gentle smile on his face. “You wanna go for this?”

“Absolutely.” You nodded, heart pounding with happiness. Jack pulled you into his arms, planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.”

Luke groaned loudly from the bed, interrupting the moment. “You guys are disgusting. Breakfast is getting cold.” You and Jack let out a subtle laugh before walking to the kitchen, hand in hand.

[no-144444]

Judgy McJudgy Pants or Osc? You decide!- o.piastri

Day 9 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: you and oscar are getting closer, or are you?

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You stepped out onto the asphalt with a smile. Another weekend, another race, another day in your perfect job. Well, maybe not perfect. Oscar Piastri, aka Judgy Mcjudgy Pants was somehow still in the paddock and somehow still getting on your nerves. Anyways, Thursday meant media day, which meant you got onto the track early, usually with some of the F2 or F1 Academy drivers for an early morning cycle. By early, it really meant early. 5am start, and since it was Austin, spectators were already filtering in. Running beside you today was none other than Judgy Mcjudgy Pants himself, Oscar Piastri.

“So JMcJP,” you started as your cycle began. “How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He chuckled at the nickname, then answered with a simple ‘good’. You rolled your eyes. You had never been able to get good answers from him, no matter what. He’d always be too busy giggling like a schoolboy to answer your questions, so you saved the shitty ones for him.

“Descriptive,” you deadpanned. “Now, since we at SkySportF1 are so nice, we decided to bring someone special in to interview you!”

“Not just because you don’t want to do it?” he smirked.

“Everyone welcome Logan Sargeant!” you ignored his snarky comment and turned to Logan, who appeared beside you as you cycled. You handed him over the mic and cue cards and just focused on your ride, off-camera. The track was a little over 5 kilometres, so it wouldn't be a long interview.

“So Oscar,” Logan cleared his throat. “Anyone special in your life at the moment? Other than your debilitating crush on our lovely F1 presenter Y/n Y/l/n?”

Oscar’s face dropped and he stopped cycling. “This isn’t live right?”

“It’s not, don’t worry,” Jordan, your camera operator, explained with an apologetic smile on her face.

“Thank God,” he cheered, relieved. “Logan you asshole!” Oscar pushed into him, with a smile, but pushing all the same.

“What? You need to confess eventually?!” Logan scodlded, somehow staying on his bike.

“Not right now though, I was making good progress!”

“What, you could get through 3 whole words without giggling, or are you up to 4?” Logan mocked.

“I am a grown man-”

“Maybe I’d believe you if you just had the balls to ask her out.”

“You two are so slow, hurry up!” you called from about two hundred metres in front of them. “Alright, next question!” Logan moved on, cycling onwards again. “Who’s your best friend on the track?”

“Well I would say you but you’ve left us for Indycar, so… probably Lando, Alex, or Zhou,” he nodded.

“And why is that?”

“Lando and I are teammates, Alex and you were teammates so I saw you two together a lot, and Zhou and I were in F2 together,” he shrugged.

Logan’s eyes widened at the next question. “Who’s your favourite SkyF1 presenter?”

Oscar sighed, but told the truth anyway. “Y/n, probably.”

“I hope you’re not talking bad about me!” you shouted back at them, even further ahead now.

“Only good things!” Logan shouted back with a smile as Oscar fell deeper into his embarrassment. “Alright Oscar, who would you choose as your date to the prize-giving gala at the end of the year?”

Oscar sighed again, knowing what he was subjecting himself to. “Probably Y/n.”

Logan laughed as Oscar sighed, and an awful idea popped into his head. He turned to the camera with a big smile, and said. “If Oscar wins today we should make Y/n go as your date for the gala.”

Oscar’s face filled with dread but he knew how much Sky liked to torture their hosts, so he knew they’d love the idea. You? Not so much. In a selfish way, he was pretty happy that Logan had said it, because it gave him a chance with you. A whole night with you to himself? Sounded perfect to him. All he had to do was win the race.

“Y/n! We have an idea!” Logan shouted to you. “If Oscar wins today you have to go as his date to the prize-giving ceremony at the end of the year!”

You groaned as you reached the starting/ finish line again. “Do I have to?” you looked to Ted Kravtiz, technically he was your boss. He smirked and nodded, and you started hoping that Oscar wouldn’t win today. “Sounds like a deal,” you said, unenthused.

Logan cheered as Oscar’s sense of dread deepened, and he started to feel bad that they were forcing you to spend time with him. This couldn’t just be about the shoes, right? You had to hate him for another reason. It’s just… you never dropped the facade, in front of him anyway. You were always mildly irritated with him (except when he won his first race), and if you weren’t mildly irritated, you were completely. The cameras cut, Logan started chatting with you as Oscar stood there, catastrophizing even more.

You watched as Oscar essentially left the room, though he was standing right there. You’d never seen him get like that, he was always so calm and so collected, and it was almost worrying to see him be anything else. After a few minutes he left without a word to either of you, and you started fearing the worst. Maybe you’d brought this JMcJP thing too far, maybe he hated you, maybe you should go talk to him.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ After a few interviews, you found yourself walking around the McLaren motorhome trying to find Oscar. Eventually, you found his driver’s room and knocked on the door hesitantly. “Oscar?”

It swung open and you were met with a very confused looking Oscar who pulled you into his room and shut the door behind you two. He put the back of his hand against your forehead, seemingly… checking for a temperature?

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “You never call me Oscar.”

You rolled your eyes at his awful excuse for a joke, and sighed. “Y’know I did come in here to apologise, but I don’t think I’m going to do that now-”

You turned for the door but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back. He raised an eyebrow. “What would you be apologising for?”

“Logan this morning, you don’t have to use me as your date for the prize-giving ceremony, use your girlfriend-”

“Don’t have one,” he answered quickly. “And I need to win, right?”

“Right,” you smiled. “But seriously, don’t ever feel pressured to like… do what Ted says. Or be around me, I know we don’t always get along, but it is all in good fun, right?”

He nodded, all too happy that he could finally get through a conversation without giggling. “Right.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you smiled, going for the door handle but once again, he pulled you back.

“You don’t just dislike me because of the shoes, right?” he asked.

You chuckled. “What would you say if I don’t dislike you, but I am still hurt over the shoes?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh good,” he chuckled. “And how can I pay my penance for that?”

You thought about it for a moment, then smirked. “Winning today would be pretty helpful, I wouldn't have to think about a date then.” He smirked and nodded, finally letting go of you and letting you leave the room.

He had to win today. ୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“And it’s Oscar Piastri who crosses the finish line first, making this his third career win!”

Fuck off. He won. And you weren’t even mad.

Ted looked at you with a smirk. “Not needing a date for the ceremony then?”

“Shut up,” you scolded, playfully hitting him. ୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[marauder-misprint]

hellooo congrats of 1k followers !!! you’re one of my favorite writers and I wish you 1000 more followers <3 also requesting a friends to lovers w barty crouch jr with prompt "i've loved you since the day you threw a rock at me in first grade." !!

Hi and thank you ❤︎ I changed 'first grade' to 'six' because that's the age they'd be. I suppose it could've been 'first year' but it works better with six. Trust. ❤︎ I love writing fluff. Fluffy fluffy fluffy.

1,000 Followers celebration

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Good aim

Barty Crouch Jr. x Slytherin!reader

2.7k words

cw: fluff, Reader and Barty being assholes, friends to lovers

The Crouches lived down the street from you. You met Barty when you were both playing outside. He was using magic to set things on fire. You were tossing pebbles and seeing how many times they would skip before stopping. You said hi to Barty and introduced yourself. He told you his name, but that’s it. You stood next to him as he burned things for a while, until your mother called you back inside. 

That was only the beginning. You would watch Barty burn things whenever you were outside together. You weren’t as good with your magic so you hit things with sticks and rocks until they broke. Barty helped you break some bigger things and once you managed to make something explode. You both giggled about it for at least ten minutes. 

Your young friendship wasn’t perfect. You saw him outside before a party your parents were taking you to. You went out to say hi and to show him your dress. 

“I don’t like dresses,” he said. 

You scrunched your face and frowned. Your father said your dress was beautiful. You started to walk back to your house, but then you saw a decent sized rock on the road. You picked it up and hurled it at Barty. It hit him in the middle of his back. You didn’t stay to see his reaction; you ran to your parents for the party. 

You were young and Barty was your friend. The thrown rock was water under the bridge by the next time you saw him. You didn’t apologize for it and he never brought it up. You were just two kids having fun outside, casually causing destruction to the neighborhood. As you got older, your friendship persisted. Eventually you got introduced to each other’s parents and you spent time at each other’s houses. You ended up getting sorted into Slytherin together at Hogwarts and that sealed it. You would be best friends forever.

“Bartemius!” you yelled, barging into the boys’ dorm during your sixth year.

“Oi! Don’t you knock?” one of Barty’s roommates, Martin Reyes, shouted as he hurriedly pulled up his pants. 

“Nothing I ain’t seen before, Reyes. Where’s Barty?” 

He jerked his thumb toward the bathroom. You crossed the room and rapped loudly on the door.

“Bartemius!” 

“I said wait for me in the common room!” he yelled through the door. 

“Got bored.” You turned around and sat on Barty’s bed. 

“And you’re not going back out?” Martin asked. 

“Nope. Need to light a fire under his arse.”

“What are you two getting up to now?” 

“Best I don’t say. Don’t you want deniability?” 

“Right,” Martin said as he grabbed his school bag. “See you in Potions then.” 

Martin left the dorm and you fell backwards into Barty’s pillows. You closed your eyes, knowing you still had a little bit before Barty came out of the bathroom. You figured he woke up late. That wasn’t too uncommon for him. You hummed to yourself while you waited. 

“Told you to wait in the common room,” he said when he finally opened the door.

“And I said to be ready by seven. It’s seven-twenty.” You swung your legs off the bed. “Reg’s practice only goes until eight.”

“So we have plenty of time!” 

“Just grab his things and let’s go.” 

Barty grabbed Regulus’ school bag and followed you out of the dorm. You found an empty classroom, which wasn’t difficult being that breakfast wasn’t over yet. You both sat down on top of one of the desks and Barty started digging through the bag.

“Anything good?” you asked, trying to look inside as well.

“Looks like the usual. Books, essays, his quill and ink… Why did we think he had anything for us in here?”

“It’s Regulus. He’s always hiding stuff from us. Gimme the essays.”

Barty handed you the various parchments and you started to scan them. Nothing. It was homework that was due later in the week.

You sighed. “We’ll need to nick these later. His Charms essay is brill. Potions is good as ever and Defense… lazily done but still better than my half-assed usual.” 

“Oooh! What do we have here?” Barty pulled out a small black book from the bag. “This isn’t a textbook.”

You snatched it from Barty’s hands. He whined in protest but didn’t try to get the book back from you. You flipped through the pages, a grin spreading across your face.

“Not as good as a diary, but he’s reading poetry,” you laughed. “It’s romantic!” 

“Our boy’s gone soft,” Barty groaned playfully. 

You handed him the book and took the bag from his lap. You riffled through it and went through every pocket. There was a rip in the bottom, which you found odd. This was Regulus’ bag. He wouldn’t keep a ripped bag. He could have it replaced in seconds with a trip to Hogsmeade or with an owl order. You shoved your hand through the rip and found a neatly folded letter. You opened it.

“Barty. Barty. Barty!” you said, hitting the side of his arm as you read it. “REG’S GOT HIMSELF AN ADMIRER!”

“What?” Barty asked, practically falling onto your shoulder to see what you found.

“This!” You aggressively waved the letter in his face. “It’s a fucking love letter! This is so much better than poetry!”

“Who is it?” 

“Dunno. No name.”

“Damn.”

“Time to go find our seeker.” 

Regulus was not happy to see that you and Barty had his school bag when he walked into the Great Hall after his quidditch practice ended. He grabbed it from where it sat on the table and briefly looked through it.

“What’d you two do to it? Ink going to explode?” 

“Hmm, no,” you said with an innocent look on your face. “But we’re wondering… Does anyone have a thing for you?” 

If you and Barty hadn’t spent years annoying Regulus at this point, you wouldn’t have noticed the slightest tinge of pink that appeared on his ears. Your innocent look shifted into one of success as you nudged Barty’s foot under the table.

“I mean, someone must. House of Black, seeker, smart, dare I say a handsome bloke,” Barty listed off. “Right? You’d say he’s handsome?” he asked you.

You nodded. “Handsome, yes. Not my type though.”

“So, Reg, who’s your ladylove?” Barty asked, grinning.

The pink spread to his cheeks and he wouldn’t meet either of your eyes.

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

“You sure? Mr. Lion Heart, Epitome of Art, God of the Broom, Dispeller of All Gloom?” you asked.

Pink turned into crimson. 

“Assholes. You two are assholes.” Regulus grabbed an apple and stormed out of the Great Hall while you and Barty burst into fits of laughter. 

“He’s going to hex you one day,” Pandora said from a few seats down.

“He’s already hexed us. It’s his love language,” you replied. 

For the rest of the day, you and Barty were on the lookout for Regulus’ revenge. It usually came in the form of a painful hex. But by the time you crawled into bed that night, you were unhexed. The next day came and went, as did the next. 

“He is going to get us back, right?” you asked Barty. 

“Eventually. Always does. Guess he’s taking his time.” 

It wasn’t like Regulus ended his friendship with you over teasing him about the love letter he had hidden in his bag. He gave you the cold shoulder for the rest of that day and then went back to normal. Still, like Barty said, he always got his revenge on you and Barty. It was a back-and-forth that you had going since third year. 

Regulus had a plan. He knew something and he was going to use that knowledge in his revenge. Which might not end up actually being revenge. It could, being that there was a chance it would destroy your friendship with Barty, but Regulus had a feeling that it wouldn’t. He had to wait for the right moment to reveal what he knew. 

He found you in one of the rare moments after class when you weren’t with Barty. You were in the library, trying to finish an essay for Transfiguration before you lost all ability to focus for the weekend. Regulus sat next to you. He didn’t take out anything, not even a book. 

“Yes?” you asked. 

“I’m not the only one with an admirer,” he said coolly. 

You hummed. “I’m sure lots of people have them. Yours just happened to write you a letter with poor poetry. You should give them that book you got.”

“I know who my admirer is. A book isn’t going to help them,” he chuckled. “But, I also know who yours is.” 

That got your attention. You set your quill down to prevent any rouge ink blots. You clasped your hands together in front of you and turned your head to Regulus.

“I’m listening.” 

“Oh, I’m not telling you.”

“Then why tell me I have one?” 

He shrugged. “Felt like something you should know. Good luck on that essay.”

Just like that, he was gone. You stared at your essay. How were you supposed to focus now? Regulus knew you would want to know who it was; he knew you wouldn’t be able to work on homework any more. It would only be a matter of time until you came back to the common room so he had to work fast. 

He headed to his dorm. He needed butterbeer, firewhiskey and a small vial that contained a potion he had been saving for a special occasion. Regulus decided that occasion would be today. He cracked open one of the butterbeers and waited. 

“Reeeeeguuulussssss,” Barty drawled, entering their dorm. “I’m bored.” 

Subject one had arrived. 

“Here,” Regulus said, tossing one of the butterbeer bottles to Barty.

He caught it and opened it. “Thanks.” 

“Why aren’t you off causing trouble?” Regulus asked. He needed to make conversation until you arrived. 

“Apparently, McGonagall’s essay outranks me,” Barty sighed as he sat down and put his feet up on his desk.

“Can’t get into trouble alone?” 

“It’s more fun when she’s around.”

“Okay, and you can’t bother Reyes? Or Rosier, Snape, Mulciber, Avery?” Regulus asked. 

“You’re trying to get rid of me after giving me a drink?”

“‘M just reminding you there are more than two other people who tolerate you.”

“I think you more than tolerate me, Black.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Crouch.”

“How come you’re not out with your secret lover?” 

“We have plans for later this weekend. Not that that’s important.”

“You know who it is?” Barty gasped, jumping up from his chair. “Who?”

“Right, because I’d tell you that.”

“I’ll find out eventually.”

“You’ll find out when I want you to.” 

Barty took a long swig of his butterbeer. 

Their dorm door swung open with a bang, revealing you. Subject two. You glared at Regulus.

“I was trying to be productive,” you announced. You slammed the door shut behind you. “You are a complete arse, Regulus Black.”

“What’d he do?” Barty asked.

“Disrupted my studying!” 

Regulus smirked. You walked past Barty to sit on his bed, grabbing a butterbeer from Regulus’ desk as you passed it. 

“Sure, help yourself to one,” Regulus said dryly.

“It’s payment for making me do homework on a Saturday!”

“I’m not making you do anything.”

You waved your hand in his direction. “Technicalities.” 

Barty drained the rest of his butterbeer and eyed the firewhiskey. 

“Mind if I break into the good stuff, my dear and lovely friend, Reg?” Barty asked, giving him a crooked grin that said he was going to pour himself a cup whether or not he said yes.

“It’s already open.” 

Barty’s grin widened. He helped himself, pouring a double, and then held the bottle in your direction, offering to pour you one. You held up your butterbeer. He nodded and took a sip before returning to his chair. Regulus watched him carefully. 

“What’s with that look?” you asked Regulus.

“Huh? Nothing.”

“No, you look like you know something.”

“I know lots of things.”

“He’s not feeling particularly generous with his knowledge today,” Barty told you. “Apparently he knows who his secret admirer is and he won’t tell me.”

“He claims to know my secret admirer as well,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Barty choked on his whiskey. He gave Regulus a worried glance. 

“I do know,” Regulus said with a sly smile. “Barty knows too.”

“You knew that someone fancies me and you didn’t tell me?” you gasped, tossing one of his pillows at him. “Asshole!” 

“That’s correct,” Barty said, trying to school his expression. Something felt wrong in his brain, but he couldn’t identify it. 

“Some best friend you are! I thought we told each other everything!” you exclaimed. Your words were accusatory but your tone was playful. 

“Not everything…” 

“Not everything? Bartemius, what haven’t you told me?” 

“I’ve loved you since the day you threw a rock at me when we were six,” Barty blurted. The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

You stared at Barty with wide eyes as your brain tried to process what he just said. Barty looked away from you with a bright red face and turned to Regulus. 

“What did you do?” he asked him with a strained voice. 

“Testing if I brewed my Veritaserum correctly. Sounds like I did,” Regulus said smugly. 

You turned to Regulus. “Veritaserum?” 

He nodded, standing up and moving toward the door. “I’ll give you two some space.” 

Once he was gone, a thick silence fell over the dorm. Barty had put his cup down on the desk and leaned over his knees with his head in his hands. He had been content loving you in secret. You understood him so perfectly. You knew when the burning and destroying things was covering up something else. You listened to him rant about the pressure his father put on him to get excellent marks so he could go into the ministry like he did. You held him when his mother had a health scare. And you had been there for so long. 

“Barty?” you asked softly. 

Physically, he wasn’t far away. All you would have to do is stand up and take one step and you’d be right in front of him. Mentally, you knew he was spiraling. That’s what Barty did. 

“Barty,” you repeated when he didn’t respond. 

He still didn’t move or say anything. He was preparing himself for rejection – waiting for you to say he was just a friend, basically a brother. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you watched his body shudder with a shaky breath. You stood up and took the one step toward him. Then you crouched down to be at his eye level. You ran a gentle hand through his messy hair. 

“Since we were six?” you asked. Your hand came to rest on his upper arm. 

“I’m going to murder him.”

“Well, we’ll have to tell him the serum doesn’t last long,” you said with a soft laugh. “You love him too much.” 

Silence. 

“Barty. Since we were six?” 

He nodded. His head was still in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. He didn’t want to see the pity in your eyes as you tried to let him down gently. 

“You know, that makes me look bad, right?” 

“How so?” he grumbled. 

“Since we were six?” you repeated again. “I didn’t realize I loved you until last year.” 

Barty slowly looked up. His face was still bright red, but now he looked shocked rather than embarrassed and furious at Regulus. 

“You… you… you love-”

“I love you, yes.” You laughed and took his hands in yours so that he couldn’t hide his face again. “It just took me a lot longer to realize it.” 

“I mean, I’ve heard most people don’t throw rocks at people they like.”

“Most people don’t like having rocks thrown at them.” 

“I liked how you had good aim.” 

“Only you, Barty… Only you.”

Then you pressed a kiss to Barty’s cheek.

“Oi, I thought you had good aim.” 

You raised your eyebrows, unsure of what he meant. 

“You missed,” he said before taking his hands out of yours to grab your face and crash his lips onto yours. 

You understood what he meant. You had missed. 

Tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

[lowpolyhagrid]

erik campbell nsfw alphabet

warnings: 18+ mdni!!! f!reader

my requests are OPEN!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

he falls asleep every time without fail… but he’ll wake back up in like 30 minutes

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he thinks his hair is his best feature. and he loves your back and chest.. and waist (more on this later)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he definitely prefers finishing on you, rather than in you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

oh this freak loves when his nipple piercings are messed with

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he knows what he’s doing. very much so!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

he loves hitting it from the back (esp. in front of a mirror HELLOOOO) and missionary

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

it all depends on the mood. but we know how erik is with his one liners

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

hes lowkey very methodical when it comes to trimming his pubes. kinda cute

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

it depends on how close you two are. but there’s occasionally times where he’s emotional and he just needs you.. and that’s when he’s the most intimate

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he’d be so down to send you videos of him jerking off.. if ur into that sort of thing. but he doesn’t really need to, because he has your fine ass 😛😛😛

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

hair pulling, choking, marking, very very soft bdsm.. but he gets a little freaky sometimes

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

ANY FUCKINNNN WHEREEEE!!!! but he still thinks about the time that you had sex in the tattoo parlor after it closed.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

teasing, he’s lowkey into getting rejected.. and when the hem of someone shirt lifts up and reveals someone’s waist..

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he won’t do really freaky weird shit… like shit… and shit

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

oh he’s an eater… LIVES FOR THAT SHIT!! but will not turn down head… ever. who wouldn’t give him head tbh???

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

obviously a case by case basis. but he’s very good at reading the mood and knowing what to do, but he tends to be a bit fast

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

any time any where. he likes having sex in public a lot. in a car, in a bathroom, what have you

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

like i’ve said before, he’s game for pretty much anything!!

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

erik can go for like 2 on a good day, but he lasts decently long

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he would love to use a vibrator on you! but they wouldn’t be his first priority. he likes getting in there with his hands, definitely.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

THIS LITTLE SLUT! is such a tease, and an asshole. think a lot of, “you want it so bad, don’t you?”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

a couple of grunts and groans, maybe some moans… maybe even a whine! but he isn’t very loud.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

i feel like he would have steve-o’s “your name” tattoo on his ass. i’m gonna be pushing the damn jackassfan!erik agenda until i die

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

we all remember the scene

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

if y’all are in a committed relationship, your fucking like 3-4x a week.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

his head hits the pillow and he’s done!

[auras-moonstone]

Hi, I love your work so much!! How about some hockey player!ethan and figure skater!reader? Maybe some enemies to lovers? Have a great day<3

everything has changed — ethan landry

word count: 2,150

pairing: hockey player!ethan landry x figure skater!fem!reader

summary: as punishment for his suspension, ethan is forced to become y/n's skate partner for a few weeks

Y/N AND ETHAN STOOD STILL INSIDE THE OFFICE AS THE INFORMATION SINKED INTO THEIR BRAINS. Their coaches looked at each other, wanting to ran off the room as to not deal with the eventual fury that would come from the teenagers that everyone knew despised each other.

"No fucking way!" Y/N finally exclaimed, harshly, as Ethan said at the same time, "I'd rather tore my ACL."

The boy's sentence earned him a glare from his coach. "Don't even joke about it, Landry."

"Y/N, it’s the only option. Unless you have someone else in mind who can replace James."

The girl’s shoulders slumped—she didn't, and as much as she didn't like Ethan, he was kind of perfect for the part. He skated flawlessly and he lifted weights twice as heavy as the girl, so he would have no problem lifting her for the tricks. But there was this tiny detail—Ethan Landry was the most infuriating, annoying and self-centered guy in the whole university. And now she needed him, which made him even more frustrating.

Y/N's skating partner broke his arm and the competition was five weeks away, and if she wanted to compete, she had to push her hatred aside for a few weeks.

"And I wasn't asking you, Landry. It is an order. Consider it your punishment, learn to be professional." his coach said in a determined tone.

Ethan sighed and covered his face with his hands. He had been suspended from hockey for three games after beating the opposite team's defense player almost into oblivion. The ice had been tainted scarlet and his knuckles still hurt, even he knew he had crossed a line. But after the player said the nastiest of things about his family, he couldn't think straight. And here he was now, forced to become a figure skater for three weeks with the girl he loathed the most in the world.

"After you, my love." Ethan said in a sour voice, holding the door of the office open for her. He had a smile so false that Y/N was tempted to slap it off his unfairly pretty face. He loved pushing her buttons, so when he saw her face of annoyance he wanted to infuriate her even more. Y/N rolled her eyes and walked out the room, with the tall boy on her tail. "Wow, no ‘Thank you, Ethan! You're a real gentleman’?"

"Must have been hard not being an asshole for a whole second, right? It didn't give you an aneurysm?" she matched his false smile.

"No, but working with you for sure will." Ethan retorted. "On a positive note, I'll get to see you in sexy leotards."

"Pig" she muttered under her breath. "And I'll get to see you on leggings."

Ethan stopped walking and inspected her face, looking for any signs that told him she was joking "Wait, what?"

She smirked, enjoying the moment. "That's what figure skaters wear, genius."

"I won't wear that."

"Yes, you will, pretty boy. Don’t be a baby about it.” she said, and he flipped her off. He hated her so much. “See you tomorrow."

“Unfortunately.” he said loud enough for her to hear. She rolled her eyes as she walked away, she hated him so much.

THEY HAVEN'T EVEN GOT INTO THE ICE RINK AND ETHAN HAD ALREADY PISSED Y/N OFF. He had been inside the locker room for fifteen minutes now, and didn't want to step out. Y/N was two seconds away from kicking the door down.

"Landry get your ass out of that room right now! We are wasting our time!" she banged on the door furiously.

"You don't understand! I can't wear this, Y/L/N." Ethan yelled.

"Every skate figure wears leggings, Landry. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yes, there is. This leggings are too tight, Y/N. Too tight."

Y/N sighed. "Let me see."

"No way!"

"Stop testing my patience, Landry. Let me see or I'll go in."

A few seconds later, she heard the turn of the handle and the door flew open. The air got stuck on her throat and a strangled sound left her mouth. The rumours going around the university were true, she couldn’t help thinking.

"Holy mother of God" she said loudly, gaze fixed on the problem. "That's too tight"

"That's what I've been saying for the past fifteen minutes!" he yelled frustrated.

"I thought you were exaggerating."

"Are you talking to me or my dick?" Ethan frowned, seeing how she wasn't looking at his face, gaze fixed on his huge bulge.

Y/N was brought back from the shock and finally looked away. "I'm so sorry! That was not okay of me, it's just... shocking."

"That I have a big dick? Ouch, I'm wounded."

"No! I mean- not that I ever thought about it. But I didn't expect I would ever find out" she couldn't have been blushing more. As much as she hated him, she wasn't stupid. Ethan Landry was the most attractive boy on college.

"Whatever. What am I going to do? I can't practice like this."

"Just put your gym shorts above the leggings. And hurry up."

She turned around to leave when he called her name. "I'll never get tired of seeing you in a leotard" Ethan winked at her before closing the door of the locker room.

What was his obsession with leotards? Y/N asked herself as she rolled her eyes. And as she made her way to the ice rink, she tried to ignore the fact that her whole body had turned warm after his words.

While putting his skates on, Ethan watched Y/N going over the routine. There were very scarce the times where he saw her without a scowl on her face or firing insults at him, and that was only when she was on the ice. Her face glowed and she was completely hypnotic. She moved around so flawlessly and elegantly that it was impossible to look away from her, you could tell that she truly loved being on ice. As much as he disliked her, Ethan couldn't deny that Y/N was beyond professional and one of the best skaters he had ever seen.

“Are you ready?” Y/N asked him, sliding towards the edge of the rink. Ethan got out of his daze and nodded. “Okay, so obviously this is not the same as hockey, but I’ve seen your moves and I don’t think you’ll have problems doing this routine. But if you don’t understand something, speak up and we’ll work on it.”

Ethan nodded. “Wait, what do you mean you have seen my moves?” he asked as they got into position.

“I’m a huge hockey fan, and I don’t miss any of Blackmore’s matches. So yeah, I’ve seen you play countless times.”

“Am I your favourite player?” he asked with a smirk.

“Let’s get to work.” she rolled her eyes. But the answer, even though she would never ever say it, was yes. And he knew it.

Objectively speaking, of course, Ethan Landry was the best hockey player Blackmore had. Probably better than the rest of the New York’s university players. On the ice, he was a force to be reckoned with and he was a hard-worker, he cared for his team and for the sport. He was a true captain. And that’s exactly why it shocked her to the core the way he had reacted on that final match.

“That’s a yes, I know it.” he smiled widely, making her sigh. He wasn’t making fun of her anymore, he was genuinely happy by it. And then a frown appeared on his face. “I hope I still am, even after what happened.”

The vulnerability in his voice melted Y/N’s walls. “You still are. You are not the first player to get suspended, and you won’t be the last. It has nothing to do with your skills or your commitment to the sport.”

“That’s not what coach says” he laughed dryly.

“Coach is furious because he lost his best player, but he doesn’t mean it. Everyone in this university knows how serious you are about hockey, okay? Don’t doubt yourself over one wrong action.”

They smiled at each other, for the first time ever, with sincerity. But then he ruin it with his smugness “Do you want my autograph?”

Y/N pushed him away playfully “You’re such an asshole”

“Oh sorry, would you prefer if I gave you my jersey?” Ethan sent her a teasing glance.

“I’d prefer if you shut up and start warming up.”

“Anything for my number one fan.” he winked at her and she almost melted. God, was he charming—annoying, but charming nonetheless.

“I despise you.”

But there wasn’t any hatred reflected on those words anymore. That day, they entered the rink expecting practice to be dreadful and filled with insults. They left laughing and hoping the next day would arrive quickly, because they had actually enjoyed it. There had been insults thrown, but they were the playful kind, insults that weren’t meant to hurt the other. Everything had changed that day for them.

Y/N HAD ALWAYS ENJOYED SKATING AND COMPETING, BUT DOING IT WITH ETHAN MADE IT EVEN BETTER. It’s ironic, when her coach told her he was to be James’ replacement, she thought it would be the worst thing ever. But now, that the three weeks were over, she knew she was going to miss him.

“So, that’s it, then.” Ethan spoke up as they left the arena. Today had been their last practice together, as James had already recovered and Ethan’s suspension had ended.

“That’s it.” she nodded. “It wasn’t half as bad as I’d imagined.”

“It wasn’t.” he agreed. His chest felt heavy, which was silly. It’s not like he wouldn’t see her again. They practiced the same days on the same place, and they even shared some classes. The truth was, he was scared it was the end of their newfound…friendship? God, no. Friendship wasn’t quite right, they had something more going on.

“Are you going to the competition?” she asked shyly, cheeks turning red.

God, she was so cute. It was hard to believe it was the same girl that was constantly bickering with him. “Do you want me to go?”

“I mean, I guess it’s kind of your routine too now, so I figure you’d like to see the outcome.” she said nervously.

Ethan took a step forward, so that she had to look up “That’s not what I asked. Do you want me to go?”

“Yes.” her tone was a bit unstable. His closeness made her insanely nervous, so she cleared her throat before replying again. “Yes. I want you to go. But no pressure, it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll be there.” he assured her. “My game is on the same day, a few hours after your competition ends.”

“Oh, shit! That’s right. Maybe you shouldn’t come, you need to rest.”

Ethan shook his head. “I’ll be there.” he repeated. “But I want you to go to my game”

“I never miss one.” she said.

“Perfect. You know which number to use” he said, giving her a knowing look.

“Of course, I’ll wear Meeks’.” she teased.

Ethan clenched his jaw. “Use one that isn’t mine and see what happens.”

“You sound a bit mad there, Landry. You sound almost—” she stood on her tip toes, her mouth nearly touching his. “jealous.”

“You’re killing me here, Y/N/N.” his tone was pleading. He had never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

“What? You want me to kiss you?” her words left in a whisper and he could feel her breathy voice against his lips.

“I’ll give you three seconds to take a step back, if you don’t, I’ll kiss the hell out of you.” he warned her.

Y/N smiled. “One.” she set his hands on her waist. “Two.” then she wrapped hers around his neck. “Three.” she looked him in the eyes. “Still her-”

Ethan’s lips captured hers. The kiss was like their relationship—it started wild and aggressive and then it slowed down, becoming sweeter and softer but still holding an insanely amount of passion.

“You drive me crazy, did you know that?” Ethan laughed, pressing his forehead to hers. “In the most frustrating and loving way.”

“If a month ago someone told me I’ll be kissing Ethan Landry I would’ve laughed and then throw up in disgust. Now, there’s no other thing I’d rather be doing.”

“Aw, that was kinda sweet. You still have to work on your compliments, but you’ll get there.” he pressed kisses all over her face. “I’m so fucking glad I punched that guy.”

Y/N laughed. “I dare you to repeat that in front of coach.”

“I don’t have a death wish.”

“And you’re too pretty to die.” she pecked him on the lips. “Did I just make Ethan Landry blush?!”

“Shut up!” he laughed in such an adorable way that Y/N was surprised she didn’t melt in the spot. “I really like you, Y/N.”

“I really like you too.”

[knyontop]

bowers gang hcs?

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

PLEASE SEND MORE BOWERS GANG REQUESTS GUYSIGHHSIBJHSIHGJ

Ft: Henry bowers, Patrick hocksetter, Victor criss, Belch huggins.

Tw: dark stuff remember its the bowers gang!!!

Henry:

・Henry is the most aggressive and just mean😭

・you give him one wrong look and your already a target for him.

・depending on how much he hates you is how far he will go.

・He deff has some doggys!!!!

・hes a dog person confirmed ^_^

・he has two dogs, both are German shepherds (cant think of any names so just make them up..)

・hes had sex with like five girls, maybe even more. But they dont mean anything to him he just needs a good fuck every once in a while.

・he mostly goes for nasty bitches (thats all there is in darry) but if hes lucky there will be one sweet, innocent girl he can corrupt. (He has a thing for the innocent ones)

・Henrys favorite color is red im confirming it :3

・he stays out late so he doesn’t have to go home to his shit dad, he hangs with his friends but he also likes his alone time.

・when he was younger i just know he loved trucks😭

・a truck is definitely his dream car💪🏻💪🏻

・Henry doesn’t like loud children and he doesn’t like crowds because its so annoying trying to get through and its loud as hell.

・he is not scared to get into a little kids face and tell them to shut up and if they really push it he might slap em’ on the head.

・i feel like when he was younger he definitely wanted a sibling he wanted a younger sibling to hang out with and make into like a mini him just someone he could protect and hang with. (He still kinda does)

・anger issues, daddy issues, asshole issues, what do you expect?

・henry bowers getting therapy when??

・bro looks at himself in the mirror and just admires himself bc he knows hes hot😭

・AS HE SHOULDDDD

・i would like to say hes pretty good at skateboarding like i just have an image of him when he was younger with his little crew and there just skating☹️☹️

・but he thinks he doesn’t have time for it anymore, only on rare occasions he does it. (Vic still skates often tho)

・but yeah henry bowers is pretty fire🔥🔥

Patrick:

・the most sadistic and cruel like we all know that.

・bro is just born this way no sad backstory nothing😭

・I imagine that its just him and his mom, and his mom is a sweet angel while hes just the devil.

・his dad left after he killed his little brother, and Patricks okay with that. Never like his old man anyways.

・he has some type of caring for his mom I mean like deep deep inside somewhere you will find a little care.

・he does not care about your race or sexuality at all like the only thing he will care about is if your a girl because he believes that men are better than woman.

・little patrick was like, “MOM GET BACK IN THE KITCHEN!”

・complete menace smh.

・but yeah he doesn’t care he just calls you slurs and stuff because he loves humiliating people😭 the rush he feels it gives him a feeling of what its like to even feel something.

・he doesn’t have a favorite color, he thinks thats stupid and childish. Like who gives a fuck? (I DO☹️)

・no filter. Speaks his mind.

・”Fucking whore.”

・evilest laugh EVER.

・”if i laugh during a fight run” ah💀

・deep deep down he has a soft spot for his little gang and his mom, deep, deep, deeeeeep down.

・he wants to feel things he just doesn’t, so, feeling that rush of excitement or sexual energy or desire helps him feel emotions and he doesn’t care if its bad at least hes feeling it!

Victor:

・hes the smartest like he got those straight A’s in elementary🙏🏻🙏🏻

・i just know hes a cat person like he holds in a coo when hes those little furballs☹️

・has two siblings >3< a little brother and a little sister!!!

・and hes a pretty decent big bro to.

・took them to the park, helps his little sister tie her shoes, but just bc there his little siblings doesn’t mean hes not afraid to get rough with them. Hes in the bowers gang for a reason.

・hes like the stereotypical bully, pinning people down shoving them a little bit maybe a little beat dowm mocking and teasing his victims.

・never to far ig…

・Victor’s favorite color is green, yeah pretty obvious ik ik☹️☹️

・he cuts his own hair!!! Hes pretty smart when hes not being a asshole.

・i feel like if he wasn’t a bully he would have so much potential.

・buttt anywho he has old note books that he used to journal in when he was younger he thinks its stupid now that hes older. (I promise its not)

・he likes making Henry proud because i mean hes his leader why wouldn’t he want to please him?

・he grew up in a srict household, when he was 8 he realized rules are stupid.

・they are all little shits omds.

・he used to want to be a cop but look where he is nowwww..

・woops!

・funfact: hes pretty good with kids sense he has little siblings, he just doesn’t have a lot of patience.

Belch:

・most empathetic, his actor even said he was more human than the others he was not as evil as the others.

・i feel like hes a 100% mamas boy he hates his dad, his parents split up so he takes care of his mom behind the scenes.

・he has one little sister which she is the exact opposite of him like literally shes just a sweet little bundle of joy with her taller and bigger intimidating older brother next to her with his arms crossed.

・might be a better older brother than vic ngl😪

・now im not saying hes gentle or nice hes still an asshole hes not a good person im just saying hes nicer than the others.

・he intimates kids, shoves them around, never anything as bad as henry gets with his strength.

・Belch likes to make people intimidated, he feels strong. He feels good.

・belch is a dog person but he thinks cats are okay, but definitely a dog person.

・hes got a little pug <\3

・which he keeps his pug ten yards away from patrick because that pug is his baby.

・to any of patricks fat jokes hes like “Im big boned asshole!”

・close enough welcome back eric cartman.

・I feel like his favorite color would be blue or orange.

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

I had fun making this :33 PLEASE SEND MORE REQUESTS FOR THE BOWERS GANG!!

[sirxaibs]

Nathan Prescott X Fem!Reader

The Rich Asshole . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

masterlist

So i have a few conflicting emotions when it comes to this character. from when i found the game I hated this guy. Though like most people there is an ounce of remorse that we feel for this character. However, my love for him is so conflicting because as much as he is a victim, he is the reason for what happened to rachel. Anyways here is my little story with my conflicting feelings. ALSO YOU CAN SAY HE ISN’T AT FAULT BUT HE IS. just because he was lead to these decisions does not mean he still didn’t do them.

“Fuck off, Prescott!” Your voice snapped down the hall, sharp enough to make a freshman nearly drop his textbooks.

Nathan, slouched against the lockers like he owned the goddamn place, gave a slow, mocking clap. “Wow. Real mature, (Y/L/N). You kiss your mommy with that mouth?” His tone was lazy, but his eyes pinned you like a bug to a wall.

You marched toward him, shoving your bag higher onto your shoulder. “I’d rather kiss a loaded shotgun than deal with your shit for the next two weeks.”

Nathan pushed off the locker with a sneer, standing tall. Taller than you, not that you’d ever admit it.

“Newsflash, bitch you think I wanna work with you?” he snapped, crumpling the project assignment sheet in his fist. “I’d rather fucking drown in a Porta Potty.”

You jabbed a finger into his chest a stupid move, because under all that overpriced denim and leather, he was solid muscle but you were way past giving a shit. “Then drop out, Prescott. No one would miss you.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. You couldn’t tell because just as fast, he leaned in closer, face twisted in a sneer. “You’d miss me, sweetheart. You need someone to take your boring ass life up a notch.” His voice was low, practically a growl. “You’re so desperate for excitement you’ll probably fucking love having me around.”

“You’re delusional,” you spat, shoving past him.

But Nathan wasn’t done. He followed, keeping pace easily, his voice dropping into that dangerous, mocking tone he used when he wanted to pick someone apart. “Face it. You’re just pissed because you have to finally realized you’re not better than me.”

You whirled around, nearly slamming into his chest. “I am better than you,” you hissed, close enough to see the fine scars nicking the side of his jaw, the ones most people didn’t notice under the arrogant smirk. “I don’t have to buy my friends, or bribe my teachers ”

Nathan laughed, sharp and ugly. “Yeah? Keep telling yourself that, bitch. Maybe one day you’ll actually believe it.”

The tension between you vibrated like a taut wire, ready to snap. Across the hall, Mr. Jefferson poked his head out of his classroom door. “Everything okay over there?”

You both spoke at the same time:

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Peachy,” Nathan drawled with a fake grin.

Mr. Jefferson raised an eyebrow but disappeared back into the classroom without another word. Nathan turned back to you, the smile dropping immediately. “We’re meeting at the library. Tomorrow. Four o’clock,” he said, his voice all business now, like he could barely stand to look at you.

“Don’t be fucking late, (Y/L/N). I don’t wanna waste more time than I have to babysitting your dumbass.”

You gave a mocking bow. “Oh, your majesty. Should I bring you a goddamn throne too?”

Nathan just rolled his eyes, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets as he stalked off down the hall without another glance at you. You stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding. God, you hated Nathan Prescott.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

The library clock ticked past 4:00 PM. You drummed your fingers on the table, glaring at the empty seat across from you. Your notebook lay open, pen uncapped. Still no Nathan.

At 4:17, he finally strolled in with all the grace of someone who gave absolutely zero fucks sunglasses on indoors, slouched walk, earphones dangling. You didn’t disappoint. “You’re fucking late,” you snapped the second he dropped into the chair across from you with a loud, obnoxious scrape. Nathan didn’t even look at you. Just threw his bag on the table, knocking your pen to the floor.

“Cry harder.”

You scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah? So’s your face, but here we are.”

You clenched your jaw, grabbing your pen. “You gonna actually contribute or just sit there throwing middle school insults?”

Nathan pulled out a crumpled folder and dropped it onto the table like it weighed ten pounds. “I already did my part. You can finish it. You’re the one who actually gives a shit.”

“You call this your part?” You flipped through the papers of barely legible answers. “This looks like it was written by a brain damaged raccoon.”

He smirked. “Well you and the raccoon have something in common. Both can’t shut the fuck up.”

You leaned in, voice low and furious. “I’m not doing this whole thing alone, Prescott. If I fail because of your lazy, coke snorting ass, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Nathan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze dark and slow. “Blow me, princess.”

You didn’t flinch. You just smiled. Sweet. Cold. “I don’t do charity work.”

A few heads turned. You didn’t care. Neither did he. Nathan barked out a laugh bitter, humorless and sat forward again, voice tighter. “You think you’re tough?”

“No,” you said, deadly calm. “I know I’m better than you. You just hate that I don’t suck up to your daddy’s money like everyone else in this school.”

His smile dropped like a stone. “You’re right,” he said, quiet and sharp. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re just louder, bitchier, and a hell of a lot more annoying.”

“At least I don’t need pills and daddy’s lawyers to make it through the day.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, but he opened the book anyway. Slouched so low in his chair you wondered how he could even see the words.

You tried to focus on your own work, but the sound of Nathan tapping his pen against the table made your skin itch. Every two minutes he let out a sigh, a groan, or muttered some sarcastic shit under his breath.

Finally, you snapped.

“If you hate this so much, maybe you should’ve told Jefferson to pair you with someone who gives a shit about your trust fund problems.” Nathan slammed the book closed so hard it made a few nearby students jump.

“Yeah, because you’re so fucking perfect, huh? Probably got your whole boring little life planned out already. Graduate, go to some shitty state school, get a lame job, marry some douchebag with a Prius ”

“At least I’m not gonna OD in my daddy’s beach house!” you hissed back, the words out before you could stop them.

The library went deadly quiet. Even the air seemed to freeze. Nathan’s eyes darkened. His whole face twisted, raw and ugly, and for a terrifying second, you thought he might actually throw something at you. Instead, he stood up so fast his chair tipped over behind him.

“Fuck this,” he snarled.

The librarian barked from the desk, “Hey! shut up or get out!”

Nathan didn’t even flinch. He grabbed his bag and stormed out, shoving the door open so hard it banged against the wall. You stayed frozen in your seat, chest heaving, throat tight. Some students stared. Others pretended not to notice. Slowly, you packed up your things, the shame burning hotter than your anger now.

You left the library with your jaw tight and your fists clenched so hard your nails bit into your palms. Screw him. Screw his smug face, his broken homework, and that goddamn mouth that never shut up unless he was about to say something even worse.

The cold air outside was a slap, but it helped. You headed toward the dorms, steps quick and angry. Until you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over your shoulder and sure enough, Nathan Prescott was trailing you, jacket half zipped, jaw set like he’d been chewing on broken glass. You stopped. “Are you seriously following me now? What, storming out wasn’t enough for you?”

Nathan didn’t stop until he was right in front of you. Too close. “Why the fuck are you always such a bitch to me?” he snapped.

You blinked. That… wasn’t what you expected. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he bit, eyes narrowed. “We’ve barely spoken before this week, and you act like you’ve got me all figured out. You’re always ready to throw shit at me like you know me.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. For once, he wasn’t just being snide he was pissed, yeah, but there was something else under it. Something sharper. Real.

“What the hell did I do to you, huh?” he went on, voice rising. “We’ve never had a conversation before Jefferson paired us up, and you already decided I’m the devil or some shit.”

“You’ve got a reputation, Prescott. Don’t act surprised.”

He laughed. One dry, humorless breath. “Yeah? So that’s it? Some gossip, and suddenly you know who I am?”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t need to know you. I’ve seen enough.”

“No, you’ve seen what you want to see.” He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You think I’m some rich junkie asshole with a fucked up temper and a silver spoon so far up my ass I choke on it, right?” You didn’t answer. The silence said enough. Nathan’s tongue pressed against his cheek. He nodded slowly, like he was trying to swallow something bitter. “Right. Thought so.”

You shifted your weight. “Look, you act like a dick, Nathan. You treat people like they’re beneath you.”

“And you treat me like I’m already guilty of something I didn’t even fucking do.” His tone turned colder. “So what does that make you? If you’re throwing labels at someone without even trying to know them?”

You tried to shove past him, but he stepped in front of you again not touching you, but close enough to make your blood burn. “What? Can’t handle hearing it? You’re so sure you’re better than me?”

“I am better than you.”

“No,” he said, voice like ice, “what kind of self righteous bullshit is that”

You stared at him. His eyes weren’t glazed or cocky like usual, they were clear. You hated how it made your stomach twist. “Just stay the hell away from me,” you muttered.

He didn’t move. “Then stop talking about me like you know me. Because you don’t. And judging by today?” He tilted his head slightly, mouth curled in something bitter. “You’re not half as perfect as you like to pretend.” Then he finally stepped aside, letting you pass. But his words followed you all the way down the sidewalk.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You moved through the halls walking beside Max while she rambled about her latest photo concept. Her words blurred something about natural light, shadows, an abandoned greenhouse. You nodded here and there, but your attention wasn’t really on her. Nathan Prescott stood across the hall, leaned casually against the lockers in that crimson red sweater he always wore like armor. His hands were shoved into his pockets, posture slouched, head tilted toward Victoria, who was perched beside him. She was talking fast probably gossiping and he was barely listening. His expression was eyes distant.

“Hey, you good?” Max asked, her voice soft as she glanced sideways at you.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Yeah. Just out of it.”

She smiled lightly. “Blackwell’ll do that to you.”

Across the hall, Nathan looked up. His eyes met yours. You expected him to smirk. Or scoff. Or whisper something to Victoria that would piss you off all over again. He didn’t. He just held your gaze. There was no fire in it this time.

Then Max nudged your shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll be late.”

You turned, walking with her toward class, but the moment stuck with you like a thorn beneath skin. He wasn’t just some cautionary tale wearing expensive clothes. you weren’t as far above the mess as you liked to pretend.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it. You’d barely knocked twice before the door to Nathan’s dorm creaked open, not wide, just enough for a glimpse of his sharp glare and the darkened room behind him. His eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to work on the project,” you replied, shifting your weight.“You bailed on the library. I didn’t have your number.”

Nathan blinked once. Then, without warning, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you inside. “Jesus!” The door slammed shut behind you. Before you could blink again, you were standing in the middle of his room dim, cluttered, with a faint smell of smoke and expensive cologne in the air. The only light came from a lamp on his desk, casting long shadows across the mess of camera equipment, crumpled notes, and an open bottle of water. He stood between you and the door, arms crossed, expression sharp.

“You shouldn’t be in the guys’ dorm.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that deep, Prescott.”

“No,” he said, stepping a little closer, “it’s pathetic. You that desperate to see me? You stalking me now? Perv.”

You stared at him. “Are you always this fucking dramatic?” you snapped. “I came to work. On the project. The thing that’s due next week?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t just ask for my number?”

“like your ass would indulge me in any conversation”

Nathan scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “And barging into my dorm was the better option?”

“You ditched me. Again.” You crossed your arms, mirroring him. “I’m not playing chase the rich kid so you can pretend this group project doesn’t exist. I showed up so we can finish the damn thing.”

He stared at you for a long beat.

Then, quietly, “You’re a fucking pain in my ass.”

“I’m passing this class.”

He turned away, flopping onto the edge of his unmade bed, elbows on his knees. “Fine,” he muttered. “If you’re gonna stand there taking over my space, grab a chair. Let’s get it over with.” You hesitated. Just for a second. Then sat down across from him silently waiting for Nathan to open the shared project file. But your eyes kept drifting. His desk was cluttered High end camera bodies rested in velvet lined foam. Lenses of varying sizes were stacked in an open case like polished glass trophies. Film rolls peeked out of a drawer he hadn’t shut properly. And on the wall above his bed, pinned with silver tacks, were photos.

Black and white. Grainy. Sharp.

Some were of strangers street shots, harsh shadows and sharp angles. Others were more abstract: empty chairs, cracked pavement, tree limbs twisting through fog. You didn’t mean to stare so long. But the compositions were striking. Not what you’d expected from someone who talked like he didn’t care about anything. Nathan sat on the edge of his bed, laptop open in front of him, fingers frozen over the keyboard. he wasn’t looking at the screen. He was watching you. Eyes low beneath his lashes, The tension from earlier had settled into something quieter not calm, exactly, but less volatile. He noticed the way your head tilted slightly as you studied a particular photo on the wall, your brow furrowed in faint curiosity. You looked different when you weren’t trying to bite back. He blinked, shook the thought away like an itch under his skin, and finally tapped the space bar.

“You gonna drool or you wanna help?” he muttered, loud enough to snap your attention back.

You blinked, jerking your head toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re staring at my shit”

You scoffed. “I was just surprised you’re actually good at something other than being an asshole.”

A grin flickered across his lips. “Wow. Touching praise from someone who broke into my dorm.”

“I didn’t break in.”

“guys dorm remember? That’s trespassing.”

You opened your mouth to fire back then caught the way his voice softened just slightly on that last word. Not enough to call it kind. You leaned forward, finally dragging the chair toward his desk. “Just show me what you’ve done so far. We’re not gonna finish anything if you keep acting like I poisoned your coffee.” He exhaled slowly, shifting the laptop so you could both see the screen. But his gaze lingered on you a second longer before turning to the document. You didn’t notice. He didn’t say anything.

You didn’t know how it happened but somewhere between reviewing the first slides and editing the captions, the two of you had stopped biting at each other. Nathan wasn’t exactly friendly, but he was… tolerable. He made a sarcastic comment about your font choice, and you rolled your eyes but didn’t snap. You pointed out a typo in his work, and he didn’t bark back, just muttered “Yeah, alright,” under his breath and fixed it.

life is strange isnt it?

The lamp on his desk cast a warm glow across the screen as the two of you leaned closer, arguing mildly about the placement of one of the images. You caught a soft twitch at the corner of his mouth not a smile, not quite but something quieter, like he wasn’t entirely annoyed you were here anymore. You glanced at the photo on the slide. One of his shots: a boy sitting on a curb, face obscured by shadow, light cutting sharp across his shoulder. “This one’s your best,” you said before you could stop yourself. Nathan’s eyes flicked to yours, He didn’t say anything. Just stared. Then, his phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

He glanced down, pulled it from his pocket lazily, still half focused on the screen. But the moment his eyes locked onto the message, something in him changed. Like a switch flipped. His shoulders tensed. Jaw tightened. Whatever softness had started to settle between you evaporated. He shoved the phone back into his pocket hard. You straightened, uncertain. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then voice low, clipped “You should go.”

The air dropped ten degrees.

You blinked. “What?”

“I said, you should leave.” He stood abruptly, already walking past you, pacing like the room had become too small to breathe in.

You stood, confused, watching him retreat toward the window without explanation.

“Nathan ”

“Don’t,” he snapped, not turning around. “It’s fine. Project’s fine. everything is fine. the world is fucking fine. I’ll send you the edits later.”

His voice was cold again. The weight was back in the room, that same heaviness you’d felt the first time he looked at you like you were just another person here to take something from him. You didn’t know who had texted him. Or why he looked like the ground had just shifted beneath him. But you didn’t ask. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder slowly. “Thanks for not being a total dick today,” you said quietly.

No response. You walked to the door, hesitating just a moment before opening it. Nathan still hadn’t turned around. So you left quietly, without another word. The hallway light stung your eyes as the door clicked shut behind you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

Nathan laid on his back, eyes wide open, blinking into the ceiling. He hadn’t moved in hours not really. He’d thrown on a hoodie sometime after you left, curled in on himself, and stared at nothing as the hours bled past midnight. His phone buzzed again. Another message. From the same number. He didn’t read it. His chest felt tight. He could hear his own breathing too fast, too shallow. His hands twitched where they gripped the edge of his mattress, fingers white knuckled and cold. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. But it felt worse tonight. Now shame thick in his throat, desperation louder than pride, he opened the school directory, found your name, and typed your number in. He stared at the digits for a long time. Then, he hit Call.

You woke up to the buzz of your phone on your nightstand, groggy and confused.

1:47 AM. Unknown Number.

You almost ignored it. Almost. Though you firmly believed doing stuff for the plot leads to funnier futures.

“Hello?”

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then a quiet breath. A small, almost inaudible noise. Then, “Don’t hang up.”

Your heart stilled. “Nathan?”

“Um… hi?” you said slowly. “Why are you ”

“I just…” He sounded off. His voice was low, but shaky. Like he was trying to keep it together. “I can’t sleep.”

You were quiet for a second. Not sure what to say. It was weird. You barely knew him. The guy who made it very clear he didn’t want to work with you suddenly calling you in the middle of the night? The hell? “How did you get my number?”

“School directory. Look, I know it’s fucking weird, okay? Just fuck just don’t hang up yet.”

You leaned back in your bed, running a hand down your face. The annoyance faded just a little. There was something raw under his words, something fraying at the edges.

You exhaled. “Alright. I’m not hanging up. What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away. You heard him breathing though sharp inhales, shallow. Like he was pacing, or panicking.

“I just needed noise or something. I dunno. It’s like my chest’s full of needles.”

Okay. That was more than you expected. You pushed your blanket off and sat up fully, rubbing your eyes awake.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Sounds like a panic attack.”

He let out a laugh. It was bitter. Dry. “No shit.”

You stayed quiet a second, then started talking. Not about anything important just things to fill the space. You told him about the way your floorboards creaked weirdly when it got cold. The dumb poster your roommate hung crooked. The vending machine that kept eating your dollar bills. You weren’t sure why he stayed on the line. You weren’t sure why you did, either. But the minutes passed, and you could hear his breathing start to even out.

At one point, he said, quieter this time, “I didn’t know who else to call.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything. He stayed on the line until you heard nothing but slow, steady breathing. Then the call ended. You thought that was it. Just a one time weird moment. But the next night, your phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number. 12:18 AM.

You stared at it for a second. Then picked up. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

“Fuck off,” Nathan muttered, but his voice didn’t sound angry.

just like that, it became a thing. Not every night, but often enough. He’d call, and you’d talk him through it. Or he’d just listen while you rambled about whatever was in your head. Sometimes he didn’t even say much. You’d just hear his breathing. Then, one night, a text.

[1:03 AM] “Dorm’s a pressure cooker tonight. Need to get out. You up?”

You blinked down at it, thumb hovering over the screen. Then replied. “ok fuckboy, Where?”

[1:04 AM] “Back side of the art building. If you’re not scared of the dark or whatever.”

You pulled a hoodie over your head and slipped out the side door, keeping your steps light across the grass. You found him sitting on the low concrete wall, hoodie on, legs stretched out, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He didn’t look at you when you walked up.

“So… you make a habit of calling girls you don’t like at 1 a.m.?” you asked, standing over him.

He smirked, flicking ash. “You’re the only one dumb enough to answer.”

“Lucky me.”

He scooted over slightly. You sat down next to him, knees brushing briefly. He smelled faintly like smoke and laundry detergent. For a minute, neither of you said anything. Then he muttered, “Thanks. For not being a dick about the calls.”

You glanced at him. That was probably the closest thing to a thank you he was capable of. “Yeah, well,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder, “I’m not completely heartless.”

He gave a dry little laugh and took another drag. And for the first time since you’d met him, Nathan didn’t seem like he was pretending to be someone else.You hopped up beside him, the wall cold through your jeans. He handed you the cig wordlessly, and you took a drag, passing it back before pulling your phone from your hoodie pocket.

Three missed texts.

[1:52 AM Warren G.]

Where are you right now?

[1:53 AM Warren G.]

I just saw you from my window. Was that Nathan Prescott? Seriously??

[1:54 AM Warren G.]

[Y/N], what are you doing with him?

You stared at the screen for a long second, then locked it and shoved it deep into your pocket. You weren’t answering that.Warren was probably the reason you hated him so much. Right now Instead, you pulled a small joint from the hem of your hoodie tucked right where your sleeve met the wristband.

Nathan’s eyes tracked the motion, brow raising. “Since when do you carry?”

“Since tonight, apparently.” You lit it with a flick of a borrowed lighter, watching the paper curl into orange.

Nathan smirked faintly, but there was a flash of something in his face, curiosity. Not judgment. Just… surprise. “Rough night?”

You took a long pull, exhaled upward. “You could say that.”

You didn’t mention Warren. Didn’t mention the way your phone buzzed in your pocket like it was desperate to ruin the quiet. Nathan didn’t push. He just leaned back on his elbows, watching the smoke twist into the dark sky. What has been different from when you started interacting with Nathan more was not telling your friends everything. Warren might be the only reason you didnt like the guy that was sitting beside you. Though even hes such a stick in the mid sometimes.

“Not bad form,” he muttered.

“Thanks.”

He gave a soft snort, and for a minute, the tension dropped. You passed the joint over, and he took it without a word. The smoke danced lazily in the air between you, catching in the wind and disappearing into nothing. You leaned back beside him, body loose from the hit, brain a little fogged like your thoughts were wearing fuzzy socks on a hardwood floor. Nathan took another drag, eyes half lidded, and passed it back to you. You didn’t take it this time. Just stared forward, hands braced behind you, legs kicked out.

“You know,” you started, voice a little slower than usual, like you had to fish the words from somewhere murky, “I think I like you more than I realized.” Silence. You looked over, then quickly back at the dark stretch of campus in front of you. “I mean maybe it’s the high talking. Or maybe I’m just sleep deprived and having a brain glitch. Whatever.” You waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it felt like one. “It’s not like I know you, know you, but…”

You trailed off. The buzz of the joint mixed with the weight of that little truth hanging out in the open air now. Nathan blinked at you and then scoffed. “Wow,” he muttered with a crooked smile. “You catch feelings off one joint and a sad boy routine?.”

You turned to glare at him. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Should I light candles next time? Bring you flowers? Write you some poetry?” His grin stretched You went to snap back but then his hand brushed against yours on the concrete. Not accidental. He didn’t look at you when he did it. He just let his fingers slide over yours, catching them loosely. His palm was warm. Steady. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him. Just stared at the building lights across the quad and let your hand stay in his.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Instead, you’d just laid there, reliving every second behind the art building Nathan’s hand in yours. he was warm. so warm. his eyes were glossy. the night ended later than any of you two could gather. Blackwell always felt a little gray in the morning, but today it there might have been a little pep in your step. Cold in the air, a small little nathan shaped warmth in your chest. You stepped into the hallway and spotted him before you were even fully through the door.

Nathan. Leaning against a locker laughing at something Victoria said, though it didn’t look real. Nothing about him did anymore. You slowed for just a second. “Shit,” he muttered, loud enough to carry. “Should’ve known the freak parade would show up early.”

Victoria snorted. “God, can she not?” Her eyes flicked over your clothes like she was personally offended by the fabric. “Every day’s a fashion crime with her.”

You froze mid step. Max and Warren were behind you, chatting, not realizing what you were walking into. Your heart stung before your brain could even process what was happening. Nathan pushed off the locker, brushing past you with a smug little smile. “Hope the janitors are getting paid extra,” he sneered, “cleaning up after your desperation.”

“What the hell, Prescott?” Warren stepped in fast, hand fisting at his side.

Nathan turned back, cocky, dangerous. “Relax, boy scout. Didn’t realize you two were still sharing notes. Or maybe it’s more than that, huh?” His eyes swept to you again, slower this time, and colder. “Figures. Nobody else would.”

ok pause. because what the fuck happened. Like yes he was an ass. the whole school knew that. Though considering the amount of time he was crawling into your messages, where the hell did this come from?

“Keep walking,” Max said lowly, stepping up beside you.

Max didn’t press. She never did. That was the nice thing about her. Since starting the school year, you both bonded on being new. well for you, relatively new and her coming back to her hometown.

Warren, though? At lunch, he was full of energy, waving you over like always. You sat down beside him and Max at your usual table under the half broken patio umbrella. He was in the middle of some rant about science fiction film logic when it happened.

“I’m just saying if a robot gains sentience, it doesn’t automatically mean it wants to kill us. That’s lazy writing ”

From across the quad, a loud snort cut him off.

“Wow,” Victoria said, not even bothering to keep her voice down. “Look who’s still wearing last season’s clearance rack.”

You blinked, confused, until you realized she was looking directly at you. Taylor giggled beside her, but it was Nathan who made your stomach drop. He pointed toward once at your table and leaned over to whisper something to Victoria. Then, loud enough for everyone near to hear “She should’ve stayed invisible. Worked better for her.”

Max stiffened beside you. “Jesus. What is their problem today?”

Warren stood up, indignant. “Hey. Why don’t you back off, Prescott?”

Nathan didn’t even look at him. His eyes were on you and they weren’t blank. They were cold. Icy. “Relax,” he said, tone bored. “Just making an observation.”

“You want me to make one too?” Warren snapped. “Like how you’re always hiding behind Victoria’s designer knockoffs?”

Victoria gasped like she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

Max grabbed Warren’s arm. “Not worth it,” she said quietly. You sat disguted. Nathan’s stare found you again. And just before he turned away, he said it not loud, but loud enough. “Better keep your pets on a leash.”

Then he walked off. Victoria followed, heels snapping against the pavement. The rest of the Vortex Club trailed behind them like spoiled royalty. You didn’t finish your lunch. You barely tasted anything after that. Max rubbed your shoulder gently, concern in her eyes. “You okay?”

You nodded. You lied. Because all you could hear was his voice, cold and clean and cutting a thousand miles from the one you’d heard whispering into the phone at 1 A.M. Like none of it had happened. Like you hadn’t happened.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

His eyes met yours, and for the first time all day, he was actually looking at you in the eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice soft.

You didn’t say it back.Instead, you stepped past him and into the room like it was a business meeting. Camera bag down. Laptop open. The wall between you and him went up brick by brick with every breath. “Let’s just get this done,” you said.

He didn’t argue. Just shut the door behind you quietly. You sat at his desk, the screen glow lighting your face. He hovered nearby, watching you scroll through edits like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Or maybe like he didn’t know how to say anything at all. “I fixed the lighting on the last three shots,” you said flatly. “Yours were a little overexposed.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’re better at that stuff anyway.”

You didn’t respond. Just kept clicking. He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, quiet for a while before asking, “Did you still wanna use that photo by the fountain?”

“I already did.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at you, then away. “You, uh… didn’t answer my text this morning.”

You didn’t look at him. “Didn’t think it needed a reply.”

Nathan nodded, jaw tight. “Right.”

Back to silence. He didn’t bring up what happened. Didn’t ask how you were. And you didn’t bring it up either not how he’d ignored you all day, not how the only time he seemed to be kind was when it was dark out and nobody else could see. Not how you were starting to wonder if this was all he had to give. Just this. Only at night. Only when no one else was looking. You highlighted a paragraph of text and rewrote it. He leaned closer, trying to peek at the screen.

“You’re really good at this,” he said quietly.

You flinched. Not visibly but inside, your bones rattled. It felt like a visceral reaction. You kept your voice neutral. “We’re almost done.”

He didn’t say anything else. You sat there together for another half hour, finishing edits. His bed creaked once when he shifted. You didn’t look. Eventually, you saved the file and stood up.

“That’s everything,” you said. “I’ll print it in the morning.”

Nathan watched you gather your things. “You don’t have to go yet,” he said, almost hesitant.

But you did. if he had just said something, you might understand. Though there isnt enough time in the world to be chasing after rich boy problems he doesnt want to address.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

She left.

Didn’t even look back. Just walked out of the dorm like she couldn’t get out fast enough. Yeah. That felt about right. Nathan stood there like an idiot, hands in his pockets, jaw tight, listening to the door click shut. it was some kind of final answer he didn’t ask for. You don’t have to go yet. He’d said it like a damn loser. Like he didn’t spend the entire day pretending she didn’t exist. she looked at him like he was a goddamn stranger. He sat down on his bed, rubbed at his face, dragged his hands through his hair like it would help. It didn’t. It never did. Everything just kept buzzing. Loud. In his ears, in his chest, like a swarm of flies under his skin. He should’ve said something. Anything. Should’ve told her why he was being weird. Why he was quiet. Why he didn’t even look at her earlier. But how the hell do you say,

Hey, I’m scared you’ll end up in the basement of an abandoned barn if I like you too much?

He laughed. Or choked. One of the two. God, his hands were shaking again. He stood up fast, paced once, twice, kicked his desk chair just to feel something and regretted it immediately. His toe throbbed. Whatever.

He was sweating. Why was he sweating?

He pulled off the red zip up and threw it at the wall. Didn’t stick. Just slumped down like everything else. Jefferson’s voice. Crawling back in like it always did.

“She’s interesting, isn’t she?”

“Got a real… natural quality. Honest.”

“The kind of face that looks good in contrast. You see it, right?”

“She’s got potential.”

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

It didn’t help. Jefferson’s voice was calm. Already chosen.He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her anywhere near that world.But what the hell was he supposed to do? Jefferson noticed things. once he noticed, it was over. Nathan dropped back onto the floor, breathing fast now. he’d been running. someone was pressing down on his lungs and wouldn’t stop. He clutched his shirt, pulled at the collar, trying to get air. Trying to slow his thoughts. His heart. Anything. But it wouldn’t fucking slow down.

His vision blurred a little. Pressure in his head, behind his eyes. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek just to stop himself from crying or screaming or both.

He felt like he was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or explode. or all of the above. it all might actually happen. He didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he couldn’t be normal with her… or the fact that when he was, it made him want to protect her more than anything. That protection came with a cost. A choice. A name on a folder.

She didn’t know any of it. And she couldn’t.

until there was a knock at the door.

Nathan didn’t hear it the first time. Not really. Not over the ringing in his ears, or the ragged, frantic way he was trying to breathe. His back hit the wall. He didn’t remember moving. His hands were white knuckled fists against his chest like maybe that would keep it from splitting open.

Another knock.

He blinked. Everything was too bright and too dark at the same time. His name was a whisper behind the door “Nathan?”

Her voice. It hit him like ice water. He squeezed his eyes shut harder, digging his nails into his palms. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t let her see him like

The door creaked open.

She stepped in fast, muttering under her breath, “God, of course I forgot my charger, that’s just whatever, not like it even ”

She stopped. Frozen. Nathan was on the floor. Slumped against the side of his bed, drenched in sweat, fists clenched so tight they shook. His chest heaved, erratic. Panicked. His face was pale, eyes red rimmed, wide and glassy. All that anger she’d brought with her white hot and ready to crack across the room halted like someone slammed the brakes. Her words died in her throat.

“…Nathan?”

He still didn’t look at her. Just gasped, breath catching hard in his throat, jaw clenched like he was trying not to cry. Or scream. Or both.

Her fingers curled around the charger in her hand. For a second, she stayed rooted to the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. Part of her screamed to turn around and walk away. He deserved that. After everything. Nathan barely registered when she moved closer. He couldn’t even look at her. Just pressed his fists against his temples like that would keep everything from collapsing.

She hovered there for a second, jaw tight, arms crossed. “You’re an asshole,” she muttered. Quiet. Bitter.

He looked like he couldn’t breathe. Cursing under her breath, she dropped the charger on his desk and stepped closer. Her knees hit the carpet slowly, hesitantly, right in front of him. She crouched down between his legs, biting her lip, watching him like he was whipped animal. She didn’t say anything right away. Just reached out, unsure, and carefully took his shaking hand.

Nathan flinched. Then his eyes finally lifted, just a little. Glassy. Bloodshot. Like he didn’t recognize her at first. But he didn’t pull away.

“Jesus…” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nathan, you’re what the hell is going on with you?”

Still no answer. His fingers twitched in hers, breath still coming fast and shallow, but her hand grounded him. Little by little. Beat by beat. She wanted to yell. She really did. Wanted to scream at him for ignoring her. For looking through her like she didn’t matter. For pushing her away with no reason, no explanation, no damn warning.

Nathan’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched under hers, unsure, but desperate for the anchor. He gripped her hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor.

“Breathe,” she said, voice flat but steady. “In. Out.”

He tried. God, he tried.

“Again.”

His lungs caught on the exhale, but he followed her voice. One breath. Then another. Her thumb moved gently across his knuckles. She didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at her. They just sat there. Angry. Shaking. Breathing.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said quietly. Just the truth.

All she could do was sit there. Mad. Hurt. Holding onto his hand like it was the only way to keep him from falling apart.

“I’m still pissed at you,” she murmured, after a long, long silence. “But I’m not gonna leave you like this.”

Nathan blinked hard. A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. He looked away.

And still, she didn’t let go.

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part four

skater!matt and overachiever!reader spend all night in the library together

vibe check: banter, bickering, they want to be friends they just don't know it. lingering looks, immaculate "oh no we woke up spooning" vibes and a looking at eachother out of sync ending hehe

2.2k words

A/N: originally i was going to have this be a part of part three but i was feeling silly so i broke it in two.

Intro, part one, part two, part three

love and cigs, merc

"Matt" you whispered, still perched by the table, watching as Matt slipped between the bookshelves, "Matt" you said once more, this time with more grit in your voice.

you heard his infectious giggle from behind the books, weighing your options, you looked over at the librarian who had just turned her desk light off, and back to the stacks that Matt had hidden in.

"fuck sake" you said under your breath, rolling your eyes as you collected your books quickly.

you followed the path Matt had walked, being met with his boyish grin looking up at you from his crosslegged position on the floor.

"welcome to my humble abode, y/l/n" Matt said, holding his arms out, gesturing to the scratchy blue carpet and ceiling height book shelves.

"we're gonna get in trouble, you know that right?" you huffed, sitting down opposite him in a sulk.

"only if we get caught" he shrugged, a smug smile on his face, his features shifting slightly as his eyes wandered over your frustrated face.

"oh come on, y/l/n, you cant be a tight ass all your life" he jested.

"I'm not a tight ass" you replied, defensively

Matt said nothing, only raised his brows, shooting you an accusatory look.

"okay maybe I'm a bit of a tight ass" you caved, rolling your eyes as an uncontrollable smile formed on your face, "but I'm not the stuck up bitch you think I am" you pushed.

"oh yeah?" Matt questioned, a knee buckling smirk on his face.

"yeah" you nodded, chin held high

"prove it, y/l/n, whats the least tight ass thing you've ever done?" He said, leaning forward, placing his elbow on his knee and using his fist as a rest, painting his face with faux and exaggerated interest

you thought for a moment, wracking your brain for something that would really throw Matt off, "do you remember in senior year when Jack Stanley's clothes all mysteriously went missing from the locker rooms and ended up on a sex doll that was strung up in the football field?" you said, trying to hide the pride in your eyes

"that was you?!" Matt said, genuinely shocked

you nodded, smugly, enjoying the look of awe in Matts eyes. his mouth was agape, his eyes twinkling at you slightly as he scanned your frame, "damn, y/l/n thats pretty bad ass" he sat back against the stacks.

"he deserved it, you don't get to be an asshole to everyone and suffer no consequences" you shrugged

Matt squinted at you slightly, "interesting" he said, holding your eyes in his for a little too long.

"what?" you chuckled, cheeks flushing red slightly at his lingering gaze.

"no, nothing, nothing" Matt smirked.

you both fell into a comfortable silence, Matt playing with a piece of lint on the floor, and you fiddling with the sleeves of our cardigan. it was odd, how relaxed you felt around him, the fact that you didn't like each other leaving room for a complete lack of performance, you could just be yourself because, it didn't matter, he couldn't form any lower of an opinion anyway.

"are you hungry?" Matt broke your pondering silence

"I could eat" you shrugged.

Matt smiled and got up immediately, darting down towards the vending machines. You whispered his name, before quickly following suit. when you caught up to him, he was filling the machine with coins, getting every type of crisp and chocolate he could, watching like a little kid as they dropped one by one. He pulled them out from the bottom, scooping them up and dropping them onto the glossy wooden table just behind the both of you. you couldn't help but laugh at the excess of food, and then at his tight lip smile as he sat down at the table, gesturing for you to do the same.

"bon apatite" he said in his best French accent.

you chuckled and shook your head, sitting opposite him and scanning the pile for something to snack on.

The next few hours consisted of eating everything he had bought, playing games of throwing chocolate covered raisins into each others mouths and you throwing the occasional crisp at him for saying something ridiculous. you spoke about everything and anything, and he had you in stitches the whole time, something about how he said everything with an air of nonchalance, as if he didn’t even realise how funny he was only making him funnier. you had what felt like hour long debates about music and movies, only agreeing on two things: fleetwood mac is the best, and christopher nolan is severely overrated. you spoke about your favourite books, him taking out his little black tatty notebook and scribbling down the ones he liked the sound of the most. he told you about his favourite comics, telling you that you’d love spider man, and that you were the closest thing to a real life gwen he could think off.

knowing, and hating, each other all this time meant that small talk was never really small, even when you spoke about your lives, people you liked and hated, there was nothing awkward about it and, unlike your other friends, neither of you had to give context to stories or shit talking because, well, you grew up with each other. it was easy, and despite refusing to let yourself feel any sense of enjoying his company, he wasn’t horrible to be around.

Being in the library after hours made you feel like kids again, you had migrated to the bean bags on the top floor, sitting surrounded by some of your favourite books, reading them aloud as Matt sat sprawled out across from you whilst he finished off the last of the snacks he had bought. it was weirdly peaceful, reading in the nearly completely dark library as Matt stared up at the ornate ceilings, listing with intent as you told the stories to perfection.

When it was just you and him like this, Matt would almost forget you weren't friends, choosing to forget all the reasons you pissed him off and vice versa. you liked how, despite having nothing in common and actively despising each other all these years, he was the only person who you could be like this around, like, if you asked any of your real friends to stay in the library after hours to eat shit food and have you read alice in wonderland to them they'd laugh in your face, but not Matt. Matt was different.

"oh, I forgot to tell you" Matt said, swallowing the lump of chocolate in his mouth, "theres a band doing a Fleetwood Mac night next weekend at the bar on campus, I was gonna ask if you wanted to go?" he asked, in his usual easy breezy tone.

"with you?" you asked, slightly more defensive than you meant it to be.

"yeah?" Matt cocked his eyes to the side

you recoiled slightly, as if on instinct, "like, a date?"

Matt choked on his food slightly, "no, y/l/n, not like a date, as friends"

you couldn't help but look dumfounded, "is that what we are now? friends that go to gigs together and stuff"

"I mean, I guess so, I don't know?" Matt shrugged, feeling like an idiot for even posing the question

something about him asking you out, even if it was as friends, snapped you back into reality. you had been spending so much time together that him asking you to go to a gig didn’t feel weird, it felt normal, and that was a problem. something about it irritated you. whether it was him asking, or you wanting to say yes was a whole other question you weren’t ready to answer.

"I'm just helping you study, Matt, that doesn't mean we should hang out all the time" You said, your voice thick with defence

"right" Matt dropped his chocolate to the table with a stubborn nod.

"I mean, it's not like we're actually friends, right?" you cocked your eyes to the side, watching as Matt refused to even look at you

"yeah, I guess I just forgot that I can’t stand you, thanks for reminding me." Matt said, still avoiding eye contact

you scoffed, slightly taken aback by his harsh words, "likewise"

"perfect" Matt said

"brilliant" you replied

"fantastic" Matt spat, finally looking at you, the twinkle in his eyes now gone as they faded into a light grey colour.

he slumped back into his bean bag, picking at the loose threads on his sleeves where his thumb poked through the hole. you were burning holes into his head, biting the side of your cheeks in thought.

"I'm gonna go see if theres any blankets in the supply closets" you huffed, getting up and walking away before he could even respond.

Matt looked up as you walked away, watching your long ponytail swing as you sauntered down the stairs. He threw his head back with a quiet groan, rolling his eyes and shaking his head against the bean bag slightly with a long exhale.

when you returned, you were holding a pile itchy grey blankets left over from lock in drills and senior final week sleepovers. you threw them to the floor, picking them up one by one to lay them down on the floor to make a 'bed'. you brought the two smallest beanbags to the top, placing them where the pillows would go just before collecting the rest of the blankets and loosely laying them over the top, the 'duvet'.

"we need to sleep, we have a good couple of hours until we can get out" you murmured, not looking at Matt as you spoke to him.

"I'll sleep on the bean bag" Matt replied pretending to be comfortable

you rolled your eyes, "you'll be freezing" your tone back to the one Matt was used to: annoyed.

Matt looked to you, then the 'bed', then back to you. he said nothing, only proceeded to get more 'comfortable' on the bean bag.

you scoffed, not even bothering to keep pushing as you laid down on the pile of blankets, pulling one over your torso as you laid facing Matt, eyes closed in attempts to sleep.

Matt shifted, opening his eyes to be met with your relaxed, tired features. he scanned your face, watching the way your baby hairs fell against your bushy brow, the way your nostrils flared slightly as you took deep, sleepy breaths. he bit down on the backs of his teeth as he stared at you, face deadpan, trying to force his mind to ignore the way his heart was thumping against his sternum.

He tore his eyes from you and leant over, pulling the edge of the blanket up slightly so it covered your shoulders, a small sleepy mewl falling from your lips just before you turned to face the other way. you were dead asleep from the moment you closed your eyes, and after a short moment of contemplation and deciding on whether or not he was stubborn enough to be cold all night, he quietly pushed himself up off the bean bag, settling onto the floor next to you. He slowly shuffled under the blanket, laying flat on his back, the sound of your heavy breathing lulling him to sleep next to you.

The sun had begun to rise, seeping through the cracks in the stain glass windows of the top floor.

you were still sound asleep, Matt waking up minutes before you, the smell of your jasmine shampoo soothing him awake. his eyes flitted open, his position slightly different from how he fell asleep. He was tucked up behind you, arm over your shoulder as your hand held onto his wrist loosely. your head was snug against his chest, your whole body nestled into his as you shared his body heat. he was instantly panicked, more so at how comfortable he was than anything else, and his stirs woke you up slightly, giving Matt the perfect opportunity to slip his arm out from around you and turn the face the other way.

You slowly blinked awake, the smell of Matts laundry detergent and cologne thick in the air around you. It wasn't jarring, only strong and, kind of warm. you turned over, seeing the rise and fall of Matts shoulders next to you. you smiled slightly, happy he didn't spend all night freezing just because of you.

"Matt" you whispered.

"hmm?" Matt replied, pretending that you just woke him up as he turned over, his curly hair a mess in his face as he painted faux tired on his face.

"we need to go" you said, getting up quickly, looking at the small watch on your wrist, “the fire doors will be open now, the front opens in 5 minutes”

"okay" Matt groaned, "i'm coming, i'm coming" Matt stumbled to his feet, following you as you ran down the winding stairs, the shadow of the librarian lingering behind the glass pained doors serving as a jump start for the both of you.

you scurried between the stacks, heading straight for the fire exit out back and bursting through the doors into the sunlight, Matt only seconds behind you.

for reasons unbe-known to you, Matt insisted on walking you back to your dorm. The walk was basically silent, only being broken by you telling Matt you can walk the rest of the way and him telling you he might as well walk you the whole way. if he was honest, he wasn't sure why he felt the need to walk you home, considering the fact that your dorm was in the opposite direction to his. he was just being sensible, being a good man and walking a girl home so she was safe. that checks out, right?

you both made it to your dorm, your keys jingling as you pulled them from your bag. Matt stood a few steps behind you, his hands in his pockets. you turned the key and opened the door, about to walk in before you paused, unable to fight the urge.

"thank you" you said, looking to Matt

"for what?" he asked, cocking his eyes to the side

"for um - for walking me home" you stuttered.

"oh" Matt smiled, "you're welcome" he shrugged, hands tucked in his pockets

"you can go now" you said, your regular attitude back in your tone

Matt chuckled slightly, rolling his eyes as he turned on the balls of his feet, dragging his feet down the hall way.

you looked away, a small glimmer of happiness dancing across your face as you looked back to him, watching as he pulled his board from his back and placed it on the floor. you let your eyes wander for a moment before looking back towards your open door. Matt turned his head slightly, watching as you stepped into your dorm and shut the door, the flash of your pony tail being his final sight before looking back ahead of him, racing down the hallway slightly faster on his board.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for telling my friend to dump his girlfriend?

I have a friend who loves playing with me, but recently his girlfriend told him to leave me because I might be more his type that she is. She even threatened to run me over, can you believe it?

So I used my telepathic powers to tell him to leave the girl because we don't need her, and that he should come play with me instead. l might have gone a bit overboard, claiming that he needs me and his free will is an illusion, but I still don't think I'm the Asshole.

[fourmoony]

heyyy read you're looking for requests so here's one! james coming from hockey practice (i love hockey player james) and you tell him that a guy from uni has been hitting on you and stuf. he doesn't get mad just queasy, but then he needs reassurance too!

thanks for requesting, angel!

cw: insecurities, language, unwanted advances

1.4k, modern au, ice hockey James

The tell-tale sound of James' bag being abandoned haphazardly by the door alerts you to his presence. The door clicks shut soon after, followed by a heavy sigh. He's likely exhausted - always is after practice, especially if he and Sirius get caught mouthing off and are punished with bag skating.

James rounds the corner into the living room at the same time you pause your show and sit up to greet him. He doesn't acknowledge your abandoned plate from dinner or the pile of unfolded washing on the arm chair to his left. Instead, he gives you a tired smile and collapses into a heap beside you on the sofa. "Hi, bug." He mumbles, chin tucked into the neckline of his hoodie. Exhaustion seeps from his voice.

"Hi, handsome." You soothe, hand reaching out to toy with the curls at the nape of your boyfriend's neck. They're still damp from his post-practice shower, the smell of his body wash sweet and heady in your nose. "How was practice?"

He lets out a long suffering sigh, leans into your touch, "Stressful. The team isn't where we need to be for the playoffs. Coach made sure to let us know how angry he is about it."

You hum softly, scoot closer to James on the sofa until you're practically in his lap. James likes touch, he likes the connection, the intimacy, the weight of your body on top of his. You're happy to indulge him, the flowers that your boyfriend brings about your rib cage blossoming as his arm wraps around your middle, hoists you fully onto his lap. "What does he expect, you know? Half of his team graduated out, last year. He only has a couple of you guys left and the rest are freshmen." You try to justify James, but it seems the reminder only further sours his mood.

"Yeah, try telling him that. He thinks everyone is just born to be in the NHL, that these guys should already be up to standard, that they don't need the same exact training and coaching that we got." James' voice is thick with coiling tension, even if his muscles seem to be relaxing under you.

You smooth the baby hairs under your fingers, tilting your head until his eyes meet yours, "You're their captain, baby," You smile, "I bet they'd listen to it a lot better coming from you. They like you, look up to you. You be their coach if coach isn't going to step up."

Your boyfriend smiles, the sun peeking through storm clouds. A glimpse of your Jamie. He leans forwards, lips soft and gentle as he presses them to yours. He hums into the kiss, hands squeezing your hips. "Thanks."

"Anytime, handsome."

"How was your day?" James asks, feet stretching out to sit atop the coffee table.

You'd scold him if you weren't so busy quelling the beating of your heart. Any kiss from James sends you reeling, has done since the first time in freshman year. You don't think you'll ever get over the fact that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you as you love him, that you'll grow old and grey together. It never quite feels real.

"Good. Productive. We have a project due for McGonagall's class on Wednesday so I just worked on that most of the day." You don't feel the need to mention that you pointedly worked alone on your half of the project, but James frowns at your words and you know he's going to ask.

"You worked alone?"

"Yeah." You should probably say more, but James has a shorter fuse than Sirius does in general when it comes to you and you don't feel like unleashing all two hundred pounds of ice-hockey muscle onto the arrogant asshole who won't leave you alone.

James' thumb rubs steady circles into the fat of your thigh, his brows hooked upward in the middle a blatant sign of his confusion, "Your group have left you to do all the work?"

"No," You shake your head, "It was just easier to do my part on my own."

James doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's waiting for you to go on. You sigh through your nose, head falling to rest on your boyfriend's shoulder, "One of the guys in my group has been hitting on me pretty regularly."

"What?" James asks around a swallow, voice hoarse. His muscles tense under you, his thumb pausing it's soothing measures on your thigh.

You shrug, "He keeps saying how he'd treat me right, how a 'pretty girl like me' deserves better. It's all bullshit, so I chose to work myself and just send the rest of the group my sections."

"Right."

It's odd, the way your body reacts to a single word as though it were a slap in the face. Your stomach sinks because you realise James isn't angry. He isn't itching to pound the guy's face into the ground and he isn't insisting you allow him to fix the problem, himself. You remove your head from James' shoulder, find him pale faced and distant. He looks lost, nauseous. "Jamie?"

James shrugs, eyes cold, "What?"

"'Right.'? That's all you have to say to that? What's wrong?" You ask, drawing further away the colder the look in James' eyes gets.

"What would you like me to say? That he might be right?" There's a clipped edge to your boyfriend's voice that you've never heard before, that jolts your body into fight or flight mode quicker than you'd care to admit.

You remove yourself from James' lap, confusion evident on your face as you settle to face him on the coffee table. His feet meet the ground with a thud as he moves to stand. Your hand flies out, a firm grip on his knee that begs him not to move. James gives you a sad look as he complies, fidgets with the draw strings on his jogging bottoms. "You think he has a point?" You ask.

James nods, lips pursed, eyes avoiding yours so evidently it angers you.

"Why?"

Your boyfriend shrugs again, tips his head back and lets out a groan, "You know at the end of this year I'm going to be drafted, right? I'm going to have to move across the country, probably, I won't have a choice in the matter and neither will you."

"We've had this argument before, James. I'm going wherever you go. I don't care where it is! It could be fucking Antartica and I'd still go." Your voice sounds less stern than you'd intended, but James softens slightly at your words.

"But you shouldn't have to just pick up your life and move because of me. You deserve someone who can give you stability and all of their time. I can't." James leans forwards until his elbows are resting on his knees, his face so close to yours you can feel his breaths.

It's an age-old argument, one you and James used to have often in the beginning. Before you knew that you wanted James in your life forever, back when he was trying to push you away with everything he had because he didn't want to risk falling in love with you and having to leave you, one day. The argument lessened the longer you were together, decisions made. You'd made up your mind the day James told you he loved you that you'd follow him anywhere, that you'd give up anything and everything to just be with him.

"I don't want anyone else. I don't care where we are in this world, James. I want you. That's all." You reach for him, thumbs swiping under his eyes in steady motions.

He takes a breath, closes his eyes under your touch. "I can't help but feel I'm asking you to sacrifice more than I'm worth."

And that just won't do. You clamber back onto his lap, legs on either side of his hips and chase his eyes. They're dark in the dim light of the living room, a deep brown filled with fear. "You're worth everything, Jamie. Everything." You tell him. And you mean it.

James swallows, nods. His arms wrap around you, pull you to him until he's falling back into the softness of the couch. "I love you." He tells you, vulnerable as you've ever heard him.

Flowers bloom all along the crevices of your rib cage, pull taught until you're so overflowing with love and happiness that all you can think to do is kiss him. He chases your lips when you pull back, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, Jamie."

"So you're not gonna leave me for that guy in your Psych class?" He asks, a twinkle in his eye that lets you know he's kidding.

You laugh, loud and obnoxious and your boyfriend swallows it with a world-ending kiss.

[i-hate-people-1]

Assholes deserve to get kicked in the nads!

part-2

Single dad Eddie Munson x single mom reader

Single dad Eddie has one daughter Melia Willow Munson 4years old

Eddie and Meilas “mom” dated for a little bit when they found out she was pregnant they tried to make it work but birth giver left around when Melia was 16 months she has no memory’s of her

Single mom reader has two daughters Matilda Mae Carter 4 years old and Hunnings blue y/l/n 17 months old

Reader and “dad” had Melia and were together for until she found out she was Pregnant again and “dad” did not react well hence why Hunny and Tilly have different last names.

***

“Melia Willow Munson, come eat your breakfast, or I’m gonna do it for you!” Eddie yelled to the 4-year-old as he pulled the milk out of the fridge to pour her a glass to have on her poorly cooked pancakes with a whipped cream smiley face and drenched in syrup, something he hoped would help this morning go easier.

“Okay, Daddy, I’m ready for work.” She toddles out of the bathroom in a pair of coveralls and sunglasses shoved up to hold her wild curls out of her face.

“Milly, we talked about this. You’re starting prek today, remember?” He asked it taking every fiber of his control not to coo at the girl.

“No, I decided I can’t go. I have to help you in the shop,” she tells him plainly, climbing up into the chair, ready to reach for more syrup.

Eddie lets out a deep sigh. He knows he shouldn’t have gotten her so used to coming into work with him, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t afford a babysitter, and Wayne had to work too. Plus, Mr. Baxter had been nice enough to let him after Melia’s mom skipped town when she was a 16 months old.

“Mils, you know I love taking you to work with me, but school’s important. Besides, you can come back to the shop with me after I pick you up.” His attempt at reason falls short as an undeniably pitiful pout pouches itself on her bottom lip.

“But who will help you at the shop?” she barely gets out as the waterworks come right on cue.

It took him a whole thirty minutes to get her calmed down and another thirty to get her changed and ready for school. He’d had to bribe her with her nice leather jacket to get her to let go of the coveralls, and he didn’t even attempt to take back his sunglasses still perched on the top of her head. By the time he was pulling up to the school, they were thirty minutes late, and after a tearful goodbye, he was finally on his way out of the building before someone knocking into him nearly knocked him off his feet.

He wraps his arms around her, steadying them so they don’t fall to the ground, pulling her back, searching for any damage that could have been done, feeling a little relieved when he sees nothing visibly wrong. “Are you okay?”

***

“Close your eyes!” A shout from the bedroom instructs.

“Alright, alright, they’re closed,” you call back, peeking slightly to feed the baby in the high chair another spoonful of oatmeal.

“Tada!” The 4-year-old jumps out from the hallway, giving you a twirl so her dress floats around her. Her tiara falls a little crooked as she comes to a stop.

“Tilly Mae, you are just the cutest!” You gush, scooping the girl up in your arms and kissing all over her cheeks as she giggles. “Mama, stop.”

“Fine,” you sigh, dramatically setting her down in her chair. “But only so you can eat so we’re not late.”

“Tilly, we’ve got to go; we still have to drop Hunny off at daycare,” you tell the girl running around the living room frantically as you put on your youngest daughter’s shoes.

“But Mama, I can’t find my princess shoes.” Tilly whines, searching under the couch.

“Matilda Mae, you better not mess up those braids,” you scold, stopping her from crawling underneath. She pouts, arms crossed over her chest, beginning to pout. “Tilly, wear your tennis shoes for today, and then once we get back, we’ll turn the apartment upside down to find them,” you tell her, scooping her up once more to put the shoes on her feet.

With a few tears, a girl on your hip, and one’s hand in your own, you finally make it out of the house.

“Mama, walk faster; we’re late,” Tilly whines, zooming through the halls.

“I know, Tils, but please watch where you’re going,” your full attention on the girl. Though it seems you should have been following your own advice as you bump into something.

Strong arms steady you before you can fall backwards. You look up at the figure, a man with long dark hair that gathers in messy curls slightly below his shoulders. His brown eyes search your figure before you have a chance to react, pulling you away from his chest but keeping a hold on your elbows. “Are you okay?” His silky voice is laced with concern.

You don’t get the opportunity to answer before Tilly is tugging on one of your arms. “Mama, let’s go.”

“Yeah, um, sorry.” You rush out before letting yourself get whisked away by the girl.

***

“Where is she? What’s wrong?” Eddie burst into the room; he’d come to pick Milly up only to be ushered into the principal’s office, the woman escorting him answering none of the questions he’d berated her with.

He feels the blood drain from his face as his ears are met with sobs, to his surprise. Melia isn’t the one crying; instead, it’s a girl in a pink dress with a frilly tutu and blonde hair pulled back in neat braids that fall over her shoulders as her head’s turned down to look at the broken plastic tiara clenched tightly in her hands while Milly sits beside her, rubbing the girl’s back soothingly in the way he and Wayne always do when she cries. He scans the rest of the room on the other side; a boy sits beside a short blonde woman already angrily pointing and glaring at the girls, her squeaky voice almost indecipherable as she yells at the man sitting in a chair tucked behind a big wooden desk.

“I want her punished!” Eddie can make out this his head whipping toward the woman, ready to respond, before the man’s loud voice stops him. “Calm down, Mrs. Blake; we’re still waiting on one more parent.”

Eddie bites his tongue, deciding to focus his attention on the girls instead of the woman.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie greets his daughter, softly tucking her hair beside her ear that had fallen into her face.

“I only did it because he was mean, Daddy.” Melia gushes, tears welling up in her eyes. Eddie chooses to ignore the scoff that comes out of the woman in the corner.

“It’s not her fault; don’t be mad at her,” the little blonde girl adds, finally looking up from her lap.

“Hey, hey, I’m not mad,” Eddie tries his best to comfort both girls. Milly tucks herself into his chest, and he uses the hand not around her to wipe the other girl's tear-stained cheeks.

“But Daddy’s always get mad.” Eddie’s brows furrow at the blonde’s words, but he doesn’t get time to react before the door is pulled open again.

It’s the woman who ran into him this morning, only this time carrying a baby on her hip.

“Tilly girl,” you let out the greeting, instantly rushing to the girl kneeling in front of her, scooping her up onto your other hip with ease.

You make eye contact with the man you’d run into this morning, brows furrowing deeper in concern at the little girl softly crying in his arms. He nods his head behind him, pointing you towards the young boy pouting beside a woman sending her a sharp glare.

You look back at the man with wide eyes and have to stop yourself for laughing out loud when he mouths “total bitch” above the little girls head he smiles chucking softly at your poor attempt at hiding your laughter.

“She’s here. Can we start now?” The woman snaps sassily at the man in the chair.

man groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Which is how you end up sitting shoulder to shoulder with a man you recently found out is named Eddie on a small bench, the girls sitting on the floor whispering amongst themselves, Hunny perched in your lap peacefully chewing on her teether, while the man behind the desk mr. Heart, as the nameplate on it reads, explains why you’re here.

“Mrs. Blake, Mr.Munson, Mrs. Carter, your—“

“Sorry, it’s actually Ms. Y/l/N,” you interrupt him, eyes shifting nervously around the room.

“Right, sorry, Ms. y/n.” He gives you a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your kids had a disagreement—“

“It wasn’t a disagreement; she kicked him,” the woman shouted incredulously, jumping up and pointing a finger at Milly.

“Mrs. Blake, sit down!” Principal Heart yells, clearing his throat and gaining composure.

Eddie’s arms are crossed over his chest jaw is clenched, and by the glare he’s shooting the woman, you think she’s lucky to still have the finger.

“From what the children tell me, Cooper went over to Matilda in the sand and stepped on her crown, causing it to break. Cooper then started to make fun of Matilda for crying. Melia walked over to tell him to stop, and Cooper, quote, called her a baby, so she kicked him in the privates.” Mr.Heart looked up from the paper the incident had been reported on through his glasses at the children.

“His child kicked my son; I want her punished,” the woman snaps, though Eddie pointedly ignores her with a deep roll of his eyes.

“Is that true, Mils? You kick em?” Eddie asks the girl, nodding his head to the boy.

“Yes,” she admits, avoiding his gaze. “But Daddy, he was an asshole, and you always say assholes deserve to get kicked in the nads.”

You once again struggle to keep in your laughter as Mrs. Blake gasps, clutching the pearls draped across her neck.

“Aren’t you going to correct her?” She asks Eddie, a disgusted look on her face.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Eddie nods at her in mock sincerity. “Milly, we don’t call boys like him assholes; the proper word is ‘little bitches,” he tells the girl, who nods at him thoughtfully. This time you don’t bother to hide your laughter. “Better?” He asks the woman, flashing her a smug smile.

“Ugh, I should have known you wouldn’t do anything. You Munsons are trailer trash, and you act like it,” Mrs. Blake barks a cruel laugh.

“Excuse me?” Eddie asks, standing to match her stance.

“Eddie, please, you can’t fight a girl,” you say it like you didn’t just meet the man pushing him back onto the bench.

“Yes, sit down.” It’s her turn to shoot him a smug smile.

“Oh, you misunderstood me. He can’t, but I can hold my baby,” you instruct, setting Hunny down in the man’s lap before turning back to the woman.

“Ms. y/l-,“ principal Heart starts, but you hold a hand up to silence him.

“Ahh, my turn to talk.” You’ll apologize for the rudeness in a minute“. His daughter was defending mine, so if you want her to be punished, you better expect the same for him. Oh, and that crown was 5 bucks, so you better cough it up, or we can forget this whole thing, each punish our own children as we see fit, and handle this situation like mature adults who aren’t pointing blame at 4-year-olds,” you finish with a pointed finger.

“You’re all disgusting humans.” She scrambles, gathering her purse and her son by the wrist to storm out of the office.

“Very sorry for shushing you,” you smile politely, though Mr.Heart looks less upset than impressed. “Are we done here?” He nods wordlessly.

You turn your attention back to Eddie and the girls reaching for Hunny, who reluctantly pulls her hands out of Eddie’s hair.

You make it out of the building, the girls skipping in front of you hand in hand once again giggling amongst themselves.

“Thanks, I uh, totally would’ve hit that lady if you hadn’t said anything,” Eddie tells you, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Don’t mention it. If she’d have pointed her finger at my kid like that, I’d have jumped her.” You smile up at him as you make it to the sidewalk where the girls had stopped to wait for you.

“Daddy, can we have Tilly over for dinner? We want to play more.” Milly asks both girls, looking up at the two of you with puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t know, sweetheart…” Eddie trails off, “But maybe we could go out for dinner.” He immediately caves, though, in his defense, they did pull out the big guns with a pouty lip. “But only if Tilly’s mom is okay with it.” All three of them turn to you, waiting on your answer.

“How could I say no to you cuties?” You agree, noticing the way Eddie’s ears began to burn.

[gretavanmoon]

S A L T Y

Jake x female reader

4.8k words

+ After indulging in a shared stamina-boosting treat in the dead of summer, you find yourself twisted up in a silly argument that's laced with jealousy... the salt is heavy in more ways than one with this one.

Happy Fourth of July! Keep this in your back pocket for your post-firework bedtime story. Gracias to @gretavangroupie for edits and forcing me to post this love yaaaaa

Warnings: 18+! Angst: Cursing, Substance Use in the form of Aphrodisia, Arguing, Mentions of Alcohol, Heavy Jealousy & Possessiveness, Overall Bossiness Smut: Kissing, Touching, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (M! and F! Receiving), Dom/Sub kinda

+

“Son of a bitch, if we keep it up like this I’m not gonna have anything left in me, baby,” Jake admits as he removes his right foot from the arm of the couch, the other standing weakly on the floor, barely holding his weight. Your body is bent in half, your arms holding you uncomfortably upright as he pulls out from behind you, hands still gripped and squeezing tightly around your waist. 

You and Jake had made the early afternoon decision to each eat a special pleasure-boosting chocolate that you’d been told about by a friend a few months ago, and saying that the effects always took perfectly for the both of you would be an understatement. Just one serving would have the two of you ravenous for each other for hours on end, and seeing as how neither of you had anything to do for the rest of the day, it only seemed right to end the weekend on a high note. It was only after you’d both eaten the chocolate and after you figured out that your air conditioning had decided to go out that you told Jake about your plans for next weekend, thus sending him into a pissed-off mood that was borderline a thrown tantrum. But you accounted his mood to the extra blood flow the chemicals in the chocolate had given him going straight to his dick, leaving little for his brain to process thoughts. 

“Hah, look at you calling me baby, after bitching at me all day,” you quip, turning to meet eyes with him as you stand up straight again, the feeling of your own wetness sliding between your thighs. Your muscles already feel weak as you turn to plop back down on the plush cushions of the couch, careful not to drip anything on your freshly washed covers.

He instantly falls to his knees, growling as he grabs the insides of both of your legs to pull you closer to the edge of the couch. His mouth is instantly connected to your core, his tongue already burying itself deep inside your deepest crevices. You’re both groaning from near exhaustion, willing your bodies to keep up with your desire.

“I can bitch at you and still call you baby, Y/N. Not my fault you said yes to a date with someone else without my permission,” he barks before diving back between your legs.

Your hands smooth back the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, pulling them away from his face as you bite both your lips in, finding it insanely difficult to stop yourself from wailing his name so loudly you disturb the neighbors. He’s being facetious and you know that, but his attitude makes it all the more challenging to not give in to him completely. You love it when he gets a little jealous.

Instead of yelling at him, you bite a quick “fuck me” through your tightly clenched teeth, hoping to god he doesn’t hear you. His brow furrows as he makes eye contact with you, a maddening expression painted on his sweat-coated face that you’re sure is only there simply for the sake of playing dumb. “Are you just raving, or is that a request?” he growls as he pulls away just long enough to breathe his words out.

“Neither, asshole,” you lightly tap your fingertips to the side of his temple, knocking him sideways as he presses your legs apart, giving him further access to work you. He likes it. He gets off on you being playfully scornful to him. He cracks a short-lived but devious smile before turning back into his whiney self. 

You take a quick breath, ready to explain yourself again. “And it’s not a date, it’s drinks. With my co-workers. How in the– aahhh, fuckkkk– how in the fuck is that a date?” Your eyes begin to roll back a little as he points his tongue directly over your clit, arrogantly knowing exactly what makes you fall apart for him. 

He pulls his head back with a hiss, making you disconnect your hands from his roots as he eyes you meticulously. He licks his lips, your slick still coating the 5 o’clock shadow that’s now adorning his face after going at it with you all day. His eyes never leave yours as he plunges his two middle fingers inside you, pushing his other hand against the inside of your left thigh. “How is it not a date, baby? Don’t be fucking coy. You dated the man.”

You groan in aggravation as he pisses you off even more, still pinning your leg to the side as his fingers work inside you, hitting your g-spot with so much fucking ease you want to slap him again. “I went on two dates with him! That hardly qualifies as dating, Jacob,” you retort as he flicks his fingers with more precision. Your head falls back again, the pleasure coming in rippling waves now as you feel your stomach tightening. “Plus, he’s my manager… invited everyone… how am I supposed to say no to that?”

The air shifts a little as he loudly clicks his tongue.

“Did you ever fuck him?” he asks quickly, sitting back on his heels as he completely halts all movement of his hand.

“What?”

He leans in, hovering over your belly as his face is dangerously close to yours, his fingers still buried deep but staying completely still. “Did… you…ever… fuck him? Simple question, love.”

You swallow, not expecting the conversation to even go here, let alone while you’re literally fucking him.

Your eyes dart side to side, the blurry memories of sleeping with the man who is now your boss those some ten-odd years ago flashing through your mind. That was a lifetime ago, you were barely in college a few weeks. And it was two dates and a hookup before the two of you decided to just stay friends, and that was that. You’d only seen him in passing a handful of times over the years, but to be quite honest, after sleeping with him, he barely ever even crossed your mind. 

You swallow again as Jake’s eyebrows raise, waiting for you to answer. He shoves his fingers deeper inside you to remind you that he asked a question, making you clench around him. “Fuck! Yes, okay? Yes. We slept together one time, Jake. Once. And it was ten fucking years ago.” 

He stays silent as he bites his lip in, a rush of what looks like disappointment crashing over his face for just a second. He slowly picks up the pace again, delving his fingers inside at a much slower pace, now. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he mumbles, still biting his lips. You can tell that your admission has defeated him just a little. 

“Tell you what? That I hooked up with him once? Probably because it feels like it was a figment of my imagination, at this point. I was eighteen. Why does it matter?” you ask, wondering if he’s really upset, or if he’s just pouting at the fact that you left this little detail out about this certain person you work with. 

“He’s your fucking manager, Y/N, I don’t know…” he says, shaking his head side to side. You can see the sweat starting to form on his chest, the drips starting to form into a stream that is dripping down to his stomach. You could feel the heat of the day starting to creep into the walls now that the A/C has been out for a few hours, and the sun practically baking everything it touches outside isn’t helping in the matter. But there’s nothing you can do about it right now, the both of you will just have to suffer until the chocolate wears off and you can act like humans instead of rabid animals.

You stay quiet as you feel the knot tightening in your stomach again, wanting him to continue so you can reach your high, but also feeling the heavy shift in the conversation. You glance at the sweat pouring from him, and some kind of carnal instinct to want to taste it takes over your entire being. You suddenly need your mouth on him. You need to lick up every droplet of sweat that’s rushing down his body, and swallow it down. Taking matters into your own hands, you grab his wrist and rip his hand from you, standing up as you pull him to his feet. The soreness sets in again, having been in nearly every position in the Kama Sutra already today. 

You pull on his hands, making him follow you into the bedroom. “What are you doing, Y/N?” he asks, trailing behind. 

“Come in here, come lay down,” you order, turning him to push him down into the already messy sheets. Luckily, there’s a fan in here, giving the two of you a little reprieve as the heat fills the house. You watch as his tanned body falls backwards into the stark white sheets, his hair falling behind him as he reclines. His skin is glowing, his eyes trained on you, watching your every move as you crawl up him, purposefully snaking your body so that he has a visual of every single curve of your sweat-covered self.

You lean down, outstretching your tongue and touching his navel, working your way up his stomach and to his chest, collecting the deliciously salty taste of him on your tongue. There’s something about it, the flavor and the scent and the way he feels beneath you… it’s not the most pleasant, but you’re positive nothing on this earth tastes or smells more like home to you. You’d always read about how animals are attracted to their mates’ scent, and you never understood how it could apply to humans, too, until you became serious with Jake. It’s something that’s just wired into your brain now, and the longer you’re together, the more you find yourself craving it. Craving him.

“I’m sweaty and gross, babe,” he complains as he leans up and twists his hair into a knot behind his head, remnant baby hairs still sticking to and framing his face.

“You think I care? You taste so good… like you just got out of the ocean…” you say honestly, making him laugh a little through his nose. You run your tongue all over him, his sides, his groin, his pecs and his neck… each place tasting better than the last, and each spot making him absolutely feral at the feeling of your mouth on him. His light moans of bliss fill the room as his hands search for any part of you he can grab on to, his eyes fluttering open and closed as you watch his face light up. 

You can tell he’s getting hard again as you let your lips lightly ghost over his shaft, the chocolate still putting in work in keeping him turned on. Finally, you find yourself starving for him again, too, letting your lips cup over the head of his dick as you give it one tight little squeeze. 

“Please baby, fuck…” he grunts, his knees bending up and around your body. One thing about the way this chocolate works is that it amplifies everything, making every brush, every touch, every sensation amplified by a hundred. You have already had your mouth on him a couple of times today, but you can imagine how he feels simply from your experience with his mouth on you earlier, begging and wanting and needing the feeling so desperately. Absolutely bursting at the seams to experience the euphoria.

You move your body to straddle him, letting your already completely soaked core drift over his cock, ready and waiting to fill you again.

“Don’t think I forgot about the conversation we were having, Jake,” you tease as you position your knees firmly on either side of him. He fills his cheeks and blows out a long puff of air, his hand hitting his forehead to wipe away the sheen of sweat. 

“I don’t remember us having a conversation, Y/N, but I remember me expressing to you that I’m not happy with this arrangement,” he says, smirking at you a little while he runs his tongue along his teeth. “You fucked him! And you work with him! And you never even told me!” he all but yells.

You let your opening line up with his tip, letting yourself fall on to it just an inch or so. Your body was begging you to sit all the way down, the fire burning within your veins way past its boiling point. But you held strong. 

“You think I fucked him, Jake?” you ask, swirling your hips gently on him.

He tries his best to stifle his words, but he comes up short. “Oh my god, baby, you feel so– please…” he begs, his jaw falling slack just from the tiny touch. His eyes pop open and look at you, his expression absolutely pleading for more. “Yeah, you told me you did…”

You pause, letting the heavy air hang for just a second as you laugh a little under your breath. You shake your head side to side at his naivety, wondering just how he thought the situation went down all those years ago. “I didn’t fuck him,” you answer, letting yourself fall another inch as your fingertips pause on his stomach. “I was eighteen, I didn’t even know what fucking was…” you purr, swirling on him again. 

His chest is heaving with want, his growls now turned into desperate whimpers as he’s doing anything but begging you to let him fill you. You know that if things were normal, and if the two of you weren’t caught up in this childish back-and-forth, he’d be on his hands and knees for you, falling to the floor at your every whim. His hips buck up into you, but you rise on your knees, not allowing him to have any control over the matter.

“But you… you and me… this…” you go on as you sit back down, giving yourself centimeters. “I didn’t know what I was even missing, until I found you…” you admit. “No one has ever made me feel like you do.”

He takes a deep breath, centering himself. “None? None of them?” His hand sneaks up and presses a thumb to your clit, adding just enough pressure to make your breath catch. 

You shake your head side to side again, as you’re almost seated to the hilt, the feeling of him filling you again already making your body shudder. “No baby, none of them. So you can cut the pissy attitude, or I’m hopping off of you, and taking care of myself.” With that, you sit down completely on him, your bodies finally resting together as you feel the tip of him buried as far as he could get.

“Ffffuckk, Y/N, god damnit, yes,” Jake howls into the room as his thumb still works your clit, his other hand rushing up to grip onto your hip. But you steady your movements. Though your body is burning for you to move, you want to give him the same lack of satisfaction he gave you earlier. But just for a second. 

“Answer me, am I going to have to take care of myself, Jake? Or are you going to quit being salty over something that doesn’t fucking matter and let me fuck you how I want?” 

You know the situation matters to him. And you’ll validate that later. But not right now. Right now it’s fueling too much angst and you’re having too much fun.

His grip on your hip tightens so hard that it almost hurts, his fingernails digging into the thick muscle there. You’re fully aware that both of you can get turned on from dirty talk alone, and the chocolate is only exaggerating the feeling. Your brain is buzzing with electricity from it. You love when he gets a little rough. He can tell that your body responds to the little bit of pain, and like a switch flipped in his brain, he lets it turn on all his lights. Suddenly both his hands are on your hips, switching the places of both of you in one swift movement. Your body is pressed against the mattress, your shoulders being held down as he hovers overtop of you. “How about you let me fuck you how I want, hm? How’s that sound?” he challenges with an air of greed. 

Like a petty little pet, you nod your head, completely losing the war of being the one calling the shots the second he squeezes your clit between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation almost kills you, cuts off your ability to breathe altogether as he begins pulsing his fingers quickly, causing the desire to pool up in your belly all over again. He’s never really concentrated his fingers this pointedly before; usually his hands are grabbing and squeezing wherever they can. But with the most sensitive part of your body being held so tightly and at the mercy of his fingers, you feel completely at his will.  “How about I show you exactly why you choose to stick around, and you’ll keep choosing it, no matter how many dates you go on with your boss.”

“God, give it up, Jake,” you complain, rolling your eyes dramatically as his movements set your whole body on fire again.

You’ve barely gotten the words out before his other hand is braced across your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to your pulse points. You want to swallow, but you can’t, all you can do is let out a pitiful whine that sounds more like a choked sob than a moan. His other two fingers are still gripped on your clit as he balances on his knees, his eyes laser sharp as the sweat continues to drip from his chest. 

“Give it up? Give it up?! Baby, you’re being awfully bossy for someone who is in the wrong, here. And for someone who’s acting so bratty today,” he says, his voice sounding gentler than the words he’s spouting. “Tell me you won’t go to the bar with them. Tell me you’ll back out of the plans.”

Deep down, you know Jake doesn’t give a fuck who you hang out with. You’re both comfortable enough in your relationship that trust is paramount, and neither of you have ever tested it. He trusts you, and you him to come home to one another every night, never straying or giving the other a reason to be suspicious about anything at all.

He squeezes a little harder on your throat, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to your core as his eyebrows shoot up. 

“Come with me. Come out with us. You haven’t met them yet, anyway… come let them see that I’m yours, we don’t even have to tell them. We can show them…” you suggest, honestly liking this idea way more. His grip on your throat loosens as bit as he contemplates the idea. 

“Show them, hm?” Finally he nods, giving in to your suggestion. “Okay, yeah, I’ll show up…”

You nod back at him as you give him the tiniest smirk, bringing your own hand up to cup over his, squeezing his fingers a little tighter on you. “What’s with you today, huh? Testing me every five minutes…” he asks. His teeth grit against one another as the wind from the fan hits the back of his head just right, blowing his damp hair over his face as he lets go of his grip between your legs, adjusting his body so that he’s positioned perfectly above you again. His hand moves from your throat straight down to your tit, gripping the whole thing roughly as he takes his dick in his hand, running it up through your wetness. The sensation is enough to floor you, every single atom in your body on fire and wanting to feel him completely. 

Your hands find his waist, pulling him into you with everything you have, your legs already wrapping around him. “Stop making me fucking wait Jake,” you spout. “I’ll stop bitching, I promise, just please…” 

“Oh now you wanna back down…? Not like I haven’t gotten you off three times already today…”

“You’re the one who’s been fucking bitching like a teenager all damn day! God…” you rouse, knowing that your voice is probably grating on his nerves right now. He presses himself harder against you, daring you to say another word. 

“Watch your mouth,” he warns, still holding himself in his hand. You can feel his pulse throbbing in the head of his dick as it presses up against you, and you know if you say another cross word, you’re in for it. 

“And what if I don’t?” you press, sounding as prissy as you possibly can.

He taunts you with the same ultimatum that you gave him earlier, “Then I’ll just have to go and take care of myself, I guess… and leave you here unsatisfied. Your mouth has been nothing but aggravating today, Y/N, I swear to god…”

You roll your eyes at him, knowing he most definitely hasn’t forgotten about your lips sucking at him for nearly an hour today, if you added it all up. 

“Will you just fuck me, Jake? I’ll keep my mouth shut if you shut yours…” you spout as you feel your core drip down onto the sheets. 

“Is that a fucking promise?” he asks, cocking both eyebrows.

“Swear.”

Like a wild animal that can no longer control it’s instinct, he presses all the way into you, stifling all the noises that you know he wants to make. His body lurches to hover over you as he picks up a slow pace, his hips cracking with extreme precision as his thighs smack against the backs of your legs. “God, you get on my fucking nerves,” he jests through his teeth.

“Mutual,” you say quickly, jutting your chin upward.

Your throat is burning with rage as you stop yourself from crying out, only tiny breaths of whimpers escaping as you hold your side of the quiet bargain. His eyes are dark and devious as his hips snap harder, hitting you more deeply than he has all day. Your vision blurs into a deep black with each thrust, the pleasure threatening to make you go nonverbal, anyway. 

An especially harsh breath falls from you as he bends your leg up, hitting you even deeper and at a new angle. He brings his left hand up to his mouth, pressing his pointer finger gently over his lips with a hushed ‘Shhh’. 

Your hand flies up and cups around your mouth as you follow his order, ceasing all sounds that could possibly escape you. His eyes stay trained on you as his hair falls across his face and yours, his scent wafting across your nose as you take in chopped breaths through it. You force your eyes closed as the pleasure builds in your stomach, the familiar feeling of the beginning of another delicious orgasm overtaking your psyche. It burns, the threat of overstimulation creeping up in your insides, but you ignore it simply for the fact that you are going to feel him so wholly again, letting him bring you to the brink of no return for the third, fourth, fifth… whatever time it will be today. 

Suddenly you feel his lips on the shell of your ear, his teeth biting in as he whispers. “I’ll go on your little work outing with you, but if I’m gonna endure being around a man who’s already fucked you, you’ll do things to my liking, got it?” he asks, and you know better than to say no right now. Your stomach muscles are tightening, jerking your body as the bliss builds up, so you nod in agreement as your hand is still clamped over your mouth. “You’ll wear that low-cut top with the lace straps that I like so much… and that black leather skirt that cuts at your thigh… wear my favorite perfume, and that pretty little necklace I got you for your birthday. Sound good, babydoll?”

You nod again as his teeth pull on your earlobe, his voice low and gravelly, still. “Good. Then it’s settled. Then everyone will see how tantalizing you look outside of your work clothes, and they won’t be able to do a goddamned thing about it… they won’t be able to touch you… They’ll just have to admire you from afar while I tease you under the table…” his hand ghosts down and his thumb finds your clit again, making your eyes shoot closed and your head tilt back into the pillows. Fuck, if he doesn’t always manage to win these things. And you know he isn’t lying, either. You know your entire work outing will be full of his hands secretly snaking between your legs under any table you’re sitting at, his hand gripping your ass at every turn, his eyes staring daggers through you from across the room…begging you to sneak with him into the bathroom.

You know how the game is played, and somehow, he always fucking wins whether you want him to or not. What you don’t know though, is that he thinks the exact same thing of you. You winning him over with the way you feel wrapped around him, your body drenched and buzzing beneath him. He always wins, even when he doesn’t. 

“You gonna cum, baby? Let me have it one more time?” he asks, his hand now pressing down on your stomach where he can feel himself entering you with each pointed thrust he’s still delivering. 

“Mhmm…” you moan into his neck, his mouth still sucking hard on your ear and everything surrounding it. 

“You’re mine… all mine… no one else’s… give me what I want, baby,” he gloats, and his possessive words send a slow shockwave through your body, the rippling effects of the most intense orgasm you’ve had today sending your mind into a noiseless world of white light. All you can feel is him, all you can think about is him… and when you finally catch your breath and let your hand fall to the back of his neck, your pitiful moan on the come-down reverberates off the walls, sending him to finish right behind you. 

When his breath finally evens enough to come back to earth, his body collapses on top of you, completely spent as he pulls himself out of you. You lean down to kiss his neck, his skin still coated in that sweet-salty goodness that is enough to get you going again, but you relax, feeling the effects of the chocolate beginning to slowly wear off. 

He flips his head around to face you as you both lie face-down on the bed, and a smile that you haven’t seen all day sweeps across his pink, pouted lips. “Do I still taste like the ocean?”

You let your fingertips tousle the hair around his face, drenched and sticky. “Better than the ocean. You taste like you.”

His cheeks blush as his demeanor completely shifts into softness. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah baby, I know,” you reply with sincerity. 

“And you don’t have to wear all that stuff to the bar. You’ll look beautiful in whatever you choose. You could turn heads in a burlap sack.”

You giggle as you pull his hand up to your lips, kissing his palm. “But what if I want to wear all that? What if I want you to tease me all night, make my boss even more jealous than he probably already is?” you press.

“Then it’s a no brainer. Do it up, baby. I trust you,” he says with confidence. 

“Maybe I will,” you reply, taking a deep breath. “Not pissy anymore now that I gave you what you wanted?”

He smiles coyly, snaking one arm underneath you to pull you on top of him again. “Nah. No more bitching from me. I think I was about to have a heat stroke.” His hands are ghosting all over your body again, but not in a wanting way. His fingertips drift over your curves as if he’s adoring the body that is sitting over him. Simply taking the time to appreciate you.

“Me too,” you giggle, and you know that the festivities for the day have most likely reached their bittersweet end. “I’ll go start us a cold shower while you call the landlord, sound like a plan?” you ask, holding your hand up as you await a high-five.

“Deal,” he says, clapping his hand to yours. “But you can’t try and seduce me in the shower, I don’t think I have anything left in me. You’ve drained me dry, girl.”

You laugh through your nose as you hop into the floor, rushing off to the bathroom. “We’ll see about that.”

+

Taglist: @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner@cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas@whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @gretavangroupie