#actually hey wait i could do something about that last one.

[alohajix]

First Time for Everything

Description: when Nora finds out her best friend Harry makes adult content, curiosity turns into something much more. One video leads to another, and soon they’re filming, posting, and falling into something hotter—and deeper—than either of them expected.

Warnings: this one-shot series contains explicit sexual content, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, dirty talk, light spanking, voyeurism/exhibitionism, filming of sexual acts, and public sharing of adult content. Readers +18.

Words count: 6.2K.

I NEED HOLY WATER AFTER THIS ONE 🔥

also if you guys want a request you can hit me up

*****

I never thought I’d catch my best friend in bed with someone—not like that, anyway. Technically, Harry was alone. But he wasn’t exactly just lying there.

I only meant to grab my hoodie. I’d left it at his apartment the night before, and he told me to swing by whenever—I had the code, I always did. We’d been best friends since freshman year, and by now, walking into his place felt like second nature. But I wasn’t expecting the soft, rhythmic moaning drifting from his bedroom.

I froze. I wasn’t sure whether to knock, run, or just melt into the floor and pretend I didn’t exist. But curiosity—my most dangerous trait—kicked in.

It was faint, but familiar. Not the voice. The sound. Video. It was coming from his laptop. Relief washed through me so fast I almost laughed. Of course Harry wasn’t hooking up right now. He was watching something. But then I heard his voice.

“Yeah? You like that?” Low. Smooth. Just cocky enough. My stomach flipped.

I stepped closer. Just a little. His door was cracked open, the way it always was when he was alone. And yeah, it was his voice. Confident. Teasing. Definitely not acting. He wasn’t watching the video. He was in it.

I stood there a second too long, heat flooding my face, unable to look away from the shadow of him on the screen—shirtless, his mouth curved in that same smug little grin he used on me when he was winning at Mario Kart or stealing the last slice of pizza.

Then I turned around and left the apartment like it was on fire.

I didn’t bring it up for two days. He texted like normal. Memes. Random photos of his dog. A video of some guy skateboarding with a gallon of milk. I ignored them all.

Then finally—finally—he called me.

“Nora. Did I do something?”

I stared at his name glowing on my screen, thumb hovering over the answer button. My heart thudded like I was guilty of something, like I was the one who’d been caught moaning into a camera.

I answered. “Hey.”

“You’ve been weird.”

I bit my lip. “Have I?”

He sighed. “You’re doing the thing where you pretend everything’s fine but you’re actually spiraling and probably making a pros and cons list about whether I’m still your friend.”

I let out a small laugh. “That’s… specific.”

“Because I know you. So tell me what I did.” There was a long silence.

Then I said, “I came by to get my hoodie. A couple days ago.” Pause.

“Oh,” he said. Then again, softer, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” More silence.

Then, casually—like we were talking about what to order for dinner—he asked, “Did you watch the whole thing?”

“Harry!”

He laughed, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m kidding. Kind of.”

I groaned. “I didn’t mean to walk in on your… work.”

He went quiet again. Then, gently, he said, “That’s what it is, you know. Work.”

I sank into my bed. “I’m not judging. I just didn’t know you were… doing that.”

“You never asked.”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

He chuckled. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

I hesitated. “So… how long have you been doing it?”

“A little over a year.”

My mouth went dry. “Like… just solo? Or—”

“Mostly solo,” he said. “Sometimes not.” Oh.

I tried to picture him filming like that with someone else. I shouldn’t have. But I did.

“And… you’re okay with people watching you like that?” I asked, quieter now.

He waited. “Would it bother you if I said yes?”

“I don’t know.”

His voice dropped just enough to make me shiver. “Did it bother you when you saw me?”

I didn’t answer. But he must’ve heard it in my silence.

Then he said, “I’ve been thinking about asking you.”

My breath caught. “Asking me what?”

“To make a video. With me.”

I swallowed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Harry…”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly. “I’d never push. But you asked if it bothers me when people watch—and no, it doesn’t. Not if I’m with someone I actually want.”

My heart was pounding.

“And you’d want that,” I said, my voice smaller. “With me?”

He exhaled into the phone like I’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “Nora. I’ve wanted you since sophomore year.”

My cheeks burned. “You’ve never said anything.”

“You’ve never looked at me the way you did after you saw that video.”

I felt dizzy. Like I’d just stepped off a cliff and wasn’t sure whether I’d land or fly.

“Nora,” he said, softer now. “I’m serious. If you’re curious… if you want this… we could try it. Just us. No pressure. No posting. Just… see what it’s like.”

I didn’t say yes. Not yet. But I didn’t hang up either. And that silence? That was my maybe.

I didn’t sleep much after that call. Not because I was uncomfortable—but because I couldn’t stop thinking. About what he said. About the way he said it. I kept replaying his voice, that calm, confident tone like he wasn’t just throwing out some wild suggestion, but offering me something I didn’t know I wanted until it was right in front of me. And the worst part? I did want it.

I wasn’t sure what that said about me, but I was sure about that. So the next night, I texted him:

Nora: If we did it… just us. No camera. Just to try it. Would that be okay? He called me almost immediately.

His voice was softer this time, slower. “Yeah. That’d be more than okay.”

*****

It didn’t happen right away. He came over like it was normal—pizza, sweatpants, a dumb movie we both knew we wouldn’t pay attention to. But the air between us had changed. Everything felt closer. More charged. He was watching me. Not in the way best friends did. Not like Harry. Like someone who wanted to take their time peeling me open, layer by layer, just to see how I’d fall apart.

“Still okay?” he asked when the movie was barely halfway done, his fingers brushing my knee like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch me yet.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “I just… I’ve never done something like this before.”

“With me,” he said, leaning closer. “You’ve never done something like this with me.”

I smiled, nervous and warm all over. “Is that supposed to make it better?”

“God, I hope so.”

I didn’t even realize how close we were until his hand slid over mine. Until I felt his thumb tracing the space between my knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world. My whole body lit up like it was suddenly tuned to just him.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said softly. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“I know.” I hesitated. “But I want to.�� That was all it took.

He kissed me like he’d been waiting forever. Slow at first, like a question. Like he was giving me space to change my mind. But I didn’t—I couldn’t. I melted into him, his hand tilting my chin just enough to deepen it, just enough to make me gasp when his tongue slid against mine.

He pulled back only a breath. “Still okay?”

“I’m never going to say no to that again.”

His grin was cocky and devastating. “Then come here.”

We barely made it to my bedroom. He tugged my hand, pulling me into him, our mouths crashing again with more hunger this time. Every step we took felt like something unspoken breaking wide open. My back hit the door. His hands framed my waist. And then I was on the bed, heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and need.

“I’ve pictured this,” he murmured, crawling over me, his mouth brushing my jaw, my neck. “Too many times.”

“You’re not the only one,” I whispered, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. “Take this off.”

He grinned and peeled it over his head, tossing it to the floor. I dragged my hands down his chest, slow, tentative, until he leaned down and kissed me again—deeper now. His hips pressed against mine, and I could feel how hard he was already, even through his sweats. Clothes slipped away between kisses and soft gasps. He undressed me gently, his fingers teasing the straps of my bra down my arms, lips brushing my skin as he bared it. I felt stripped down in more ways than one—every look, every touch, like he was discovering something he didn’t want to rush.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumb grazing the underside of my breast before taking one into his mouth. I moaned, arching beneath him, my fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked, then switched sides, lavishing slow attention that sent heat rushing straight between my legs.

His hand slid down my stomach, fingers slipping beneath my underwear. I inhaled sharply as he found me—already wet, already aching.

“God, Nora,” he groaned. “You’re soaked.”

He circled my cl*t with slow, steady pressure, drawing a whimper from me. I couldn’t stop moving, hips tilting into every stroke as he leaned in to kiss me again, his mouth swallowing the breathy sounds I couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against my lips, two fingers sliding inside me with an ease that made me moan.

“You,” I whispered. “I want you.”

He pulled his hand back, kissed me once more, then sat up just long enough to shove his sweats off and roll a condom on. I couldn’t stop staring—flushed and panting, wanting him more than I’d ever wanted anything. When he lined himself up and pushed into me, it was slow. Gentle. His eyes locked on mine as he stretched me open inch by inch, giving me time to adjust, giving me everything.

“F*ck,” he groaned, settling deep. “You feel so good. Better than I ever imagined.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, breath catching as he started to move—each thrust building, deeper, smoother, more insistent. My legs locked around his waist, dragging him closer. My name fell from his lips like a prayer, over and over.

The room blurred around us—heat, skin, breath, sound. He filled me completely, his hips rolling into mine, our bodies meeting over and over until I was gasping his name, nails digging into his back.

“I’m close,” I whispered.

His thumb found my clit, rubbing tight circles as his rhythm picked up. “Come for me, baby.”

And I did—my whole body tightening, then unraveling in waves as I clenched around him, crying out his name. He followed right after, burying his face in my neck as he groaned and thrust deep one last time, his whole body shuddering with release.

After, we lay tangled in the sheets, the silence full but not awkward. He looked over at me, hair messy, eyes soft. “So…”

I turned my head. “So.”

“Was that a one-time thing?”

I smiled, heart thudding again. “I don’t think I want it to be.”

His grin returned—easy, sweet, smug as hell. “Good.”

Then he rolled on top of me again, warm and familiar, but now with a spark I knew would never go back to innocent.

“I meant it, you know,” he murmured. “If we do ever want to make something… I’d want it to be with you.”

I kissed him, just once, slow and deep. “I’ll let you know.” And judging by the look in his eyes, he knew I would.

*****

It took me a week to say yes. Not because I didn’t want to. I did. I thought about it every night—what it would be like to let him touch me again, to do it with his camera watching. I thought about how his voice sounded when he got serious, how gentle he was even when he moved like he was starving for me. But this time was different.

This time, someone else would see it—could see it. Even if we said no one would. Even if it stayed between us. It was the idea of being seen that lingered in the back of my mind. And the part I couldn’t ignore? It turned me on more than it scared me.

So when he came over, kissed me like he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it either, and whispered, “You still want to try?”—I whispered yes into his mouth like it was the answer I’d been holding onto since the moment I walked in on that video.

He didn’t set up a whole production. It was just his phone on a tripod, angled carefully, lighting soft and natural from the string lights around my room. No pressure. No performance. Just us.

“You good?” he asked, kneeling next to the bed, watching me with a look that was all reassurance and heat.

“I’m nervous,” I said, glancing at the phone. “But… kind of excited too.”

He leaned in, his voice low against my lips. “You’re allowed to be both.”

I gave a shaky breath and looked back at the lens. “So that’s really recording right now?”

Harry smiled. “Yep. You want to say hi?”

I laughed—nervous, breathless. Then I turned to the camera with a slow smile and said softly, “Guess we’re doing this.”

Harry’s eyes darkened instantly. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

I bit my lip. “I didn’t even do anything yet.”

He kissed me, and it was slow and deep, like he was warming me up from the inside out. He peeled off my shirt, then reached behind me to undo my bra, tossing it aside. “God, look at you,” he murmured, glancing at the camera, then back at me. “You’re gonna drive them insane.”

“They’re not watching yet,” I whispered.

“No,” he said, mouth brushing my neck. “But I am.”

His hands moved over me, slow and sure, cupping my breasts as he kissed down to them. He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked lightly, then looked up at me while doing it, watching the way my lips parted and my back arched.

“You wanna show them how good it feels?” he asked.

I looked into the lens, cheeks burning, and whispered, “He’s really good with his mouth.”

Harry chuckled low and wicked, switching to the other side. “Keep talking like that and I’m not gonna last.”

He moved lower, dragging my shorts and panties down in one smooth motion, his hands stroking up my thighs.

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” he said.

I did—nervous, turned on, and very aware of the camera now capturing every second. He lowered his mouth to my center, his tongue flicking over my cl*t in slow, teasing circles. I moaned, grabbing the sheets, but he didn’t let up. If anything, he licked deeper, more deliberately, humming softly against me.

“F*ck,” I gasped. “Harry, that feels—”

“Amazing?” he offered, glancing up, his lips shiny. “Tell them how good I’m making you feel.”

I looked at the lens, dazed and breathless. “I’m gonna come just from his mouth.”

He groaned, like he needed to hear that, and then slid two fingers inside me, curling them perfectly. My body seized up as the orgasm hit—hot and sharp and all-consuming. I cried out, riding it out against his mouth, his name falling from my lips over and over. When I opened my eyes, Harry was watching me, completely focused.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded, still breathless. “Better than okay.”

He kissed me—slow, filthy, sweet. I tasted myself on his lips and moaned softly into his mouth. Then he grabbed a condom from the drawer, rolled it on, and positioned himself between my legs.

“You wanna look at the camera while I f*ck you?” he asked, teasing.

I smiled, flushed and bold. “Maybe.”

He nudged the tip of his c*ck against my entrance. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

He slid in with one long, slow thrust, filling me completely. My eyes fluttered closed, and I let out a shaky moan.

“Look at them,” he whispered.

I forced my gaze open and found the camera. “He’s inside me,” I said, voice soft and shaky. “And it feels so f*cking good.”

Harry groaned above me and started to move, each thrust smooth and deep. His hands gripped my hips, dragging me against him as he rocked into me.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “So tight. So good for me.”

My legs wrapped around him. I couldn’t look away from the lens now—I wanted to be seen. I wanted to show how wrecked I was for him.

“You gonna come again?” he asked, fingers finding my clit.

“Yes—Harry, please, don’t stop—”

“Let them see it.”

I moaned louder as the orgasm built again, my body tightening, hips grinding into his.

“Right there,” he growled. “Come for me, baby.”

And I did—hard. Crying out, trembling under him as I clenched around him, eyes locked on the lens like I wanted them to feel it. Harry thrust harder, chasing his own release, eyes flicking between me and the camera.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he groaned. “I’m gonna come—fuck—”

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast as he spilled across my stomach, chest heaving. The lens caught it all.

After, he turned off the camera and collapsed next to me, sweaty and smiling.

“You did so good,” he murmured, brushing hair from my face.

I laughed breathlessly. “That was insane.”

“You like being watched, huh?”

I bit my lip, still breathless. “Apparently.”

He leaned over and kissed me again. “Want to see how it turned out?”

I smiled, lazy and flushed. “Only if we’re naked again while we do.”

He groaned and dropped his head to my shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

It started with the comment. Well—another comment. We were sprawled across his bed, phones glowing, scrolling through the chaos we’d unleashed online. The video was climbing faster than either of us expected, and the comments weren’t slowing down.

“Y’all got me feral. If she ever lets you f*ck her from behind, I need it filmed immediately.”

“Imagine her riding him with those little gasps—yes please.”

“We need to see her beg next time. She looks like she could be so filthy.”

I read that one twice. Then I passed him my phone. He blinked, read it slowly, then looked at me.

“You okay?” he asked, lips twitching.

I shrugged, biting back a grin. “I mean… I could be filthy.”

His brows lifted. “You could.”

I tilted my head. “You saying I haven’t been?”

He leaned in, lips brushing my jaw. “I’m saying… if you’re ready to go there, I’ll follow your lead.”

There was a moment of silence. Tension. Awareness. That subtle shift where something playful becomes serious—charged. Then I said, “Okay. Let’s film something else.”

Harry’s pupils blew wide. “You want to right now?”

I nodded. “But I want it different this time.”

“Tell me.”

“Less sweet. More…” I swallowed. “Rough. I want you to talk to me. Use me. I want to look into the camera and know they’re gonna lose their minds.”

He stared at me for a full beat, chest rising.

“Jesus, Nora,” he murmured. “You really are gonna ruin me.”

We set it up together this time. The tripod went higher, angled downward toward the bed. He adjusted the lighting, brought in a second soft lamp, and checked the shot while I peeled off my hoodie and climbed onto the sheets in just my matching black lingerie set.

“Holy fuck,” he said, just staring.

I smirked at the camera. “They wanted filth.”

“You’re giving it to them already and we haven’t even started.”

I crawled back toward the pillows, legs parted, head tilted. “So start.”

He hit record. He stripped as he walked over—slow and confident, his c*ck already thick and heavy as he climbed onto the bed.

“You look like a dream,” he murmured, settling between my legs. “You know that?”

I smiled, glancing at the camera. “Then stop staring and touch me.”

His hand wrapped around my neck—not hard, just firm enough to still me, to make me look up.

“You want rough?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You want them to see how pretty you look getting ruined?”

“Please.”

He leaned down and kissed me hard—open-mouthed, demanding. His hand slipped between my thighs, fingers stroking my soaked underwear. “You’re already wet.”

“You haven’t even done anything,” I whispered.

He tugged my panties aside and slid two fingers in without warning. I gasped.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re dripping, baby.”

I whined and bucked my hips. “Harry—”

“Shh.” He sat up on his knees, yanked my panties off completely, and spread my thighs wide. “Look at them,” he said.

I looked into the camera, breathing hard, legs open and trembling.

“Tell them how badly you want it.”

“I want him to f*ck me,” I said, flushed. “Hard. From behind. I want to feel him everywhere.”

He hissed. “Keep talking like that and I’m not gonna last.”

I rolled onto my stomach, arching my ass into the air, cheek to the sheets. “Then don’t wait.”

He groaned low in his throat, grabbed the condom from the nightstand, and rolled it on fast. The moment he lined up behind me, his hands gripped my waist, and he slammed into me with one hard thrust.

I cried out. “F*ck—yes.”

“That’s it,” he growled, pulling out and slamming back in. “Take it, baby. Just like that.”

His hips hit mine over and over, fast, brutal, perfect. I was gasping, panting, shaking.

“You hear those sounds?” he said. “That’s what you do to me. You hear how fucking wet you are?”

I moaned as he reached down and smacked my ass, once, then again, each one leaving a stinging warmth.

“Say something,” he panted. “Talk to them.”

I turned my head toward the camera, eyes half-lidded, voice shaking.

“You guys wanted to see him ruin me?” I moaned. “He’s fucking me like I belong to him.” Another hard thrust.

“You do belong to me,” he growled. “This perfect little p*ssy is mine.”

My orgasm built fast—hot and wild, dizzying as he drove into me, one hand wrapped in my hair now, the other gripping my hip like he needed me closer.

“I’m gonna come,” I cried out.

“Then come. Come with me deep inside you.”

And I did—my whole body spasming, collapsing forward into the sheets, mouth open in a silent moan as he f*cked me through it. Harry followed with a loud groan, pulling out to finish on my ass, chest heaving as he stroked himself through the last few spurts. The camera caught it all. We stayed like that for a beat—panting, messy, wrecked.

Then he leaned down and kissed my spine. “You just made the filthiest, hottest fucking video I’ve ever filmed.”

I turned my head, dazed. “You think they’ll like it?”

He smirked. “They’re gonna lose their minds.”

*****

They posted it the next morning. No warning. No teasing. Just a title—“She Wanted to Be Ruined.” It blew up within hours. By noon, Harry had over ten thousand new followers. By dinner, my DMs were full.

We laid in bed again, wrapped up in each other, reading the comments between kisses and bites of takeout.

“The way she says ‘I belong to him’? Ruined me.”

“Bro. That arch. That ass. That moan. That everything.”

“The way she talks to the camera like she knows she’s a fantasy? Obsessed.”

“That’s not porn. That’s art.”

“I’ll never recover from the way she looked back at the camera after he came on her.”

I buried my face in his chest, laughing, flustered, completely high on it.

“Think they liked it?” I teased.

Harry kissed the top of my head. “They worship you.”

“I kinda like it.”

“You love it.” I didn’t argue.

A notification popped up on his phone.

“Wanna go live?” he read aloud, then glanced at me. “We don’t have to talk about everything. Just… check in. Say hi. Let them see us.”

I raised a brow. “You think they’re ready for that?”

He smirked. “I think you’re their new obsession.”

I rolled onto my back, stretched, and grinned. “Then let’s give them a little more.”

The live Q&A was chaos. We propped the phone against the lamp, climbed under the blanket together—me in one of his oversized shirts, Harry shirtless with the most unapologetic grin—and hit “Go Live.” The chat exploded in seconds.

“THEY’RE ALIVE.”

“Nora you are a goddess what the hell.”

“Did she really come twice??”

“How does it feel to break the internet?”

I giggled and leaned into him. “You’ve created a monster.”

“She created herself,” he said to the chat. “I just helped bring it out.”

“Will you make more?”

“Is this just content or are you two together??”

“Please collab again I’m begging.”

“How did you stay hard while she was saying that stuff?”

Harry laughed, fingers brushing my thigh. “Barely.”

I looked at the camera. “We’re figuring it out. But I think it’s safe to say… there’s more coming.” The chat lost it.

We didn’t stay live long—just enough to tease, enough to connect. Enough to promise that whatever we were turning into, it wasn’t over yet. We didn’t say what it meant for us—what we were now. But I didn’t need to define it just yet. Not when I had his arm around me, my name on their lips, and the next idea already forming in the back of my mind.

After all… There’s always a next video.

[dakusan]

How skz texts you when they're in love.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, soft angst

🌙 synopsis: how skz would text if they were your boyfriend and down bad. i’m talking unhinged voice notes, emoji abuse, and random deep confessions between memes.

💌 a/n: After seeing how much love the mini shots I did yesterday got, I was like... why not make more! Plus I was brainrotting about how skz would text if they were like… hopelessly in love with you. Might make this into a series, like how they text when they're jealous, etc etc. ps. reblogs = love pss. if u want jealous/skz texting you at 3am or other versions… say less. or, if u want another mini fanfic like I did for Hyunjin's bday, idk, whatever you want, send me your prompts might as well advertise my songs too lololol leave me alone T.T

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Unwind" — VX

Bang Chan // 방찬

type: text-after-text typa guy

response time: fast unless he’s in the studio, then apologizes like you ghosted HIM

voice notes? yup, especially for soft rambles or late-night confessions

emojis: overuses the 😂, ❤️, sometimes the 💀

chaotic habits: sends memes at 2AM, randomly asks deep life questions mid-convo, follows up a heartfelt message with “ignore me lol”

texting vibe:

"yo" "wait" "i saw a puppy n thought of u wtf" 2 min voice note about how your laugh is stuck in his head "don't replay that i'll actually combust"

Lee Know // 리노

type: dry until he’s obsessed—then he gets lowkey clingy

response time: elite. replies instantly unless he’s annoyed (playfully)

voice notes? rarely. only when teasing or if he has something to prove

emojis: the cat ones. 👍🏻. dramatic use of dots (…)

chaotic habits: sends photos of his cats and says “this is us.”

texting vibe:

"do u even like me" "jk unless" "come over. soonie wants to see you" "also me. i want to see you. but soonie first"

Changbin // 창빈

type: tries to act chill but texts like a man who's in deep

response time: fast. suspiciously fast. like he had the convo open already

voice notes? yes. raspy and low when he's tired = danger

emojis: lots of 🐷 (ironically??), 😭, 💪, and the occasional 🖤

chaotic habits: pretends he's not clingy but sends 10 messages when you don't reply in 4 minutes.

texting vibe:

"are you eating?" "no i'm not checking up on you shut up" "but also don't skip meals or i'll show up" sends gym selfie with the caption: 'working out so i can carry your future' "delete that last msg. i was joking. (i wasn't)"

Hyunjin // 현진

type: romantic poet in a silly man’s body

response time: varies—he’s either blowing up your phone or forgot what a phone is

voice notes? yes, and they’re beautiful, emotional, and sometimes dramatic as hell

emojis: 🌟, ✨, 💘❤️, random aesthetic ones

chaotic habits: sends blurry selfies with “do i look like ur soulmate or”

texting vibe:

"i dreamt of you again" "you were dancing in the clouds" "and then u tripped over a squirrel lol" "still romantic tho" sends 37 Pinterest boards dedicated to your aura

Han // 한

type: overshares. overshares again. disappears. comes back with a meme

response time: fast but forgets mid-convo then apologizes with a TikTok

voice notes? only unhinged ones

emojis: chaos. 🍥 . 🤡, 😭, 🙈

chaotic habits: texts “i love you” at the most random times, like when he’s eating cereal

texting vibe:

"babe" "i just saw a frog and it reminded me of ur ex" "anyway what u doing" "miss u so bad it's medically concerning" sends 12 memes in a row "btw did u know u're my entire world okay bye"

Felix // 필릭스

type: sunshine in text form, but gets lowkey flirty when he’s really into you

response time: pretty fast, unless he’s baking something (which he tells you about in detail)

voice notes? yes, and his voice is so soft you’ll play them 20x

emojis: ✨, 🌞, 🤍, sometimes random food emojis

chaotic habits: sends selfies with “do i look cute enough for u today?”

texting vibe:

"hey angel" "just made brownies and i wish i could feed u one rn" "missing you more than coffee and you know that's serious" sends a selfie with hearts drawn on his cheeks "rate my cuteness out of 10 (be honest but also lie)"

Seungmin // 승민

type: sarcastic menace until he realizes he’s obsessed

response time: elite. scary good.

voice notes? sometimes, especially to roast you

emojis: very minimal. he’s a punctuation man.

chaotic habits: says “you’re so annoying” when he actually means “i miss you”

texting vibe:

"you're insufferable" "also i got u something, check ur door in like 2 mins" "don't cry. i'll block u" "jk. kinda" "be safe. i love you. don't make me say that again"

I.N // 아이엔

type: cute chaos. teases you constantly but gets shy when you flirt back

response time: quick, unless he’s gaming

voice notes? yes, but he re-records them 5 times before sending

emojis: 🥺, 😭, ✨, chaos combo

chaotic habits: sends TikToks that are somehow always lowkey him confessing

texting vibe:

"hey loser" "jk i like u a lot please don't block me" "wanna vc? i need to hear ur voice to survive" "do u think we'd survive in a zombie apocalypse or would u trip and make me die" "nvm i'd save u"

[favefandomimagines]

I Know Places 4 (r.c)

Summary: Rafe’s mistakes might be finally catching up to him; Y/N tells Kie the truth

AN: things are beginning to happen!!!!

Previous part

Taglist: @luvrclub

It had been a week since Y/N and Rafe’s first date, and she felt like she was floating.

Every text from him sent her heart racing, every late-night call made her stomach flip. He had a way of making her feel important, like she was the only thing that mattered when he was talking to her. She’d never had that before—not really.

Growing up, she had always felt like the friend of the pretty girls. Kie and Sarah were the ones guys gravitated toward, the ones who turned heads without even trying. Y/N never felt invisible, not exactly, but she had never been the one to have someone’s full attention.

But now, she did.

And it was hers and hers alone.

Keeping it a secret, though? That was the hard part.

Rafe had been adamant about their second date being his idea. He wanted something lowkey, something personal, but wouldn’t tell her anything else.

“Just trust me, Pretty Girl.”

And she did.

The problem was Kie.

Kie knew Y/N better than anyone, and the past week, Y/N could feel her best friend watching her. She wasn’t outright suspicious—not yet—but Y/N could tell she was waiting for her to slip up.

And today, with the bait shop quiet and no one else around, Y/N decided it was time to tell her the truth.

||

The shop smelled like salt and baitfish, the usual scent of their summer days. The morning rush had ended, and now, with John B and JJ out doing scuba tours, Sarah handling inventory, and Pope and Cleo getting groceries, it was just Y/N and Kie.

Y/N leaned against the counter, her fingers tapping anxiously. Kie was organizing some fishing lines, humming to herself, completely unaware that Y/N was about to drop a bombshell on her.

Y/N took a deep breath. “Hey, Kie?”

Kie looked up immediately, raising an eyebrow. “Oh no, what happened?” she teased.

Y/N huffed a small laugh, but it died quickly. “I have to tell you something,” she said, her voice a little too serious. Kie’s teasing expression softened.

“And I’m telling you as my best friend first, not my brother’s girlfriend. And I need you to let me explain fully before you react.”

That got Kie’s attention. She set the fishing lines down and turned to face Y/N completely, concern flickering across her face.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m listening.”

Y/N inhaled deeply, bracing herself. “I’ve been talking to Rafe.”

Kie’s expression didn’t change, but Y/N saw the way her shoulders tensed.

“Since the night of the beach party,” Y/N continued. “We went on a date last week. And we’re going on another one soon.”

Silence.

Y/N forced herself to keep going. “I really like him, Kie. He’s different than he used to be. Something happened that made him finally grow up and start treating people like humans.”

Kie was still unreadable, which only made Y/N more nervous.

“He asked me about me,” Y/N said, her voice softer now. “My favorite books, my favorite memories with you, what I want to do with my life. No guy has ever cared enough to ask me that. And I think I really like him.”

The silence stretched, and Y/N’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Kie finally spoke, her voice even. “Are you done?”

Y/N nodded slowly, preparing for the absolute worst.

Kie exhaled through her nose, then tilted her head. “Was he nice to you?”

Y/N blinked. She had expected yelling, accusations—not this. “Yeah, he was really nice to me.”

Kie studied her. “And you’re positive you think he’s changed?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, her voice firm. “There’s something different about him. I told him about my dad, and he actually wanted to defend JJ. The Rafe we knew wouldn’t say that.”

Kie was quiet for a moment before stepping closer. She placed her hands on Y/N’s shoulders, looking her straight in the eye.

“I just want you to be happy, Y/N,” Kie said, her voice filled with sincerity. “You’re my best friend. And though I’m not thrilled about keeping this from JJ, you were my friend first. And I get why you haven’t told him.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten. “So… you’re not mad?”

Kie sighed. “I want to be, but no. I trust you. And if you trust Rafe, then I’ll try to trust him too.”

Relief washed over Y/N, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around Kie. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Kie hugged her back, squeezing her tightly. “Just don’t let him hurt you, okay?”

Y/N pulled back, nodding. “I won’t.”

But deep on the Cut, someone was getting hurt

||

Rafe’s truck came to a screeching halt outside Barry’s place, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust as he yanked the keys from the ignition. He barely registered the familiar surroundings—the rusting cars, the half-collapsed fence, the dim glow of a single flickering porch light. His mind was only focused on one thing.

Finding them.

The second he slammed the truck door shut, Barry was already stepping onto the porch, lighting a cigarette like he wasn’t about to have the shit beaten out of him.

“Damn, man,” Barry drawled, exhaling a plume of smoke. “You look pissed. Gotta be careful with all that pent-up rage, Cameron. Might give yourself an aneurysm.”

Rafe didn’t say a word. He crossed the distance in three strides, grabbing Barry by the collar and shoving him up against the wooden porch post.

Barry let out a choked laugh, unfazed. “Oh, we’re doin’ this already? Usually, we at least have a drink first.”

Rafe’s knuckles connected with Barry’s jaw before the man could finish his sentence.

Barry grunted as his head snapped to the side, the cigarette dropping from his lips.

“Where the fuck are they?” Rafe growled, his voice low, dangerous.

Barry wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking despite the fresh bruise forming. “Man, you’re gonna have to be more specific. I know a lot of people.”

Rafe hit him again. This time, Barry stumbled, his back slamming against the porch railing.

“Don’t play with me,” Rafe snapped. “I know you were the middleman. I know you know who came into my house.”

Barry laughed, shaking his head as he leaned against the railing like they were just having a friendly chat. “You think I got control over those guys? Shit, Cameron. You don’t owe me money. I was just the guy making introductions. You’re the one who decided to play businessman and not pay back what you owed.”

Rafe’s fists clenched, his breathing heavy. He was losing control. He could feel it slipping, just like it always did.

“I swear to God, Barry, if you don’t start talking—”

“They know about her.”

The words cut through the rage like a knife.

Rafe stilled.

His grip loosened. “What did you just say?”

Barry wiped at his bleeding lip again, his smirk widening despite the fresh bruises. “The guys you owe? They know about Y/N.”

The air between them shifted instantly.

Rafe’s breath came short and fast, his chest tightening, panic seeping in through the cracks.

“No,” Rafe said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not possible. No one—”

Barry let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing at his jaw. “Oh, come on, man. You really think you kept that little crush of yours a secret?”

Rafe’s stomach churned violently.

Barry smirked, tilting his head. “You forget how much you used to talk when you were high, Cameron? You wouldn’t shut the hell up about her. Some Pogue girl you couldn’t stop thinking about, couldn’t stop watching.”

Rafe’s entire body felt like it had been submerged in ice water.

Barry leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more sinister. “Looks like they figured out your soft spot.”

That was it.

That was the moment Rafe snapped.

His fist connected with Barry’s face one last time, harder than before, sending the man sprawling onto the ground with a loud grunt.

Barry groaned, coughing as he rolled onto his side. “Fuck, man. You really gotta work on those anger issues.”

Rafe stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his bloodied fists trembling at his sides.

He needed to get out of there.

Without another word, Rafe turned, storming back to his truck and tearing out of Barry’s driveway in a spray of gravel.

His mind was spinning, spiraling, breaking.

They knew about Y/N.

They knew.

Rafe’s pulse pounded in his ears as he drove blindly through the Cut, the weight of the revelation pressing against his ribcage.

It didn’t make sense. There was zero chance anyone knew about Y/N. No one had seen them together, no one knew they were talking.

The only reason Barry even knew about his feelings for her was because of the past.

Because of the times Rafe had been too fucked up to keep his mouth shut.

Rafe had always had a thing for Y/N Maybank.

For years, he watched her from a distance, pretended to hate her, pretended she didn’t make his head spin in the worst way. She was the only Pogue he never really saw as one of them.

She was smart, sharp-tongued, unapologetically herself.

And the fact that she belonged to them? That she was best friends with the people he grew up hating? It only made her more untouchable.

But now, somehow, the people he owed knew.

And that meant she wasn’t untouchable anymore.

||

Rafe wasn’t sure how long he had been driving before he found himself in front of the Maybank house.

His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might crack a rib.

And then, he saw her.

Y/N was on the porch, her laughter ringing through the air as she helped Sarah carry in large boxes of inventory. Her hair was falling loosely over her shoulders, her sundress swaying slightly in the warm evening breeze.

She looked happy.

Untouched.

Pure.

Rafe tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching.

Then, he glanced down at his hands.

His bloody, shaking hands.

The stark contrast between the two—the warmth of Y/N, the darkness that had seeped into every inch of his own life—made his stomach turn.

He had already dragged her into this without meaning to.

But he’d be damned if he let her get hurt because of him.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his grip loosening on the wheel.

He had to keep her out of this.

He didn’t deserve her. He knew that.

But he’d burn the whole damn world down before he let someone take her from him.

[doctorwhoisadhd]

BITING IM SO PENT UP I NEED TO DO EVERYTHING ON EARTH

[varjopeura]

.

[trashbaget]

tell me your failed/embarrassing flirting stories to make me feel better, i’ll go first: today i said “get out of my way” forgot to say “i’m kidding” then immediately said “bye”

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Unrelated to anything but I'm getting real tired of the amount of problems I've been discovering in the last month or so and honestly at this point yeah sure why not add another vet visit on top of that I guess like fine sure okay

[inbabylontheywept]

she was dead silent on the drive home, but that was okay. sometimes, after band practice, she was just out of words. it was a short drive to her house. the only part where it actually felt weird was after i pulled up her parent’s driveway. 

after that, the silence stretched so far it smeared and left a weird residue. she kept looking at the car door like she wanted to leave, so i looked at the door too, then she looked at me, and i looked at her, and my first thought was that she was going to tell me that the door was stuck. i was used to that car always doing some damn thing. it was the car me and all my siblings had learned to drive in, and it was really beat to hell. there were dents all over the body, which we’d unsuccessfully tried fixing up with spackle. it had looked nice for maybe a week, but then the sun wrecked it - the spackle cracked up like the mud on the bottom of a dry riverbed and turned a sort of off yellow-white that made the car looked like it had been molded out of chicken shit. it also had a bullet hole it through the cabin that whistled like a toothless old man whenever the car went above 40, so loud it could drown out the radio, and a cabin that smelled so strongly of bugspray that even the arizona summer we drove everywhere we could with the windows down.

(if you have kids one day, you will maybe, possibly, begin to understand how much i loved that car.)

anyway, i was thinking about what else could possibly be wrong with the chickenshitmobile, and she just kept looking at me, and then i wondered if there was something on my face, and she just kept looking at me, and then the penny dropped and i realized she was trying to work up the nerve to break up with me. 

now, i’d seen her work up the nerve to do things like this before – it could take quite a while. and knowing it was about to happen made the waiting immediately unbearable. 

so i said hey. 

and she looked at me, very startled, and said hey back real small. like she’d been caught. and in a way, i suppose she had. 

and i said it’s okay. you can just say it. i’ll be okay.

i’m always okay. 

and she said: i’m really sorry. 

i loved her, you know? it was highschool, but teenagers are capable of love. the way people love changes over time just as much as the way they stand, or the way they talk, but things don’t stop existing just because they're different. opposite really – a thing only stops changing when it's fully gone.

and i said, nothing to be sorry for, and i meant it. she looked a little relived, and i was happy to give her that peace. then she left. i watched her make it through the front door, because that was just habit at that point, and then i sat there a while afterwards, checking how i felt. and the answer was not good, but good enough to make it home. good enough to limp on. 

so i put my car in reverse, took my last look goodbye, and immediately backed into her neighbor’s car. 

crunch. 

air bags didn't go off, which was good. i left a decent dent in the bumper of the other car. genuinely couldn’t tell if i did anything to my car – anything wrong with it just kind of blended together into the general ecosystem of hand mottled, sun cracked, chickenshit spackle. 

i checked my glove box, and my car insurance info was, of course, out of date. my phone was dead too. as a teenager, my phone was less my lifeline to my friends, and more my tether to my parents, so i wasn’t particularly conscious of keeping it charged. both my fault.

i sat there a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to handle things, and there was only one answer i could think of, and i hated that answer, so i spent a few more minutes trying and failing to think of a better one, and then a few more coming to peace with what had to be done. 

then i went back to knock on my now ex’s front door. 

her dad opened, which i was very relieved over, even if he seemed less than thrilled. he looked me over, and in a firm, but slightly apologetic way said: she does not want to see you right now. 

(i think he assumed i was going to try and talk her out of the break up?)

and i said not here for her. i just backed into your neighbor’s car, and i need to call my dad, but my phone’s dead. could i borrow yours?

and he looked at me, then back at his neighbors car, which sure enough was dented, then he looked at the chickenshitmobile, and if there was something wrong with it, it just kind of blended into the general Wrongness of the car, then back to me, and i could see him imagining the last ten minutes from my pov: getting broken up with, backing into a car, having to walk up to your exes door and borrow a phone, calling my dad to tell him that i just reversed into someone.  

and his expression shifted from stern and apologetic to truly sad, which felt more kind that i deserved. things only got here because i kept fucking up - forgot to look behind me, forgot to replace the insurance forms, forgot to charge my phone. it was my mess, but his sympathy meant the world to me. i probably would’ve cried if he said sorry, or patted me on the back or called me sport, but instead he said

stay out here – i’ll bring you a phone.

and then he left.  

i found a nice spot on the lawn in the shade under a sycamore, then settled into his grass.i was trying not to freak out, and was doing an okay job. he came out a minute or so later, not just with a phone, but a juicebox and a jar of green olives, which really threw a wrench in the whole try not to cry thing. soon as i saw those, a few tears squoze out. i was still hoping i could pass them off as Manly Tears but then he told me that he’d gotten the olives a few weeks before and had been meaning to hand them off to me, and that this was his last chance for that. then i made a sound like a horse drowning in a bog, and he patted my back pretty rough, four solid thumps, like he wasn't sure if i was crying or choking on an olive, and was trying to cover both bases at once.

then he went back inside, and i made a few more bog horse noises while finishing off the rest of the entire jar of green olives, and then i called my dad.

he was about ten minutes away that day, and luckily was home. he drove over, and we went to the neighbor’s house, and from there things actually went quite nice. the neighbor was a retired man who actually said he could fix the dent himself, no need for insurance. he said he appreciated that i didn't just drive off, and i said i was really sorry about his car, and he said he was really sorry about my car, and then he gestured to the chickenshitmobile and i laughed because it really was a disaster on wheels.

then we left.

i thought we were going to head straight home, but instead we went to a gas station, and we both got several slim jims that we folded into thick enough coils that we could put them on a hotdog bun because the growing up mormon equivalent of having a sad brewski with your dad is just choosing to make bad decisions sober. then he took me to the canals and we watched the sun turn all orange and pink, and he looked over at me and said:

brains are good at remembering bad days. so you gotta make sure that a bad day has a good part in it, so you can remember that too. remember that when you have a kid. try to do a good job on days like that - they're going to be a big part of how they remember you.

and then he gave me a big hug and said he was never going to eat another slim jim again.

---

the year after that i went to college, which kicked my butt in new and exciting ways. and on a lot of those bad days, after a test that went sour, or a faux paus that was particularly embarrassing, or some other hardship of my new adult life, i’d stop by the gas station and pick up leathery, half jerkied hotdog before heading to the canals to watch the sun set. i’d take a bite and imagine my dad next to me, grimacing through the slim-jim wad, asking what good thing i was going use that time to remember. 

and in my head, i’d say you, dad. 

i’m going to remember you.

[solxamber]

Pick Us!

In which you have to choose a club and it looks like everyone wants a piece of you.

Part 2 (Choosing a club)

You were minding your own business, dodging Grim's increasingly creative ways to get you to buy premium tuna, when Crowley swept in with his usual dramatic flair.

“Ah, my dear pupil!” he exclaimed, arms wide like a bad community theater actor. “To better immerse yourself in school life, you must join a club. It’s mandatory!”

Before you could protest or ask any clarifying questions, he disappeared in a swirl of his cape, leaving you standing there with nothing but Grim’s unsympathetic shrug.

Naturally, this information traveled faster than you could process it, because the next thing you knew, Ace was practically dragging you by the arm across campus.

The Basketball Club

“Alright, listen,” Ace began, spinning a basketball on one finger and grinning like he just invented the sport. “You’re obviously joining the basketball club. It’s the best. I’m here, Floyd’s here, and even Jamil’s here, so really, it’s a no-brainer.”

“Is that supposed to sell it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah!” he said, tossing the ball toward you. It immediately bounced off your hands and hit the floor. Ace, undeterred, caught it mid-bounce and gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’m, like, super good at this. Just ask him!”

From across the gym, some poor guy—bless his heart—tried to nod in support, but you caught the nervous look he shot Ace instead.

“Okay, sure,” you said, “but isn’t this just an excuse for you to show off?”

“Maybe,” Ace said with zero shame, dribbling the ball dramatically before attempting a layup. The ball bounced off the rim and into Floyd’s waiting hands.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd called, tossing the ball behind his head without looking (and still somehow making the shot). “Join the club. It’ll be fuuuuun.”

You hesitated, because with Floyd, “fun” could mean literally anything. “Define fun,” you said cautiously.

“Simple! You, me, and Ace crushing people in games!” Floyd grinned, leaning closer to you. “And if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll squish ‘em.”

Ace groaned. “Floyd, you can’t just threaten people into joining.”

“Why not?” Floyd asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s weird!”

“No, it’s effective,” Floyd countered, shooting you another toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy, you’re already here. I’ll even let you call the plays. Or, you know, not. Whatever.”

“...You’re just bored, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Floyd admitted, leaning lazily against the wall. “But hey, if you join, I won’t let Ace hog the ball. Win-win, right?”

And then there was Jamil, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, observing the chaos with his usual exasperated expression.

“Are they done?” he asked, finally standing and walking over to you.

“I don’t think so,” you replied, watching as Floyd tried to steal the ball from Ace mid-dribble.

Jamil sighed. “Typical.” He glanced at you, his tone cool and measured. “Ignore them. They’re just trying to drag you into their antics.”

“Antics?” Floyd repeated, offended.

“Yeah, Jamil,” Ace added, narrowing his eyes. “What’re you implying?”

“I’m implying you’re both terrible at convincing people,” Jamil said smoothly. He turned back to you. “If you’re interested in joining the club, you’ll actually get something out of it. Physical exercise, teamwork, strategy. And if you stick around, I’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them during practice.”

“Hey!” Ace protested.

Floyd just laughed. “Jamil’s still salty about the last scrimmage.”

“Hardly,” Jamil said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m just pointing out that if you want to learn how to actually play, you’d be better off with me.”

You blinked. “Are you… offering to train me?”

He shrugged, but there was a faint smirk on his face. “If it means saving you from their nonsense, yes.”

All you can do is sigh and say "I'll think about it"

Track and Field Club

You barely made it out of the basketball club’s gym alive when Deuce grabbed your wrist like his life depended on it. His expression was that unique combination of earnest and panicked—classic Deuce.

“Wait, don’t decide yet!” he said, already dragging you down the corridor. “You haven’t even seen the track and field club! You might like it better!”

“Deuce,” you began, trying to keep up without tripping. “I haven’t even—”

“Just come on!”

Before you knew it, you were standing on the edge of the outdoor track, blinking in the sunlight as Deuce shoved you forward like he was presenting a prize to a panel of judges. Jack, in the middle of sprint drills, stopped mid-stride to look over at you. His tail flicked once, and he jogged over with that intimidating mix of focus and curiosity he always had.

“You’re trying to recruit them?” Jack asked, crossing his arms.

Deuce nodded, puffing out his chest like he was making the ultimate sales pitch. “Yeah! Track and field’s way better than basketball. No offense to those guys.”

“I take offense,” you muttered, but neither of them heard.

“Plus,” Deuce continued, “we’ve got variety. Running, jumping, throwing—you can do anything. It’s not just bouncing a ball around, you know?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “It’s good for discipline. Builds strength, endurance, and focus. If you want to improve yourself, this is the place to do it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at the track. “And what if I… don’t exactly have focus?”

“That’s fine!” Deuce said, grinning brightly. “We’ll help you! Right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Of course. We’ll start with basic drills.” He gave you a once-over, sizing you up. “How’s your stamina?”

“Define… stamina,” you said cautiously, because you had a feeling your answer wasn’t going to impress him.

Jack’s ears twitched, and he leaned slightly closer. “How far can you run without stopping?”

“Uh,” you began, nervously shifting your weight. “To the fridge?”

Jack blinked. “...You’re joking, right?”

Deuce coughed loudly, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that! Everyone starts somewhere, right? Besides, they’re here because they want to try something new.”

You stared at Deuce. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“Exactly!” he continued, ignoring you entirely. “Think of how awesome it’d be to have us training you! We’ll get you in the best shape of your life. Right, Jack?”

Jack, who was still mildly horrified by your fridge comment, hesitated. “...Sure.”

Deuce, now fully in salesman mode, gestured to the track like it was some sort of holy land. “And you don’t have to worry about teamwork stuff! You can focus on your personal goals and—”

“Unless you’re in a relay,” Jack interjected.

“Right, but relays are cool!” Deuce added quickly. “Like… team spirit, you know?”

You glanced between the two of them, taking in Jack’s intensity and Deuce’s enthusiasm. They were both staring at you with a mix of hope and determination, and honestly, it was kind of endearing.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “If I join, do I get to skip the first practice?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

Deuce grinned sheepishly. “But we’ll go easy on you!”

“Jack doesn’t look like he believes that.”

Jack tilted his head, his tail swishing once. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive later,” you muttered.

Deuce ignored that, clapping his hands together. “Great! I knew you’d love it here! C’mon, let’s give them a quick demo, Jack!”

Before you could protest, the two of them took off around the track, moving at speeds that made you feel dizzy just watching. Deuce kept glancing back to grin at you, while Jack stayed focused, every stride perfect.

You stood there, bewildered and vaguely impressed, wondering if joining any club was a good idea at all. Still, as Deuce stumbled back toward you, sweaty but grinning like a puppy who just fetched a stick, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Think about it, okay?” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “We’d love to have you here.”

Jack jogged up beside him, barely winded. “You’ll fit in if you put in the effort.”

“Yeah,” Deuce agreed, nodding earnestly. “So… what do you think?”

You hesitated, glancing at the track, then at them. “…I’ll get back to you.”

Deuce grinned like that was a victory, and Jack just nodded approvingly. As they walked back to their drills, you realized you had yet another club to consider—and these two weren’t going to make it any easier.

Board Game Club

Before you could make your escape—or even fully process the events of the day—your wrist was suddenly seized by Ortho, who zoomed in out of nowhere like a missile with a purpose.

“There you are!” Ortho exclaimed with unsettling cheer. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone who probably didn’t even need to touch you to move you. “Big Brother’s been waiting! Come on!”

“Wait—what? Ortho, where are we—”

“No time for questions!” And just like that, he lifted you into the air like you were a deranged package and he was some kind of express courier. You barely had time to flail before he rocketed off, delivering you with precision to the board game club's headquarters.

You landed with an unceremonious thud, right in front of Idia, who nearly fell out of his chair.

“Ortho!” Idia hissed, his flaming hair flaring. “You can’t just abduct people like that!”

“But you said you wanted them to join!” Ortho chirped. “Mission accomplished!”

Azul, seated calmly at the head of the table, adjusted his glasses and smirked. “Well, well. A delivery service—how efficient. Welcome to the board game club.”

You were still processing the fact that you’d been airmailed when Idia slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Ugh, so embarrassing. Ortho, seriously…”

“Uh,” you began, brushing yourself off. “Hi?”

Azul gestured grandly to the table in front of him, where an array of meticulously organized board games was displayed like they were ancient treasures. “Here, we focus on strategy, intellect, and the fine art of outwitting your opponent. Unlike other clubs,” he said with a pointed glance at the door, “this one doesn’t require you to break a sweat.”

“That’s actually kind of appealing,” you admitted, still wary.

Idia perked up slightly, his hair flickering a little brighter. “See? I told you it’s cool. I mean, if you like, uh, not running around like some NPC.”

Ortho leaned over, nodding enthusiastically. “And Big Brother’s really good at this stuff! He’s undefeated in our club tournaments!”

“That’s because you’re the only other member who’s not a liability!” Idia blurted, before realizing what he’d just said. “Uh—I mean—you’d totally, like, be an asset. Probably.”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly annoyed at being excluded from the compliment. “Allow me to demonstrate. Why don’t we have a quick match? You against Idia.”

“What?” Idia sat up straight, his hair sparking nervously. “No way! That’s not fair—I can’t just—”

Azul gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing, Idia.”

Idia’s face turned pink. “Fine,” he grumbled, setting up the board. “But don’t blame me if I crush them.”

You sat down reluctantly, realizing too late that this was probably a trap. Idia’s fingers moved at lightning speed as he set up his pieces, muttering calculations under his breath. Ortho leaned over your shoulder, giving you completely useless advice like, “Just believe in yourself!”

To your surprise, you managed to hold your own for the first few turns. Idia glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were reevaluating your existence.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Not bad. For a newbie.”

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, moving your piece cautiously.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said quickly, his face turning red again.

Azul chuckled from his spot at the table. “See? A game of wits and strategy. Isn’t this far superior to running laps or throwing balls into hoops?”

“Hey!” you said, pointing your game piece at him. “Don’t diss the other clubs. They’re passionate too!”

Azul raised an eyebrow. “Passion doesn’t win battles. Strategy does.”

The game dragged on, and by the end of it, you were completely out of your depth. Idia, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of an anime boss fight, his hair flaring dramatically as he made his final move.

“Checkmate,” he said, grinning slightly.

“Wrong game, Big Brother,” Ortho corrected.

“Whatever!” Idia snapped, but he didn’t look too upset. “It’s over, okay?”

Azul leaned forward, smirking again. “So, what do you think? Ready to join?”

You leaned back in your chair, your brain fried from trying to keep up. “I… I need to think about it.”

Ortho beamed. “That means they’re considering it! Success!”

Idia muttered something under his breath about “too much pressure” and “why is this so stressful,” but you caught a tiny flicker of a smile as he fiddled with one of the game pieces.

Azul, ever the businessman, handed you a brochure as you left. “Take your time. But remember—intellect always wins.”

You left the board game club feeling like you’d just survived a high-stakes negotiation. And as Ortho cheerfully waved goodbye, you couldn’t help but wonder if all the clubs were this intense.

Film Studies Club

You were rounding a corner, still recovering from your latest club recruitment ambush, when a perfectly manicured hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Before you could even yelp, you found yourself being gracefully pulled into the Film Studies Clubroom by none other than Vil Schoenheit. His strides were purposeful, his posture impeccable, and his expression…well, let’s just say it was the definition of I’m doing you a favor, peasant.

“Vil?” you sputtered, barely managing to keep up. “What are you—”

“I need to vet you,” Vil said simply, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “The Film Studies Club could use some fresh blood, and you look… adequate.”

“Adequate?” you echoed, mildly offended but too intrigued to argue further.

He led you to the center of the room, gesturing for you to stand under a perfectly angled spotlight. “Don’t misunderstand,” Vil continued, crossing his arms and regarding you with a critical eye. “I’m merely evaluating your potential. Our club requires both talent and diligence—qualities that, if I’m being honest, are rare in this school.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Vil ignored you, pulling out a script and flipping through it like he was deciding your fate. “If you can’t pass the audition, you can still join as a backstage hand,” he said airily. “We’re short on those too.”

“Wow, what an inspiring pitch,” you muttered, but Vil’s sharp gaze silenced you immediately.

“Read this,” he instructed, handing you the script and gesturing for you to begin.

You hesitated, glancing at the lines. “You’re serious? Right now?”

“Do I look like someone who jokes about art?” Vil asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow.

Point taken.

Clearing your throat, you started reading, trying to put some effort into it. Vil watched you intently, his expression inscrutable. He occasionally tilted his head, as if mentally dissecting every word you spoke, every movement you made.

When you finished, you looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

Vil tapped his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not hopeless,” he said finally, in a tone that made it sound like a compliment. “Rough around the edges, yes, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be smug. You’ll need work,” Vil continued, ignoring your tone. “But I suppose you have potential.”

“And if I didn’t?”

Vil gave a delicate shrug, his expression cool. “Then you’d still be useful behind the scenes. But consider this your opportunity to elevate yourself. Being part of my club means striving for excellence—no exceptions.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Is this really about me, or are you just desperate for members?”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement there. “Desperation has nothing to do with it. I’m simply ensuring that my club remains unparalleled. If you happen to benefit from my guidance, so be it.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? I'll think about it.”

Vil’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice. Now, don’t make me regret it.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there wondering what exactly you’d just signed up for—and if Vil’s idea of “elevating yourself” involved a complete personality overhaul.

Science Club

You barely had time to process Vil's dramatic exit when a familiar voice whispered theatrically, “Ah, my muse! Fate conspires to bring us together!”

Before you could react, Rook Hunt appeared—swooped, really—out of nowhere and expertly whisked you away from the Film Studies Clubroom. It was less like being led and more like being caught mid-flight by an overly enthusiastic bird of prey.

“Rook?!” you yelped as he practically danced you down the hallway. “What is happening?”

“Mon ami,” he declared, his eyes glittering with fervor, “you must see the science club! A world of wonder awaits you!”

“Wait—science?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’re in the science club?”

“Ah, oui! Science is but another stage upon which the beauty of nature and humanity performs its eternal dance! The experiments! The cultivation of life! The creation of culinary masterpieces! All expressions of art, no?”

You weren’t sure if he was describing scientific principles or poetry, but before you could argue, Rook had dragged you into the science clubroom.

The room was a chaotic mix of activities. One corner housed a vibrant garden under grow lights, another had chemistry equipment bubbling away ominously, and a third corner smelled suspiciously like freshly baked bread. Trey Clover stood near a counter, pulling cookies out of an oven as if this were the most normal thing to happen in a science lab.

“Ah, there you are,” Trey greeted, smiling warmly. “Rook said he’d bring someone by. I’m guessing you’re deciding on a club?”

You glanced between Rook, who was already gesturing dramatically at a rack of test tubes, and Trey, who held up a tray of cookies like a peace offering. “I… guess I am?”

“Bien sûr!” Rook exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward the greenery in the corner. “Behold! We grow life itself here! Tomatoes, basil, flowers—anything your heart desires!”

Trey added, “We also bake and cook as part of our activities. It’s a great way to learn about chemistry and make something useful at the same time.”

“And explosions!” Rook chimed in enthusiastically. “Occasionally, there are explosions.”

Trey shot him a look. “Not… intentionally.”

Rook turned back to you, his expression radiant. “Think of the possibilities, mon ami! With science, you can cultivate beauty, create masterpieces, and perhaps even unlock secrets of the universe! And, of course, I am here to guide you—to nurture the artistic soul that dwells within!”

“Also,” Trey added, far more pragmatically, “we’re not picky about what activities you want to try. It’s a flexible club, so you could do a little bit of everything.”

You considered this as Trey handed you a cookie. It was warm and delicious, which admittedly swayed your opinion a little.

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “so I could garden, bake, and blow things up all in one club?”

“Exactly!” Trey said with a smile.

Rook leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And think, mon cher—if you hone your talents here, you could support Vil in creating the cinematic beauty he so envisions! Science and art, united in harmony!”

You blinked. “Wait, are you trying to recruit me for this club and help Vil at the same time?”

Rook grinned. “Nature does not limit itself to one purpose, mon ami, and neither do I.”

Trey sighed but didn’t deny it.

“Well, this is definitely… something,” you said, nibbling on the cookie. “I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, a maybe!” Rook clasped his hands together like you’d just promised him your soul. “A victory in itself!”

Before you could say anything else, Rook twirled you toward the door, clearly ready to drag you to your next destination—or possibly just keep talking about “the poetry of chlorophyll” until you gave in.

Pop Music Club

Just as you were beginning to suspect Rook was about to wax poetic about “the lyrical mysteries of yeast fermentation,” a sudden voice interrupted.

“Oh-ho, what’s this?”

Before you could even react, Lilia Vanrouge materialized out of thin air, practically glowing with chaotic energy. “Ah, my dear friend! You’re far too bright a star to waste away on science experiments! Come with me—pop stardom awaits!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

And just like that, you were swept up in Lilia’s whirlwind. He dragged you down the hallway with a skip in his step and a mischievous laugh, leaving Rook and Trey in his dust.

“Lilia, I can walk, you know!” you said, stumbling to keep up.

“But where’s the drama in that?” Lilia replied, cackling as he pushed open the doors to the Pop Music Clubroom.

Inside, the room was a cacophony of sound and color. Disco lights spun, a half-finished banner reading ‘Next Big Thing!’ hung lopsidedly on the wall, and Kalim was gleefully banging away on a drum like it owed him money. Cater sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone and periodically snapping selfies with sparkly filters.

“Oh, hey!” Kalim greeted you, waving so enthusiastically he almost hit himself with the drum stick. “You’re here to join us, right? This club is the best! We have music, dancing, and it’s all just super fun!”

Cater glanced up from his phone, his grin wide and just a little too calculated. “You’d fit right in! Think of all the magicam-worthy moments we could create together. Plus, the followers you’d get? Off the charts.”

“Followers?” you echoed, glancing at Lilia.

“Ah, but of course!” Lilia said, flinging his arms wide as if presenting you to an adoring crowd. “The Pop Music Club isn’t just about music—it’s about presence! Charisma! The ability to captivate a room with a single note or a dazzling smile!”

“It’s also about having a good time!” Kalim added, spinning in a circle for no reason other than sheer joy.

Cater nodded, holding up his phone. “And don’t forget—every moment is a potential viral video. You, me, Lilia, and Kalim as the dream team? We’d own the algorithm.”

You hesitated. “Uh, I don’t even play an instrument.”

“Neither does he!” Lilia said brightly, pointing at some unfortunate bystander.

“Hey!” he protested. “I play the Kalimba!” He promptly tried to play a note, missed the rhythm entirely, and Lilia laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

“See?” Lilia said, unfazed. “Talent is optional here. All we need is your spirit!”

Cater stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “We also dabble in choreography, so if you’ve got two left feet, don’t worry—we’ll teach you how to make them look intentional.”

“Come on, join us!” Kalim said, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy. “We could totally use your energy!”

“What energy?” you asked, deadpan. “I’ve been dragged between clubs all day—I barely have any left.”

“Exactly!” Lilia said with a wink. “We’ll channel what’s left into a glorious crescendo of pop music excellence!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or just surrender entirely to the chaos. Lilia’s grin was practically infectious, Kalim’s enthusiasm radiated like the sun, and Cater was already adjusting the angle of his phone to catch you in the best light.

“Well,” you muttered, “at least it sounds… lively.”

“Lively is an understatement,” Cater said, snapping a selfie with you and Lilia in the background. “Hashtag PopStarsInTheMaking! You’re gonna love it here.”

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “You’re already planning to upload that, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cater said with a wink.

Lilia clapped his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, what do you say? Ready to unleash your inner star?”

“I… will think about it,” you replied, edging toward the door.

“Think fast!” Kalim called after you. “The bass is calling your name!”

You bolted before anyone could shove an instrument into your hands.

Equestrian Club

As you hurried down the hallway, still reeling from the pop music chaos you'd just escaped, you nearly collided with a flash of red.

"Ah, there you are!"

You blinked up at none other than Riddle Rosehearts, who looked as though he'd been scouring the entire school for you. His eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a tone of stern authority mixed with subtle relief.

"I've been looking for you," Riddle said, crossing his arms. "Ace and Deuce mentioned that you’re considering which club to join. As housewarden, it’s my responsibility to ensure you make a proper choice."

You blinked, still processing. "Oh, uh… thanks?"

"Enough dilly-dallying," Riddle said briskly, taking your wrist with surprising firmness. "You're coming with me to the Equestrian Club."

"Wait, what—"

Before you could finish, Riddle had already begun marching you toward the stables. You were half-dragged, half-guided, catching snippets of his lecture along the way about the merits of horseback riding, discipline, and poise.

When you arrived, the warm scent of hay filled the air, and the sound of soft nickering greeted you. The stables were pristine, the horses sleek and well-groomed. Standing nearby were Silver and Sebek, both tending to the horses.

"Riddle, you found them" Silver greeted you with his usual calm demeanor. He gave you a faint smile as he gently brushed a dappled gray mare. "Perfect timing—we were just about to go for a ride."

Sebek, on the other hand, straightened like a soldier at attention, his voice booming. "THEY WILL JOIN US, OF COURSE! IT IS ONLY FITTING FOR AN INDIVIDUAL OF WORTH TO EMBRACE SUCH A NOBLE ART!"

"Sebek, indoor voice," Riddle said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I AM OUTDOORS!" Sebek retorted, though he did lower his volume slightly.

You glanced nervously at the horses. "Uh, I don’t know if I’m… horse material."

"Nonsense," Riddle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Riding teaches discipline, focus, and responsibility. It’s the perfect club for fostering growth—and for avoiding unnecessary distractions like some less dignified clubs."

"Pop Music Club?" you guessed.

Riddle sniffed, his expression sour. "Among others."

Silver walked over, still holding the brush, and gave you a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry. The horses are gentle, and we can teach you everything. It’s a peaceful activity once you get used to it."

"Peaceful!" Sebek exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "It is a pursuit befitting the greatest warriors! EVEN LORD MALLEUS—"

"Sebek," Riddle interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Focus on the matter at hand."

"Apologies!" Sebek barked, saluting.

Riddle turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "The Equestrian Club isn’t just about riding horses. It’s about elegance, partnership, and understanding. You could benefit greatly from it."

"And the horses are great listeners," Silver added.

"Unlike some humans," Sebek muttered under his breath.

You bit back a laugh as Riddle gave Sebek another glare.

"What do you say?" Riddle asked, stepping aside to let you see one of the horses—a chestnut with a kind, inquisitive gaze. "This is Vorpal. Perhaps a ride would convince you?"

The horse whinnied softly, and for a moment, you considered it. There was something appealing about the tranquility of the stables, the camaraderie of the club members, and the undeniable charm of working with such majestic creatures.

But then you remembered the drum chaos, the science experiments, and Vil’s dramatic vetting process.

"Let me, uh… think about it?" you said, taking a step back.

Riddle sighed, though he looked more exasperated than disappointed. "Very well. But don’t wait too long—indecision is unbecoming."

"Yeah," you mumbled. "Got it."

As you made your escape, you could hear Sebek booming, "RIDING A HORSE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!"

You weren’t sure about that, but you were certain that escaping club recruitment was starting to feel like an Olympic sport.

Magift Club

As you staggered away from the stables, thoroughly frazzled by Sebek’s enthusiastic yelling and Riddle’s intense lecture on discipline, you barely had time to catch your breath before—

“Yo, gotcha!”

A pair of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you let out a very undignified yelp. You turned to find Ruggie grinning up at you like a mischievous hyena that had just found its next meal.

“Ruggie! What—?”

“No time for questions, boss,” he said, practically dragging you down the path. “Leona’s orders. He told me to bring ya to the Magift Club.”

“The Magift Club?” you repeated, already sensing disaster.

Ruggie nodded, smirking. “Yup. Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But—wait—I don’t even have magic!” you protested as he hauled you toward the field.

“Details, details,” Ruggie waved off, his grip on your arm firm.

Soon enough, you were dumped unceremoniously on the sidelines of the Magift field. Leona was lounging on the grass under the shade of a tree, looking entirely too comfortable for someone allegedly trying to recruit you. Epel was nearby, aggressively practicing his throws while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll show ‘em.”

Leona cracked one eye open lazily as Ruggie dropped you off. “’Bout time,” he drawled.

“Leona,” you said flatly, “why would you want me in the Magift Club? I don't even have magic.”

He yawned, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah, I know that. You’re still better than the other herbivores running around. You can be the manager.”

“Manager?”

“Yup,” Ruggie chimed in, plopping down next to Leona. “You’d handle all the boring stuff—paperwork, schedules, snacks, makin’ sure Epel doesn’t throw a fit when he gets tackled.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Epel yelled, narrowly missing a hoop with his throw.

Leona smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

You crossed your arms, unconvinced. “Why me, though? You’re telling me I’m the best candidate for this?”

Leona sat up slightly, his sharp eyes locking on yours. “I’m sayin’ you’re the least annoying option. I don’t need some herbivore manager who’s gonna cry every time I take a nap instead of practicing. You’re not useless, so quit whining.”

Ruggie leaned in conspiratorially. “Basically, you’re the only one Leona doesn’t feel like chasing off the field after two days.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”

Leona shrugged. “Take it or leave it. Makes no difference to me.”

At that moment, Epel ran up, panting slightly from his practice. “C’mon, you should join us!” he urged. “You don’t need magic to be part of the team. And if you ever wanna learn some tricks, I can teach ya!”

Leona gave him a lazy side-eye. “Don’t scare them off.”

“I’m not scarin’ ‘em! I’m convincin’ ‘em!” Epel shot back, glaring at Leona before turning back to you. “Seriously, we could use someone like you. The club’s fun, I promise!”

Ruggie snickered. “Fun’s a stretch. It’s more like… survival of the fittest with a ball involved.”

“And napping,” Leona added with a smirk.

Epel crossed his arms. “Well, maybe if someone practiced instead of nappin’, we’d win more games!”

Leona waved him off with a scoff.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know, guys. This sounds like a lot of chaos.”

“Chaos is half the fun,” Ruggie said with a grin. “C’mon, boss, think of all the free food we get during games. And you’d get to boss Leona around as the manager. Ain’t that worth it?”

Leona snorted. “Good luck with that.”

You glanced at the trio—Epel brimming with determination, Ruggie radiating mischief, and Leona looking like he didn’t care but also somehow cared just enough to try. It was… weirdly tempting, in its own way.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said finally.

“Fair enough,” Leona said, already reclining again. “Don’t take too long, though. We’ve got a game next week, and I’m not filling out paperwork.”

Ruggie winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around. Everyone does.”

As you left the field, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just been almost recruited into something much more taxing than a simple club.

Mountain Lovers Club

Before you could escape the Magift field and all its potential paperwork, you took a sharp turn—only to smack right into what felt like a wall of polite menace. A soft, knowing chuckle sounded above you.

“Oh dear, do be careful,” came Jade Leech’s unmistakably smooth voice.

You took a step back, already dreading the conversation. “Jade,” you said warily, “what are you doing here?”

His sharp smile grew ever so slightly. “Waiting for you, of course. Word travels fast, and I’ve heard you’re in the market for a club.”

“Oh no,” you muttered. “You’re not here to—”

Before you could finish, he was already guiding you away, his hand light on your arm but unyielding, like a vice hidden under a silk glove.

“Come now,” he said, his tone as polite as ever, “I simply must show you the Mountain Lovers Club.”

“The what now?” you asked, bewildered.

“The Mountain Lovers Club,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“And… who else is in this club?”

“Why, just me.”

You stopped in your tracks. “It’s just you?”

“Yes.” Jade smiled serenely, as if this were not a glaring red flag. “I am the founder, leader, and sole member. But with your arrival, that could very well change.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d misheard. “Wait, so you’ve been running a one-person club this whole time?”

“Indeed.” His expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “The Mountain Lovers Club is dedicated to the appreciation of all things mountainous. Hiking through beautiful terrain, foraging for wild plants, observing unique ecosystems, and—on occasion—befriending the local fauna.”

“Befriending?”

“Examining, petting, observing closely…” His eyes gleamed. “Perhaps all three.”

You shook your head, trying to process. “So… why me?”

Jade clasped his hands together, the picture of poised enthusiasm. “You strike me as someone who appreciates unique experiences. The Mountain Lovers Club offers a chance to explore the great outdoors, expand your horizons, and develop a deeper appreciation for nature’s wonders.”

“And by ‘great outdoors,’ you mean mountains?”

“Precisely.”

“And it’s just you?”

“For now,” he said, his tone warm but his gaze uncomfortably intense. “But every great journey begins with a single step. Yours could be joining this club.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Uh… I don’t think hiking through mountains is really my thing.”

“Ah, but how do you know unless you try?” Jade’s smile widened. “Besides, I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way. No need to worry about getting lost… or encountering anything unexpected.”

The way he said “unexpected” made you want to run for the hills (ironic, given the circumstances).

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I insist,” he cut in smoothly, his tone polite but with a note of finality. “At least allow me to show you the club’s activities. Perhaps a short hike this weekend? I’ve already prepared a route.”

You stared at him. “You’ve already…?”

“Of course.” His gaze was calm, calculating. “Preparation is key. I’ve even packed a lunch.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Jade, I—”

He tilted his head, his smile remaining perfectly composed. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse without at least giving it a chance? I’ve put so much thought into this.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?” you muttered.

Jade’s smile was razor-sharp and utterly unrepentant. “Because you don’t.”

You sighed in defeat. “Fine. One hike.”

“Excellent,” he said, his tone soft and victorious. “I’ll see you this Saturday at dawn.”

“Dawn?!”

“Oh yes,” he said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “The mountains are at their most beautiful in the early morning light. You’ll love it.”

As he sauntered away, leaving you to process your fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just agreed to something far more treacherous than a simple hike.

Gargoyle Research Society

The moment you finally reached Ramshackle Dorm, exhausted from the whirlwind of club-hopping and increasingly bizarre sales pitches, you let out a long sigh of relief. The day had been nothing short of chaotic, and all you wanted was to collapse onto your creaky old bed and forget the words “club activities” ever existed.

But just as your hand touched the doorknob, a familiar voice, deep and regal, called out from the shadows.

“Child of man.”

You jumped slightly, spinning around to see none other than Malleus Draconia emerging from beneath the pale light of the moon, his presence as imposing and enigmatic as always. He stood by one of Ramshackle’s crumbling stone walls, his expression calm but his eyes bright with an unreadable intensity.

“Oh, Malleus,” you said, your voice tinged with weariness but also a touch of warmth. “Didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I was merely admiring the architecture of your dorm. It has a certain… wistful charm.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Then, with the sort of graceful confidence only Malleus could manage, he stepped closer, his presence looming but never threatening. “I have heard,” he began, his tone soft and deliberate, “that you have been seeking a club to join.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you—”

“The winds carry whispers,” he said cryptically.

“Right,” you muttered, deciding not to question it.

Malleus folded his hands neatly in front of him, looking every bit the picture of regal sincerity. “If you have not yet made your decision… I would like to invite you to join my club.”

Your brain, still reeling from Jade’s mountain escapades and Leona’s managerial demands, stalled for a moment. “Your… club?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet pride. “The Gargoyle Research Society.”

“The… what now?”

“The Gargoyle Research Society,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am both its founder and sole member.”

Of course, he was.

Malleus seemed oblivious to your stunned silence as he continued, his expression softening into something almost earnest. “The society is dedicated to the appreciation and study of gargoyles. We explore the campus, observing their intricate designs and marveling at their history. There is so much beauty in their silent watch over us.”

You blinked. “So… you just walk around and look at gargoyles?”

“Precisely,” he said, his tone unironically enthusiastic.

“And… that’s it?”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed. It is a noble pursuit, one that nurtures both the mind and the spirit.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. Of all the clubs you’d encountered today, this might just take the crown for most niche.

Malleus, however, seemed utterly earnest. His eyes bore into yours, his expression sincere and unguarded. “I understand if this does not align with your current interests,” he said, his voice softening. “But should you ever feel the call of the gargoyles… know that you are always welcome.”

There was something so genuine in his tone, so quietly hopeful, that you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about brushing him off. You sighed, offering him a tired but sincere smile. “You know what? I’ll definitely consider it.”

Malleus’s eyes lit up, his calm demeanor giving way to a flicker of pure joy. “Truly?”

“Truly,” you said, nodding.

“Then I shall look forward to the day you join me,” he said, his voice as soft as a promise.

With that, he gave you a small, graceful bow before disappearing back into the night, leaving you to wonder how you’d managed to end the day not only agreeing to a potential club but also feeling oddly flattered by the idea of studying gargoyles.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What a day…”

Masterlist

Part 2: Choosing a club

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is in film studies sorry :(

[fakebwitch]

rafe finds your panties in his car [smut, jerking off, perv!rafe]

part two

you had an appointment to get your nails done, rafe was at an important business meeting and couldn't take you, since a friend of his was picking him up his car was in the garage, you asked him if you could use his car, and he said yes.

as you get back you parked the car in the garage, turned off the car while picked up the things you had left scattered around the car, putting them back in the bag, and that's where you had an idea.

you thought, rafe had let you use his car by paying for your new set of nails, you had to somehow thank him. a grin grew on your face as you rose slightly from the seat, your hands went under your skirt finding the elastic band of your panties, you grabbed it pushing it down and once you got to your ankles you pulled them completely off. your grin grew even more as you put the lace panties on the gearshift.

after completing your little work of art, you grabbed your purse and keys, opened the door and got out of the car, locking it. you made your way inside the house, the sound of your heels walking on the floor caught his attention.

"hey baby" he greeted you with a smile, getting up from the couch, "rafeyy" you said immediately running into his arms, he pulled you toward him grabbing you by the hips, 4 hours without seeing him was too much for your liking. "how did it go?" he asked with a smile at your clinginess as his hand gently stroked your back, "all good" you replied pulling away from him slightly with a smile, showing him your nails.

"they're perfect baby" he said as he looked at them carefully, he knew you didn’t play about your nails, "i know, aren't they?" you said with a smile turning your hand toward you, looking back at the design for the twentieth time.

you slipped your hand into your jacket pocket pulling out his car keys, "here they are" you said shaking them in front of his face, he grabbed them as you said "thank you so much baby, i love you" you said giving him a kiss, he smiled into the kiss as he whispered "i love you too".

as he deepened the kiss in your head you couldn't help but think of the little surprise you had left for him in the car, just waiting for him to find out. you knew very well that he loved your lingerie, one way or another he was always trying to steal some panties from you so he could keep them when, as he said, “he needed them," and you also knew what for.

the next morning rafe woke up early, he had to attend another business meeting. it was a stressful week, he was full of commitments regarding work finding himself having little time to spend with you. he grabbed the keys of his car as he yawned while heading to the garage, the phone rang in his pocket causing him to sigh as he rolled his eyes, he took it in his hands reading the name of the contact who was calling him, he sighed again deciding to answer it, it was one of the men he was in business with.

"hey, what's up?" said rafe trying to sound as unbothered as possible, the last thing he wanted to do right now was to have a call regarding the various problems that kept coming up. as the man took up the conversation, explaining that business would slow down for reasons he would list for him later, rafe opened the garage door, letting out occasionals little "mhm."

he pulled out his car keys, pressed the button and without looking inside the car opened the door and sat down. "yes, i was aware of that, i just talked to hollis about it yesterday and we both agreed that..." he froze when out of the corner of his eye he saw something white that caught his attention, he shifted his eyes to the mysterious object.

he took a deep breath realizing it was your underwear.

“rafe? are you still there?" the man's voice rang on the other side of the phone, rafe took a few more seconds to look at the piece of underwear and then answered, "y-yeah i'm here sorry, actually i'm kinda busy right now, i'm gonna call you when i'm free" he quickly came up with, wanting to end the call as soon as possible.

"oka-"

before the man could’ve finished rafe immediately hang up. his hands reached out to grab the garment, his fingers rubbed the lace. he looked at the inner part, that was in contact with your pussy, noticing a small wet spot, he didn't think about it for a second and brought the panty closer to his face, his nose made contact with the fabric, inhaling strongly as your smell flooded his nostrils. you just knew how to drive him crazy.

he couldn't help but think about being between your legs as he continued to breathe in your scent, making you feel good as your hands pushed him closer to your pussy, his cock twitching at the thought of having his lips on your wet folds.

as he kept the panties close to his face, with his free hand he quickly untied his belt, unbuttoned his pants pushing them down just enough along with his underwear to get his now semi-hard cock out. his head thought of your sweet taste, your little whimpers when he overstimulated you too much as your smell intoxicated his brain.

with his right hand he began to lightly rub his length, little sounds escaped his lips, muffled by the fabric of your panties. he went further as with his thumb he stroked the tip, pink and swollen, screaming to be inside you, his hand tightened even more around his shaft quickly rubbing the part just below the tip, it drove him crazy.

he kept rubbing as he imagined his hand was yours, little drops of pre cum were coming out of his tip, mixing with his rapidly working hands, creating obscene wet sounds.

his wrist beginning to ache, from how fast he was moving, as he lingered for a few seconds with his thumb, rubbing the tip. he was a mess of moans, his legs twitching as his breathing grew deeper and deeper, his body temperature now crazy.

he moved your panties away from his face and wrapped them around his cock as he resumed rubbing his hard cock with his hand, continuous whimpers escaped his lips as the lace rubbed against the delicate veins of his cock.

"fuuuuck" he breathed, he didn't think he could hold back much longer. he pushed his hips upward as his hand worked up and down his length, his head turned back as continuous moans mixed with cursing escaped his lips.

"h-holy shiit..." he murmured through clenched teeth, the rough fabric of the lace touching the soft tip of his cock made him shudder, his cock throbbing in his hands, eager to cum as soon as possible.

he was in pure ectasy, totally overwhelmed by the pleasure he was experiencing, the only image in his head at that moment was you, and you were helping him finish himself off. "oh y/n please..." he said almost crying, his voice cracked with pleasure as his hand moved even faster down the length, he hadn't even realized he had begged you when you weren't even there.

as his hand tightened around the tip, images of you filled his head, thinking about the way your eyes looked at him every time he thrust into you mercilessly, the way your tits bounced as his body slammed into yours, as his hand grabbed your neck making your eyes roll as he pushed you to the edge, that image was enough to make his cock cum.

"oh fuck me...." he managed to say as his hand moved slower, riding his high, moans and whining came from his lips as he pressed the tip making sure not a drop of his liquid was wasted.

half of it was on his hands, but most of it had ended up on your panties. he let go his grip on his cock, feeling overstimulated as he tried to catch his breath. realization hit him soon after, realizing the 'obscenity of the act he had just performed.

did he regret it? no. had it been one of the best handjobs? yes.

[starkwlkr]

happy life, happy wife | hugh jackman

an: “you attract what you fear” GUYS IM SO SCARED OF A 55 YEAR OLD AUSTRALIAN 😭 definitely thinking about making marvel actress!reader x hugh an actual series… i have ideas

marvel actress!reader

Deadpool & Wolverine Press tour - Hot Ones

Hugh felt like he was going to die. Each wing was getting hotter and hotter, but immediately when he heard his wife’s name he forgot all about the spice.

“Hugh, your wife is part of the Avengers, how does it feel having your wife be part of such a huge franchise? Have you two talked about a potential team up with the X-men and the Avengers?” Sean asked.

“My wife . . . Oh god, I think I’m crying-”

“I can’t tell if you’re legitimately dying or completely in love with your wife.” Ryan told Hugh.

“Wait . . I am completely in love with my wife and I would legitimately die for her.” Hugh gasped as he rearranged Ryan’s words.

“Is that in the contract she made you sign when you married her? ‘I vow to die for you’. My contract said I had to give all my money to my kids and wife.” Ryan said.

“No, she’s amazing, um, if I start talking about her I think I might go on for hours,” he laughed. “Our kids do want to see their parents fighting the bad guys together. We would love to team up, maybe it could happen.” Hugh smiled.

“The entire movie would be them making out and her beating the shit out of you. I’d pay to see that.” Ryan added.

•••

Comic Con 2024

Like RDJ, your last Marvel movie had been Avengers: Endgame. After being in ten mcu films, it was time to say goodbye to your character.

But that was in 2019.

At this years comic con, you were back. The cast of Deadpool & Wolverine had taken the stage and showed their appreciation for the fans. After their panel, it was time to announce Marvel’s upcoming projects. Kevin Feige announced the Fantastic Four, Thunderbolts, Captain America 4, and finally the new Avengers movies, which everyone was extremely excited about.

After showing the title card for the upcoming Avengers film, Kevin turned to the audience.

“Something people have been asking, as of late, is who the heck is going to direct these two movies?” The audience clapped.

From the side of the stage, you were nervous. What if the fans didn’t like the idea of you directing the next two Avengers films? Your worrying caused Hugh to come to your rescue.

“Hey, they loved you as an Avenger, they will love you even more.” Hugh kissed your forehead. “If anyone says anything about this decision, they have me to deal with.”

You laughed at his words. “I really love you so much.”

“Love you too, bub.” Hugh was about to kiss you when Ryan cut in.

“I really love us too. I convinced half of the people here that we’re a throuple.” He said in the most serious tone ever.

Kevin announced you as the director. Your doubt of the fans not liking the announcement was proven wrong when you walked the stairs to the stage and stood next to Kevin. They cheered when they saw you were back.

As you said a few words, thanking Marvel, Kevin and the fans, you were being recorded by Hugh, who was being recorded by Ryan.

“That’s my wife!” Hugh cheered from backstage, holding his phone in his hand.

“She’s Marvel Jesus now, holy shit!”

•••

WIRED autocomplete interview

“Is Hugh Jackman married?”

“Yes, to me, Y/n, probably to half the population,” Ryan answered. “He’s Australia’s biggest slut.”

“All the times, I proposed.” Hugh laughed. “But yes, I am married and I love my wife very much. She’s stuck with me forever.” He lifted his hand to show off the wedding band.

“Funny, because she texted me right now. Her and Blake are in the courthouse getting married. So Deadpool three was actually made so our wives could divorce us and marry each other.”

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[tgcg]

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

[littlelamy]

Could you write a Rafe x reader fic where reader says she wants to spend more time with Rafe, but he gets upsets and says something mean in the heat of the moment. Reader is upset and stops "bothering" him and initially Rafe doesn't realise it, but he figures out you're ignoring him

Maybe with a fluffy HEA ending, but if you want to keep it angsty I'm also all for it (:

hope you like it! ⭐️ it was a quiet friday night when you finally found the courage to bring it up. things with rafe hadn’t been the same for a while. he was always out with friends or buried in work, his phone practically glued to his hand. you could see him drifting further and further away, and it left you feeling like an afterthought. you missed him, missed the little moments when he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world.

so, you decided to say something—softly, carefully—as the two of you sat on the couch with takeout boxes scattered around you.

“hey…baby,” you started, keeping your voice light. “i was thinking… it’d be nice if we could spend a little more time together, you know? just us.”

rafe barely looked up, shoveling food into his mouth. “what’re you talking about?” he mumbled through a bite. “we’re together now, aren’t we?”

you forced a smile. “yeah, but… i mean like actually spending time together. like doing something fun. or even just… talking.”

he let out an irritated sigh, setting his food down with a clatter. “are you serious right now? i’ve got so much shit to deal with, and you’re really gonna start whining about ‘spending time together’? Jesus, can you just not be so goddamn needy for once?”

the words hit you like a punch. you froze, staring at him, trying to process the fact that he’d actually said that. rafe’s face was already turned away, clearly oblivious to the way his words had cut through you.

you felt your throat tighten, but you managed to swallow back the hurt, forcing yourself not to react. the last thing you wanted was to give him more reason to see you as a burden. so, you nodded, blinking down at your food, even though you suddenly couldn’t eat a bite.

“sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. but rafe didn’t hear, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to ask you to repeat it. he’d already gone back to his phone, acting like the conversation had never even happened.

that night, you made a decision. if rafe wanted space, you’d give him space. you stopped asking him to go out with you, to spend time together, to do any of the little things you used to enjoy. when he came home late, you didn’t wait up. when he sat down on the couch, you found something else to do. if he wanted room, you’d make sure he had more than enough of it.

at first, rafe didn’t seem to notice the change. he thought you were just busy with work or hanging out with friends, maybe that you’d taken his words to heart. it wasn’t until a few days had passed that he started to feel the shift, the strange, nagging quiet in the air whenever you were around.

you were no longer the warm, lively presence you used to be, filling the silence with laughter, stories, and little gestures of affection. instead, you felt distant, almost guarded, your movements careful, like you were tiptoeing around him. you didn’t smile at him the way you used to; you didn’t light up when he came home. you’d become polite, restrained, keeping just enough distance that he felt it even when he didn’t want to.

one night, rafe came home late, expecting to see you in the living room with a book or a show. but the lights were dim, the place eerily silent, and when he checked the bedroom, you were already asleep. he stood there for a moment, feeling an odd pang of emptiness. he brushed it off, but as the days went by, the feeling gnawed at him more and more, leaving him with an ache he couldn’t ignore.

finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. one night, he found you alone in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea with your gaze far away. he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched you, his expression unreadable.

“are you avoiding me or something?” he asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

you looked up, a flicker of surprise in your eyes before you masked it with a tight smile. “no, i’m not avoiding you, rafe. i just… didn’t want to bother you.”

that word—bother—hit him hard, dredging up the memory of his own callous words. he felt something twist in his chest as he realized what he’d done, how his careless anger had made you feel so small, like you didn’t even deserve to be there.

“fuck,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “look, i’m sorry, alright? i was a complete asshole, princess. i was stressed, and i took it out on you, and i shouldn’t have done that.”

you shrugged, your face guarded, unreadable. “it’s fine. i get it. you’re busy, and i didn’t want to get in your way.”

“Jesus, stop saying that,” he mumbled, stepping closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “you’re not in my way. you’re the only person who… who makes all this shit bearable. i just didn’t see it until you started pulling away.”

for a long moment, you said nothing, just staring at him, weighing his words. finally, he took a tentative step forward, reaching for your hand. when you didn’t pull away, he felt a flicker of hope.

“let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice rough. “i’ll cancel my plans this weekend. we’ll do whatever you want, i swear. just… give me another chance.”

your gaze softened, and a small, hesitant smile crept onto your lips. “alright. one chance.”

he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in a tight embrace, his relief flooding through him. you relaxed into him, and for the first time in days, you felt the warmth return, that aching void in your chest slowly filling up again.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, genuine. “i swear, i’ll never take you for granted again. you mean too fucking much to me.”

you let your head rest on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath you, his arms strong and comforting. and as he held you there, you felt the hurt start to fade, replaced by a quiet, growing hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot)

Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages. A/n: I don't really know what i'm doing here, i just got inspired and i was bored, i'm clearly not a professional fanfic writer, but i hope at least someone enjoys it. (ALSO ENGLISH IT'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO BARE WITH ME WITH GRAMMAR AND STUFF) Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Not really, use of y/n, maybe slow burn, cliff hanger cause i don't know if it's good enough to continue it.

Friday, January 10th

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files you asked for last Friday, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

…

Tuesday, January 14th

"Hi! This is Y/N again. I know you might be busy, but I just wanted to confirm if the files were okay. We also still have the last payment pending, so whenever you can, it’s fine! Have a nice day!"

Maybe it was too soon to think the client had run off with the files and didn’t want to pay, or maybe he was in trouble? Maybe he got mad that I texted his personal phone number? Anyway, it wasn’t unusual for clients to disappear, but this time, you were really looking forward to that last payment.

Your mom’s birthday was coming up, and you wanted to buy something nice for her for the first time—maybe even outdo your sister and prove you could buy her something special too. You were eager about it but tried to brush it off and focus on other clients who actually responded to emails and texts.

Then, your phone buzzed.

"Hey, I wasn’t going to answer these texts, but I’m pretty sure someone gave you the wrong number. I’m not waiting for files—sorry!"

"That explains a lot," you said to yourself, staring at your phone. Embarrassment crept in as you double-checked the number the client had sent in an earlier email. And there it was—one single digit off from the number you’d been texting. Still, why wasn’t the client answering their email?

Regardless, you had texted the wrong number and even asked for the final payment.

"Oh my god, I’m really, really sorry! I just double-checked, and yes, I made a mistake with the number. Again, I’m so sorry to bother you."

"It’s fine! Hope you find the real client and get your payment."

You facepalmed in your office and chuckled at yourself. It was embarrassing to think about the stranger receiving your out-of-context texts. Maybe they were busy too, and you’d just interrupted their day. Or maybe you were overthinking it.

After searching for that email again, you dialed the correct number carefully, double-checking each digit. Then you sent another message:

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files last week, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

Minutes later, the client responded. He apologized for falling behind on things, said he’d been busy, but confirmed he had received the files and planned to make the payment the next day.

Thank God.

You were always busy—navigating the challenges of freelancing and the whole "being your own boss" thing. Sometimes it meant being not just the social media marketer but also the accountant, admin team, planner, and much more.

"Everything alright?" Gwen asked, chuckling as she glanced at you. "You look a little stressed."

"It’s been a couple of stressful days," you replied. "But I’ll survive. You know I always do," you added with a smile.

Gwen was the fashion designer you shared the downtown office with. She was more experienced than you and ran her signature shop below the office, filled with beautiful, unique pieces. Thankfully, she was always a helping hand when you got stuck with an Excel sheet or needed advice on balancing work and life.

The next day was more of the same. Mid-month meant analyzing how the brands were doing—were they selling? Were they stagnant? Was there a new trend going viral? Or an upcoming holiday to leverage?

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your focus.

"I hope this isn’t weird, but did you get the right number? Or the payment? It felt like I was left on a cliffhanger."

You smiled at the text from the stranger who had received your initial messages.

"Not weird at all! I’d be curious too. And yes, I got the right number, and I think he’s paying me today!"

"Well, I’m glad! I wasn’t going to sleep without knowing how it ended."

"I’ll update you as soon as the payment comes through! lol."

Maybe it was odd to have a conversation with a stranger, but they didn’t even know who you were, so what did it matter?

"Please do. 🙏🏻"

You thought of that viral story about the grandma who accidentally texted a stranger and ended up inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner. But in your boring life, nothing like that could ever happen. You weren’t particularly chatty or extroverted in real life, but since they didn’t know who you were, what was the harm?

——-

"Update: The payment came in!!"

"Thank God! I’m happy for you, and it’s not even my money."

"Well, thank you for answering. Otherwise, I’d still be texting you about my lost payment."

"My pleasure. Is it okay if I ask what your job is? I’m curious—it’s my first time being a wrong number!"

"Is it weird to be texting a stranger who randomly asks about my job?" you asked Gwen, showing her the texts.

"What does that even mean?" she asked, confused.

"Have a look at this," you said, sliding your phone over. Gwen read the texts and smirked.

"He doesn’t even know who you are. He knows your name, but how many Y/Ns are there in London?" she said, trying to calm your overdramatic thoughts. "Or you could make up a funny, dramatic life and have fun for a few days—tell him you work in a strip club!"

You laughed softly but were tempted by the idea of harmless fun. What real danger could come from simple texts? He was the one who started asking questions, after all.

"I’m a digital marketing specialist."

"Sounds cool. I could never."

"What do you do, then?" you asked boldly.

"I own a small brand."

He technically wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Maybe it was too soon to reveal his real identity. If he even had contemplated that.

"'I own a small brand?' That’s it?" you muttered to yourself. Your life wasn’t that boring after all—or maybe it was, compared to his.

Recently, you've been haunted by questions about your career. Did you even love marketing? No. Did you know what you wanted to do? No.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"My name is Harry, by the way. Seems fair to tell you since I know yours."

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

You smiled at your phone, a soft, involuntary expression that you quickly brushed off. It wasn’t like you were getting attached or anything; it was just amusing. A stranger texting you was definitely the most interesting thing to happen that week. But after that, it went quiet. The conversation stopped, and you figured it was just one of those random, fleeting interactions life throws at you. Something to laugh about later with friends.

Two days later, though, your phone buzzed again. You assumed it was your mom or a group chat notification—certainly not Harry

“How did the week end for you? Any other wrong numbers?”

You blinked at the screen, taken by surprise but also oddly pleased.

“It ended pretty busy, but thank God it’s over. And no, no more wrong numbers, lol.”

“So, any weekend plans?”

How was it that this stranger, Harry, was better at keeping a conversation going than any guy you'd actually dated? It felt natural, like he genuinely wanted to talk to you, and for once, you didn’t feel like retreating into vague one-word answers.

“Nope, a bit of a boring life here. You?”

“Yeah, same.”

Okay, that was definitely a lie.

Your life was painfully average. You worked to pay rent, paid rent to keep a roof over your head, and that was it. Sure, there were good days and bad ones, clients who made you want to tear your hair out, and others who gave you glowing feedback that kept you going. But lately, when anyone asked, “What’s new?” or “What have you been up to?” your mind went blank. The truth felt too dull to say out loud.

Your love life? Also on pause. You’d had a long-term boyfriend once, but when his ambitions veered wildly away from your own, it fell apart. You didn’t hold any hard feelings, but dating apps weren’t exactly your thing, either. Deep down, you clung to the hope that someone would randomly appear in your life, the way they do in rom-coms—chocolates, flowers, and all. But you’d stopped expecting it a long time ago.

So why was a stranger, with nothing more than a name and a few texts, suddenly the most exciting part of your week? Maybe it was the mystery. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it made you feel like you’d stepped out of your routine.

“Is it weird that I just kept on texting you? I feel like it is,” he texted again.

“A bit, but I’m enjoying it so far. It’s kind of fun, actually.”

“Ok, thank God we’re both weirdos, then. Are you based in London?”

And just like that, the fun felt like it came to a halt. He was asking for your location now. Sure, London was massive—1,572 km² of sprawling city—but your anxiety immediately perked up. Was this crossing a line? Did he want to track you down or something?

But then, the little mischievous devil on your shoulder chimed in. Relax, it’s harmless fun. It’s not like you two are actually going to meet, or like he’s going to know your exact address just because you said you lived in London.

The devil wins.

“Yes, I’m in London. You?”

Your turn, Harry man, you thought. And then, as if on cue, your brain jumped onto a rollercoaster of wild thoughts. Wait, what if he’s a 50-year-old? Or worse—a 15-year-old hormonal teen?! You shook your head. No, no, he’s a brand owner, you reminded yourself.

Was this fear of the unknown creeping in? Or... was it just pure curiosity?

“Yes, around Notting Hill.”

You stared at your phone, a bit shocked. Did he really just tell you his neighborhood? Was this man never taught about the dangers of sharing personal details with strangers?

Says the girl who keeps answering his texts.

“Cool,” you panic-texted back, immediately cringing at how abrupt it sounded.

A second later, another message from him popped up:

“You don’t have to tell me your neighborhood. I know it’s probably TMI. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

You blinked at the screen. 

Wait, was he apologizing? For oversharing?

“It’s fine, but be careful, I might be a stalker. You never know 😉”

An emoji? Oh my god, did I just use an emoji? 

You internally cringed, debating whether deleting the message was still an option. But his reply came quickly:

“I’m used to that.”

You stared at your phone, baffled. What? What does that even mean? Was he used to stalking people? Or being stalked? That didn’t even make sense. Had you missed some new meme or slang? Or was he just trying to sound cocky and mysterious? Either way, your brain was now racing, trying to decode mystery Harry man.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at his phone, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him. Shit, did that just give away who I am? He tried to reassure himself. Maybe not. It could pass as just a random response... right? But the doubt crept back in. Then again, if it’s just a random response, does that make me seem really weird? Ugh, why didn’t I think before typing? He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he waited for your reply, wondering if he’d managed to keep things casual—or accidentally made it more suspicious but as you never did he quickly types another thing

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

You stared at the message, your eyebrows furrowing. Whatever this is turning into, it’s really, REALLY weird, you thought. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful that he’d brushed off the whole stalking comment. Now he wanted help?

“I’m about to launch a new collection next month, and I need to choose four nail polish colors for a kit. Which ones would you pick?”

He sent a picture of a color sample sheet, words scribbled around it like, “Too bright?” “Love this one,” and “OUT.” The paper rested on a dark wood table, and you couldn’t help but notice his right hand in the frame, his nails painted in a sleek shade.

A man wearing nail polish? you thought, biting back a grin. What’s sexier than a guy with zero fragile masculinity?

STOP. Sexier? Seriously?

STOP. He’s a stranger.

“I would go with, the coral one at the top, the navy, the nude and the green” 

“That’s literally what I was thinking. If they sell out it’s on you y/n” 

“So I’ll be expecting a good commission then” 

“Deal and thanks, by the way. For actually helping. I wasn’t sure you’d reply to that one.”

“No worries, it’s kind of nice having someone randomly text me about nail polish drama. Way better than client emails. Didn’t thought your business was about nail polishes though”

“Glad to be of service. Let me know if you ever need a second opinion on, I dunno, which shade of PowerPoint gray to use.”

“My saviour”

“That 's me. A true giver. Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you for now. But seriously, thanks again, Y/N.”

“No problem. Good luck with the collection!”

The conversation ends with more questions than answers about Harry—nail polishes? Why is this conversation flowing so effortlessly? It left you curious but not uneasy. Both of you felt like this wasn’t the last time you’d talk. It was a small, unexpected connection, one that neither of you was quite ready to let go of.

—-

Your mom’s birthday went on as planned. You were able to buy her a beautiful scarf from one of her favorite brands—pricey, yes, but it was your mom, so you didn’t mind splurging. And if you happened to overdo your sister this time? Well, that wasn’t the point, not entirely. But deep down, it felt good to prove to yourself that you could keep up, even if her success with her law firm always felt like a shadow hanging over you.

It had been five days since you and Harry last texted. It felt... normal. No stomach-wrecking nerves like the ones you got when talking to guys you were interested in. No overanalyzing if you’d been annoying, rude, or too eager. With Harry, it was different. Maybe it was because he was still mostly a stranger. Maybe because you weren’t trying to impress him. Or maybe because you knew deep down that, even if he didn’t reply again, it wouldn’t sting. At least for now.

After a few days of sporadic texting, Harry throws out an idea, the text that changed everything.

“Okay, hear me out: since we both don’t want to seem like stalkers, how about a deal? We get to ask one random question a day. Nothing creepy or too revealing. Just normal stuff. What do you think?”

You smirked at the screen. He’s trying to make it less weird? Bold of him to assume this isn’t already weird.

“Alright, but you go first”

“Fine. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Somewhere coastal. Like Brighton, maybe? I need the sea to remind me I’m alive.”

“Interesting choice. I’d go somewhere quiet, but still close to a city. Like, Italy?”

You paused for a second, feeling a little silly. He chose a whole other country, and you’d barely ventured two and a half hours away from London. Still, it was a start.

The daily questions continued, evolving from a simple game into something that felt more like a natural rhythm. Each question peeled back another layer of this stranger you were beginning to know better, even without ever seeing his face. You learned that Harry loved tea but hated coffee—how do you even function?—and that his favorite season was autumn. He found out you adored thunderstorms and had an irrational fear of elevators, thanks to a terrifying incident years ago when an elevator you were in nearly dropped two floors.

It wasn’t just the questions, though. There were moments in between: a blurry photo of an office corner from Harry, captioned, “My life in chaos”; a street view of Downtown that you sent, carefully avoiding any landmarks near your home. Then there was the fluffy golden retriever he’d spotted on his way to work—he couldn’t resist sharing it with you.

Before bed each night, you’d find yourself thinking for at least twenty minutes, trying to decide what to ask next. The game didn’t feel like a game anymore. It was something else, something steady and comforting. For now, there was no pressure to meet or cross any lines—just two strangers finding small joys in their shared curiosity. But now it felt refreshing and even exciting whenever his or your question popped up on the phone. 

It was a rare Sunday sunny afternoon in London, and you found yourself strolling down the street. The shops buzzed with life, tourists snapping photos, and locals hurrying along with their errands. You were looking forward to reach that particularly small ice cream shop you loved. That’s when you saw it—a storefront with sleek, funky decor and the words Pleasing printed elegantly across the window. You slowed your pace, curiosity pulling you closer. The display was stunning: a lineup of nail polishes in perfectly curated colors. Coral. Navy. Nude. Green.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be. This is just a coincidence.

You even felt silly for considering it. But for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the bottles neatly arranged under soft, flattering light. Your mind raced back to that conversation. Harry when he had asked for your opinion on nail polish colors. Coral, navy, nude, and green. The same exact shades in the window now.

It HAD to be a coincidence.

“Pleasing is huge…Harry is a huge pop star too” you thought to yourself, folding your arms as if to shield your thoughts from prying eyes. “There’s no way. It’s not like that Harry would just randomly text someone asking for nail polish advice. Or just to play a silly game of questions everyday”

But the seed of doubt was planted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking your trance. For a split second, you expected to see a message from him. But it was just a group chat notification—nothing exciting. You took a deep breath, willing your mind to behave. “Stop being ridiculous” you tought  “He was probably just some regular guy with the same first name, with the same kind of business. Nothing more.”

Still, as you walked away from the shop, the memory of his texts lingered, trailing behind you like the shadow of a question you couldn’t quite answer. Was it possible? Could he have been the Harry all along? The thought was outrageous, yet your heart raced with the tiniest flicker of hope—or was it just pure curiosity? You slipped your phone out of your pocket, scrolling back through weeks of messages. One by one, you opened the pictures he had sent, your eyes scanning every corner, every detail, hoping for something—a slip-up, a clue, anything to confirm or dismiss the wild idea.

There was the photo of the nail polish color samples, laid out on a dark wooden table. You zoomed in on the edge of the frame. The faintest reflection of something metallic—jewelry? A ring? You’d noticed his hand before, polished nails and all, but now you studied it with new intent.

Then, there was the picture of a cat, curled up on a plush couch. The background caught your attention this time: the kind of sleek, minimalist decor that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine. It could belong to anyone, really…but why did it suddenly seem so…familiar? Your finger hovered over the screen as you stared at his name in your contacts: Harry. Just Harry.

And yet, the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You zoomed in on one last photo—the corner of his shoe peeking into the frame of a sunset he’d sent you. White Sambas. Completely ordinary. But the tiniest voice in the back of your mind whispered, or maybe not.

You locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, your cheeks burning as if someone had caught you red-handed in your amateur sleuthing. “Get a grip,” you thought. “Even if it was him, he’d never admit it. And honestly, why would he have time to text a stranger?”

Still, the idea danced at the edge of your thoughts, impossible to ignore. As you walked away from the Pleasing shop, a small, secret smile tugged at your lips. Even if it was crazy, the idea was kind of…fun.

The easy back-and-forth continued for days, it was like a month by now, his messages feeling less like texts from a stranger and more like snippets of a conversation with someone familiar. You felt lighter, laughing more often, and somehow the world didn’t seem quite as dull as it did a few weeks ago.

Then, one night, came a new question:

“If you could pick one place to meet a stranger for the first time, where would it be?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this what I think it is?

Your heart jumped as you stared at the screen, the words blurring for a second. You thought for a moment, carefully choosing your response before typing: “A café. Casual, safe, easy to leave if they’re weird. Full of people, maybe near a police station if they’re a serial killer. You?”

His response came quicker than you expected.

“But if you could pick an estimated time to meet a stranger, how long would you wait to feel comfortable with it?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Nice try, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

Oh no. That wasn’t your stomach growling in hunger; those were butterflies. Actual, undeniable butterflies. Was it even possible to feel something for someone you had no idea what they looked like? What if he was totally different in person, the opposite of this charming, thoughtful guy behind the texts?

Harry had started calling you Tulip after you’d mentioned they were your favorite flowers, and somehow, it stuck. Now, every time he used it, it made you smile like a fool.

Maybe his question was just a throwaway comment, harmless banter before he said goodnight. Or... maybe it wasn’t.

----

One Friday morning, you found yourself buried in work at a café you liked to visit when you needed a break from your desk. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of quiet chatter helped you focus on a new project.You were mid-email when your phone buzzed. 

“Today’s question: what’s your go-to coffee order?”

You smiled, grabbed your cup, and snapped a quick picture to attach to your reply. “An iced latte with oat milk. Drinking one right now.”

“Is that a café?”

“Yeah, it didn't feel like an office day today.”

Moments later, your phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.

“…I think I see you.”

Your heart stuttered. Wait. What? Your eyes flicked around the café with a mixture of curiosity and panic. Students were typing away on laptops, a few professionals were deep in email mode, and a couple laughed over their pastries at the next table. Everything seemed normal—except now you felt like you were being watched. You straightened in your seat, pretending to be calm while your mind raced. Another buzz.

“I don’t mean to freak you out, but… blue sweater, iced latte, corner seat by the window?”

Your stomach did a flip. That was definitely you. The serial killer theories came roaring back in your brain.

“Okay, very funny. That was just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” You hit send, not sure if you wanted him to be joking or if you secretly hoped he was serious.

“No joke. I swear.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the phone down. You scanned the room more carefully now, eyes darting from one face to another. Was it the guy with the newspaper in the corner? The barista behind the counter? And then, you saw him.

A man near the door, half-hidden behind sunglasses and a black baseball cap, a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, holding a cup. He was leaning casually against the wall, phone in hand.

Holy fucking shit. No. No way. Your brain scrambled for logic. This was just a dream, right? Some random coincidence. But your phone buzzed again, yanking you back into reality.

“Disappointed?”

Your breath hitched. He’d sent the text just as you watched him tap his phone. And when your screen lit up, he glanced up—right at you.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was him. Harry. Your Harry. and Everyone's Harry Styles.

PART 2!!

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[satellite-evans]

Panic

a/n : enjoy whatever this is lol

Warnings : fluff, giving birth

Lando had spent years perfecting his ability to handle high-pressure situations. Split-second decisions at 200 miles per hour? No problem. Dodging crashes? Easy. Keeping calm when his entire race strategy was turned upside down? He could manage that.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared him for this.

“OH MY GOD, THIS IS HAPPENING,” Lando screeched, pacing frantically around the hospital room as you gripped the bedrails, wincing through another contraction.

You turned your head toward him, sweat dripping down your forehead. “Lando, I swear to God—”

“I mean, I knew it was happening, obviously! Because that’s how babies work! But it’s really happening! Like right now!” Lando continued, running a shaky hand through his already-messy curls. “What if I say something stupid? What if I do something wrong? What if I—”

“You already are!” you snapped, gripping his hand with a force that made his knees buckle.

Lando yelped, barely holding himself together. “Okay, okay, you’re doing great, babe! So great! Best labor I’ve ever seen!”

The nurse beside you stifled a laugh. “Dad’s looking a little pale.”

“Oh, he does that,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

Lando gasped. “I do not!”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wild. “Lando, you gag when you had to change my nieces diaper. You nearly fainted when I had my blood drawn last week.”

He flinched. “That was… different! That needle was huge! Like a sword!”

The nurse snorted. “I’ve seen toddlers handle that better.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue, but your sharp inhale of pain cut him off. Instantly, his expression softened, panic giving way to concern. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, gripping your hand in both of his. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m right here, love.”

You squeezed his hand—this time, just for comfort—and met his eyes. “I know.”

For a brief moment, the room quieted. The contractions were getting stronger, closer together. You knew this meant you were almost there, but exhaustion was beginning to weigh on you.

Lando noticed. “You got this, okay?” His voice was softer now, steadier. “Just think of it like a race. Last few laps. You’re leading. You just need to push to the finish line.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Did you just compare childbirth to a race?”

“I panicked,” he admitted sheepishly. “But… was it a good metaphor?”

You gave him a tired smile. “It wasn’t terrible.”

Before he could respond, the doctor clapped their hands. “Alright, Mom, you’re fully dilated. It’s time to push.”

Your heart pounded. This was it. Months of waiting, of preparing, of wondering what this moment would feel like—

And now, it was here.

Lando felt the shift in your energy, and instantly, he was back to full panic mode. “Okay. Okay! It’s happening! It’s really happening!” He turned to the doctor. “What do I do?! Where do I stand?! Do I—do I hold her leg? Do I—oh my god, do I catch the baby?!”

The doctor didn’t even blink. “Dad, just stand where you are and try not to pass out.”

Lando’s face paled even more. “Pass out? Who said anything about passing out?”

The nurse handed him a paper bag.

Lando stared at it in horror. “Oh my god, do people actually—”

“Lando!” you cut him off, your voice sharp with pain. “Less talking, more hand-holding!”

“Right, right! I got you, babe, I got you.” He quickly took your hand, bracing himself—

Then the nurses adjusted the bed, helping you sit up—

And as you moved into position, your elbow swung back—

—And smacked Lando directly in the forehead.

The entire room went silent.

Lando staggered back, clutching his head. “I’m okay! I’m okay!” he announced, though his eyes were definitely unfocused, and he was swaying like a driver who just took Eau Rouge at full speed with no grip. “You have no idea how much that hurts, though.”

The medical staff just stared at him.

No one spoke.

Lando blinked. “What?”

You, in the middle of active labor, shot him a look so sharp it could have cut through steel. Your voice was dangerously calm. “Lando.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re complaining about a little boo boo while I’m pushing a human out of my body.”

He gulped. “Right. Not about me. Got it. Carry on.”

The nurse patted his arm, barely holding back laughter. “Nice recovery, Dad.”

But before he could respond, the doctor’s voice cut through the moment. “Alright, Mom, one big push.”

Your breath came in short, labored gasps. Your body ached, exhaustion weighing down on you, but you knew this was it. You took a deep breath—

And pushed.

Lando held onto your hand, whispering encouragement—until he made the terrible decision of looking down.

His eyes widened. “Oh. Wow. That’s… um. That’s a lot—”

And then, like a driver who just experienced complete brake failure—

Lando hit the floor.

“Oh, for the love of—”

The doctor barely glanced at his unconscious body. “Nurse, should we wake him up?”

You, panting and literally pushing a human out of your body, groaned. “No. Let him miss it. He deserves it.”

Minutes later, as the baby’s cries filled the room, you felt a rush of relief so overwhelming it nearly brought you to tears. The doctor placed your newborn into your arms, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. The pain, the exhaustion, even your unconscious husband on the floor—it all faded away as you stared at your baby.

Tiny. Perfect. Yours.

A few minutes later, Lando groaned from the floor. “What… happened?”

“You fainted,” you muttered, still in awe as you cradled your baby.

Lando scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he took in the scene. “Wait—wait, did I miss it?!”

The nurse smirked. “Oh, you definitely missed it.”

Lando looked genuinely devastated. “Nooo! I was supposed to be there!”

“You were there,” you teased. “Just… unconscious.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his curls before looking down at the tiny bundle in your arms. His expression softened instantly. He sat beside you, completely transfixed.

“That’s… that’s our kid,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

For the first time since you arrived at the hospital, Lando was completely silent. He reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers over the baby’s tiny hand. When her little fingers curled around his, he let out a shaky laugh.

“She is so small,” he murmured.

You leaned against him, exhaustion finally catching up to you. “I know.”

Lando swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly. “I love her so much already.”

You nodded. “Me too.”

After a beat of silence, Lando sighed. “Okay, but technically, I didn’t fully faint. I was just… resting my eyes.”

You chuckled. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and hold your baby.”

And with a sheepish grin, Lando took your child into his arms, staring at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.