#also want this to b a casual thing

[didderd]

(deleted th poll bc i felt weird abt. kinda being told to do it by an anon lmao. but i got 25 votes on ye, which's good enough for me. so i'll at least attempt to do th thing)

(feel free to suggest prompts in th replys or tags for th fell sans drawings :3)

[hinamie]

newest issue of first years fashion just dropped

[cringefaecompilation]

one positive thing about the more casual side of the bh fans: most of the boykisser enthusiasts have come around and achieved class consciousness or at least are "oh, okay!" with choices made in the finale, which can't be said for... most fandoms in general actually

[affluent-havoc]

[belovedblabber]

Ok the way some of y'all talk about Chappell Roan on here is so transparently just like, people having some internalized fucking HATRED for lesbians

[cakemoney]

finding out that kaito and shinichi have been revealed to be cousins is like finding out there was a huge earthquake in the country you used to live in

[bookshelfdreams]

friendly reminder that

"I love everything about you."

[queenerdloser]

looking through on sale nonfiction books on the barnes and noble website is fucking wild sometimes. there's popular nonfiction history next to movie cookbooks next to celebrity memoirs next to vitrolic conservative putdowns of joe biden next to reflections on the current state of democracy next to religious manifestos next to the most insane thinly veiled prejudiced frothing conservative mishmash you've ever seen in your life

[uisceb]

Okay I want to talk about this moment between Morrible and Glinda for a sec because it adds such a wonderfully sinister layer to a scene that is otherwise a triumphant defining moment for Elphaba, and it sets up the dynamics for Part 2 so perfectly.

At this point, we are in the thick of “Defying Gravity.” Everyone’s attention is on Elphaba - and rightfully so, she’s up there declaring war on the Wizard, displaying incredible feats of magic, of course everyone’s attention is on her.

…Everyone, except Morrible.

Morrible has realized that Plan A was a bust, but rather than panicking, she’s already worked over Plans B through Z in her head and has realized that Glinda, not Elphaba, is actually the key figure here. Glinda is actually the best thing that could have happened to them.

Mind you, Morrible hates Glinda. She thinks Glinda is vapid and attention-seeking and completely without talent. It would be extremely easy for her to brand Glinda as an accomplice to Elphaba, have the guards drag her off, imprison her, never have to deal with her again, nice and neat.

Instead, while everyone else is focused on Elphaba, Morrible only has eyes for Glinda. She zeroes in on her, releases her, and comforts her, because she understands what no one else understands, which is that yes, that’s great that the Wizard now has an enemy to unify his people against, but they also need a symbol of hope, something that is the exact antithesis to Elphaba, something to keep everyone at extremes. 

The Wizard himself can’t really be a symbol of hope, because the key to his success is that he remains shrouded in mystery, and yes people think he’s wonderful, but there’s a level of uncertainty and intimidation to him. He is Oz the Great and Terrible, and everyone’s preeeeeetty sure he’s a good guy, but if you have someone like Elphaba out there - who Morrible knows from experience is very smart, very articulate, and has her own sort of magnetism - there’s a potential that she could turn at least enough people against the Wizard to make things very inconvenient.

So what they need, now that they have an enemy, is to have an equally magnetic figurehead representing the Wizard who embodies all these one-dimensional ideas of goodness, someone for the public to adore and fawn over so the association between Wizard and Goodness is crystal clear.

And by bringing Glinda along, Elphaba has unknowingly served that figurehead up on a platter.

Glinda is everything Elphaba isn’t, from personality, to appearance - Morrible has already set Elphaba up by calling her green skin an “outward manifestorium of her twisted nature,” which paves the way for Glinda, who is the perfect conventional beauty, to be an “outward manifestorium” of pure goodness. 

Morrible realizes they need these two lightning rods of Absolute Evil and Absolute Good in order to manipulate people - fear alone isn’t enough; the only way to effectively radicalize the populace is to make sure there is no gray area whatsoever, no room for question: you're either good, or you’re evil. And the Wizard alone isn’t a strong enough representation of “goodness” when by virtue of existing, he has to remain in the shadows. Glinda on the other hand? With her looks and her charm and her openness and her ability to expertly win over a crowd? Perfect for the role.

Now the tricky part for Morrible is taking into consideration that Glinda and Elphaba love each other. But we also know from earlier scenes that Morrible is a master at manipulating emotions. Right from the start when Elphaba is having trouble with her magic, Morrible casually brings up the “Animals should be seen and not heard” disturbance from class, spoon-feeding her just enough to get Elphaba upset, triggering her magic, after which Morrible makes sure to give her assurance and praise to keep Elphaba optimistic about her power.

She’s also aware that Glinda does have quite a bit of influence over Elphaba, because when Elphaba flees, Morrible immediately tasks her with winning her over, rather than simply relying on the guards or even going after Elphaba herself. She knows if anyone has a chance at roping Elphaba back in, it's Glinda.

Obviously, Glinda isn’t successful in getting her back, but while this puts a dent in Morrible’s plans to get control of Elphaba, it does give her an extra weak spot to exploit in Glinda.

So now, at the height of “Defying Gravity” when Elphaba has officially taken her stand against them, Morrible sees Glinda, and Glinda is at her most vulnerable, her most emotionally fragile. Not only is she heartbroken and in shock, she’s also just witnessed in real time exactly how easy it is to turn an entire nation against someone. She’s scared, she’s powerless. She’s just lost the love of her life her only friend, she has no one to turn to - Morrible has definitely picked up on the fact that even though Glinda has countless people who fawn over her, none of them can be considered a true friend except for Elphaba, which means Glinda is completely isolated. Glinda also has a very limited understanding of the bigger picture of what the Wizard is trying to accomplish, and because she’s never been a victim of the system the way Elphaba has, she is still desperately clinging to the idea that everything will be okay as long as she plays by the rules of the people in power.

She has been perfectly primed for Morrible to begin manipulating, not through violence or intimidation, but by offering her comfort when no one else would - when not even Glinda’s only friend would - when no one else is even paying attention to Glinda, because they have the very real and present threat of Elphaba quite literally hanging over them. In this moment, Morrible chooses Glinda, which Glinda has been striving for since the beginning. Elphaba has chosen her principles, the Wizard has chosen his enemy, but Morrible has chosen Glinda, and in this moment of being so alone and so afraid and so betrayed, that makes all the difference.

We also get kind of a parallel shot too - Elphaba really sealed her fate the second her hand closed around the broom. But here, Glinda seals her fate when she gives in and reciprocates Morrible’s hold on her.

THIS is the moment that sets us up for Part 2, with Elphaba and Glinda as our lightning rods for Absolute Evil and Absolute Good, but more to the point, it makes it clear that they’ve BOTH been used, they’ve BOTH played right into these respective roles Morrible and the Wizard need in order to be successful - even if it wasn’t how Morrible originally planned for things to go.

I just love it, because “Defying Gravity” is Elphaba’s song - it’s triumphant, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s everything a defining moment should be for a character. But by injecting this little moment between Morrible and Glinda into the scene, we also get an underlying current of dread because we know we’re about to see the consequences of Elphaba’s defiance versus Glinda’s compliance and how both serve to benefit the Wizard/Morrible’s propaganda.

TL;DR - when I said "I want to talk about this scene between Morrible and Glinda for a sec" I clearly meant "I'm gonna write a whole essay. Like a nerd."

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[abbotjack]

(18+ only) nsfw alphabet– michael robinavitch .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚

pairing : michael "robby" robinavitch x afab!reader

18+ MDNI—warning : explicit sexual content, use of cunt, rough sex, praise kink, post-sex intimacy, body worship, possessive language. this is just pure filth start to finish like oh my god...

a/n : no plot, just robby being hot, obsessed, and way too good at ruining your cunt. you're welcome. roughly 4,000 words... needless to say I was very passionate about this one as well. I also did one for dr. abbot!. anyways, happy pitt thursday & ty for 100 followers !

♡ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He treats aftercare like it’s an extension of the act itself—just as intimate, just as necessary. He pulls you against his chest immediately after, and murmurs, “You alright?” His voice is low and hoarse, lips ghosting your temple. He doesn’t rush. You’ll feel his fingers smoothing across your skin, touching every place he left red or trembling.

He wipes you down gently with a warm cloth—he never makes you do it yourself—and then pulls the blanket up over both of you. There’s a certain reverence in the way he laces your fingers together afterward. He might not always say the words, but it’s there: You’re mine. I’ve got you.

♡ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite on himself : His hands because they get to touch you. He’s obsessed with how much he can make you feel with just his fingertips. “Tell me where you want me,” he’ll whisper against your throat while teasing a finger down your thigh.

On you : Your mouth. Not just for what it does, but how it moves. The curve when you smile, the little intake of breath when you’re trying not to moan, the way it parts when he slides a finger into you and whispers something filthy against your ear.

He’s obsessed with the way you whimper against his kiss. Sometimes he’ll press his thumb into your bottom lip and say, “Let me see how much you want it.” And then watch—ruthlessly—as you fall apart

♡ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Robby finishes deep, every time. It’s instinctive. You clenching around him when he starts to lose control? That’s what does it. He’ll bury his face in your shoulder with a groan that sounds almost pained, holding you in place while he spills inside you. And afterward? He stays inside just a little too long. “Just… let me have this for a second.”

He loves watching it drip out of you after. Fingers gentle but greedy as he brushes it back in, eyes dark with a possessiveness he never voices out loud.

♡ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a thing for catching you in the middle of it.

Not touching yourself for him—not some showy, performed thing. No. He wants to catch you when you think he’s not there. When it’s real. Quiet. Desperate. Private.

That’s his secret.

He’s walked in on you once—half-asleep, legs spread, hand between your thighs, whispering his name under your breath without even realizing it. You didn’t notice him right away.

But he noticed everything.

The way your hips stuttered. The little gasp you made when your fingers brushed just right. The slick sound of you trying to get yourself off like it wasn’t already too much. The blush that crept up your chest when you finally looked over and saw him standing there, hard in his jeans, eyes dark, watching.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

And sometimes—he doesn’t mean to—but he lingers outside the bedroom door when you don’t know he’s home. Just listening. Breathing slow. Letting his cock throb in his hand while you whimper his name with your fingers buried inside you.

He won’t ask you to stop. He won’t interrupt.

♡ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Robby is the guy who doesn’t look like a heartbreaker, but you find out after that he could be. He’s had lovers—but he doesn’t throw it around casually. When he touches you, it’s obvious : he knows what he’s doing. His rhythm, his pressure, the way he reads your breath and adjusts in real time. Precision with heat.

And when you moan his name? His lips part, slow, like he’s drinking you in. “That’s it. Just like that. Good girl. Let me hear you.”

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

In the privacy of the bedroom, Robby's preferred position is classic missionary. He loves to have you lying beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, allowing for deep penetration and full-body contact. This position enables him to maintain eye contact, reading every nuance of your expressions, and to kiss you deeply, muffling shared moans.

What elevates this position for him is the intimacy it fosters. He can feel your heartbeat against his chest, synchronize his breathing with yours, and whisper sweet or filthy nothings directly into your ear. The ability to have his hands free to explore your body, caress your sides, or intertwine fingers adds layers to the connection. It's not just about the physical pleasure but the profound emotional bond it reinforces each time.

♡ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not really goofy—more warm. He’s serious when it counts, but he has this soft, crooked smirk when you laugh mid-kiss. He’ll say something under his breath like “You’re trouble, you know that?” while flipping you over. The humor is subtle—intimate. Like you’re in on something private.

♡ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s got a full bush, thick and dark, not out of neglect but because he doesn’t see the point in shaving something that feels natural. The hair down there is soft but dense, and when he’s hard? It frames his cock like it’s meant to be worshipped.

There’s a trail leading up from his pelvis—dark and straight. It’s the kind of thing you see once and can’t stop staring at, especially when his shirt rides up after a long shift and your eyes catch that line of hair leading down. He notices when you look. He always notices.

And let’s not skip the beard.

He loves burying his mouth between your thighs like it’s the only place he wants to be. His tongue is slow, deep, deliberate. His stubble drags across every tender inch, rough enough to leave you raw, just the way he knows you like it.

He shaved once.

He came out of the bathroom with a towel slung low, jaw bare, clean, pink in places where the razor caught. He looked at you—wet hair, smug expression, a glint in his eye like he thought he’d done something special.

Your eyes dragged over his face, down to the curve of his throat. Blank. Quiet. Then :

“You shaved.”

He nodded, a little too proud. “Figured I’d try something different.”

You didn’t answer. Just got under the covers, and faced the wall.

You didn’t fuck him for a week.

You still let him pull you close. Still let him kiss your neck. But your cunt stayed untouched, aching and slick in silence, because you chose to starve him with it. To remind him that this—you—has rules.

You waited until the stubble came back.

That night, you let him between your legs.

You didn’t speak. Just pulled him down and pressed your cunt to his mouth like something owed. He took it like an apology.

Now, he doesn’t forget. When he fucks you with his mouth, he does it slow. Thorough. Until you shake. Until you cry out. Until it’s more than just pleasure—it’s possession. His jaw works like he’s starving. Like he remembers every second of those nights you wouldn't let him have it.

When he pulls back—chin wet, lips parted—his breath ghosts over your skin. You’re flushed and trembling, still pulsing from the friction.

He looks up, voice wrecked, reverent.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

You exhale, heavy, jaw slack.

“You won’t.”

♡ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When he’s in your bed, it’s not about sex—it’s about claiming space in your life. Every touch is intentional. Every glance lingers a second too long. Every thrust carries the weight of everything he doesn’t say out loud.

He gives his full attention, eyes locked on yours while his hands hold you still, and his voice drops in your ear :

“I want you to feel me tomorrow. I want you to remember this.”

And afterward? When your legs are still shaking and your mind’s gone foggy? He pulls you into his chest because you’re his. It's the kind of closeness that tells you—no one else gets this version of him.

♡ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Robby jerks off only when it’s necessary—when he’s so hard it aches, or when he’s had a day that pressed every damn button and he needs you to take the edge off… but you’re not there.

He always does it the same way : Back against the headboard, hand braced on his thigh, one slow stroke at a time while his eyes are shut and you’re the only thing in his head. Sometimes it’s your voice. Sometimes it’s the way your body looked the last time you collapsed under him.

He finishes hard, jaw clenched, chest rising. And every time? He mutters your name under his breath, like a confession he’s still trying to outrun.

♡ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He doesn’t just want to fuck you—he wants to manage you. Override your thoughts. Rewire what you associate with pleasure until the only thing you crave is his voice, his rules, his cock.

And he does it slow. He makes you ask. Not because he’s into power trips—but because he wants to hear you break.

“You want something, you say it. Use your words.”

“That tone won’t get you what you need, sweetheart.”

And when you finally say it—broken, desperate, voice shaking—he rewards you by giving all of himself, rough hands, heavy weight, deliberate thrusts that make you sob.

He’s into positional control—knees spread wide, hands behind your back, chin tilted up with one thick hand under your jaw. Not to scare you. To focus you.

You don’t look away. You don’t squirm.

You listen. You obey.

And when you don’t? He’ll stop mid-thrust, press his body flush to yours, and growl :

“Try that again. See what it gets you.”

When he puts you where he wants you and says, “Stay still while I fuck you,” —you do. Every time.

That’s the kink : You, undone. And him, fully in control of everything.

♡ L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a bed man, 100%. Not because he’s boring—because he wants time, room, and access. Sheets pushed down. One knee between your thighs. He wants to make a mess.

But he does have a soft spot for the couch especially after a long day, when you curl into his side while watching something on TV, kiss his neck, and he doesn’t even bother pulling your pants all the way off before tugging you into his lap and sliding in from underneath.

♡ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

What gets Robby going?

You. Wanting him.

It’s the way you shift closer when you speak—like your body can’t help but chase him. The brush of your leg against his under the table, slow and unthinking, but your breath always catches after. The way your eyes dilate when he says your name low.

It’s instinct. Want in its rawest form. Not loud. Not deliberate. Just something in you pulling toward something in him.

And he notices.

Feels it in the silence. In the way your thighs tense when he stands too close. In the heat radiating off you when you pretend you’re not thinking about his hands on your skin. But you are. And he knows it.

And when you do ask?

That’s what does it.

Just a soft little please—barely above a whisper. His cock’s already hard in his pants, jaw tight, breath low and steady, because if he moves too fast, he’ll lose it.

And if you’re already wet when he checks?

He groans—low, rough, wrecked.

“Yeah. That’s all I fuckin’ need.”

Because that’s what gets him. Not performance. Not noise. Just need. Honest, helpless, soaked-through need.

The kind that has your cunt dripping just from the thought of him.

That kind of power? That kind of want?

He’ll fuck you senseless for it. Every time.

♡ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He won’t turn sex into something cold and punishing.

You can tease him. Push him. You can mouth off just to see how long it takes for him to press you into the mattress and make you sorry you started it. He likes that. He likes the challenge.

But he doesn’t want cruelty. Not from you, not toward you.

The first time it comes up, it’s not even in bed.

You say it offhandedly—half a joke, half testing the waters. Something you read in a post, or a thread, or some comment section that said men like him—older, quiet, in control—like it mean. That they get off on making you cry. That pain is the point. That it’s not real unless it hurts.

And his reaction is immediate. Not angry—just quiet. Controlled. Serious in that way he gets when he needs you to listen.

He touches your chin, gently, turns your face toward him. Thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes on yours.

“No, honey. We don’t do that here.”

His voice is low, even.

“You want to be taken apart? Fine. You want to be mine? Good. But not like that.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

He doesn’t care what you’ve read or what men like him are supposed to want—he’s not here to watch you cry just to feel powerful, not interested in pain that leaves you numb or pushing past what you can take just because you think that’s what gets him off.

He wants you honest, wanting, undone by pleasure. He’ll ruin you. Wreck you. Push you to the edge of something so intense it leaves you shaking.

But pain for pain’s sake? Anything that feels hollow, detached, or cruel?

That’s where he stops.

♡ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving?

Devotional. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t tease. He feasts. Like your thighs are the only place he wants to die.

One arm looped under your leg, the other gripping your hip. He’ll drag his tongue in deep, slow strokes until you’re begging. Not because he wants praise—because he wants you undone. Wants your thighs trembling, your voice high and ruined, your fingers scrabbling through his hair with desperate little gasps.

Receiving?

He loves it—but more because he likes watching you want it. The heat in your eyes, the way you look up while you suck him slow, spit slicking your lips. If you grip his thighs and choke a little, he’ll groan and push your hair back :

“Easy, sweetheart… take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

♡ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Controlled.

Not fast, not rough—measured. Like every thrust is calculated to make you feel exactly what he wants you to.

He’ll keep it slow until you’re practically begging, then snap his hips once—just once—and smirk when you whimper.

“That’s what you needed, huh?”

He’ll go harder when you ask. But his rhythm never loses that precision.

♡ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Robby doesn’t like quickies. Not really.

He wants time—wants to press his mouth to every inch of your skin, listen to the way your breath shifts, draw your orgasm out like he’s conducting it. Quickies cut corners, and Robby? Doesn’t like cutting corners.

But you? You’re standing just a little too close during a quiet stretch in the ER—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, voice barely above a whisper: “Please. I need you. Right now.”

And when you reach for his hand, tug him gently by the wrist toward the back hallway— He knows where you’re going. And he doesn’t stop you.

You slip into the empty on-call room. He’s two steps behind you, shutting the door with a quiet click and turning the lock.

His voice is low, sharp, already strained:

“You really want this here?”

You nod, out of breath.

“Please, Robby… I need it. I don’t care if it’s quick. I just—fuck—I need you inside me.”

That’s all it takes.

He’s on you in a second—one hand at your throat, the other already pushing you back against the wall. His mouth crashes into yours—filthy, impatient—and he grabs your scrub pants, yanking them down just enough to expose your thighs.

Your underwear stays on.

He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulls it to the side, and groans when he sees you—slick, swollen, already soaked for him.

“You came in here like this?” His voice is gravel now. “Fucking desperate for it?”

You nod again. Barely.

“Robby—please. I need you—need to feel you—”

He growls low in his throat and presses two fingers into you hard and fast, feeling you stretch around him, already pulsing.

“God, you’re fucking dripping.”

He pulls his cock out fast—thick, flushed, angry—and lines himself up without another word. Then, still holding your underwear to the side, he drives into you in one brutal thrust.

You gasp—loud—and his hand’s at your mouth now, pinning you to the wall with his weight.

“Shhh. Be quiet for me. You wanted this so bad, now take it.”

The rhythm is relentless. Fast. Deep. Ruined in five minutes flat. Your hands scramble at his back. Your forehead presses to his collarbone. You’re so full, so fucked, all you can do is sob into his palm as your orgasm crashes over you way too soon.

He fucks you through it. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just grits out,

“That’s it. Just like that. Come around me. God, you feel fucking perfect—”

When he spills inside you, it’s with a broken moan into your shoulder, hips jerking, fingers gripping your waist like he’s trying to hold himself together.

After? He pulls out slow. Gently tucks himself away. Adjusts your underwear back into place and helps you with your pants. Then brushes his thumb along your lower lip where you bit down too hard.

“Next time? You wait until we’re off shift. So I can do that right.”

But you know—The next time you beg?

He’s going to cave again.

He doesn’t like quickies. But for you? He’ll fuck you like it’s the last five minutes of his life.

♡ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Robby’s not reckless. But behind closed doors? He’ll try anything once—as long as it comes with trust.

You want to be tied up? He’ll get a rope. You want to try temperature play? He’s already warming the oil. But he needs to know you’re there with him, not playing a part.

♡ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Two to three rounds, easily—if not more, depending on the day.

And in between rounds? He doesn’t check out. He kisses you. Runs his fingers through your hair. Stays in it.

You won’t even realize he’s hard again until he’s flipping you over, saying, “We're not done yet.”

♡ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Selective. But curious. He keeps a viberator in the nightstand drawer—not for you to use alone, but for him to hold against you while he’s buried inside you.

“Let go. Come on. Let me feel it.”

He’s also into remote-control toys. The idea of having you wear one while you sit across the table at dinner? Knowing he could ruin you the second you tease him?

Yeah. He’s thought about it. A lot.

♡ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He lives to tease. Not cruelly—strategically. He’ll keep you on the edge for hours. Pull away right before you come. Make you ride him slow until your voice breaks.

And the whole time? He’ll say shit like:

“You want to come? Say it. Say it like you mean it.”

And when you finally do? He’ll give it to you. Hard. Without hesitation. But only once he’s dragged every drop of want out of you first.

♡ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Grunts. Groans. Low curses whispered into your neck. The sound he makes when he comes is rough.

And when you ride him, slow and deep? He’ll let out this low, desperate moan into your chest that sounds like he’s trying to hold himself back and failing.

That sound? It’s all because of you.

♡ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He kept the first pair of underwear you left at his place. Not to be creepy. Not to sniff or jerk off to. Just… because.

They’re in the back of his drawer, folded neatly like he might give them back, but he won’t. It’s a memento. A reminder of the first night you stayed. The first night you were his.

♡ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick. Heavy. Veined. He’s not porn-star long, but he doesn’t need to be—the girth alone is enough to make you gasp every time.

You feel him with your whole body. Even when he’s just rubbing the tip through your slick folds, your hips buck involuntarily, desperate for him to fill you. Stretch you. Keep you full until your thighs shake.

And he knows it. Smirks when he catches the way you hesitate right before he pushes in.

“Too much?” he’ll murmur, nudging at your entrance with slow, deliberate pressure.

“You can take it. You always do.”

He presses all the way in, holds there while your body adjusts. He doesn’t fuck like he’s showing off. He fucks like he’s memorizing you with it. Like he’s been thinking about it all day.

And when he pulls out, slow and slick and aching, you’re already sore. Already wanting it again.

♡ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Robby can hold off for days. Weeks, even. But when he finally has you?

He’s starving.

He doesn’t just want your body. He wants you wrecked. Tearing up. Shaking. Pressing your mouth to his neck so no one hears how hard you come for him.

He wants you craving him just as badly. Not for show. Not for ego. Because that’s the part he hides from everyone else—how badly he needs you when he doesn’t have you.

And when he’s buried in you, deep and slow, holding your wrists down above your head, mouth at your throat, voice shaking from restraint?

That’s when you hear it : “I’ve needed this. You have no idea how fucking much.”

♡ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You fall asleep on your side, facing him. One arm draped over his chest, leg tangled between his, skin still hot from where your bodies were pressed tight.

You’re bare.

Still flushed.

Still soft all over, your thighs sticky, your cunt sore and slick from how deep he took you.

And Robby’s still wide awake. Lying flat on his back, one hand resting on the dip of your waist—but his eyes?

They’re on you.

He watches the way your breath slows, the way your mouth parts slightly, the way your fingers twitch against his ribs while you sleep. You’re loose now. Limp and warm and completely undone—and he still feels you, everywhere.

Your stomach rises and falls against him in slow, perfect rhythm. There’s a faint line on your hip—stretch mark, scar, something you used to try and hide.

He sees it.

He loves it.

He traces it lightly with his thumb, barely a touch.

He wants to move.

Wants to roll you onto your back, lick into your cunt until you're whimpering again, make you take him slow all over.

Wants to feel you twitch when he whispers things he never says out loud—like how badly he wants to keep you like this forever he literally has a ring hidden in his nightstand but that’s besides the point.

But he doesn’t. You’re asleep. Spent. Trusting him with your whole body.

So he shifts in a little closer. Presses a kiss to your shoulder. Lets his palm settle over your hip, wide and warm and claiming. Because for now, that’s enough.

Eventually, his eyes will close.

But not yet.

Not when you’re still glowing from what he did to you.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAP ONㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : What if you ask if you can peg them?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You ask him in bed one night, very nonchalant.

“Hey, can I peg you?”

He freezes. Like full reboot. The Bat-OS is updating. Bruce.exe has stopped responding.

“...Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I think I deserve it.”

He stares. Silently. A slow blink. His jaw clenches, like he's negotiating peace with an international terrorist. You see the flicker in his eyes—he’s considering it, and that terrifies him more than anything.

Eventually?

“Once. You get one.”

But then he comes back for more. Doesn’t say it out loud. Just lies face-down on the bed like a Greek tragedy and says:

“Don’t talk. Just… do it.”

And you never let him forget it. You slap his ass and he growls like a wild animal. Gotham’s protector? Pegged by his princess.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You bring it up during foreplay, and his eyes sparkle.

“You wanna what??? …Wait, really? Is that like—hot for you?”

He’s immediately into it. Like too into it. He starts googling positions, stretches, prep routines.

“Do we need a safe word? What’s the etiquette here? Should I make a playlist?”

When the moment comes? He’s spread out like a centerfold, full trust, full glutes.

“I feel so vulnerable. Is this how girls feel all the time??? God, it’s kinda hot—”

He moans so loud. Like theater-level drama. Neighbors can hear. Batfam knows. And Dick? He’s glowing for a week.

“So when’s round two, babe?”

— JASON TODD ⋆

You say it casually while he's cleaning guns.

“Let me peg you sometime.”

He chokes. Gun clatters. You hit a nerve.

“You wanna what???”

He’s mad. Flustered. Pacing. But also blushing. And you notice the way he starts testing the waters—

“If I said yes… hypothetically… would that make me less of a man?”

You just pat his cheek like, “No, baby. It makes you a brave man.”

He glares. And then, eventually, agrees. But he makes it a war zone. He's gripping the headboard, growling like you’re in a gladiator fight.

“You better own it, then. I want bruises, I want pain—do it like you mean it!”

Afterward, he lies there like he got hit by a truck. Whispers:

“...Don’t tell anyone.”

You immediately text the group chat: “Guess who just got wrecked by me.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You hit him with it after a sparring match, while he’s sweaty and happy.

“Can I peg you sometime?”

He short-circuits.

“You wish.”

But he’s curious. You see the gears turning. He starts reading medical journals. Watches porn on mute. The ego battles the intrigue.

One night, he corners you like:

“If you must dominate me… you’ll have to earn it.”

Treats it like a duel. He makes you work for it. Grapples. Resistance. Eye contact like a wolf. But when it finally happens?

He groans. Face buried in the pillow. Tries to act composed, but he’s trembling.

“This… is merely… a power experiment.”

Lies. He loves it. But he’ll never admit it. Until he randomly buys you new gear and says:

“This model is superior. More efficient. Less friction. I did… research.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

You ask Terry during post-sex pillow talk. He’s already panting, sweaty, pupils dilated.

“Babe… what if next time I hit it?”

He blinks.

“You mean like… role reversal?”

“No, Terry. I mean I peg you.”

Visibly panics. Short circuits. But his toxic trait? He’s a curious little freak.

He’ll act all alpha, but that man grew up on internet forums and old Batman archives. He’s been exposed. He’s thought about it.

“Okay. Okay. I mean… I’m not against it. But like, do I—do I have to do the… arch thing?”

By the time you’ve got him moaning into the mattress, he's lost all higher brain function. Tries to talk tough:

“T-This doesn’t c-change... the fact I’m still B-Batman…”

“Mmhm. Say that again while I hit that spot.”

After everything, cuddly. A little emotionally destroyed. Always asks shyly afterward:

“So... wanna do it again next week?”

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

So Barry's in the chair, coding. You lean over and whisper it in his ear like it's nothing:

“Wanna let me peg you?”

He doesn’t even look up. Just slowly removes his glasses.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.”

“...Wait. That’s a yes?”

“Baby, I can’t walk, but I can take it. Now help me out of these pants.”

This man is confident and freaky. He guides you through. You’re the one sweating and stammering while he talks dirty.

“Mmm, harder. You call that topping? C’mon, use that core strength.”

Afterward he lays there smug mocking you.

“Good job. You get a gold star. Wanna go again or do I have to manspread harder?”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You say it during your usual makeout, biting his ear:

“Wanna be my pretty little baby?”

Cassian doesn’t speak much. But his eyes go wide. And the blush? It climbs his ears.

At first, he shakes his head—too shy. But a week later, you find him laid out on the bed. On his stomach. Ass up.

Doesn’t say a word. Just… offers himself.

And he’s so sensitive. Bites his knuckle, whimpers through every motion. Has his whole face buried in a pillow, fists clenched, body twitching.

“You’re doing so well, baby…”

Nods frantically. Tries not to cry from how good it feels.

After? Curled into your arms, completely limp, like you just possessed his soul.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You barely finish the sentence:

“Hey, what if I pegged—”

And he’s ALREADY stripping.

“YES. PLEASE. I WANNA TRY IT. DO I LOOK GOOD LIKE THIS? DO YOU WANT ME TO SHAVE?? I HAVE CANDLES???”

He’s bouncing. Wagging his tail. Sends you like 10 Etsy links for strap-ons. Makes a mood playlist. Packs snacks.

In the bedroom? Drama. Theatrics. Noise.

He’s moaning like a porn star. Gripping the sheets. Begging.

“I’m your good boy! I’m your little toy! Use me, mommy, pleaaaase!”

You have to put a pillow over his mouth because he’s SCREAMING. And afterward, he wants cuddles and tells all his friends:

“I’m in love.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[leiomyosarcoma]

so messed up how everyone expects the people around me to be traumatized by MY cancer. lol. lmao even. yeah, it sucks. it sucks being a caretaker or just seeing your loved one going through a horrible time. but also, like. it was just a thing. yeah it really sucked during treatment but i'm fine now and we're all basically moved on. stop asking for a trauma story when it wasn't that bad

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 5 - Tangled Hearts

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

It’s been two days since the Never Have I Ever game stirred things up and the villa is finally back in its rhythm. Bonds are forming, friendships are solidifying and for some, feelings are getting harder to ignore.

This morning, the boys are hitting the gym, hyping each other up between sets, while the girls lounge by the pool, spilling tea and dissecting every look, touch and lingering moment from the past days while also splashing around. 

"Rafe, can I talk to you for a sec?" John B waits until Rafe finally drops his weights, breathing hard as he grabs a towel, wiping the sweat from his face and chest. He nods and follows John B toward the kitchen, both of them grabbing cold drinks. John B leans against the counter, settling onto one of the stools.

“I think I’ve got a problem.” He says casually, cracking open his drink. That catches Rafe’s attention. He drops into the seat beside him, brow raising. 

“You good, dude?” He asks and John B nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” He hesitates, gaze flicking toward the girls across the villa. “I think I like someone.” Rafe grins immediately, slapping John B on the back. 

“Oh, shit! Who’s the lucky one?” He pulls back, his grin faltering. 

“Don’t say-” “It’s not Y/N!” John B cuts in before Rafe can finish. He glances around, lowering his voice. 

“I think I like Sarah.” He reveals, making Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Sarah?” He asks and John B exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. 

“We’ve had these moments lately. Like, she gets my humor. And obviously, she’s gorgeous…but I don’t know. It just feels like something’s there.”

Rafe listens, nodding knowingly, as his gaze shifts toward the pool. His expression softens as he watches Y/N laugh loudly, trying and failing to pinch her nose before Maddy shoves her into the water. A splash erupts and she surfaces, coughing. Rafe chuckles under his breath before turning back to John B.

“Okay, so you’ve got a crush. Big deal.” He shrugs, cracking open his energy drink. John B shakes his head. 

“It’s complicated, man. You see how Topper looks at her. He’s smitten. And I have no idea how she feels. I could be reading this completely wrong.” He exclaims. Rafe leans back, tilting his head. 

“JB, man, just go for it.” Rafe says, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m sure Top will understand. And I mean…if anything goes wrong, there are still plenty of fish in the sea.” John B nods.

“Just-” “Not Y/N. Yeah, I know. Don't worry.” John B shakes his head. “Not my type, anyways.” 

Rafe glances back at the pool, where Y/N is now floating on her back, laughing as Maddy tries to dunk her again. His smirk lingers for a second before he looks back at John B. 

“Good.” He replies. “I mean, she's out of your league anyways.” John B chuckles at Rafe's comment and walks away.

“Sure, Cameron.” He shouts as he heads to the firepit where JJ and Pope are sat.

The villa glows under the bright sun, buzzing with low chatter and the occasional splash from the pool. Y/N leans back into Rafe, comfortably nestled between his legs at the edge, his arms loosely draped around her waist. He's absentmindedly tracing circles on her skin. Topper, Pope, Kiara and Sarah are spread out nearby, drinks in hand, the mood easy and relaxed.

“Hey, guys.” Kelce’s voice cuts through the warm air as he approaches. Everyone greets him cheerfully, motioning for him to join. Rafe's hands tighten slightly around Y/N's waist and she glances up at him before her eyes shift to Kelce.

“I...I actually wanted to talk to Y/N.” Kelce says, looking at her directly. “If you don't mind.”

She swallows and looks up at Rafe, who only shrugs. Her gaze returns to Kelce and after a short sigh, she untangles herself from Rafe’s arms. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Be right back.” She murmurs, before slipping out of the pool. Rafe watches her intently, eyes following the curve of her bikini-clad figure as she walks away with Kelce.

“Man, chill it with the staring.” Topper jokes.

“Shut up.” Rafe mutters, arms crossing over his chest.

Kelce and Y/N settle near the firepit, facing each other as she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head.

“Look, I…” Kelce begins, his voice uncertain as he fidgets with the mic cord. “This is…weird.” Y/N raises a brow, her arms folding as she sits back a little. 

“You're not wrong.” She mutters and he chuckles nervously. 

“Okay, good, so it’s not just me. Um…I know I was kind of a dick.” 

“Kind of?” She lets out a dry laugh. He winces, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Fine. I was a dick. A full one. Like, capital D.” He corrects himself. Y/N tries to hold back a smile, but it tugs at the corner of her mouth. 

“Better.” She adds. He nods slowly, then exhales, gaze flickering around before settling on her again. 

“It’s just…being here, seeing you again, it’s been…a lot. Like, I didn’t expect it to mess with my head this much. But it did.” He pauses, eyes dropping to the ground. 

“Our relationship meant something to me. And just ‘cause we broke up doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I did. I still do. And it hurt, Y/N. Like…a lot.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts in gently.

“Let me finish?”

She nods, watching him carefully.

“I want you to be happy.” He says, voice softer now. “With Rafe or whoever it is. That’s what matters. And I’m sorry for coming in here and acting like that. I guess I just…missed my best friend.”

Y/N exhales slowly, some of the tension in her shoulders melting.

“Kelce…it wasn’t easy for me either. Our breakup…it really messed with my head. I had to put myself back together after that. Learn how to trust again. Let people in.” She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she starts fidgeting with her ring. 

“So yeah, seeing you here? It was a total curveball. I didn’t know how to feel. Still kinda don’t.”

He smiles faintly, his tone lightening. 

“At least you didn’t throw a drink at me.” He says. “Yet.”

“It’s early.” She gives him a look. They both laugh and the tension finally starts to lift.

“I’m sorry if it sucks seeing me with someone else.” She says, more gently this time. “But Rafe…he’s good to me. He actually…he cares. A lot.”

“You're making me sound really awful right now.” He groans and Y/N laughs, reaching over to smack his arm. 

“You’re such a baby.” She exclaims and he grins, rubbing his arm. 

“I know. But seriously, I’m happy for you. I really am.” Then he hesitates, scratching the back of his head. “But, like...did you have to go with the fake orgasm thing?” He asks, making Y/N laugh, loud and unapologetic. 

“You were airing out all my embarrassing moments! I had to strike back somehow!” 

“Alright, alright. That’s fair.” He throws up his hands. “So…we good now? No more public humiliation?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Kelce opens his arms slightly, like he’s testing the waters. Y/N pauses for a beat, then steps forward and wraps her arms around him. It’s a little stiff at first, but then something softens and they both just stand there, holding on a little longer than expected.

“God, this is weird.” Kelce mumbles into her shoulder.

“You’re ruining the moment.” She mutters back.

And just like that, they laugh again.

It doesn’t fix everything, but it’s something.

Some time later, a loud ping echoes through the villa, causing everyone to turn toward the sound. Kelce, who’s now in the middle of a conversation with Maddy, grabs his phone with a grin.

“I got a text!” He announces, sitting up straight as the others look his way, with JJ stepping closer to the couch.

“Spit it out, man.” JJ urges. Kelce glances at the message, his eyes widening before he grins even wider.

“Islanders, tonight’s a big night. There will be a recoupling.” He begins.

“Holy shit!” Topper exclaims, earning a smack from Rafe.

“Kelce, you’ll have the chance to couple up with any girl of your choice. So, think carefully. #thechoiceisyours #makeitcount.” He finishes and a collective gasp rises from the group. 

Y/N sits on one of the kitchen stools, with Rafe behind her. Rafe tightens his arm around Y/N and she looks up at him.

“No need to worry.” She says quietly. “We’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about him picking you.” Rafe replies confidently with a smirk. “I’m more concerned about what I’m going to say when I choose you.”

Y/N grins, raising an eyebrow.

“Better ‘make it count’.” She teases, quoting the text. He leans down to peck her lips.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have you back in my bed.” He murmurs, their lips almost touching. She chuckles softly before closing the gap again.

The girls are deep in glam mode. Curling wands heating up, makeup brushes flying, shimmer getting dusted on like fairy dust and absolute chaos over outfit choices.

“I talked to Kelce today.” Y/N says casually, wrapping a strand of hair around her curling iron.

“Everything cool?” Maddy asks, rummaging through the cabinet for a missing shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. We cleared the air. He said he’s happy for me, glad I’m moving on. Said he wants the best for me, that whole thing.” She shrugs and the girls nod along.

“That’s good.” Cleo says. “Always better to keep it civil in here.”

“Oh my god, where is it?” Maddy groans, making everyone laugh.

“Wait, is that the shoe John B wore?” Sarah squints at the one in Maddy’s hand.

“Why was John B wearing my heels?” Maddy deadpans and Sarah bursts out laughing. 

“He was trying to act like a girl, said he needed heels and I handed him those. You had to see it. It was iconic.”

“You and John B seem pretty close, Sar.” Kiara chimes in while brushing highlighter onto her cheekbones. 

“I second that.” Cleo adds, smirking.

“What? We’re just friends!” Sarah says, cheeks flushing pink as she finally finds the missing heel and tosses it to Maddy. “We’re just having fun.”

“Babe…” Cleo grins. “Gonna channel Ariana real quick, but…this is Love Island. No one’s here to ‘just have fun.’” The rest of the girls hum in agreement.

“So how’s it going with you and Topper, anyway?” Kiara asks, spinning around with an arched brow. Sarah flops down in her seat, letting out a sigh. 

“I mean…I don’t want to sound harsh, but-”

“There’s nothing there.” Cleo finishes for her. Everyone giggles. Sarah fidgets. 

“It’s still early. He’s sweet, he’s good-looking, I just…”

“Girl, stop lying to yourself.” Cleo interrupts. “You don’t like him. And that’s okay.” 

Sarah stares down at her nails. Y/N notices and reaches over, gently taking her hand.

“Hey. It’s totally valid to be unsure. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. We’ve got your back, alright?” Y/N reassures her and Sarah smiles softly. 

“Thanks.” She murmurs, grabbing her eyeshadow palette to finish her look.

“Alright, new topic.” Y/N says, switching the vibe. “Who do you think Kelce is gonna couple up with?”

“I forgot about that!” Alyssa gasps.

“Honestly, I think he’s got his eye on Miss Maddy over there.” Kiara teases, pointing with her lip liner.

“Again, I second that.” Cleo adds with a smirk. Maddy rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t start.” She mutters.

“Oh please.” Kiara grins. “You know there’s something there.”

Maddy drops into her seat, struggling with the heel straps. 

“No comment. And Sarah, your boyfriend stretched these out.”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Sarah calls back.

“Not yet!” Kiara and Cleo shout in unison, making everyone crack up.

“You guys are ridiculous.” Alyssa says, smiling as Cleo reaches over and kisses her cheek, leaving a lipstick mark.

“But you love us, Aly.” Cleo grins.

“I do. Unfortunately.” She says, wiping the mark off with a makeup wipe.

The room settles into a comfortable rhythm as the girls finish getting ready. But just as they’re about to head downstairs, they notice Y/N pacing, biting her lip and looking around frantically.

“You okay?” Sarah asks, slipping in her hoop earrings.

“I…yeah. I just-” Y/N throws open a drawer, rifling through her clothes. “I can’t find my ring.”

“The one you always wear?” Maddy asks, frowning.

“Yeah.” She sighs. “You guys can go ahead-”

“Uh-uh. We’re not leaving you.” Cleo cuts her off, turning back and searching through Y/N’s vanity. The others follow suit, checking drawers, makeup bags, under clothes, even their own stuff just in case.

After a few minutes, they all pause, exchanging defeated looks.

“Maybe it fell outside?” Alyssa suggests. Everyone nods, trying to stay optimistic.

“Hey, we’ll find it.” Maddy says, wrapping an arm around Y/N.

“Was it special?” Kiara asks gently.

“It was my grandpa’s. He made it for me.” Y/N swallows hard, glancing down at her bare finger. A pale ring mark lingers where it used to sit. 

“I’ve never taken it off.” She blinks and plasters on a smile. “Let’s just head downstairs.”

The girls nod, quiet but supportive, each silently determined to help her find it later.

The sky fades into a dusky violet as night drapes over the villa, a cool hush settling across the space. Laughter hums through the air as the group lounge on the couches, drinks in hand and energy buzzing.

Rafe, JJ, John B, Sarah and Y/N sit together, scattered in relaxed positions, chuckling over something just said.

“So…” Sarah starts, swirling her drink. “How’s everyone feeling about tonight?”

The guys offer casual shrugs.

“I think one of us is a little more excited than the rest.” JJ says, nudging Rafe with a grin. The group laughs. Rafe smirks, a hand resting lightly on Y/N’s thigh.

“What can I say?” He shrugs with mock bravado.

Y/N gives a small, unreadable smile, her eyes scanning the group. 

“You don’t look too thrilled, Y/N/N.” JJ raises a brow, noticing her expression. All heads turn toward her. She blinks, caught off guard, mouth slightly open.

“No, no, no, I am! Totally.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Just tired, that’s all.” She lets out a well-timed yawn and melts deeper into the cushions.

The group chuckles and the conversation veers back to tonight’s drama, Kelce and his looming decision. But Rafe’s gaze lingers on Y/N.

“You sure you’re alright?” He murmurs, leaning in. She looks up and nods, offering a gentle smile. 

“Yeah. I swear.” She replies. He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes soft.

“If something’s on your mind…you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She replies, her smile widening as she reaches for his hand. She starts to fidget with his signet ring, twisting it absently. Rafe glances down at the gesture, about to say something.

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment, startling them both. He snaps his head up.

“Y/N was just telling me about that disaster of a drink you made her the other day.” Sarah says with a mischievous grin. Rafe groans and laughs. 

“Yeah, you don’t wanna try that.” 

“It was awful.” Y/N chimes in, grinning as she looks at Sarah.

“Hey.” Rafe protests. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It tasted like feet.” She deadpans. “I’m not even exaggerating.”

“How do you know what feet taste like?” JJ squints. John B claps a hand on JJ’s shoulder. 

“Just…don’t follow that thought, man.”

“Now I really wanna try it.” Sarah leans forward, eyes bright. Y/N widens her eyes. 

“Were you dropped as a baby? I just said it tasted like feet!” She exclaims.

“So?” Sarah shrugs, already getting up. “I’m curious!”

She grabs Rafe’s arm, tugging him off the couch. “Borrowing him for a sec.” She announces, dragging him toward the kitchen as Y/N watches them go, still laughing.

“She’s insane.” Y/N mutters, grabbing her drink off the table as she watches Sarah disappear into the kitchen with Rafe.

“Yeah, she is.” John B replies under his breath. Then he pauses. “I mean, she’s not. She’s...totally sane. She’s just-”

“Dude, you’re glitching.” JJ cuts in, laughing. Y/N smirks and leans in toward the boys.

“You like her, don’t you?” She asks, dropping her voice just enough. John B doesn’t answer right away. He glances toward the kitchen where Sarah’s laughing with Rafe over some chaotic drink-mixing, then looks back at Y/N.

“Wait...did Rafe tell you?” He asks, suddenly suspicious.Y/N’s eyes go wide. 

“You told Rafe?” She asks, incredulous.

“Shit.” John B groans, rubbing his face. “I thought he told you or that he would!”

“Okay, okay, back up.” She says, holding up a hand. “That’s not even the point right now. The point is: you like Sarah.”

He takes a slow breath and JJ shakes his head with a grin.

“Man, it’s been obvious. You’ve been giving her heart eyes since day one.” JJ says.

“It’s not that simple.” John B mumbles. “She’s with Topper-”

“Who she has zero chemistry with.” JJ interrupts, then looks at Y/N. “What’s she told you?”

“I probably shouldn’t say.” Y/N hesitates, pursing her lips. 

“So she has said something!” JJ gasps, mock offended. Y/N laughs. 

“Not directly. But…she talks about you a lot. Like, a lot. And she blushes constantly when your name comes up. She hasn’t said the words, but I bet she likes you.”

John B looks back at the kitchen again, clearly overthinking.

“I think you should go for it.” Y/N adds gently.

“Go for it how? What does that even mean?” He asks, looking truly stressed.

“Well…” She says with a sly grin “We are about to have a recoupling…”

“You think I should pick her?” He asks, eyes wide.

“I think.” Y/N says, taking a sip of her drink. “When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.”

JJ freezes. 

“Oh my god.” He says slowly. “I just got that. Like, literally just now. Twenty-five years on this floating rock and it finally makes sense.”

Y/N and John B burst into laughter.

“Thanks, Y/N.” John B says with a grateful smile.

“Anytime, JB.” Y/N nods.

In the kitchen, Rafe grabs a glass and starts pulling random ingredients from the cabinets.

“I’m warning you now.” He says with a grin. “This drink is genuinely terrible.”

Before he can start pouring, Sarah reaches over and snatches the marshmallows out of his hand.

“Yeah, I don’t actually want the drink.” She says plainly. Rafe pauses, brows furrowing. 

“Wait…then why are we in here?” He asks. She glances over her shoulder to Y/N, who is still on the couch with the boys, laughing.

“Something’s up with Y/N.” She says softly. Rafe stiffens, the smile slipping from his face. 

“What happened?” He asks, voice low, already bracing for the worst.

“No one hurt her.” Sarah assures quickly. “She just…lost her ring.”

“Her ring?” Rafe’s face twists in confusion. 

“Yeah. It meant a lot to her. Like, emotionally. She’s trying not to make a big deal, but I can tell it’s getting to her.”

He nods slowly, taking that in. 

“Right.” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “That explains why she was messing with mine earlier.”

Sarah points at the ring on his finger. 

“Exactly. So maybe don’t bring it up. Just…let her do her little fidget thing. I think it helps.” Sarah suggests. Rafe looks down at his hand, twisting the ring instinctively. 

“Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Sarah offers a small, approving nod. Then she glances back at the counter, squinting.

“Okay but seriously.” She says, wrinkling her nose, “what the fuck were you about to make with tequila, hot sauce, and marshmallows?”

Rafe laughs, grabbing the things to put them back. She grabs a White Claw from the fridge and cracks it open. “Come on, cocktail genius. Let’s get back.”

They walk back toward the group, the sound of laughter echoing.

Soon enough, a loud ping suddenly echoes through the villa, cutting through the chatter. Kiara, lounging with Cleo and Pope, grabs her phone.

“Oh, fuck me.” She mutters, eyes wide. “I got a text!” She shouts, instantly grabbing everyone's attention.

“Can all Islanders gather around the fire pit? #decisiontime #nogoingbacknow.” She reads aloud. Climbing out of the beanbag, she helps Cleo up beside her. One by one, the Islanders make their way to the fire pit. The boys take their seats, while the girls line up opposite them, hands linked tightly in anticipation.

Another loud ping breaks the tension, this time from Kelce’s phone. He reads the screen.

“Kelce, since you are the newest Islander, you get first pick. #alotofhottiesinthevilla.” He exhales sharply, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Rising from the couch, he adjusts his mic and scans the line of girls.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because, from the moment I walked in, she caught my eye. She’s stunning and even in just a few conversations, I can tell we’ve got a lot in common. She's hilarious too and I’d really like to see where this could go. So, the girl I’d like to couple up with is…” He pauses, letting the silence hang.

“Maddy.”

Y/N gives Maddy’s clammy hand a reassuring squeeze. Maddy’s eyes go wide in surprise, flicking briefly to JJ, who’s sitting at the edge of the fire pit with a single eyebrow raised. The girls cheer and urge Maddy forward. She flashes them a nervous smile before stepping toward Kelce.

He holds out his hand and she takes it. They share a quick, tight hug before sitting down side by side.

“That was nerve-wracking.” Kelce whispers.

“Wait 'til you're on the other side.” Maddy replies with a soft laugh.

Next up is John B. He adjusts his Hawaiian shirt as he rises, his gaze settling on the fire flickering in front of him.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because...I feel like there’s something there, even if neither of us has really said it out loud yet.” He begins, voice a little shaky but sure. “She’s beautiful, she’s hilarious and she’s got this bright energy that lights up the villa. Always knows how to make us laugh.” He pauses, takes a breath. “So the girl I wanna couple up with is… Sarah.”

Sarah’s eyes go wide. Cleo squeals next to her.

“Knew it.” She whispers under her breath, making the girls around her laugh as Sarah gets to her feet and heads toward John B.

Topper’s jaw tightens as he watches them hug, a bitter scoff slipping out before he turns his attention away, eyes scanning the girls instead.

“He’s pissed.” Sarah murmurs to John B as they sit back down.

“Yup.” He says, still staring into the flames.

Then Pope stands, running a hand through his curls as he steps forward.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because ever since the public paired us together on day one, I’ve had the chance to really get to know her and she’s really amazing. And honestly, she’s just…really beautiful. I wanna keep learning more about her, seeing where this goes.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “So the girl I wanna couple up with is Kiara.”

Kiara offers a tight, polite smile as she walks toward him. He leans in and pecks her cheek, but her arms barely wrap around him.

“Thanks?” She whispers awkwardly before sitting beside him on the couch. 

Y/N shares a quick glance with Cleo, both of them catching the shift in tension.

Then Rafe stands, smirking as he rises to his full height.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because she’s…amazing.” His eyes lock on Y/N and her cheeks flush as she grins. “She’s sweet, she’s kind and she’s ridiculously gorgeous, inside and out. And to be honest, I’ve missed her hogging the blanket at night.”

Laughter breaks out around them, Y/N included.

“So, the girl I wanna couple up with is Y/N.”

Without missing a beat, Cleo nudges Y/N forward. She laughs, walking up to Rafe and slipping her hand into his. Her eyes flick up to meet his, then down to his lips and before anyone can blink, he leans in and kisses her softly, drawing her closer. The islanders erupt into cheers and teasing hollers. When they break apart and head to their seats, Y/N leans in. 

“Happy now?” She murmurs. Rafe nods, still grinning.

“Very happy.”

She chuckles, tucking herself into his side.

Topper stands up slowly, clearing his throat as his gaze settles on the fire.

“I didn't think things would go like this, but, uh…” He trails off for a moment, then continues. “I want to couple up with this girl because she’s really pretty. We’ve had a few good talks and I feel like she actually gets me. So…I’d like to couple up with Alyssa.”

He reaches out his hand as Alyssa makes her way over. He gives her a quick, gentle kiss on the cheek before they both sit down.

Last but not least, it’s JJ’s turn. He stands with a grin and lets out a small laugh.

“Okay, yeah…I didn’t think this would happen either. But I want to couple up with this girl because she’s hilarious and I feel like we have a similar energy.”

“No, we don’t.” Cleo cuts in dryly, sending everyone into laughter. JJ smirks. 

“She’s also really pretty. So yeah, I’m coupling up with Cleo.”

Cleo walks over but swerves dramatically when he leans in for a cheek kiss.

“Ew!” She yells, laughing and the rest of the group cracks up with her.

With the recoupling over, the islanders begin to scatter. Some settling into quiet corners to chat, others cozying up with their new matches. John B pulls Sarah aside to the daybed, both of them sinking into the cushions with a bit of hesitation.

“Look, I…how-how are you feeling?” He asks, stumbling over his words. Sarah fidgets with a pillow in her lap, her expression unreadable.

“Honestly? I’m okay.” She says after a pause. “I was actually talking to the girls about…this. Us. And John B, you’re really sweet. We’ve had some fun moments already. And I think that’s what this whole thing’s about. Trying stuff out, seeing what works. So I’m glad you took that risk.”

John B’s eyes widen, surprised. 

“Really? You mean that?” He asks and she nods, smiling.

“Okay. That’s…that’s good.” He lets out a breath, then leans in slightly. “Because I think I like you, Sarah. And I meant what I said back there. I do wanna see where this goes.”

She looks up at him, softer now. 

“I do too.” She replies. They share a quiet moment, the kind that doesn't need anything more.

Across the villa, Cleo and Y/N perch on kitchen stools, picking through a bowl of chips. Rafe and Pope lean casually on the other side of the counter, half-listening to their conversation.

“He’s a good guy.” Cleo says between bites. “I’m not saying he’s not. I just don’t think we really have anything in common.”

“You could give it a shot.” Y/N suggests, reaching for more chips. “You never know.”

Cleo shakes her head, grinning. 

“He reminds me of the kids I work with, I swear. There was this one boy, Tyler. Same blonde hair, blue eyes, same ridiculous jokes. Always confused about what I was saying.”

“That sounds exactly like JJ.” Rafe chimes in, making everyone laugh.

“Seriously.” Cleo continues. “He even had the same look on his face when he didn’t understand something.”

“Maybe give him a chance.” Pope offers. “And if it doesn’t click, someone else will come in and have your head spinning.”

“Yeah… true.” Cleo mutters, her eyes drifting toward Pope as he pours himself a drink. She stares a second too long.

Y/N snaps her fingers in front of Cleo’s face. 

“You good?” She asks. Cleo blinks, startled, then quickly looks down and takes a sip of her drink.

Pope, unaware, clears his throat. 

“Did you see how pissed Topper looked?”

The group shifts with a new wave of laughter and commentary as the night rolls on.

The rest of the night passes easily, with the islanders lounging around outside, talking, laughing, soaking in the last bit of warmth before slowly peeling off to head inside for some much-needed sleep.

Upstairs, the girls settle into their routine, wiping off makeup and changing into soft pajamas.

“Oh, hey, Kie?” Y/N says, glancing over as she dabs her face with a makeup wipe.

“Yeah?” Kiara responds, tugging on a pair of shorts.

“I noticed something earlier…when Pope picked you tonight, you kind of…hesitated.”

That grabs everyone’s attention. They all pause, waiting for her to go on. Cleo’s eyes widen. 

“True! And that hug? That was the most awkward hug I’ve ever seen.” She exclaims, making the girls laugh, but Kiara just lets out a sigh.

“Look, Pope’s a great guy.” She starts. Cleo snorts. 

“Yeah, that’s never a good sign.”

Laughter bubbles up again, softer this time. Kiara shrugs.

“I mean it. He’s smart, sweet, attractive…but I don’t know. It’s like there’s just no real spark. We don’t click. Every time we talk, it either feels forced or uncomfortable. And I don’t like that feeling.”

The girls nod, taking her in without judgment.

“Do you think you should talk to him? Maybe clear the air?” Y/N asks gently. Kiara hesitates, then shakes her head. 

“Not yet. I just need to figure out how to say it…without hurting him.”

The room quiets for a moment, everyone giving her the space to sit with it. Then, slowly, the night routine picks up again soft conversation, makeup wipes tossed, drawers closing. The kind of silence that comes with knowing not everything needs to be fixed right away.

The girls finally descend downstairs, taking their places on their beds, some familiar, some new.

“We are putting pillows between us and I don't want to hear a word.” Cleo announces, already shoving a pillow wall between her and JJ.

“Oh come on, Cleo. You don’t wanna cuddle with me?” JJ grins. Cleo groans while the rest of the room erupts into laughter.

Y/N smiles quietly, making her way over to Rafe in their bed. She sets her water bottle down, then practically launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso. He lets out a surprised yelp before chuckling and hugging her back just as tightly. She rests her chin on his chest, looking up at him.

“Hi.” She whispers.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He replies, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. His eyes drag over her like he's seeing her for the first time, soaking in the curve of her shoulders, the way her shorts ride up, the warm flush on her cheeks. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He gently nudges her back and pulls off his hoodie, handing it to her.

“What are you…Why are you giving me this?” She asks, eyeing the oversized Ralph Lauren hoodie in confusion.

“I want you to have it. I know you get cold at night.”

Her features soften, lips curling into a small pout as she leans in and kisses him.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He says simply. “And uh…Sarah told me.”

Her brows pinch together.

“Told you what?”

“About your ring.”

Her eyes immediately drop to the chain around his neck, her fingers instinctively reaching out to fidget with it.

“It’s whatever.” She mumbles nonchalantly.

“No, it’s not whatever.” He says, voice low and steady. “It means something to you. I’ll help you look for it tomorrow, alright?”

She shakes her head.

“No, Rafe. It’s okay.”

“I'm serious, Y/N. I’m gonna turn this whole damn villa upside down.” He says, unwavering. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

That gets her. She gives him a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

He nods as she pulls the hoodie over her head, adjusting her hair.

“How does it look?”

“Like it was made for you.” He says, eyes locked on her. She rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder, laughing as she slides off his lap and under the covers. He follows, pulling her in close, her arms naturally curling around him. The lights go out and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night, Rafey.” She teases, but his smile breaks wider than expected.

“Don’t ever stop calling me that.” He says seriously.

She pauses, caught off guard by how much he means it.

“Okay.” She replies softly.

He leans down and kisses her slow, but deep, like he’s trying to memorize the way she tastes, the way she fits against him. There’s a pull between them, something warm and steady and when her thigh shifts over his hips, he lets out a quiet groan.

“Sorry.” She whispers, starting to pull back.

“Don’t be.” He mutters, voice low as his hand slides beneath the hem of his hoodie, smoothing over her waist. “It’s okay.”

She smiles softly, leaning in again. Her nose brushes his and her fingers trail lightly across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her palm.

“I just like being close to you.” She says, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flick down to her lips, then back up.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “Me too.”

They kiss again, slower this time and when it ends, she rests her forehead against his, both of them catching their breath in the hush of the room.

Rafe shifts beneath the covers, pulling her in tighter until her body fits snug against his. Their legs tangle, skin brushing skin and everything else fades, like the world outside them has softened.

She leans in again, lips finding his and after another long kiss, he gently presses her thigh a little lower. The motion earns another groan from him and he shifts slightly, adjusting himself with an embarrassed wince.

“Sorry…for that.” He mutters. Y/N giggles into his chest, her voice low and teasing.

“It’s okay.” She whispers with a smirk. “It’s kinda cute that you’re already, well, you know.”

He groans louder this time, burying his face in her neck, completely undone.

With his arms wrapped around her and her head tucked just below his chin, the chaos of the villa fades into the background.

to be continued...

taglist: @cherrygirlfriend @judesgfirl @slickdickwitchbitchh @leather-n-velvet @alinavalentine @littlelamy @nami11 @madiisynnxx @ts1mp0ne @starkeyslibrary @venusluves @rafecameronsfavourite @lolharrystylesissexy @nofacenocase00 @k4yr14 @drewslefttoe @tinie03 @angielvsnick @dellevans @malibuhearts @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @harryweeniee @imawhoreforu @fastlovela @jjmaybankmylovee @miserablebl00d @nemesyaaa @drewsnr1slut @laniirackssss @emotionsmgcbabe @oconnrs @missabsey @amterasuu @cornliastreett @pvyden @italk2god @swagmoneydrew @lerclec @emmaaas-posts @rafecameronxxx @dorcas4meadowes @isabellaxlilah @xoxosblogsblog @bxbychxrry @julesbog @annaaaamichelle @st8rkey @lewispool @my-name-is-baby @silkylovey

[sarahroutldge]

i love you, i'm sorry.

a/n: requested based on a prompt list - the dialogue prompt is in bold! gif not mine, all credits to the creator (also the title has nothing to do with the song, it was just stuck in my head lol)

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: you and jj maybank drunkenly hooked up a few nights ago, and neither of you know how to deal with that. (routledge!reader)

word count: 3k

warnings: fluff/humor, angst w/ a happy ending, implied sexual content, drinking, semi-proofread, I think that's it

John Booker Routledge never thought he’d actually have to tell his best friend JJ Maybank that his little sister was off limits. Not once did it ever occur to him that JJ would ever think of you in a different way; he hardly liked to consider the idea that you dated anyone in the first place, let alone that you’d express any interest in the man he knew inside-and-out.

But things change and people get older. After you and the rest of the Pogues found El Dorado and began construction on Poguelandia, JJ started to see you differently. Sure, he always found you attractive, but JJ also found every woman he encountered attractive, so he never thought much of it. 

And you certainly didn’t ever think of JJ in that way either. At heart, you were a relationship girl; and while the fact that you were single was proof enough that no relationship of yours had worked out in the past, one of your greatest strengths was that you knew what you wanted. You didn’t seek out something casual because you knew you’d be left unfulfilled. You wanted something all-consuming and destined for marriage. Seeing your older brother grow and mature in his relationship with Sarah Cameron only clarified that further. In your mind, if the second-most relationship-allergic person you knew (after JJ of course) was able to dive headfirst into marriage with a girl so remarkably different from himself, then you decided you wouldn’t settle for any less.

Feelings, however, have a funny way of messing with plans and expectations. While JJ had essentially lived with you and your brother for years, building Poguelandia only pushed the two of you even further together. And watching someone so unpredictable and chaotic as JJ tame himself for the sake of his friends and his future stirred something in you that you hadn’t been expecting at all.

Over the months, your interactions with JJ changed, little by little, and for a while neither of you noticed. It just grew natural for JJ to fix something in the bait shop that you were fussing over, or for you to bring JJ a sandwich or a snack while he worked. You found little ways to make the other’s day brighter, even if subconsciously you never even considered why you were doing these little favors in the first place.

What actually brought the two of you together wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, however. One night, after a long day of work on the house, the Pogues found themselves hanging out above the bait shop, buzzed off of beers, seltzers, and a few joints made of flower grown right from Kiara’s secret spot in the garden. And while the rest of the Pogues eventually found their ways inside and to sleep, JJ and you probably drank a bit too much. One thing led to another, and that was the first night you hooked up. It was slow, passionate, and clumsy, and while the both of you would later blame it on the alcohol and the weed, deep inside you were both fully aware that it was simply the end result of months of pining.

And that’s how you found yourself waking up on the hammock above the bait shop in only one of JJ’s t-shirts and a pair of underwear. The combination of the blinding North Carolina sunrise along with John B.’s extremely loud footsteps on the floor below practically forced your eyes open. While you play the night before over in your head, trying to piece it all together, you’re scrambling to get the rest of your clothes on.

Running downstairs with your shoes untied, you let out a huge “oof” as you collide with your brother, almost sending the two of you to the ground. 

“Good morning to you, too, sis,” John B. says, his eyes expressing his confusion at the fact that you obviously slept upstairs last night.

“Oh, um, sorry, JB, I guess I just drank too much last night and crashed on the hammock,” you practically vomit out.

“Riiiiight,” John B. responds, clearly not convinced but nonetheless wholly uninterested in this situation in the first place. “Just, uh, go shower. You stink.”

Assuming John B.’s comment is a joke, you let out a laugh that immediately sounds forced. “Yeah, uh, that’s what I planned on.”

John B. shoots you a thumbs-up before making his way behind the counter, clearly prepping to open the bait shop for customers. Deciding to avoid any more awkwardness between the two of you, you begin to make your way back to the house. However, your brain can’t help but consider the possibility that only more awkwardness awaits you back in the house, which you’re really not ready to process. You spin around to face John B. at the entrance to the bait shop. “Hey, uh, is JJ up?”

John B. doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s doing at the counter, clearly focused on something else. “Yeah, he took his bike to the grocery store about ten minutes ago, I think.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, and then turn back around to make your way into the house. Occupied with trying to wrack your brain about what exactly happened last night, you again stumble into someone else as you walk through the kitchen.

“Ow,” Sarah squeaks. 

You immediately apologize, looking her in the eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just, uh, didn’t sleep well last night,” you explain, hoping she’ll move out of the way so you can make your way to your bedroom upstairs.

But Sarah, unfortunately, has the attention to detail that your brother lacks. Looking you in the eyes, her brows furrow. “Did you sleep outside last night?”

You scratch your head. ��Uh, yeah. Just, uh, crashed after all those drinks, you know?”

One thing that Sarah does share with your brother, however, is her unwillingness to let things go. Clearly noticing that something is on your mind, her eyes stare into yours, as if she thinks that she can figure out everything about you based on your facial expressions alone. And evidently, she can, because she then proceeds to whisper-yell, “Y/N, is that a hickey?”

She lightly taps a new bruise on your neck that JJ must have left last night, and you can feel your cheeks heat up at the action. You bat her hand away, and she smirks when she realizes what you must be hiding. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you blurt out, before maneuvering yourself around Sarah and walking over to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Whatever you say,” she taunts behind you, and you can practically hear her giggle as you make your way up the steps. 

Once you get to your bedroom, you lock the door behind you. Sliding down the wall, you let out a sigh, grateful that you met no more obstacles on the way upstairs. But as soon as your butt hits the ground, reality comes crashing down, and you realize that you have a much harder obstacle to deal with than running into one of your friends in the hallway. Instead, you have to deal with the fact that you slept with JJ Maybank—the man you’ve known practically your entire life who not only happens to be one of your closest friends, but even more than that, is your brother’s best friend. Yeah, you’re screwed.

For the next few days, JJ avoided you at all costs. He didn’t want to face the consequences of what you’d done, and was worried more than anything that his friendship with you (and John B. for that matter) would be ruined. And while you had the same idea for a while, within only a few days you decided that talking about it was the only way to move forward. Knowing JJ’s extensive dating history, you were convinced that JJ would only tell you that it was a mistake and a regret. You prepared yourself for the negative, and found him alone at night in the employees-only area above the tackle and bait shop.

You carefully tiptoe up the stairs to prevent JJ from getting spooked and immediately bailing on the conversation. When he notices your presence, he shoots up from where he was laying on the hammock, just like you had anticipated. “JJ, we need to talk—”

“Y/N—”

“No, please, JJ, just let me speak,” you clarify, before walking closer to him. 

Realizing he doesn’t have any other choice, JJ sighs, gesturing for you to continue.

Working up the nerves, you wring your hands, preparing yourself for a moment that seemed more daunting than any of the actually threatening experiences you’d had with the Pogues over the last few years. “You know me, Jayj. You know that I don’t have one-night stands or casual relationships. And I can’t go on like this, pretending like what happened between us is normal or that I can just ignore it. I know that you’ve probably never had feelings for me, but if I don’t tell you this now, I’ll regret it. I… I like you, JJ.” Taking a breath, you step back, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of your chest. Only now, you have to brace yourself for the inevitable rejection.

Looking into JJ’s eyes, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, and that’s nothing short of terrifying. You’ve known JJ since he was a kid, and he’s not the best liar, so you can usually tell what he’s feeling from the moment you see him. But this time, you’re clueless, and the silence is deafening.

“JJ, please say something. If you’re going to tell me you don’t like me back, then just say it so we can move on and put this behind us.”

He brings his hands to his face, trying to piece the words together. “Just, uh, gimme a minute.” You nod at him, before moving to sit where he’d previously sat on the hammock. You swing your knees up to your chest, hugging them in comfort. 

You watch as he paces the floor around you. It’s not long before he speaks, but it feels like hours as you wait. 

“Y/N, I… We’ve been friends forever. You, me, and John B. It was the three of us for the longest time and then Pope came and then Kiara and… Uh, I’m getting off track.” He starts fidgeting with the ring on his thumb as he looks down at the ground, preparing for what he’s about to say next. “I won’t lie—you’ve always been hot. Like super fucking hot. And I’m not good at relationships or whatever, but I… I like you, too.” 

And your ears can’t believe what they’re hearing, so your head immediately jerks up to meet his eyes. “Wait… you do?” 

He nods, and you can feel a smile beginning to form on your face. “Well, then, why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. 

“Because it doesn’t matter,” JJ answers, and your heart immediately sinks in your chest, once again. “I can’t do this to John B., Y/N. I just can’t.”

“Who cares about him? He’ll get over it. John B. is not my problem.” 

“That’s the point, Y/N! He’ll be there for you no matter what. But the Pogues are basically all I have left. You and John B. are my family, and if I mess shit up with you, I’ll lose you both. And I can’t do that to myself.”

“You won’t mess it up, J,” you reassure, though part of you understands what he’s getting at.

“When have I not messed something up? I mess shit up all the time, and you mean too much to me for me to risk it. You need to go and find someone out there better than me, because as much as it’ll hurt me to see you with someone else, it’d be a lot worse if you were in pain and I was the reason. It’s because I’m in love with you that I wish we’d never done what we did,” he blurts out. 

And while you were trying your best to listen to him carefully, all you heard was him telling you that he’s in love with you. “You… You love me?” you whisper, and JJ’s eyes go back to the floor.

“Of course I fucking do! How could I not? You’re gorgeous and funny and weird and you know me better than anyone else, and I’ll never forgive myself if I ruin shit with you. So just let me go, because this is the hardest thing I’ve had to do.”

As you process what JJ says, he rushes down the stairs. The heavy pattern of his boots hitting the wooden floors grabs your attention again, and you sprint downstairs to meet him before he can run away completely. You grab his hand and pull him towards you. When his head moves, you can see tears in his eyes, even as the sky gets darker. “It’s not okay to just leave me here after telling me you love me back,” you choke out.

“We can’t—we’ll never be together,” he bites back, trying to sound angry. But you can read right through him, and he knows it. You drop his arm and reach up to grab his face with your hands. Your thumb wipes away a stray tear.

“JJ, you’re right: I do know you better than anyone else. And yes, you’re not the best at relationships. But don’t you think that with us it could be different? That maybe because we know each other so well we can figure it out together?”

He begins to shake his head, but before he can get any more words out, you continue. “JJ, I know everything about you. I know the worst things you’ve done and the best things. You’re always calling me a know-it-all, and yet right now you don’t seem to believe me when I tell you that I know we can do this. We can do it, and it’ll be hard, but it’ll be worth it because I can’t picture myself loving anyone else the way I love you.” And as the tears stream down your cheeks, JJ inches a bit closer to you.

“You… You love me?”

“Of course I do, you idiot. How could I not? You’re the sweetest, kindest, funniest, bravest person I know and my life would be so unbelievably boring if you weren’t in it.”

His eyes look all over your face, trying to see if he can detect a lie. But all he sees is someone so convinced in their feelings, so articulate, and he can’t believe that it’s possible but he might just love you more than he did five minutes ago. 

“Let me deal with John B., okay? I get why you’re scared and I would never want to come between the two of you, but you deserve to be loved, JJ. And I want to be the one who gets to love you.” 

As soon as you get the words out, he’s pressing his lips to yours, and you’re so glad he reached out to hold your waist because otherwise you’d be falling to your knees. It’s magical and romantic and you can taste the salty years you’ve both shed. His right hand moves to grab the side of your face and pull you even closer somehow, before moving back down to your waist and squeezing you in anticipation. The two of you break away, panting. He grips you again and gestures for you to jump, which you do, and you wrap your legs around his back. He carries you over to the counter of the bait shop, where he sets you down. Your legs squeeze his, and he grabs ahold of your face with his hands. “Before we um… do anything else… Are you sure?”

You nod immediately. “Babe, I need the words.”

Your heart clenches at the term of affection, and you pull his shirt to bring him even closer to you. “I am absolutely, positively sure that I love you, JJ Maybank.” He grins so wide you start giggling.

He smashes his mouth back to yours, and this time the kiss is hotter and needier. It’s just a mess of clashing teeth, lips, and hands, with little “I love yous” whispered in between. 

JJ tugs on the bottom of your shirt, and you break away so that he can lift it off, throwing it somewhere else in the shop. His shirt follows, but before he can unclasp your bra, you push him back. “JJ, I’m not fucking you in the bait shop.”

“It’s dark out and no one’s gonna see—”

You jump down from the counter. “It’s either in the house or in the Twinkie. Your choice,” you challenge, and he rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on, people do it all the time,” he justifies, and you look at him like he’s grown two heads.

“What on earth are you talking about?” you ask.

“Hooking up in the bait shop, duh. I caught Pope and Cleo on top of the freezer once, and I’m pretty sure I saw Kiara making out with her ex-girlfriend behind the counter.”

You roll your eyes. “You are literally proving my point,” you say, and he scratches his head. 

“Well, I know for a fact that John B. and Sarah hooked up in the bait shop once and I didn’t see anything!” he explains.

“That’s not any better! You’re talking about my brother!” you whine, and JJ starts to see that you’re not budging. 

He lifts you up bridal-style into his arms, and you squeal. “Fine, my lady, my room it is.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Have you cleaned it recently?” you ask, knowing how messy his room gets. 

“Uh… Like, maybe not super recently. But I can make it nice,” he offers.

You squint. “As nice as my room?”

“Yeah, let’s just go to yours,” he says, and you giggle at how easily he gives in. As he walks down the talk, carrying you in his arms, you can see a smirk grow on his face. “But after we’re done, it’ll be as dirty as mine.”

“JJ!”

so... what did y'all think? I might consider making a part two where john b. finds out. is that something y'all would be interested in??

also... feedback is very much appreciated - pls comment, reblog, send asks, etc.!

[goatgoesmbe]

So about that post of Simons gf that's super kind. what if she's petty with her kindness. one time me and my mom got in fight and that same day she complained about how many house plants she had. so i bought her a miniature rose bush (roses being a hard plant to take care of) as make up gift. I've also made other people their coffee wrong, bought unbalanced pens, gave there cats cat nip, given their children obnoxiously loud toys, etc.

Tw : reader is morally questionable, mention of assault

OOOH ANON, I LOVE THISS-

Like- just because reader is sweet, that doesn't mean being a pushover. You have class, and your own way of handling assholes properly.

I imagine Simon would think he needed to be the one who protects you, seeing you're all sunshine and rainbow, always so nice and kind- and he just didn't want anyone to take advantage of you, you know?

But then he realized that you're actually not a damsel in distress.

The first time he saw it, was at a neighbor's baby shower..

"You've been with him for what? 3 years now- and still no ring?" 

Simon glanced at you,simply smiling  in response. He recognized that voice, Stella was her name. Or something along those lines. She was one of those people who always wanted attention, bragging about every little thing while also dragging people down just so she could feel better about herself.

Simon had to hold back from rolling his eyes when she previously arrived. Wearing matching designer clothes with her five-year-old son, Aiden. Which was a waste of money in his opinion, the little fella will grow out of them in a short time after all.

"I mean.. come on, you're not getting any younger.. better make it official soon before you expire - he might no longer  be attracted to you by  then" Before you could respond to the previous jab, Stella continued talking. You could see why she would ask something like that, it was just how she was like after all. 

You and Simon have reasons, but it was really none of her business. And you couldn't exactly explain to her that your boyfriend is legally dead so you couldn't marry him properly.

Simon wasn't even listening to the other lads around him anymore- not that he did in the first place. Looking at you directly from his spot, he observed the others who interacted with you. You were surrounded by the other moms from the neighborhood, yet none of them said anything against Stella.

He saw you giggle, brushing off Stella's words way too casually like it didn't affect you, or maybe you didn't get that she was mocking you- Simon wasn't sure.

"It's time to go, luv" His gruff voice stopped their conversation as he approached you. He could feel their eyes on him, some of them not hiding the fact that they found him attractive from how they looked up at him with a slight flush on their cheeks. He wondered how you were comfortable being around them at all, he could never exchange more than a few words with them without feeling  like he needed to commit  murder.

Well.. whatever, you won't be meeting them again anytine soon, since the both of you  were planning to move away.

You looked up at him with those big innocent eyes and pouted "But-". 

"It's late" he added, putting his hand on your hip and pulling you close to make a statement at the others who still shamelessly gawked at him.

Seeing that look in his eyes- the one that means he accepted no rejection, you sighed. "Alright, let me say my goodbye" You said before turning back to them.

Simon simply grunted and waited. And when he thought you were ready to go, he raised an eyebrow when you instead walked over to the kids who were busy playing. You told them about you moving out of  the neighborhood and the kids didn't seem to like that, you were their favorite after all.

"I have something for you guys to remember me by.." You chirped. Immediately, the kids looked at you with eagerness as you rummaged through your tote bag.

The side of his lips lifted under his mask when he saw you pulling out mini harmonicas. Before you could say anything more, a brat snatched one out of your hands. That was Aiden, Stella's spoiled boy. Which means it would be hard for the mom to get the noisy thing from him.

A cute little giggle escaped your lips as you watched the boy immediately blow on the harmonica messily, spraying spit everywhere.

After you made sure every kid got one, you stood up and held his hand before skipping away with him in tow. Cacophony of moms' frustrated yelling, children's laughs, and loud harmonicas left behind.

So you had planned your revenge all along, huh? Seems like you're not a total angel like he’d thought you were.

...

The second time was  when he visited you at work. While he provided  enough for you to stay home and do nothing, you still insisted on running  your own cafe. Saying that it had been your dream since you were little. And how can he say no when you look at him with those puppy eyes?

And while you do have people working for you, you still help around from time to time. "It's the best part about having a cafe," you said to him that one time.

He was sitting at a table close enough to observe you working in that cute little uniform you had designed yourself for the cafe, when a guy walked in. His appearance screamed 'douche', the kind of guy who would talk about how many body counts is too many for a woman in a podcast.

Despite that, you greeted him cheerfully like you do with every other costumer. Even when he told you to write 'daddy' on the cup after you asked for a name, a disgusting smirk on his lips.

Meaning you would need to yell out that word to call for him when the order was ready.

And while Simon was fuming inside, you were calm. Humming along with the music playing from the speaker as you prepared the coffee. 

But, instead of calling for the guy yourself, you turn to one of your employees. His name was Shane, written on the name tag clipped to his uniform. He was a big guy, not any taller than your boyfriend but still. A simple man who will be pleased spending the night scarfing down pizzas and beers. Now, Shane was known for many things, one of them being very gay, and being  totally not shy about it.

You smiled before turning away to take the next order, all while  secretly paying attention to what was going to happen next.

"Daddy..!" Shane shamelessly sing-sung the word loudly and even when Simon expected it already, he still choked on his tea. He also saw you biting down your lip to prevent yourself from laughing.

Shane went on for a while until the whole cafe fell silent except for the music playing that didn't fit the situation at all, which made it evenmore hilarious. 

'Daddy' finally walked over to get his order. Red in the face and looking very pissed. He was not stupid enough to cause a scene, however, and simply accepted his cup without so much as a thank you. And of course, Shane added the cherry on top by throwing a flirty wink.

And when you noticed the way he glanced at you after taking a sip of his coffee, tasting regular milk instead of almond- knowing full well he told you earlier about his lactose intolerance. You simply gave him that sweet smile of yours, a cheerful "Thank you, please come back again..!" Thrown his way like how it always is whenever a customer is leaving.

Simon chuckled under his breath and shook his head. Feeling proud (and scared, that was borderline crime) of his pretty bird being cruel in her own ways.

So when he saw you sighing after an argument on the phone with your mom, he didn't question it when you went ahead and bought a make up gift for her.