#but i thought tumblr might appreciate this one more than the others

[n30n-l1ghts]

Okay, I need to rant. Fuck AI. And I mean seriously. FUCK. A.I. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here, but more people need to be talking about this, and there’s no point in me saying that if I’m not willing to talk about it too. AI has done nothing but ruin our communities and defile the art that millions of hands have spent millions of hours creating. Fanfiction is a work of passion. Drawing is a work of passion. Voice acting IS A WORK OF PASSION. AI has no passion. It takes the soul out of the things we love and cherish. It steals what we as a collective community have lovingly crafted, and it shatters it to a thousand pieces, spits on it, curses its family, and throws it in a flaming dumpster to be eaten by rats. It is despicable and disgusting.

I won't lie, or pretend I’m a perfect saint. I myself was a user of Character AI until somewhat recently. And as ashamed as I am to admit that, I feel it’s necessary to own up to my own faults. But after seeing the damage it causes, I can’t in good conscience even consider touching that site. Many of us write because it is our passion. Many of us because it is our job. And many of us because it is our *friend*. AI steals the writing of your favorite creators WITHOUT PERMISSION and mashes it together like Frankenstein’s fucked up monster to create storylines that aren’t even fucking coherent. Not only that, but Character AI uses whatever you respond to it with to teach itself as well, which means that the company has access to whatever you chat about, and free reign to do whatever they want with it. They also make absurd amounts of money from it, which in comparison, fanfiction writers, who spend countless hours writing stories for our favorite characters, more often than not charge nothing. And the ones who do charge, tend to have reasonable, if not highly lenient prices for their labor.

Which leads me into another side rant. SUPPORT WRITERS THAT YOU LIKE. It’s really not that hard, it takes two fucking seconds of your time and it makes someone's day. Reblog. Share with your friends. Like. Comment. Just let the writer know that you saw it, and that you liked it. The amount of fanfic writers I have seen get completely discouraged from writing because of lack of engagement is astounding. I’ve seen several posts on Tumblr or Twitter or Bluesky talking about creators that were incredibly popular but never knew it due to lack of engagement is appalling. If you can rant about your love for their work on Discord, you can rant about your love for their work in the comments. Just fucking copy paste it. Tell them how much you love it. Show them support. Especially the ones that don’t charge. Because for those of us that don’t, our only payment, is your feedback. Even constructive criticism is greatly appreciated by damn near every writer I can think of. Because even that shows that you read it, absorbed it, and thought about it enough to have something to actually say about it.

The same thing goes for artists and voice actors. You see a drawing or animation you enjoy? Comment. Like. Share. You see a character in an anime or a game and you love their voice? Go check out their voice actor, maybe they do some other cool stuff, and you might just discover your new favorite series or streamer. A perfect example is Alejandro Saab. I became a fan of his through his astounding performance in several series dear to me, and lo and behold, he’s also a streamer I enjoy. Same story with Aleks Le, or Ray Chase. Yuri Lowenthal, Lizzie Freeman, Landon Mcdonald, Zeno Robinson, the list goes on. But seriously, it’s not that much effort to just show a little love to the creators you enjoy. The people who breathe life into the series’ that we all hold dear. AI does not breathe that life. Using AI, and supporting those companies, will destroy those pillars of our community. And if that happens, the AI would crumble too, it would have no new information to use. SO really, what’s the benefit? I’ll tell you. There is none.

Stop using AI. All it does is bring harm and slowly kill our community. It’s disgusting, appalling, and downright fucking egregious.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[filiazpink]

🩷"OH PRIMUS,,,"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 warnings: suggestive language (like- once but still), darkwing being darkwing, i’m a sucker for cheesy stuff, really minor transformers one spoilers (?)

summary: orion finds himself completely enamored with one of his superiors and d-16 doesn’t really mind it, until one day, you show up at the mines.

a/n: my very first tumblr fic!! i might post this on my AO3 account as well! hope this reached your expectations considering more than 200 people voted for this prompt on my poll  =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧��̥̇) ill get to some of the other prompts shortly after, i just wanted to know which one would be best to start with (and to properly introduce my writing to tumblr teehee) !! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated !! ENJOY!! 💞💞💞

word count: 1139

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

read part 2 here: 💞💞

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orion simply couldn't stop thinking about you.

your shiny and colorful armor, your beautiful optics, your height and strength. that voice. the power and authority you had over him. that power rivaled sentinel prime’s in his eyes. everything.

you were simply breathtaking. 

…

“earth to orionnnn, come on, rust bucket!!” pink servos waving at him frantically snapped the red and blue mech out of his trance. focusing his glance, orion watched as elita-1 gave him one of the scariest faces he’s seen yet, followed by d-16 behind her with his arms crossed, looking at his friend with a disappointed expression.

“what’s wrong with you?! you broke protocol, AGAIN!” elita pulled the miner to his feet, groaning in annoyance. orion’s dumb dopey smile quickly turned into a shocked frown and he was about to ask what he did now, but thankfully, his friend answered for him.

“orion, buddy, i know,,, i know you just wanted to save jazz from that explosion but you almost got killed doing that, man.” d-16 looked to the side, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“you can’t keep doing this, pax. ONE more stunt like this and I’LL be the one to get-”

“what happened here??” elita snapped her head towards the newcomer’s voice, expecting maybe another miner, but her angry scowl quickly faded away once she saw who it was.

it was elita’s superior. 

it was you. 

oh primus, beautiful, amazing, spectacular you. orion felt a rush of warmth cover his face as you walked in along with,,,

oh- with darkwing. of course he was there with you.

STILL- you just showed up with no prompting, and two days in advance no less?? clearly, this was important.

orion fixed his posture and tried to dust off any grime he had on him. d-16 chuckled quietly at his best friend’s excitement, before turning his attention to you.

“(y-y/n)! i thought you were coming to check on our sector in t-two days! i’m so sorry you have to see my team like this i swear it was an accident-” the poor pink bot stammered, much to darkwing’s amusement and to your confusion.

“what accident? the cave collapsing? that’s normal, elita-1. don’t worry about it. you’re telling me it was a complete accident so i will take your word for it.” hearing those words coming from you made elita feel like she was just told that sentinel finally found the matrix of leadership.

“oh, thank you, thank you,,,” orion and d-16 watched as elita continuously thanked her superior, chuckling. 

“well, that means we don’t get our butts kicked too, thank primus (y/n) was here.” the red and blue miner said, walking away from the scene with his pal.

“yea and now we can just finish this shift and relax-”

“d-16?” the two stopped in their tracks, slowly turning around in an almost comical way to face the much taller femme. 

orion’s servos trembled. he felt embarrassed, he was over here making a fool of himself with how obvious his crush on you was. literally everyone who steps foot in the mines knew about it, aside from, clearly, you. heck, even darkwing seemed to know, considering that despite his optics not being visible, he clearly was glaring at the cog-less bot whenever he tried speaking to you during past visits.

or maybe it was just his usual routine of hating cogless bots.

d-16, however, gulped and let out the tiniest of “yes?”. ohhh boy, what now?? did you assume that the cave collapsing was his doing?? did darkwing tell you that-

“you’re at the top of your ranks here, correct?” his train of thought was interrupted by your soft voice, watching as you knelt down to his height, placing a hand on his shoulder, which shocked him a bit. orion stared at the polished hand on his best friend’s rusted shoulder with envy, his optics narrowing just a smidge.

“i already spoke to elita about this, but i also want you to hear it. i’ve heard some great things about you, and how you excel amongst your ranks. so i just wanted you to hear this.” d-16 felt frozen.

‘what is this,,, feeling? my face is burning,,’ oh indeed it was. his face flushed in a deep blue as he anxiously waited for your next words. just your soothing voice got him like this and he simply couldn’t understand why.

“,,, i need you.”

,,,

WHAT???

the first to react was darkwing, who let out a very outraged grunt of confusion, as if you just cheated on him with a MINER of all bots in his face, followed by elita, the other miners and orion gasping, everyone turning their heads towards the two.

“,,,w-what?” the gray miner’s voice box barely even processed his astonished question. he felt as if his circuits were frying up by how hot he felt. 

orion’s expression showed bewilderment and a hint of betrayal. this,,, wasn’t fair?? well- he knew it wasn’t d-16 who said that to you, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he wished it could have been him.

but then finally, you realized what you just said and removed your hand from the shorter bot’s shoulder, standing up straight and bumping into darkwing’s chest armor. “oh- p-please excuse me. i- uh, i chose my words wrong.” 

the onlookers decided to stop eavesdropping, realizing it was a simple mistake on your part. that made orion sigh in relief, which didn’t go unnoticed by d-16. but his attention was quickly brought back to you.

“my apologies, i- i would never say such things- not during work hours, i’m sorry- what i meant to say, i need you- as in i need you to help keep up the good work to motivate the other miners to do the same. it helps your ranks as it helps mine if we all put our parts to make a difference. s-so, yea.” you looked around, avoiding eye contact, a small blush remaining on your face. both miners nearly swooned at such a cute expression on your face.

“i just needed to do an early check up according to sentinel, that’s all. thought i’d try and give some pep talk and you can see i have to work on that,,” you giggled before clearing your throat and staring down at the mesmerized bots.

,,,

“goodbye.” and with that being said, you quickly marched back to the main exit with a very, VERY jealous darkwing in tow. 

orion turned his gaze to his best friend, who watched you depart with a dreamy look on his face. the red and blue bot sighed and gently shook his shoulder.

“d?,,,” oh he knew. 

he recognized that stare. the same stare he gave when he saw anything megatronus prime related, that same glimmer in his optics. it was that same spark that orion had when he first saw you.

oh primus.

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🩷send me a burger !! : ko-fi💗 🩷visit my other socials !! : socials list💗 🩷writing requests rules !! : info list💗

[the20thangel]

The Labor of Our Fruits

Summary: Tumblr Request!: A Targaryen reader. She and Benji didn't get off on the right foot because it was an arranged marriage, but Benji loves her but is scared to show it. The reader is pregnant, and because Benji has been ignoring her when she goes into labor, she begs Benji to not let her die, and he feels terrible thinking she would think something like that. But ending happily with their little baby boy.

tags: childbirth, angst, fluff

Word count: 2005

(this is an x reader fanfic but just with a name)

Daella grimaced, feeling immense pressure as the maester pressed down on her stomach. She wished her mother’s healers were here instead of this maester, but she was far from home, far from her mother and brothers and step-sisters, far from the comforts of Dragonstone and the sounds of dragons roosting around the island. She realistically knew all she needed to do was ask to get what she wanted, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Since their marriage night, she hardly spoke to her husband, Lord Benjicot Blackwood. How can she just go up and ask him to tell him to send for the healers from Dragonstone? 

Her marriage… was strange; that was the only way she could describe it. To ensure House Blackwood kept their alliance with her mother, Daella was brought to Raventree Hall to marry its new lord. He was not cruel, her lord husband, but distant. She did not know if having a distant husband was better or worse. In some cases better, because he never forced himself on her or commanded her to do things that might have made her uncomfortable. She greatly appreciated him for doing that; he was already better than her uncle Aegon.

On the other hand, having a distant husband was worse. She was lonely, growing a babe of a man she hardly knew, proudly doing her duty for her mother and husband but drowning in her isolation. She laughed at the gods' cruel joke. Was she turning out to be like her ancestor Daella, daughter of Good Queen Alysanne, who bore her grandmother Aemma only to die without holding her babe? 

Daella groaned quietly as the maester finished evaluating her. She sat up as the doors of the bed chamber opened, revealing her husband, Benjicot. Walking into the chamber, he saw the maester packing his bag. Benjicot quickly walked to his wife, pausing before her, unsure if he should hold her hand. Ultimately, he stood by her, watching her fidget with her dress. 

“How are they?” he asked the maester. 

“Both mother and child are progressing wonderfully, my lord; we should expect the babe to come any minute now.” stated the maester, bowing to the lord and princess as he walked out of the room. 

Daella swallowed; she did not know what to do now, such was most the case with her. She mainly floated around the castle, careful not to be in anybody’s way. Knowing that made her seem weird, she heard the whispers as the people spoke about the odd Targaryen girl their lord was forced to marry. 

Benjicot stared at his beautiful wife, wishing he could know her thoughts. His marriage was a quiet one. Both hardly spoke to each other, only short sentences here and there. His aunt urged him to make more effort to express his love to Daella, but he just didn’t know how. He was not good at romance, feeling more comfortable in battles. He also never wanted to be the husband who would force his wife to do actions she may not like. So he tried to give her space, allowing her to grow accustomed to her new home. 

Swallowing away his nervousness, he decided to try to make a small conversation. 

“How are you feeling?” asked Benjicot, seeing how Daella jumped in surprise, looking at him with her soft purple eyes. Oh, how he could get lost staring at them all day. 

“Tired… my lord,” whispered Daella, smiling at him, not wanting to seem rude at his genuine worry.

Benji smiled back, “Would you like to rest before supper, or could I have the servants bring supper to the chambers?” 

“I think I will rest a little and then meet you there,” Daella said, looking at his nervous smile. 

Benjicot nodded. Feeling awkward, he turned to leave, but before thinking about it, he turned back to Daella. 

“Should you want or need anything these last few days, all you need to do is ask, and I will try my best to provide it to you,” Benji promised as he reached to caress her cheek, only stopping mere inches away. Again, feeling unsure if she would accept his touch, He chose to walk away and leave the room. 

Daella, with great sadness, watched her husband leave her alone again in the chamber. Once the door closed, she let a small tear flow freely down her cheek. 

“I wish to go home,” whispered Daella, closing her eyes as she stroked her belly. Only allowing a smile to softly stretch on her face as she felt her babe kick her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, Benji woke up earlier than previous ones. He had to ride out for a few days and needed to check in with the village. As he turned, he could not help but smile at the sight before him. He loved seeing his wife sleeping, seeing her in the most relaxing state. She always wore a smile on her face as her hands lay on top of her stomach. She was a beauty, and he wished he could show more of his feelings towards her. He wants to build his relationship with her but always becomes too nervous to act anything out.  Leaning down to provide a small kiss on her forehead. He made a vow that once he returned, he would start to show more effort in his marriage so that when their babe entered this world, they would have parents who were openly affectionate with each other. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daella grew restless. Benji had been gone for a few days and was not due to return for another two days. She was trying her best to take over the castle duties, but she kept having cramps. Her babe was not due yet, so Daella started worrying. Was there something she was doing wrong? Was she harming her baby? She groaned from another cramp as a passing servant, recognizing the signs of labor, gasped and ran to the princess.

“My princess, how long have you been feeling these pains?” questioned the servant girl as she led the princess back to the chambers.

Daella exhaled, feeling the cramp alleviate for a second, “Since last night… I think..” groaning from another wave of cramps. 

“Princess, you are in labor, we need…. Someone fetch the maester. The princess is in labor!” shouted the servant girl to the nearest guard, who frantically nodded, running to do his bidding. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The castle was in chaos; the pained screams of Daella echoed in the halls as servants entered and left the princess’s chambers. Daella was lying in bed, watching the maester and midwives converse quietly. Her babe was taking too long to leave her body. She knew what the maester wanted to do… he wanted to cut the babe free from her body. She shook in fright; she did not want to die in the labor bed. She did not want to follow the path of her namesake and her grandmother, Aemma.  She wanted to live, not ready to enter the realm of Balerion. 

“We need to wait for Lord Benjicot to decide…” whispered the midwife, trying to stall the maester from doing anything drastic. 

“If we wait too long, there might not be anyone left to save.” argued the maester, looking back at the bleeding princess. 

Daella closed her eyes as she wept; she wanted her mother, she wanted Benji, and she prayed to the gods to have mercy on her and her baby. 

As if the gods were listening, the doors opened with a bang, and people gasped. A muddy Benjicot ran into the room, scanning for Daella, and saw her breathing heavily on their bed. 

“My lord, the birthing room is no place…” began the maester as Benjicot ignored him, running to take his wife’s hand in his. 

“Daella..” whispered Benji, moving some white hair away from her face.

Daella smiled painfully at her husband. She needed to be a dragon, and she would fight for her life. 

“Benji, please, please don’t let him do it to me…” pleaded Daella as she let tears stream down her face. 

Benjicot looked at his wife in confusion. What was causing her so much stress?

Turning to the maester and midwives, he asked them what was happening to his wife. The maester walked up to the lord as he explained that the babe was taking too long to leave the princess's stomach. Proposing that the best option to save the future heir of House Blackwood was to cut the babe out of the princess's body.

 Daella, sobbing, reached for Benji's hand as she pleaded, “Please don't let them cut me. I do not wish to die yet.”

Benjicot, heartbroken at seeing her in such a state, leaned down to kiss her forehead and whisper comforting words to her. 

“Shh, my love, I would never do such a thing to you…” 

“My lord, if we don’t, we risk losing the ba-” 

“Remove this man out of my sight before I turn and run my sword across his stomach,” growled Benjicot, shooting daggers at the gaping maester being led out by the guards. 

Benji turned to the midwives and pleaded, “Please, is there any way to save them both?” 

The midwives nodded, “It’s the princess’s first, babe. She has grown tired of using all her energy to push out. We can help her by pushing on her stomach as she pushes herself. It will be painful, but it is the best chance to save both mother and child.” 

Benjicot nodded, letting himself be led to sit behind her, pressing his hand on her stomach as Daella continued to sob. 

“When we ask the princess the push, we will need you, my lord, to push your hands downward with all your might. Even if she screams in agony, you push down. We cannot risk the babe getting stuck.” commanded the head midwife, waiting for him to agree. 

Once the young lord agreed, the midwives all went to their positions. Looking at him, they started to command the princess to start pushing. Benji, in turn, also pressed his hands on her stomach, feeling her body warp. Daella screamed in agony, feeling like her body was ripping in half. She wanted them to stop but knew that if she wanted to live, she needed to continue to push. Praying to the goddesses Meleys and Shrykos, she pleaded for them to hear her, asking for a safe, open road for her babe’s birth. 

Benjicot continued to press down as he kissed Daella's crown, feeling proud of her courage and bravery during this upsetting situation. She was indeed a dragon princess, not letting herself falter. He decided to express his thoughts as he continued to help her push. 

“That’s it, my love, you are doing wonderful; you are almost there, Daella, don’t give up… I know you can,” he whispered to her ear, his heart breaking at every scream she let out. 

Daella, even though tired, felt empowered by her husband’s words, inhaling she gave one last push. She will live, she will not die in this bed, and she will get to see her child grow up. 

With one last scream and push, the baby boy left his mother’s body, wailing to the world. Daella started crying at seeing her son. He was beautiful, with his father’s black hair and pale skin like hers. He was placed on her chest as she wrapped her arms around his tiny body. Benji, too, started crying at seeing his son, something that showed a promise of the love he was willing to show to his wife. 

As the young heir nuzzled his mother’s chest, he briefly opened his eyes, showcasing a beautiful purple color—the very ones Benjicot adored on his wife. Feeling overwhelmed, he rocked the baby and mother into his arms. 

“You did wonderful, Daella. You were amazing,” he praised his princess, kissing her cheek and continuing to rock them. 

Daella smiled as she leaned into her husband’s embrace, feeling she was finally home. 

[folklovrr]

nature feels spencer reid

| spencer reid x fem!reader

| hello! my first post on tumblr. inspired by frank oceans song nature feels. but also like… kind of not. idunno!! minors please dni (18+)

| content warning: religious references, munch!spencer (😁) worship?!, making out, alludes to pinv.

Spencer Reid was an endlessly curious man. It generally didn’t matter what the subject was, he already knew about, and could be classified as an expert in the field.

He like to think of himself as a specialist in all things mathematics, chemistry, engineering, and you. At times like these, that last one became more of a weakness than a strength.

Sitting on the plane home, returning from an exhausting case, hearing the bass line from Derek’s headphones and the muffled sounds of Rossi and Hotch discussing something that could be anywhere from the case to his latest interaction with wife number nth, Spencer Reid couldn’t stop thinking about sleeping with you. You hid in the buzz of the engine, the smell of coffee leaking out of the jet’s small kitchen, taking him to the four walls of your shared apartment, where the smell was omnipresent.

Many people might compare you to a warm summers day, but he found that misrepresentative. You were much more comparable to a snowy christmas evening. It’s the time of year that everyone looks forward to, cookies and cakes and freshly cooked meals, things that were constantly filling your kitchen, love leaking from their extra chocolate chips. All year round, when christmas music plays, people are filled with joy and cheer, and he thinks this phenomenon is not unlike to that of your sounds, and when his memory so unhelpfully brings those to the forefront of his mind, he is filled with that same joy.

The familiar bump of the jets landing cut this train of thought, and as the team filed back to quantico, Spencer had never been more grateful for two things:

1. the fbi’s access to efficient travel - he thinks that if he was forced to sit in the metro waiting, the personification of himeros that was sitting eagerly in his heart ( and other parts of him that he was careful not to pay attention to at this time ) would grab him by the shoulders and force him under the need that he was drowning in.

2. the invention of internet and online communication - the influx of texts from that had ceased to deliver while he was in the sky all flooded in at once, giving him the idea that this missing business was not one sided.

| spence, hope you’re ok :( penny told me that case was tough. cant wait to see you

| I have missed you so much. cant stop thinking about you. text me when you land, love.

| come find me when you get home, doctor ;) i have a surprise for you!

It was in moments like these, when people showed even the slightest romantic fondness for him, that he was taken back to his bumbling college experiences with sex. A word that people danced around, but he researched thoroughly. Not for perverse reasons, as this form of interest in the female anatomy would hit him a bit later in life, but pure curiosity. Why did people enjoy? He could understand what the appeal was for men, but what made the experience enjoyable for the other sex?

These questions still plagued him to this day, even after extensive practical elements were added to his studies, with you being a very supportive test subject. Spencer explored what it was like to feel, and to find meaning through this thing that had become so, even though it sounds silly to say, sexualised in media, and to move past the physical elements (but he still appreciated those, greatly) and to find what philosophers spent eons theorising over, which the two of you seemed to have found so easily. Connection.

In the many nights he had spent tangled in your embrace, Spencer mused thoughts of the origins of humans, and as the quiet hymns of the night sung, he worshipped Apollo for having mercy on the split humans and reconstituting their forms, allowing them to find this physical bond, and their souls other half.

As the elevator at quantico rose to the BAU’s floor, the team had a quiet understanding amongst them that small talk was not necessary, and that conversations of weekend plans were trivial in comparison to the things the victims had been through.

After finishing up the, for lack of better words, ginormous pile of paperwork, Spencer was finally free to follow the light of your twin flame home. As he sits in the metro though, he is brought back to the disdain he holds for the public transportation system, and the distain for every passenger that gets of on a stop before his, slowing his journey. He wishes that access to the fbi’s vehicles was available off the clock, for boyfriends whose need for their girlfriends was eating them alive. How inconsiderate of them.

When the autonomic voice announced the station where you resided, so close yet so far, Spencer jumped out of his seat, himeros once again took control of his body, willing his muscles all the way home.

As the loved in door to your home creaked open, Spencer was guided by the candlelight and warm lamps through to the back garden, where the leaves and flowers of the cherry trees spread through the garden fall gracefully and surround a figure, who is gently swing back and forth on a tree swing. Spencer sees you, and wonders what if this is what Adam thought when he first saw Eve, and if he too felt so compelled to caress the slopes of her neck and pray at her divine altar.

The leaves under Spencer’s converse crunched, and alerted you to his presence. As you turned around, there was barely a split second before Spencer was on you, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck with his arms planted firmly around your waist.

“hi spence”, you whispered quietly into his hair, the glasses on the bridge of his nose digging into the skin of your neck. he began to plant soft kisses there, to exhausted to formulate a response. You nudged his chin with your shoulder, and his lips landed softly on yours, gentle kisses explaining things that words do no justice to.

As the night air became more humid around you, and fireflies surrounded the two of you, Spencer’s warm hands pushed the ankle length hem of your spring dress up your thighs, closer to your core. He kisses a pathway up your calf, up your thigh, towards the need in your centre, and ponders if god had made you for him.

Spencer thinks that he is fairly devoted to a number of things, like his work, or his academia, but the way he eats you out is oh so blasphemous. He circles and flicks and plunges just right, and as the cherry flowers fall in his hair, he looks like a debauched angel, with a sole mission of making you come on his tongue. he is devoted to it, and it’s his mission.

The way that you moan his name and pulse around his fingers turns him on more than things that are seen as generally sexually conductive for the male gender, and as you pull his roots and tighten your thighs around his head, he feels the satisfaction of your pleasure travel all the way to his climax, without being touched. Truly sinful Spencer Reid, truly Sinful.

As his mouth separates from your divinity, he thinks that the string of saliva that connects you is symbolic of every single thing that connects your physical elements to the emotional unison that you share. As the dirt digs into Spencer’s knees, and the thighs around his head loosen with satisfaction, He can’t help but compare you to the delicate cherry blossoms, and he sees your kindness and ineffable gentleness bloom around the garden.

You stand, and pull Spencer to his feet, and as he pushes you against the bark of the cherry tree, ready to connect again, just as Apollo and Adam and Eve and whoever else he had to thank for this intended, he can’t wait to feel your nature, to make love.

a/n thank you for reading!!! i know it’s rough, but yet i persevered and finished it. yay me 😛.

[educatedsimps]

— a kiss on the shoulder

≪ back to fics masterlist

HQ headcanons when you kiss his shoulder for the first time :)

multiple haikyuu x gn!reader, reader is average height and shorter than hq men for the sake of this hc HAHA

a/n: just some fluffy thoughts i had inspired by my bf

holding hands with him was the usual whenever you hung out or went out together and the feeling of your hand in his always felt really nice

maybe it was a nice evening out and you two decided to take a walk down the street or run some errands together

inevitably you felt the urge to give him a peck on the cheek or the lips every once in a while, but if you’re conservative and shy you might not want to in public (or if he’s shy abt pda)

on top of that he’s taller than you, so there’s physically no way to kiss him without tip toeing and/or pulling him down towards you

so in a moment of ingenious thinking, you decided to kiss his shoulder instead

i mean it's the most convenient place to kiss him while you're walking so why not

anyway, then you watched as his eyes widened a little and his cheeks flushed an adorable pink

asahi, KAGEYAMA, tsukki, yamaguchi, oikawa, IWAIZUMI, kuroo, bokuto, AKAASHI, USHIJIMA, tendo, osamu, suna, kita, aran

bonus!

the ones who would reach over, grab your chin and kiss the top of your head in response then give your hand a lil squeeze as you keep walking ↳ IWAIZUMI, OSAMU, kita, aran

the ones who would stop and go "...what are you doing." but are inwardly freaking out because your lips left a tingly feeling on his skin (he secretly loves it) ↳ TSUKKI, kageyama, akaashi (would def give you a bunch of kisses once you get home tho)

the ones who would tease tf outta you cuz "don't you want the real thing? hm?" ↳ KUROO, SUNA, tendo

and the ones who would start stuttering and blushing even more ↳ BOKUTO, yamaguchi, asahi probably he's a softie

© educatedsimps 2024. do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarize any work from this blog on tumblr or any other platforms. if you do, the simps will hunt you down. but likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 3/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

>PART ONE< / >PART TWO<

I'll spare you from everything, if you would still have me, I'll be waiting all my life

General Warnings: pining and longing and fluff galore!!! I think maybe sexual references but who remembers atp. angst (slut shaming, mentions of past relationships and I can't think of a better way to say daddy issues we've all been there)

A/N: we did it, Joe!!!! desktop tumblr really didn't want this to happen!!! I can't believe I finished this!! thank you guys so much for reading, and liking, and messaging me and reblogging and all the commentary, and all the love!!! I appreciate it so much!!

if there is a crossover of readers of on your side and readers of this fic (first of all ily) there is a little oys easter egg in here!! did I think through the logistics of this being set in the same universe? no. did I have fun anyway? yes. I fell in love with writing Luke in that fic so it was only right for me to add it in here!!

Happy New Year to everyone, thank you for reading my work!! 2024 was the year I finally plucked up the courage to write all my random thoughts down and the fact that it spiralled into this blows my mind a bit, but I'm grateful to be here!!

You can distinctly remember the first time you had properly taken notice of Luke Hughes, and it wasn’t back in the restaurant at the club like he probably thinks.

It had been early November, in your freshman year.

Ellie had finally convinced you to join her at one of the games at Yost, and you were bundled up in a coat two sizes too big, the only thing you had remotely close to team colours, and the only thing likely to keep you warm enough to tolerate a whole game and warm-ups.

You were watching the boys skate around, and he had caught your eye in an instant. 

“Who’s that one?” You had asked, pointing down to where number 43 was reaching out awkwardly to sweep up pucks with his stick. You could see the soft brown curls peaking out the back of his helmet from all the way in the stands, and his height made it unmistakable to realise that you recognised him.

He had come up to you at a Halloween party the week before, and if you hadn’t been so preoccupied by the fact that your only-just-ex boyfriend at the time was in the same room, his tongue down another girl’s throat, you might have been endeared by the boy in the dog costume. 

Friendly smile, boyishly handsome features and warm eyes that under any other circumstances might have made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him - you vaguely remembered the gift basket, and you knew he was in a couple of your classes, but you had never really spared him more than a fleeting glance before that party. 

As soon as he had noticed your teary eyes upon approach, his demeanour had changed in an instant, and where anyone else might have backed off, might have been uncomfortable or deterred, done a u-turn and given up on his mission to approach, his expression had softened - worried and caring in a way that made your throat go dry, and you had to dash off to the nearest bathroom to splash your tears away.

“That’s Luke,” Ellie had told you, “Luke Hughes, Jack’s brother.”

“Oh,” You had pouted, disappointed. Jack had made it painfully obvious that he wasn’t your biggest fan the first time you had met him, and if you’re honest, you were hardly a great admirer of his, either. 

Ellie had noticed your expression, had nudged you with her elbow until you took your eyes off of the figure on the ice, and had narrowed her eyes right at you. “Why?”

“He’s in a couple of my classes, is all,” you shrugged, eyes travelling back and finding him in an instant.

“Luke’s cool. You’d eat him alive, though, probably get bored within a week.”

“I wasn’t thinking about him like that,” you frowned, watching him skate around the ice with the grace and enthusiasm of a clumsy puppy dog. Cute. “Just curious.”

“He’s waaaay too nice for you,” she scoffed, and you had tried to swallow down the pang of offence you had felt, knowing she had very little of your past to compare him to. The two of you had only been roommates for a couple of months at that point, and she had only ever seen you interested in your ex. “He’s also kind of a like a little brother to me. Dorky and annoying, but I’m very protective of him.”

You had bit your tongue at how patronising that had sounded, knowing Ellie was one of the youngest people of your freshman class - a July baby - and Luke might even have been older than her. 

“Like I said, just curious.”

You had noticed Luke a lot more after that, though.

A quiet, recurring presence.

A seat behind you in business comms, a figure against the wall in the corner of the room at different parties, on posters that lined the walls and the perimeter of Yost Arena, in articles you edited for extra credit in the Michigan Daily. 

You had even made small efforts to get him to talk to you - never being the type to make the first move, yourself - started talking to his friends, some of the guys on the hockey team, had made sure his name was on the list for your sorority parties, you’d even dropped your pen once in class, and he’d just handed it back over with a soft smile, never uttering a word.

You wouldn’t call it a crush, but it was somewhere around the borderline of that - especially looking back after the summer you shared with him.

And you think, in retrospect, that if he’d have ever made a move, would have spoken to you even just once after the incident at the Halloween party, you probably would have developed one.

You hate to admit it, now, but he had been right all those weeks ago in the restaurant. 

He’s kind of inevitable like that.

By the time he disappeared in your sophomore year that little spark of something had mostly fizzled out, but it didn’t entirely stop you unintentionally keeping tabs. Stats that cropped up on the sports channels, articles in the paper, posts on your instagram feed.

And you don’t know what you would call it, the way he kind of stuck with you, but when you’d seen him in that booth in the beginning of summer - when he’d spoken to you in full sentences, had met your eye and held contact in a way that sucked you in like a vacuum - you kind of felt that spark reignite.

The boy you almost, kind of, could have known, once upon a time, finally making the effort to get to know you.

And Luke Hughes is persistent. You have a detached admiration for just how much. He pushes, and he presses, and he perseveres until all your resolve is gone - resolve you’ve spent years mastering, with quick wit and snark protecting your heart from anyone who dares to take aim for it.

But that detachment is waining. 

Especially as you lay on your front on your childhood bed, the NHL awards playing on the TV in your room back at your mom’s house, and you try to busy your hands with the crotchet kit you had picked up from the mall before you came home for a couple of days. 

Your admiration is blooming and blossoming in the depths of your stomach into something intricate and uncontrollable. 

And it has nothing to do with his name, his career, the award he is nominated for.

It’s just him. 

Larger than life on your TV screen, but it still doesn’t capture him in his entirety, and you think for the first time that you miss him. You miss movies in his bed, you miss watching him from the passenger seat of his BMW, the sun shining from the window beside him, illuminating his profile until you burn from the glare. You miss his stupid jokes and his teasing smiles, and you miss the warmth in your cheeks when he looks your way.   

And it’s only been like 2 days.

You miss Luke Hughes.

You kind of think you missed him before he even left.

You might have even missed him before you knew him, but that would be crazy, right?

Maybe he makes you crazy.

Maybe you need this week to recuperate, to attempt to build those walls back up before they’re damaged beyond repair. 

Luke hadn’t given much thought to missing you before he and his brothers left for Vegas. He’d been so caught up, internally, about his and Quinn’s nominations, that he had thought it would continue to distract him the whole time they had been out there, but boy was he wrong.

All he remembers about his trip is thinking of you, and when the boys got back, and you had been visiting your mom for the weekend, all he could do was think of you more.

He thought of you when they sat at the table for dinner, and your place across from his was empty. He thought of you when he watched movies alone, thought of texting you some sort of commentary as he worked his way through the list of rom-coms you had given him, but you hadn’t texted him yet, so he gave up quickly on that idea.

He thought of you in bed, thought of the last time the two of you had been in there, together, and if he’s honest, he thinks of that almost all the time. Of messy kisses, wandering hands, and connection so deep he doesn’t think it will ever fizzle out. 

And when he finally sees you again, he thinks he might have to get Quinn to source some sort of defibrillator for the house, because he swears his heart stops beating.

You poke your head into his bedroom, a shy smile on your face, and your bag is still on your shoulder, which means he had been your first stop, before you’d even gone to drop your things in yours and Ellie’s room. 

He sees you in the reflection of his mirror, and turns immediately, clumsy fingers releasing the tie he’s been struggling to get right for a couple minutes, and steps toward you before he can even begin to tell himself not to seem so eager.

“You’re back!” He grins, and when your face lights up in return, he can hardly find it in himself to care anymore how down bad he comes across.

“Yeah,” you breathe, stepping into the room, discarding your bag by the door and shuffling toward him. “You didn’t have get all dolled up for my return.”

You reach to take both sides of the tie into your hands, and he feels himself go warm all over at the mere proximity of you after so long apart. 

“It’s my cousin’s wedding,” he tells you as you start to knot the tie, knuckles brushing slightly across his chest until he’s holding his breath, lungs expanding so that he feels your touch a little more. “They’re having their reception at the club, later, you should come down.”

“You’re asking me to your cousin’s wedding?”

“Not like that,” he chuckles nervously as he looks down at you, eyes focused on the task at hand. “Just, haven’t seen you in a week, wouldn’t want to leave you here alone, it could be fun.”

Not to mention the fact he’s been watching the door for the past two days while he’s been home, waiting for you to get back and hoping it would be before the event, and he could figure out some way to ask you.

“You can’t just invite a random person to your cousin’s wedding reception, Luke.”

“She said I could!” He reasons, frowning when you raise a brow at him. “Not a random person, she said I could bring a friend.” He grasps gently at your hands as they straighten the fabric, halting your movements. “We’re friends, right?”

“If you say so.”

That wasn’t a no, he thinks, courage building within him in such a way that he starts to buzz with it. That would definitely have been a flat out no, before.

“You’d be doing me a favour.” He bargains, still holding your hands against his chest. “Quinn and Jack are bringing Josh and Turcs, I’d be like a fifth wheel,”

“So what you’re telling me is that you have no other friends?”

“Sure, if that’s what tugs at your heartstrings.” He has plenty of friends he could ask. Eddy, Duker, Luca - they’re all in town. None of them would look as pretty in a dress as you would, though. He wants to say there’s no chance of any of them kissing him after a few cocktails, but that would probably be a lie. “C’mon, they’re not gonna be checking IDs at the bar,” he wiggles his eyebrows in an attempt to convince you, “The free bar.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a wedding,”

“What about that blue dress you wore to the formal last year?”

He remembers his throat going dry at just a picture - frosty baby blue silk against glowing skin, hair falling past your shoulders, the prettiest smile he’s ever seen in every photo.

And that is where misplaced courage gets him, he thinks. Letting slip that he has been creeping on your Instagram like some deranged stalker, because where else would he have seen you in that dress? He’d been in Jersey, by then. Scrolling down his timeline and swiping at every photo dump in what he didn’t even realise at the time was an obvious attempt to catch a glimpse of you.

Idiot.

“That was Ellie’s dress. I think she gave it to the Goodwill or something.” You frown, barely even picking up on his slip - unaware to the point that his heart rate can level back out to normalcy.

“You’ve got time to go shopping, you could get another,” he shrugs, reaching into the pocket of his pants. “Here, take my card.”

“Gee, thanks, Daddy Warbucks,” you push at his hand when he attempts to give it to you.

“I’m not adopting you. I’m more like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman.”

“Are you implying I’m a prostitute?”

“No,” he scoffs, only because, unintentionally, he totally was, and now he can’t get the picture out of his head - you in thigh high boots, legs for days stood out of the blue skirt, and the white top with the cutouts, soft summer skin he’s been missing the touch of peaking through - and he starts to wonder if that would be too much too soon to ask of you; to dress up for him like that. Maybe for halloween, if the two of you have progressed past whatever this is, by then. Keep dreaming, Hughes, he can already hear you saying. “More like a sugar baby.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

“You don’t have to buy me things for me to like you.” You pout, and his own lips curl up at your defensiveness - so eager to prove yourself to him over something he isn’t even actually pressing. 

“Because you like me already?” He can’t help himself, a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to push, push, push at your buttons until you practically malfunction - craving you in whatever disoriented state it was that he had seen you in last, pliant and willing and crumbling so nicely for him to scoop up and piece back together. “Because you missed me?”

He shouldn’t want that - want to have to hold you in place, that is, not really - but he does. He wants to be the one that gets you like that. The only one. 

“What time’s the reception?”

That should also have been a flat out no.

Interesting.

You give in so easily, then, to the point where Luke gets giddy, letting you know when and where he wants you - always and anywhere, if he’s honest - and you roll your eyes as you agree, but you stay right in front of him long after you’ve finished with his tie, and he’s so tempted to kiss you that he’s buzzing with excitement. 

He sneaks a kiss to the corner of your mouth - quick enough that you don’t push him away, or make any sort of comment about it, and darts down the stairs at Quinn’s calls for him, leaving you to figure out whatever it is you need to do to be ready for later.

And he thanks his lucky stars that later comes before he has the chance to really dwell on it. His day passes in a blur, the ceremony over in a flash, family photos taken before he even realises he doesn’t need to force a cheesy smile, and only brief moments spared over the course of the early afternoon to think about the things he’s lacking.

As he sits in the church between his brothers, he realises that he wants to be sitting with an arm slung around you and a hand in your lap - your fingers swirling absentminded shapes into his palm as the two of you watch the ceremony side by side. Wants to look down at you staring up the aisle in bewilderment, a soft flush to your cheeks, a dopey grin on your face and a far-off look in your eyes. Wants to mutter stupid jokes in your ear and watch you twist your lips to bite back a giveaway smile. 

As he rides over to the club in the back of Quinn’s car, sandwiched between Alex and Josh with his brothers up front, he thinks he’d kill to have you in his lap - as illegal as that may be, but it’s only 5 minutes, and he’d make sure you were safe with an arm curled around your waist.

And when he’s waiting in the reception hall at the club, the late afternoon ticking into early evening, hearing speeches about falling in love and finding your person, he wants you in the seat beside him. Wants to rest his arm on the back of your chair, play with loose strands of your hair or stroke soft fingertips against your warm skin, and press gentle kisses into your temple.

It’s alarming how quick these thoughts consume him - his college years spent pining, his summer spent basking in whatever attention you choose to give him - and he can’t help but let himself be carried away with the hope of it all, that maybe he is wearing you down enough to give in to such thoughts.

Especially when he sees you walking in, and he swears the world has started moving in slow motion like a scene fresh out of one of those rom-coms you keep trying to subject him to.

His legs stretch without any instruction from his brain, pushing himself up onto his feet until he can make his way over and meet you halfway.

Your eyes light up and your hand lifts in a nervous wave as you start heading straight for him, the action causing the thin spaghetti strap of your dress to fall down your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he breathes out, in what feels like relief, mouth breaking out into a dreamy grin until you’re right in front of him.

“Sorry I’m a little late, it took me forever to find a dress, and then my hair wouldn’t go right, and then the Uber took every back road known to man despite me literally telling him,” Luke reaches to readjust the fallen strap as you talk, fingers trailing ever so slightly against the soft skin of your shoulder, “That I knew a quicker way, and then we ended up at those lights over on Palmer for like 10 minutes, I think I was in that car so long I’m all crinkly.”

His eyes drop slowly down your figure, the silky fabric clinging to your curves in all the right spots, the soft yellow a perfect match to the tie around his neck. “You’re beautiful,” he reassures you with ease, cheeks flushing ever so slightly when your eyes meet his - but he’s used to that, by now, the way his head goes hot when you look at him. “I was gonna get a drink, do you want one?”

He extends his hand out to you in invitation before you even nod in response, and when your fingers slide between his, the heat that is swirling around his head and face starts to spread down, past his neck, into his chest, settling there as the two of you make your way over to the bar. 

This last week without you has been hell.

Sat in his hotel room in Vegas, checking his phone for any sort of update - a text, an instagram post, a story - and wondering if that night before he had left had been playing on your mind the same way it had on his. 

Soft, slow kisses pressed into reciprocated lips, hands memorising every inch of each other’s bodies, desperate but intentional movements into one another. It was hardly his first time, but God, had it felt like it. It was definitely the first time he had ever felt anything that deep for another person - felt so connected, so attached.

And, despite the lingering insecurity that he thinks he might always feel when it comes to you, he knew you felt the same.

You had told him in the simplest terms - you wanted him - but you had shown him so much more. Eyes stuck on his as he moved against you, foreheads pressed together, lips seeking his at every given opportunity, nails scratching at the broad expanse of his shoulders when he had taken the lead and flipped the two of you over. 

Gasps and moans, pleading and pining, begging and singing for him as you came undone for the first, second and third time. 

He doesn’t know how you can possibly even try to carry on pretending you don’t feel even an ounce of the infatuation he does.

Not when you look at him the way you do, eyes sparkling and wanting. Not when he had spent the past week pressing his fingertips into the bruises you had kissed again into the lowest part his stomach like that had become your spot, hoping he could aggravate them enough to linger until you could make some more. 

Not when, even though the two of you have been stood at the bar now for a good few minutes, you haven’t made any efforts to take your fingers from where his are playing with them between the two of you.

“You never answered my question, earlier,” he hums as the two of you wait for your drinks.

“You talk so much, Hughes, you’re gonna have to remind me which question that was.” 

“Did you miss me?” His head tilts with curiosity as he watches the hesitation cross your features, lashes fluttering as you look up at him with your lips pressed together to keep them from spluttering out the truth. “I missed you.” He admits, in the hopes that expressing his candour might elicit the same in you.

“I’m surprised you found the time, you looked very occupied on your brothers’ stories.” Bingo.

“You been keeping tabs on me?” The smirk that accompanies the question is instinctual, and he manages to catch the slight shift in your demeanour before you can retreat, closing his fingers around your hand before you can pull it away. 

“No,” you scoff, and when you pull insistently for him to release your hand, the strap of your dress falls loose down your arm again, Luke’s eyes following before he fixes it for you once more. “Just stumbled across some pictures, I guess,”

“Yeah, you just tripped and fell into stalking me?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t doing the same, I saw those little 3 dots come up so often I was starting to think you were typing up the entirety of War and Peace.”

Which means you’d been lingering in your message thread with him, too. Gotcha.

“You know, the world won’t end if you just admit you missed me.”

“Fine.” It slips out before you know what you’re saying, eyes widening like a deer in the headlights as you realise you’ve already given in. “I missed you.”

He smiles, but doesn’t press, and it’s a smile that lingers as the two of you just look at each other, his eyes drifting down to watch your lips twist and press together, biting back whatever insult or chirp you’re just dying to throw his way to cover up. He waits for it to come, but loves that it doesn’t, and loves even more that you’re holding onto the moment as much as he is. 

“Do you wanna dance?” Luke asks a while later, once the two of you have gulped down a couple of drinks, have sat with the others for a little, and he’s watched you watch the dance floor with a yearning gaze.

Your eyes meet his after he poses the question, a confidence in his demeanour that has you crumbling immediately.

You nod, allowing him to guide you over to where a few other couples are swaying on the dance floor, and you let him guide you into his arms, one hand in his and the other resting on his shoulder. 

It should be awkward, you think, remembering back on all the times you’ve tried this before. School dances and proms, clumsily shuffling and trying to avoid being stomped on by your partner’s feet - but the two of you move with ease, and you’d like to think it’s because his body knows yours by now.

“This is so weird,” you mutter, eyes cast down to watch his feet move in his fancy Oxford shoes, a soft flush to your cheeks.

“What do you mean?” He asks, nerves heightening as he stiffens like he’s waiting for you to let him go - to step away and cut this short like it doesn’t make you feel the same way. 

“Slow dancing is for old folk like war veterans and millennials.” Your lips twist as your eyes meet his, and his lips turn up into a slow smile, a deep, melodic chuckle following closely behind.

“If you’d rather bump’n'grind on me, I get it,” he smirks.

“You’re such an idiot,” you scoff back, twitching to shake the hair from your shoulder, assuming that’s what is causing the shivers currently shooting down your spine, and not the large, possessive hand resting in the dip of your waist. 

“Y’know, I’ve realised something about you lately,” he starts, voice low as he leans in, angling into your exposed neck and stopping his lips within mere inches of your ear, “You have a tell.”

“A tell?” You turn, brow raised as your gaze meets his, faces close enough that you can feel the soft pants of his breath on your skin.

“For when you’re enjoying yourself more than you think you should be,” he hums, his eyes fluttering a little as they drop to watch your mouth, the swipe of your tongue wetting your lower lip. “You call me an idiot,” his hand on your waist squeezes ever so slightly, your back arching a little into his touch, “Or stupid,” he uses his other hand, the one clutching at yours, to pull you closer, “Or dumb, or a dork.”

You can feel your heart thudding at the call-out, beating in time to the music, in time to the way your bodies sway together, creating it’s own rhythm for the two of you to dance to. 

“Maybe you’re just a stupid, dumb, dorky idiot.” You squeak out, immediately hating the way the words taste in your mouth, your face souring and eyes narrowing in deliberation. There’s no way that was at all convincing, and the smirk that tugs up his lips is all you need to know he sees right through you.

“Maybe,” he humours you, anyway. “And yet, you can’t get enough of me.”

“A smug dorky idiot.” You correct yourself, cutting out stupid and dumb, the sharpness of those words cutting at your tongue like a knife. 

The pointlessness of such discussion almost waters down the exhilaration you feel at being this close to him, in public, nonetheless, where literally anyone else could call you out on your growing tolerance of Luke, could connect the dots regarding all the time the two of you have been spending together and wave the evidence of your growing affection like a chequered flag for all to see.

This definitely feels like you’re crossing the finish line.

And, of course, it’s Jack who does the honours, primed all night to find some way to get between you and Luke upon your arrival, stumbling up to the two of you at the end of the song you’re swaying to and laying a heavy palm on your shoulder.

“Isn’t this cosy?” 

“Fuck off, Jack,” Luke scowls before you get the chance, a pointed glare directed towards his brother, the palming grip at your waist growing faint as you try to wedge a little distance between the two of you, fighting a losing battle with your instinct to run and hide. 

“I need to talk to your girlfriend.”

“I’m not his-,”

“She’s not my-,”

The two of you speak simultaneously, and despite the fact that you were saying the exact same thing, him saying it kind of dampens your mood, putting a good couple of steps between you and Luke with your arms crossing over your chest as you look toward his brother. 

“Whatever. Can I borrow her for a couple minutes?”

“I’m not property, Jack, you can ask me directly.”

“Please can we talk? Alone?”

“Let’s go outside,” you huff, storming off before he has the chance to say anything else and making it all the way outside before he speaks again. 

“Sorry for interrupting, you and Luke looked kind of cute-,”

“What do you want?”

“I’m sorry I said you were messing him around, and that you were toxic.” 

You frown at him, watching as he diverts his gaze to the ground, nervously shuffling on his feet and fingers fidgeting with the cuffs on his shirt. 

“I’m sorry for all the things I said and did at that party, I didn’t mean them, I was just drunk and upset. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

You chew nervously on the inside of your cheeks as he talks, arms wrapped around yourself to shield from the brisk night air, and you watch as Jack starts to unravel before your very eyes.

For as long as you’ve known Ellie, for as long as you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him as anything less than cool, calm and collected - it’s kind of the main thing that grinds your gears about him if your honest, the fact that he never seems real. Like he’s putting on some sort of persona to seem like he has all his shit together, when you know he doesn’t.

“I really like Ellie, you know,” he sighs, and you scoff, because of course you know that. “And I was blaming you for putting this wedge between us when it’s really me that’s been fucking up.” You know that, too. “I’ve been thinking about her this past week, and I really wanna pull myself together and finally do something about it. Stop being such an idiot.”

You bite your tongue from questioning the reality of that. He’ll always be an idiot, you think, but that’s best left unspoken. It’s not even personal to him, that’s just part of being a man.

“She likes you too,” You tell him instead, despite the fact that it goes against all sorts of girl code to do so. You’re doing them both a favour, and the universe should really just let you off, you feel. “I don’t know why either of you have wasted so much time when you’ve both felt the same way all along.”

“You really think she’d say yes if I asked her out?”

“I do,” you shrug, “And it doesn’t need to be done on some romantic boat trip or some crazy elaborate scheme, you should just ask her when she gets back next week. Like as soon as she comes through the door, it will save us all a headache.”

“You sound like Luke.”

“Yeah, well, he’s rubbing off on me, I guess.”

“I don’t need to hear what the two of you get up to when you’re alone, that’s my little brother.”

You reach over and shove at his arm, and for the first time ever, when your eyes meet his, neither of them are narrowed. He’s smiling, and you’re smiling too, and it feels a little like a weight has been lifted from your chest, fresh air filling your lungs.

“Let’s go back inside, Luke’s probably thinking we’ve killed each other.”

“I’m just gonna take a second, it’s kinda stuffy in there.”

Jack nods, before making his way back to the reception, and you make your way over to the fountain, heels working through the gravel until you take a seat on the side. 

It’s a couple of minutes before you hear footsteps, and before you see the fancy oxfords come into your view, eyes roaming up the long, lean body of the boy who has your brain running marathons.   

When your eyes meet, his gaze is warm, and it feels like he can see right through you. Like he’s looking into the depths of your mind, holding a big cheesy sign as he waits at the finish line for your thoughts to come to an end.

He sits wordlessly beside you, his knees knocking against yours, and waits for you to speak - although the silence doesn’t feel awkward, or forced. He waits, patiently and understandingly, and you feel like he’s giving you the time to figure out what you want to say. 

It feels monumental, this moment, like you’re teetering on the edge of something real and honest for the first time in a while.

“The other week, when we,” your voice feels heavy, thick at the back of your throat, “You know,”

“I was strictly advised to forget about it, so no, I don’t know,” he teases, and you’re kind of thankful that he’s trying to ease the tension you’re building for yourself. “But if you wanna jog my memory.” You shove lightly at his shoulder. “I’m kidding. What about it?”

“I’ve never really done that before?”

“What, snuck a guy up to his room in the middle of a house party and rocked his world?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You scoff, smiling to yourself, despite the weight of all that you’re about to admit to him. “I’ve only ever slept with one other guy, and he wasn’t very nice about it after, so I just,” you frown, “Don’t really do it.”

“You don’t-,” he frowns too, you can see it from your peripheral, eyes till on the hands fidgeting in your lap, “But I thought-,” You look over and meet his eyes, brows furrowed and lips parted in confusion. “What?”

“The first guy, Jamie,” you start, twisting to face him, knees knocking once more. “We started talking in the summer before my freshman year, got to know each other ‘cause he lived one town over from me and he’d come into work all the time, and then when I started college he was a sophomore, and he was the first guy to ever take, like, a serious interest in me. And we had a lot in common, he was on the soccer team, we grew up in the same area, we got on really well, it was the first time I ever really felt connected to anyone like that. But I’d never done anything before, so I wanted to take things slow,”

Jamie Reeves. Captain of the University of Michigan Soccer Team until he tore his ACL at the end of his last year, ruining all dreams of playing in the MLS, like it was entirely achievable for a player of his caliber anyway. You had been infatuated by him, though. The kind of infatuation that a younger you might have doodled little hearts around his name in all your notebooks.

And then he turned out to be a complete leech.

“Please don’t tell me he rushed you into it.” Luke straightens his posture, reaching to place his hand over yours in your lap, the touch immediately comforting, and his concern even more so.

“No. Not exactly.” You sigh, hating how dramatic you feel about the whole thing. “We went on dates, and things were going really well, so I figured I trusted him enough to be my first, then after we had sex he just went really off. He wouldn’t take me out anymore, wasn’t putting any effort in. And then people started asking me all these questions about him, and what we did, and I realised he was going around telling everyone all the details, like I was just some conquest he could tick off to the boys on the team.” You remember how ashamed you had felt, eyes on you in every corridor, whispers about you in every class. You couldn’t leave your dorm without someone muttering some obscene comment about you, and you just felt awful. “Every time one of them saw me they’d make all these dumb comments, and I just felt dirty all the time, like I’d done something wrong. Then I went to a party at Pike, the one at Halloween,” The party that Luke had approached you for the first time since you met, and you had stormed off in tears - not due to him at all, but due to the fact you had just seen Jamie sticking his tongue down someone else’s throat, mere days after you had seen him last. “And he was all over one of the girls on the field hockey team, didn’t even look my way again after that, not that I really wanted him to.”

“You haven’t been with anyone since?”

You shake your head. “Doesn’t stop people saying I have, though. I tried dating a couple times, but it always ended up the same way, rumours being spread about me sleeping around and being easy. And it’s so dumb, ‘cause it’s like I trusted one guy, and somehow it keeps backfiring on me.” You pay no mind, for the first time in a long time, to the crack in your voice as you say it, no longer afraid of showing any hint of vulnerability. Not to Luke. You need to get this out - get it out of the way, once and for all, so you can move past it. Move on, even, with someone you hope won’t treat you the same.

“Does that mean you trusted me?” 

You try not to think too hard about all the times the two of you have shared any level of intimacy - the physical touch mostly initiated by you, and it’s hardly ever on a whim. You think a lot about Luke, if you’re honest. About how he’s honest, and he sticks by his word when he promises not to tell anyone anything. How he always tries to make you laugh or smile, even if it’s something stupid. He isn’t afraid to embarrass himself with you, isn’t afraid to give you power, to let you take the lead. And even though sometimes he jokes otherwise, the times you hang out, he has no ulterior motives. He likes talking to you, likes watching movies with you, likes meeting your eye in a crowded room and giving you one of those smiles that have started to make your heart stutter with something unidentifiable.

“I guess so.” Your shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug, your words anything, but. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it since and I can’t explain why it happened but I feel like you and me are-,” 

Connected? Compatible?

You know what he would say you are. You don’t know if you’re there, yet.There are so many things the two of you have become over the past few weeks, so many things you’ve wanted to be for longer than you even realised, so many things you’re afraid to say.

“I feel like out of everyone, you’d have no reason to lie to me. Or about me.”

“I wouldn’t. I didn’t know all that stuff,” he frowns, and it seems like his mind only just makes sense of all the times you threatened him after the fact, making sure he wouldn’t tell anyone that the two of you kissed, or hung out alone in an intimate space and maybe potentially enjoyed yourselves. He had thought you were ashamed of it - but all this time, you’ve been protective. Of yourself, of the trust you were building in him. “Why don’t you tell people, that those guys are all lying?”

“No one would believe me,” you shrug, eyes cast down to where his hand still rests on yours, and his touch prevents you from picking nervously at the skin around your nails.

“I do,” He assures you, “And I promise the next time I hear anyone say any of that stuff about you, I’ll beat their face in.”

“Yeah, you’d drop gloves for me?”

“Look at you with your hockey talk.” He coos, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, where you had barely noticed a tear trailing down until he wipes it away with his thumb, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I would. We’re partners, remember? I’ve got your back.” He extends his pinkie out to you, and you curl yours around it until he’s tugging it toward him, leaning down to press his lips to your knuckle, his kiss like a promise as his green eyes meet yours. 

It doesn’t gross you out, this time. If you’re honest with yourself, it hadn’t the first time he did it, either. It was cute, in an entirely dorky and childish and almost nostalgic way.

And you’re compelled to do the same, leaning and touching your pouted lips to his pinky, eyes fluttering closed as you kiss his skin, the rush of blood to your head somehow louder than the steady stream of the fountain beside you. 

“Listen,” he starts, lowering his hand but keeping your pinkies interlocked, resting them between you both on the stone. “If whatever this is that we’re doing makes you uncomfortable, or brings all that stuff back, I can back off a little.”

Something akin to disappointment floods through your system, your heart rate picking up in a panicked staccato, but you try to stay cool - still, for whatever reason, holding your cards close to your chest. 

“I can make sure my brothers don’t make any more stupid comments about us, they’re doing it to annoy me, not you. And I can,” he takes a deep breath, eyes flickering between yours as if to gauge your desires before he has to reluctantly pander to them. “I can stop, too.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do to shake away the tears threatening to flood your lash line at just the thought of him giving up on you. 

It’s the lump in your throat that blocks the words coming out to tell him as much, and your lips twist in discomfort as you take in the way he’s looking at you - gaze filled with dwindling patience and waining resilience. There’s only so far you can continue to push him, you can see that now, and if you’d have told the version of yourself that first sat down with him all those weeks ago - the version of yourself that refuted any chance of ever warming up to him, that saw him as nothing more than an annoyance, a disturbance to your tips for the day - that the thought of him stopping whatever you have would make you feel like this?

That cold-hearted bitch would have laughed in your face. 

“Hey, lovebirds!” There’s a shout from across the courtyard, and Quinn  appears in the distance with hands cupped around his mouth. The intrusion has you retracting your hand, and you can see the way Luke reacts in your peripheral, a resigned nod given instinctually before he looks over to his brother. “I’m driving home if you two want a ride!”

Luke doesn’t look back at you before pushing himself up, but he offers a hand to help you stand, and the two of you walk in silence to meet Quinn by the exit.

The car ride back to the house is silent, too, save for the soft hum of the radio that filters through the car. Josh sits up front with Quinn, head lulling against the window as he falls asleep worryingly quick, and you’re squished in the middle between Luke and Alex, Jack having stayed back with their parents. It’s hard not to press your legs against Luke’s - his are so gangly and long that they take up more than their fair share of room, and it’s much less awkward despite the circumstances to be touching him than touching Turcs. You feel a lot less tense when you’re touching, anyway. 

And when Quinn pulls up, Luke still helps you out of the car - ever the gentleman, even in the face of apparent rejection.

Quinn and Alex work at lugging an overly inebriated Josh up to his room, leaving Luke to guide you through the house, and the silence starts to become unbearable as he whispers a quick and quiet goodnight, leaving you at the door to yours and Ellie’s room as he makes his way down the hall.

“Hey, Luke,” you call out in a whisper toward him as he retreats, his tall frame turning, a gleam of what you interpret as hope flashing across his green eyes.

“Yeah?” He hums back, voice low as not to disturb anyone else, gaze meeting yours, locking in place with an almost audible click.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

You’re worried for a second you’ll have to expand, that maybe his slightly intoxicated memory doesn’t stretch as far back as to remember the conversation the two of you had had out by the fountain. 

Elaborating on it would be embarrassing to say the least - because what, exactly, are you supposed to say?

I don’t want you to stop flirting with me.

I don’t want you to stop kissing me when no one else is around.

I don’t want you to stop being the only person I can talk to.

I don’t want you to stop bulldozing into my very secure and sturdy walls, thank you very much. They’re starting to tumble down in what could be a very calamitous fashion.

Worried you might have to expose a little more of yourself than you had originally anticipated, you chew at the corner of your lip, waiting.

But then he smiles - in that easy way that makes your bones feel like jelly, your knees weakening to the point that you lean against the still-closed door of your room. In the way that has that loudmouth voice you’re trying too often to suppress within you screaming, God, he’s so cute!

“I know,” he smirks, the bastard, liquid courage running deep through his veins, “Inevitable, remember?”

You scoff, almost instinctively rolling your eyes despite the endeared warmth that floods your belly. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he says again, “You coming?”

And all you can do is nod, biting back a fully-fledged smile before you’re rushing over and slotting yourself under his outstretched arm.

You definitely enjoy him more than you should.

Living with boys for the first time in your life has taught you a lot over the weeks you’ve been staying at the lake house.

The first is that they’re weirdly messy - in ways that shouldn’t bother you, but they do. It isn’t clothes left around, or dirty plates - but it’s hand soap crusted around the spout by the faucet, shoes kicked off and discarded at random points throughout the house, and they, for some bizarre reason, never put the lid back right on anything.

The second is that they’re loud - and that should have been anticipated. Guys are notoriously obnoxious. But it isn’t just their voices that carry. It’s footsteps up the stairs, stomping in the dead of the night when one of them needs a drink. It’s chewing their food, or slurping their coffee, or scraping the feet of their chairs against the floor when they’re sat at the dining table. It’s tapping their hands on their knees in haphazard rhythm whenever there might be an ounce of peace that they, without a doubt, misunderstand for awkward silence. 

And the third is that they probably couldn’t organise a fire in a match factory. And that goes for a lot of things - the kitchen cupboards, their laundry loads, and, most importantly, one of the many parties they love to throw.

It wouldn’t bother you so much - they usually work out in the end - but this time, it’s Ellie’s birthday, and the way they leave everything until the last minute is about to give you an aneurysm or something. 

There’s no food, no drinks, no cake, no decorations, and the party is tonight.

And Jack, who’s grand idea it had been to throw her a party in the first place, seems to have kidnapped her - disappearing and leaving you to try and figure out what’s going on.

Cole is the one who finds you in the kitchen, spiralling out, frantically trying to put together some kind of list so that one of the guys can go to the store and pick up the bare minimum to throw a party together - and he manages to calm you down - gathers the rest of the guys and helps come up with a plan, sharing out different categories. Quinn and Josh are down to get drinks, Cole and Alex are down to get food, and you and Luke are down for decorations. 

And then within the next five minutes, you’re back up in your room, transferring things from one of your bags into a tote, so you can carry more stuff back to the car without having to bring back a load of plastic, and Luke is sat on your bed, leaning back onto his hands as he watches you, green eyes still tickling your skin with their tangible watch. 

“I know we’re on a time crunch, but could we make another pit-stop at the mall? I still need to find a present for this baby shower.”

“Oh, actually, I made you something.”

“You made me something?” You can feel him watching you as you dig through the bag you’d brought back with you from being home.

“Yeah, I was bored, when you guys were gone, I forgot to give it to you when you got back, got kinda distracted by the whole wedding thing,” you tell him, reaching blindly to try and find the little figure. “I went by that art supply store and picked up one of those kits,” You finally find it, pulling out the little crotchet animal that may or may not have been your fourth attempt. The first had a stubby neck, the second had uneven legs, and you don’t think the third one’s face was anywhere near appropriate to be gifting to a child. This one isn’t perfect, but you’d honestly reached your limit with it. “Don’t make it a thing, it was like therapy while I was back home to be honest.”

“Oh that’s adorable.” He pouts, accepting it from you and immediately turning it back, bobbing it’s head as if to greet you. “Why a giraffe?”

“Long neck,” you smile, reaching out to pat it. “Reminded me of you.”

“Ha ha,” he rolls his eyes, but the laughter feels real enough. “She’ll love it.”

“She?” It slips out by instinct before you can check yourself, eyes widening as his meet yours again, his lips twitching in the corners. “Thought you said it was for your captain,”

“It is.” He smirks, “Men can’t carry babies last time I checked.” 

You nod, because of course men can’t carry babies. Of course the shower is for the mother of the baby - who you vaguely remember Jack and Luke talking about - someone who works with them back in Jersey. Someone they’re both close to, clearly, if Luke’s stressing this much about a gift.

“Wait, are you jealous?”

“No.” You scoff, frowning purposefully, lips turning down in forced denial.

“You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

“You want to take this back now, huh?” He holds the giraffe in a way that it bends, adorably, like he’s trying to taunt you with it, and it’s wonky eyes do little to distract from the charm he gives it.

“Nope.” You shrug, “You can give it to whatever girl you want, doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Of course not,” he stands, stepping toward you slowly, “You couldn’t care less what I do away from this house, right?”

“Right.” You gulp, looking into soft green eyes, your legs starting to wobble at the knees, strength and integrity waining as the seconds pass. You really don’t know why you’re still keeping this game up. Ever since that night of the wedding, you’ve been sneaking off into Luke’s room as soon as Ellie falls asleep. You fall asleep by his side, and he wakes you when he gets up early, so you can sneak back without Ellie realising you’ve even gone.

You’ve kissed him every day, sometimes tender, sometimes torrid - over the centre console of his car when he drops you off at work, in his bed before you drift off to sleep, in the kitchen when you sneak off under the ruse of refilling your drink. He can tell the difference between the flavours of lip balms you wear, comments on it like he has a little ranking system filed away somewhere in the back of his mind. You both whisper your secrets in the dark of the night, and you had promised him that you would try to open yourself up more to him.

“I thought we were past this,” he hums, stepping closer, voice low in a way that buzzes through your bones. “Thought we were being honest with each other, now.”

“Honest?” You ask, voice weak, neck craning now to look up at him, eyes boring into your own as he advances on you. 

His hand reaches to cup your jaw, to tilt your head just that bit further, and presses his lips straight to yours instead of elaborating any further.  

He’s tentative, at first. Gentle, even. Fingertips ghosting along the side of your neck, pulling you closer, less with any physical force and more so with pure magnetic attraction, your skin humming - buzzing, even, to be touched by him in any which way. 

Your chin tilts as your mouths slot together in a soft, slow kiss, and when his lips touch yours, everything else fits perfectly into place. The fingers of his left hand press firmly into the flesh of your hip, now, using a slight force to manoeuvre you how it suits him - as close as he can physically get you - and those on his right reach around enough to slightly curve towards the back of your neck, applying just enough pressure so that your chin angles upward to deepen the kiss, his tongue pressing a pleading invitation into your bottom lip.

An invitation you immediately grant him, your hands finding their place on his body with ease, one flat against the warm expanse of his chest and the other matching his, soft fingertips grazing the skin of his neck until they tangle in the slight overgrowth of curls at the nape.

Everything feels so fluid, so effortless, and yet, so new - like this is the first time you have kissed, an eruption of fresh feelings bursting through you. There’s still a familiarity that lingers - one of ease, where it’s like your bodies have each other mapped out, already. You know every cell of him and he of you, and it’s evident in the way the moment escalates.

Your bodies naturally gravitate towards the nearest surface, his fingers reaching out behind your hip to soften the blow of him pushing you into the dresser, your back arching, feet moving in sync as not to tangle and trip, or stumble and break the kiss.

But there’s nothing else clumsy about it.

He lifts you with ease, the cold surface only a slight shock to the system, and it brings you to the perfect height where he can seamlessly move his kisses from your lips, past your jaw, down your neck and into the crevice of your collarbones, leaving a trail of the sticky residue of your lip balm. 

Strong hands cup your thighs, parting your legs until he can stand between them, and your fingers bury themselves into his curls, pushing into him however you can. 

When his fingers graze the inside of your thigh, his lips part from the hot skin of your clavicle, and his head tilts slightly until his darkened green eyes meet yours.

“Please,” you breathe out before he can even ask, beyond caring for whatever particles of pride you’ve been desperately trying to cling to when you watch his lips curve slowly into the most panty-dropping smirk you think you’ve ever seen.

“Please what?”

Your lips part as if by instinct, a biting remark fizzling out on the tip of your tongue as your mind works for some kind of comeback, for some semblance of resistance to whatever this version of him is, but there’s nothing. Just a frantic plea for him to do anything to you. Whatever he wants.

Your hips shuffle forward as if led by a mind of their own, trying to force his hand up, only for him to follow the movement of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you find yourself pouting, spikes of heat flashing through you at the way you can see the thoughts crossing his mind, of all the ways in which he can torture you - putty in the palm of what you thought were safe hands.

“Tell me you were jealous,” he prompts, leaning forward to press a teasing kiss to your lips, “Tell me that the thought of me even talking to another girl makes your skin crawl.”

Don’t let him get cocky, a voice prevails in the back of your mind, despite the accuracy of his words. Tell him he’d have to have an ounce of game for you to be remotely worried, tell him the only thing that makes your skin crawl is his incessant need to mouth off all the time. Tell him, tell him, tell him!

“I was jealous,” you breathe out instead, chasing the victorious smirk that stretches across his lips in the hopes you can kiss it away.

Jealous of a girl you’ve never met, in a relationship with another man, pregnant with his child, not remotely interested in Luke.

A girl who gets to see him all the time, who knows him probably in ways you might never, who he cares enough about to want to gift her something meaningful. Who he casually texts and smiles at his phone as he’s doing so, who he and Jack talk affectionately about in ways they’ll never talk about you.

You’ve officially lost it. 

“And if you don’t touch me in the next 3 seconds,” you carry on, scrambling to claw back one single iota of your dignity, your hands gripping at his broad shoulders, “I won’t let you touch me again.”

Luke laughs. Practically snorts at you, eyes crinkling in the corners in pure amusement. Your dignity is long gone.

“1,” you start, your voice shakier than you’d ever like it to be, and his hands move to either side of your hips, clutching at the edge of the dresser.

“2,” you didn’t think you could sound worse than before, definitely longer than a second ago, but you’re quickly proven wrong as you watch him leverage that grip to push himself upright, creating a distance between the two of you that drains all the heat from your body.

“3.” he finishes, taking a step back and watching you with unadulterated hunger in his eyes, daring you to follow through with your threat - and the smug idiot knows you won’t.

He knows it’s coming, even anticipates the way in which you pounce on him, arms ready to catch you when you throw yourself down onto the ground in front of him, landing with a quick thud that jolts you straight into him. Hands at either side of his face pull him down, and he does half of the work in bending his back so it isn’t as clumsy. 

You tangle yourself up in him, legs twisting between each other until you’re stumbling toward the bed, and it’s as soon as you get your fingers back into his hair, as soon as his hands are pushing your top up, grazing at the warm skin of your back, that you hear a call of your name.

You falter back from him just as the door swings open, managing to create a reasonable amount of distance as Ellie swaggers in, voice still raised as she asks, “Have you seen my-,” It’s Luke that she sees first, eyes zeroing in on his flushed face with pin-point accuracy, her brows furrowing as she takes him in, heaving chest and messy hair and all. “Lip gloss?”

Lip gloss? Is she joking? 

“You came all the way back up here for lip gloss?” You ask, still slightly breathless and brain fogged, and feeling very much like you’ve just put all your chips on the table and watched them get swept away in seconds. 

You watch as Ellie’s eyes dart to Luke’s mouth, watch him grow conscious of the balmy coating smeared across his lips, and you feel your heart stop in it’s place, your chest squeezing in anticipation of a thump thump thump that doesn’t come.

“No,” she mutters, diverting her attention back to you with a sobering shake of her head. “Balm,” she corrects, “The kind with SPF, I think I’m burning, I didn’t realise me and Jack were gonna be gone all morning.”

“Uhm, yeah,” you breathe, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ears in the hopes it helps cool your head down, some. “I have some in my bag.”

Your tote is on the dresser you had just been placed on yourself, and you use the opportunity to dig through it to will the burning sensation in your ears away, levelling out your breathing as you root around for a tube of lip balm you know is in there somewhere.

“Could you check for my car keys, too? I was thinking we could drop by the mall for lunch. Catch up” She adds, with a forced wiggle of her brows, clearly what she had actually come up here for, and you fish those out too, throwing them across to her. “Quinn’s looking for you before you go, Luke, something about a list.”

“I should go check what he wants,” Luke mumbles, putting another few steps of distance between you before he offers an awkward wave, and departs the room with heavy feet that you hear stomp all the way down the hall, the last thing you see of him being a skinny, lopsided crochet giraffe poking out of his back pocket.

Apparently Jack’s plans of keeping some element of surprise for the party had gone out of the window as soon as he had got her alone - and you’re kind of grateful for the fact.

Keeping secrets from Ellie is stressful - you of all people would know, you’ve somehow managed to keep a pretty big one from her all summer - and she usually has a way of figuring things out on her own.

You probably would have folded to her - just the two of you out together, sipping smoothies in the food court at the mall - if he hadn’t already filled her in one the plans for the night. 

It makes up a little for his lack of effort, earlier - especially now that your hands are clear of it. You don’t know how much you trust the guys to put something together while you and Ellie are looking for an outfit for her, but you have no choice but to leave them to it. Jack had reassured you he had everything under control, and despite the absurdity of that statement, it’s nice for that panic you had been feeling earlier to have been flushed away.

“I think tonight’s the night,” Ellie sighs dreamily, elbow resting on the table and her chin in the palm of her hand, “We had this really deep conversation while we were out walking, and he pretty much told me he has feelings for me, he was really nervous, it was kind of cute.”

“I’ll take your word for the cute thing,” you chuckle, sipping at your smoothie and smiling at how happy she looks. It’s nice to hear, her having hope about the situation for once, instead of dread or fear. 

“He said you two spoke at his cousin’s wedding,”

“It was nothing,” you shrug, “He didn’t need any interference from me to realise he likes you, El, he just needed a nudge.”

“I can hardly call you out on interfering,” her lips twist, nervously, “I’ve kind of been doing the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think I’ve been hanging out with Cole so much all summer?”

“Cole?” You frown, leaning back into your chair, “You’ve lost me.”

When you’d last spoken to Ellie about Cole, she had told you they just got along, and there was nothing more to it - and you had no reason to believe otherwise. When you and Luke had been in the midst of your own interference, and you had been playing third wheel to their hangouts, they had been getting along. Almost like siblings. Cole never flashed her those flirty winks or toothy grins that he gave everyone else. 

“He’s into you.” She says, finger swiping in the ring left behind from her smoothie cup on the table, “And I was kind of giving him advice on how to approach you. I figured you wouldn’t mind, ‘cause he’s like your normal type, and you seemed like you liked him-,”

“I’m sorry, you think I like Cole?” 

You’re taken aback. You don’t remember giving any sort of indication you were ever into Cole Caufield.

Maybe you could have been, before this summer - would have probably fallen victim to his cheeky smiles or his teasing banter. He’s probably closer to your usual type, if you even have one. Confident, with a presence that sort of demands attention. But you realise, now, your attention should be earned - in more than just a flash of cute teeth and boyish features.

In dumb jokes told just to bring you out of a bad mood, and a car with the AC dialled up waiting for you after a shift on a hot day. In hands that offer you help before you ever have to ask, and eyes that see so far beyond what version of yourself you try to put out there.

You could have liked Cole, in another world, or another life, if another boy wasn’t around. 

“I did until I walked in on you kissing Luke, earlier.”

You blink slowly at her, mouth agape as she stares blankly back. 

What the fuck?

“I wasn’t kissing Luke,” you scoff, denial making your face twist in funny ways that you can even feel look deranged. “We were talking.”

“Into each other’s open mouths?” She snickers, “Unless he’s been digging around in our stuff when we’re not around, I can’t think of any other reason he’d have left the room with Summer Fridays Vanilla Beige smeared all over his lips.”

“It was Brown Sugar, actually.” You correct her, guiltily, hoping the words you mutter next through pouted lips don’t quite make it to her ears. “He says it’s sweeter.”

“Oh my God.” She guffaws, mouth agape and eyes wide in realisation. “How long has this been going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you deny, although you can feel heat creeping up your neck, already. “We just get along-,”

“We get along, and you don’t welcome me home with an open mouth.”

“Ellie-,”

“Listen, he’s not just some guy that you can mess around with, he’s way deeper into you than you probably realise, and-,”

“I like him, okay?” you blurt out, voice just loud enough to be heard over her rambling but not enough to carry anywhere else, and the silence that follows is almost deafening - prolonged in a way that you can’t even remember if you said anything, or not.

But the way Ellie is looking at you tells you enough.

Why is everyone so caught up on you breaking his heart?

As if you aren’t putting the entirety of yours on the line.

“Luke?” She asks, like the two of you haven’t just been talking about him. “You like Luke Hughes?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, leaning onto your elbows and pressing the palms of your hands to your face, eyes scrunching tight to try clear up some mind space to make sense of what it is you’re admitting to.

It makes sense already, to you. Verbalising it is the problem.

He’s charming, he’s funny, he makes you laugh, most times unintentionally but that doesn’t make your feelings dwindle in the slightest. 

He’s weirdly passionate about that one horse movie and won’t shut up trying to get you to watch it with him, but it’s endearing in a way that you want to kiss him to shut him up. Or maybe even watch it, God forbid.

He literally never stops eating, but it’s like his body is in tune to yours now, and he always makes double if he feels like you might be hungry so you don’t ever have to ask, which is weirdly sweet.

When you lay beside him in the middle of the night, you don’t feel pressured to do anything other than talk.

And when you do, he listens to you - retains information and checks up in a way that makes you feel seen, makes you feel a way you haven’t in a really long time. He doesn’t talk over you, or dismiss your feelings, or try to change the topic when things go a little too deep or get a little heavy. He shares the load, asks questions that make you think and process things in a new way, and he isn’t patronising when he does so. He doesn’t say things that sound like they’re straight out of a Psych 101 textbook like your feelings are valid or what makes you think that?

And he compares your wildly different worlds in a way that doesn’t feel like a competition. His troubles aren’t worse than yours, his life isn’t harder.

You’re equals.

You’ve never felt like anyone’s equal, not even Ellie.

It’s like with all the other parts of your life that make you hurt, make you feel small and insignificant - they fade away when you’re with Luke.

His corner of your world is bright - despite the seemingly inexhaustible snark-meter constantly ticking between you two - it’s easy, doesn’t weigh down on you or make your chest feel tight, not in that way, at least.

You’ve been introduced to a whole new influx of feelings in your chest by Luke.

You can give in to the ugly side of yourself that wants to bite at him until there’s nothing left, to push whenever he gets a little too close, and you don’t have to worry that you’ll scare him off or push too far, ‘cause he’ll just pull you with him and bite back - only, it doesn’t hurt like when anyone else does it. Somehow, you think he savours the parts that other people might spit out - chews and swallows and rubs at his belly in satisfaction like you’re the best meal he’s ever had. 

Despite all the other things that have shattered your heart, Luke Hughes makes it feel whole, again.

And it should make you feel sick - lovey-dovey stuff like that usually does, your walls shooting straight up at the first sign of affection from anybody, metaphorical sneakers on and carrying your legs as far and as fast as they can run - but this doesn’t.

You don’t want to run from Luke, not really.

“I thought you said he was dorky and annoying.”

You’re pretty sure she had been the one to say that, at some point, but you don’t remember arguing the fact, so you don’t bring it up.

“He is.” You pout. He’s also apparently inevitable. “He kinda crept up on me, I guess.”

Ellie is quiet for a minute as she watches you, eyes narrowing as she takes you in - shoulders slumped, lips pouted, defeated.

“Why not just tell him, then? Why hide it?” She asks, leaning onto the table too until your faces are level when you peak up at her, “You know he likes you back, right? He’s got the biggest crush on you, it’s borderline problematic.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really understand why he likes me.”

“Does it matter?”

It does. You don’t want to keep running, but you can’t really help it. There’s something ingrained deep within you that is trying to shelter yourself from all the ways in which succumbing to these feelings will inevitably hurt you.

“Luke’s way smarter than me, and he’s way more successful, he’s kind and he’s generous, he comes from a great family, has this great house, we have literally nothing in common, and he doesn’t see that now because he just thinks he’s attracted to me, and he likes that I don’t just fold to him because he’s some superstar, but the second that’s gone,” you sigh, trying to swallow down the hurt in your voice, blink away the onslaught of tears, “He’ll just get bored of me like everybody else does, and then he’ll be gone. And I’ll just be some girl he broke up with and left behind, and that’s all I’ll ever be.”

Ellie frowns, a strained mutter of your name called as her hand falls to yours in an attempt to comfort you. “You’ll never know if you don’t try, babe.”

“No, I know.”

It’s all you’ve ever known.

Men who start off treating you like some prized possession - cherishing you, making you feel valued and loved - and the second the shine wears off, the second something even newer, even brighter, even sparklier, crosses their path, they’re gone.

And you’re left behind wondering what it is about you that keeps driving them to leave.

It happened with your dad, with his new wife and their perfect kids - the boys he always wanted, who he never had to force himself to like. The dream family he abandoned you to pursue. It happened with Jamie, with all the girls he saw after you, with the way he never even looked your way again, even after all the secrets you shared, and the promises he made. With all those other boys who never saw you as anything more than a fabricated story to spread for a few brownie points with their buddies in the locker room.

It will happen again.

These feelings you have for Luke - the comfort he gives, the contentment, the ease in conversation, the warmth he bathes you in until your skin prunes and he seeps in through the cracks - they’re better kept to yourself. It’s easier that way, to keep this whole heart under lock and key, not giving anyone a chance to break parts off and keep it for themselves.

It’s almost perfect the way it is.

Safe, even from the clutches of the boy who pieced it back together, brick by laborious brick.

“There isn’t long left of the summer, anyway,” you go for a nonchalant shrug, but your shoulders feel heavy, and it turns out more like an arduous huff. “I doubt he’s shy of female attention back in Jersey, he’ll forget I ever existed before he even knows it.”

“You should talk to him,” Ellie suggests, “At least let him know where you stand, even if it’s to tell him things can’t go further.” 

The thought of it is too daunting. Looking into those gleaming green eyes and laying your heart on the line.

You can pretend all you want to Ellie, to yourself, even, that you wouldn’t want more, but you don’t think you could keep up the show with him.

“He deserves at least that.”

And damn it, she’s right.

Maybe he even deserves a proper chance.

Luke never thought he’d regret kissing you for any reason, but he’s wishing he had practiced some restraint up in your room, earlier.

If he hadn’t advanced on you, had let you pack your bag and got you out of the house before Ellie and Jack got back, he could have followed through on his plan of action for the day.

A plan he’d been hyping himself up for, all week - getting you on your own, talking things out, maybe even asking you out. Properly. Not just dinner at the mall, but a real date. Planned, perfected. A fancy dinner, or a trip to the movies. A picnic blanket laid out somewhere with a nice view, and an abundance of your favourite snacks. 

He wants to kiss you without having to hide it, anymore.

He wants to walk with you tucked under his arm. Wants to have you in his lap when there’s too many people over at the house, and the group are struggling for space on the couches in the den. 

He also sort of wants peace of mind, but what’s that compared to not having to sneak around, anymore. 

He’d made his mind up in the morning, waking up beside you at 5am, rousing you from your sleep with soft mutterings of your name, and lips pressed to your cheek until he could feel you smile. 

“Hi,” your voice had been croaky, and your movements slow, shuffling against him as your skin became illuminated by the soft glow of the rising sun slipping through the gap in the curtains. Your legs had been tangled with his under the sheets, and you did little to untangle them, and he was tempted to lock his so that you couldn’t. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, lips still moving against your skin, nipping at your cheek, your jaw, your throat, and your fingers rose until they clutched at the back of his hair, curls wrapping around them as you held him in place. 

“What time is it?”

“Around five,” his own hands landed on your waist, slipping under the hem of your tank, and trying to savour the warmth of your skin, your body hot from being against his all night. “Figured you’d need to be a little earlier today with it being Ellie’s birthday and all.”

“Thank you,” you used your soft grip on his curls to tug, until his face left the crook of your neck, and you blinked softly, smiled sweetly, and he felt his heart beat at twice the normal speed. You leant up and kiss him, straight on the lips, and he smiled against you just as you pulled away. 

He felt cold all over as soon as you detached yourself, and he rolled onto his side to watch as you stood, arms raised to stretch and lifting the bottom of your tank top to rise up your belly.

He felt robbed. Like he deserved longer with you, and it had been as you crawled back over your side of his bed, and had kissed him once more before leaving, that he had decided he needed to do something about it.

His original plan had been to steal you away at some point in the night, everyone else too distracted by the party to notice or care, but being teamed up with you to go get decorations seemed like it would work too.

Until Jack came back and fucked his plans up.

Jack said that he would go get the food with Turcs, that he had already paid for a cake, and he had to show his ID when he picked it up. He said Ellie shouldn’t have to do anything, and that you would be the best person for her to do nothing with, which left Luke picking up decorations with Cole.

It wasn’t that he minded Cole’s company, but Cole isn’t you.

He probably could have tucked Cole under his arm as they walked side by side through target and picked up a bunch of of banners and streamers, given the logistics of their height difference, but it wouldn’t have been as cute.

He has managed to get a lot of unexpected information though. And of course, his only thought is that he can’t wait to share it with you. 

Cole tells Luke how he and Ellie have only been hanging out all summer to make Jack jealous.

He bites his tongue to refrain from telling him that sort of trick doesn’t work on his brother, but Cole seems too pleased with himself for Luke to rain on his parade, and he finds it kind of funny that everyone’s been working to get the two of them to wake up to their feelings, not just you and him.

Cole might have even ended up putting more effort into it than you and Luke did, acting as a go-between for Jack and Ellie, and raising the stakes for both of them to make a move.

“And what do you get out of any of that?” Luke chuckles as he works at taking the banners out of their plastic wrapping, Cole taking the plastic and putting it straight into the trash.

The smile drops as soon as Cole says your name, though, and Luke’s hands stop in place. “Ellie’s been giving me insider info. I’m primed and ready to make a move.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Luke frowns, “You like her? Since when?”

He tries not to let the panic stirring in his chest reflect on his features, but it’s hard. 

Cole and Ellie had been hanging out for a long time, now. He can’t have been into you that whole time, right? Not without saying anything to anyone else - Cole is kind of mouthy, like that. Word would have got back around to Luke if Cole’s liked you for months. 

“Since I met her. She’s a really cool girl, really funny.” Cole scoffs, hand reaching out for more trash. “And she’s, like, one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen, you know?”

Of course Luke knows. He’s seen the most beautiful sides to you - soaked head to toe from a garden hose, eyes crinkled from laughter, or the aftermath, curled up on a couch with just-dry hair and heart opening up to him for the very first time. In an orange baseball cap and a Mets jersey, twirling as you exit one of the fitting rooms you had found in the mall, a big cute grin on your face as you allow yourself to dorky with Luke, and only with Luke. Sat out on the fountain at the club, skin bathed in the glistening moonlight and your heart thumping in the palm of his tender hands. Laid beside him in the early hours of the morning, soft snores falling from between your lips and hair splayed out against his pillow.

But he can’t exactly say that to Cole - who has apparently been working to pursue you this entire time without Luke ever catching on.

“Ellie says I’m her type, so I don’t know why I’m stressing about asking her out-,”

“Out like on a date? Like you want to date her?”

Luke knows he sounds like an idiot without Cole giving him the weirded-out look he gives, but he’s starting to lose out to the dread that is flooding the pit of his stomach. He stumbles to follow Cole out of the kitchen and into the living room, where they had set up a step ladder before to hang the decorations.

“You really think I’d be trying so hard if I didn’t?” Cole scoffs, “Catch up, Luke, I’m trying to end my summer with a girlfriend-,”

“She’s hardly girlfriend material.”

The words taste sour in the mouth that moves before his brain has time to think - sour enough that he has to try not to grimace, wishing he could suck them back in and swallow them back down like they never came out. 

“What do you mean?” Cole asks, his features dropping into a frown. “I thought you two were getting along.”

“We are,” he agrees, despite it seeming like an understatement, but words are starting to pour out before he can filter them, and he can already feel himself getting carried away. “And she’s a nice enough person, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t think it would work out with her like that.”

“You think she’d be hard work?”

He knows you are. But he likes you that way. He doesn’t want anyone else to worm their way into your good graces like he has. 

“Yeah,” he huffs, “She’s always out, and always flirting with guys at the club, you’ve seen it.” He knows he’s pulled that out of his ass, but what else is he supposed to say?

“I think she’s just fishing for tips, Lukey,” Cole chuckles, and Luke’s cheeks flush with humiliation at the pet name. He feels small, like he’s just something that Caufield can steam roll straight over without much protest. “Can’t blame her, some of those guys have deep pockets.”

“I’ve just heard stuff, you know.”

“Like what?”

Jesus Christ, Cole, he thinks, wishing he’d just take his word for it and get over you, already. As if it would ever be that easy. He doesn’t particularly enjoy saying these things out loud - using the words you had so carefully confided in him against you - but there’s a panicked desperation creeping up within him, becoming possible to ignore, and it’s cancelling out all other rational thoughts in his brain. 

The second you find out Cole Caufield is interested, you’ll no longer have any need for Luke.

Luke, who your every conversation with starts or ends with some sort of bickering argument, who annoys you to no end, who riles you up like it’s what he was put on this very Earth to do.

Cole is charming, he’s always had an ease when it comes to talking to girls that Luke never quite found in himself, and he’ll win you over in no time - and that’s if you aren’t interested, already.

But Luke is building up to that.

He’s been building up to it all summer.

Even before then, without entirely knowing it. 

The two of you have something, even if you refuse to admit it. You wouldn’t have kissed him all those times, otherwise, wouldn’t have come to his bed in the middle of the storm those weeks ago, and almost every night since he came back from Vegas, wouldn’t have slept with him before he left, wouldn’t have begged him to give in to you - not if you weren’t interested in him.

You’ve shared parts of yourself he knows no one’s ever seen, and he can’t let that be for nothing. 

But now the rug is being pulled out from under him, and all he can do to cling on to the edges with an idiotic possessiveness that curls his upper lip and brings his heart to a screeching stop. 

“Like how she’s with a different guy every week at Michigan. Apparently she gets around.”

“Oh,” Cole frowns, and Luke watches as his face turns, his own fists clenching at the urge to take it all back, to defend her and call Cole out on his immediate shift despite it being his own fault. 

He’s made his bed, now. He has to lie in it.

“Ellie didn’t mention all that stuff.”

“She’s hardly gonna call her friend easy.” Luke scoffs, and he thinks the way the words are spat out of his mouth is some sort of reflection of the way his lips don’t want to say them. Like they’re disgusted that his brain would even conceptualise them enough to be spoken. “Especially when you were doing her a favour with the whole Jack thing.”

“I don’t know man, I think you’ve got the wrong idea of her.”

Luke rolls his eyes as Cole makes his way back toward the step ladder, banner in hand, jaw tensing as he scrambles to think of something to stop this.

“She’s not the kind of girl you date,” he manages to call out, despite the tremor in his voice, every fibre of his being fighting the words from being spoken. “And there’s like a month left before we all leave for camp, so if you were to start anything, it would just be for the summer, anyway.”

“Jack and Ellie have started something with just a month left.”

“That’s not the same thing, they’ve been into each other for years, they text and call all the time, nothing’s really changing for them except for a label, you really think you’re gonna keep that up after just a couple months of knowing her?”

He reaches out for the other end of the banner and holds it as Cole positions his side, lip tugged between his teeth and a frown on his face as he mulls Luke’s words over. 

“You’ll be in Montreal, and she’ll be here, and you’ll be focusing on hockey, and training, and you won’t have time to keep up something serious with a girl you barely know.”

He tries not to think about how it’s the same distance to Jersey - an almost 2 hour flight - and how he’d be doing the exact same thing, swept up into the season before he knows it and potentially doing nothing but letting you down. 

“And you know what she’s like, she’d find something to argue about with a monk, for God’s sake,” he scoffs, brows furrowed so hard he can feel the tension in his forehead, “All you’d get from her is an earache. She’s not worth it.”

Cole turns to narrow his eyes at Luke, but something else over the top of his head catches his attention, instead, and the surprised muttering of your name turns Luke’s blood to ice.

Frozen in place, eyes wide, heart thudding in his ears, he waits with bated breath for something to happen - for Cole to break into a shit-eating grin, and tell him he’s just fucking around. For the ground to swallow him up. For anyone - literally anybody else - to respond.

But your voice carries straight over to him. Travels through his ears, ricochets around the cavern of his skull, shoots down his spine and makes his legs go numb.

“We uhm,” your tone is shaky, and Luke, for the first time, maybe, ever, hates the way you sound. “We were just checking if you needed a hand with the decorations.”

He turns slowly, and it’s Ellie’s eyes he meets first. Pointed, narrowed, betrayed, even, she glares at him like he’s just kicked a wounded animal right in front of her. 

“You can’t decorate your own party,” Cole laughs from behind Luke, as Luke’s attention drifts slowly your way. 

His eyes meet yours, and he can see the watery glaze over them from across the room. Can see your throat working to gulp down your hurt as your lips twist.

Ellie says something in response, and he vaguely hears Cole speak too, but all that he can focus on is the blood rushing around his head, a whooshing and whirring that makes him feel like his ears are about to pop, or his brain is about to explode. His lips part to speak, to say something, anything, to explain what you had clearly overheard, but your gaze drops to the floor, and he sees your walls build back up right before his eyes, brick by brick, cementing themselves back in place.

He’s such an idiot.

He’s such a monumental asshole.

The last time he had seen tears in your eyes had been sat by the fountain at the club - he had wiped them away, and had promised you he had your back, and you had just caught him having anything but with Cole. And all that after you had told him why you had ever been hesitant to let anyone in the first place.

He doesn’t think he’s ever messed up like this.

He steps forward, unsteady on his feet, and you step back, still not able to look him in the eye again, before turning on your heel and making your way upstairs.

Luke hears the stomp of your feet as you go, watches Ellie go after you, wishing it could be him, and stands, motionless, until he feels a firm pat on his back.

“Don’t worry, man,” Cole says, “She’s cool, she’ll be over it after a couple of drinks.”

Luke doesn’t even think he says anything coherent when he responds, a grunt or a grumble - it can’t have been words, because he can’t even form them in his brain. 

“I’m gonna ask her out tonight, anyway,” Cole chuckles, “So what you said won’t even mean anything.”

Great.

He’s just fucked things up with one of the greatest people in his life, the girl of his dreams, and it doesn’t even mean anything.

Not the kind of girl you date. 

Not worth it.

All that from the boy who supposedly had your back not that long ago. The first guy in a long time, maybe even ever, to make you feel secure, and safe, and like you could trust someone again.

Luke thinks you’re an earache. 

He thinks you’re argumentative, and only worthy of a brief, summer fling - that keeping up anything with you when he goes home would be a waste of the time and energy he should be dedicating to hockey.

And he’s probably right, you think.

It’s only what you’ve been telling yourself in the back of your mind all summer. Self-deprecating thoughts about how he’s far too good for you, and you’re only interesting when he can’t have you, and he’ll get tired of you before you can even realise he’s already drifted off.

Ellie had told you all the way back in your freshman year that the two of you weren’t a good fit. Jack had been telling Luke the same all summer. And you had only just managed to convince yourself otherwise on the drive back to the lake house from the mall.

You can hardly blame him for being two steps ahead.

You think that’s why you can’t bring yourself to cry - the sting of tears prickling persistently but never pushing through, eyes watering so much you can’t even put on mascara without the fear of it trickling down your face and ruining the rest of your makeup.

You’d tried crying, before. Had ran up to your room and had sat on the other side of your bed, hidden from the door and knees pressed to your chest. Your breath had stuttered, and your lips had trembled, but the tears wouldn’t fall, try as you might to have made them.

And when Ellie had found you, had sat beside you with an arm stretched over your shoulders, you had tried, then, too.

And it would be your luck that as soon as you press the inky substance into your lashes that they would finally fall, so you’ve been sat trying to wish them away for the past ten minutes - the tube clutched in a death grip in your hands as you sit at the makeshift vanity you and Ellie had set up all those weeks ago when you had moved in, taking deep breaths and willing the hurt to go away.

It’s where Luke finds you after knocking with no response - you barely remember hearing it - shuffling wordlessly into the room and perching himself down behind you on the edge of the bed.

You see him in the mirror, your eyes darting away before his can meet them in the reflection, and you stiffen your shoulders, bracing yourself for the blow.

“I didn’t mean any of what you heard.”

You breathe out a humourless chuckle, bitterness settling into the pit of your stomach and your lips trembling with resistance. 

“I mean it, I don’t think those things about you, I promise, I-,”

“It doesn’t even matter,” you cut him off with a roll your eyes, pushing the mascara tube toward the mirror and figuring you’re just gonna go without. 

“I was panicking, and it just came out like word vomit, and I feel really sick about it, and really stupid, and I wish I could take it all back-,”

“I said it doesn’t matter.” You meet his eyes this time, trying not to fall for just how distraught he looks behind you in the mirror. 

“Of course it matters,” he frowns, and you look away as soon as he pushes himself up, knowing he’s coming for you. “I need you to know that I would never have said those things-,”

“You said them, Luke,” you scoff, “What do you mean you would never have said them, you literally did.”

“I know-,”

“It doesn’t matter-,”

“Can you stop saying that!” He frowns, appearing at the side of you, hands gripping your shoulders to get you to face him. “I’m trying to explain this to you, I’m trying to fix things, and you’re-,”

“What, giving you an earache?”

All those weeks ago, the backs of your legs sticking to the bench in the booth in the restaurant, leaning over the table and sparring back and forth with him, you had convinced yourself that he liked it.

That the glint in his eye was indication of as much, the twitch at the corner of his lips, the way he would bite back without a second to think about it, and had matched your every effort to get one over on him. 

You had thought the two of you had something real. Something you had never found with anyone else. Quick wit, and similar senses of humour, shared boundaries, a mutual level of respect. 

You had thought his persistence had been something that would stick.

And clearly, you thought wrong.

He whispers out an utterance of your name that hurts like fingers wrapped around your throat - clenching and squeezing until you go hot in the head.

“I keep saying it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t, Luke. You were right, we wouldn’t have been able to keep this up past the summer, anyway.”

Luke’s brows furrow your way, eyes darting between yours as his lips part to speak, but nothing comes out.

“You’re going back to Jersey soon, I’m going back to school, it was fun while it lasted but things have run their course.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“We both do.” You shrug, wearing your feigned indifference like armour, just like you know so well to do. “You don’t say the things you said on a whim, Luke, some part of you has to believe that they’re true.”

“I don’t-,”

“I’m giving you a chance to cut things off with no hard feelings-,”

“No hard feelings?” His disbelief cuts through you a little, the hurt in his eyes and the scrunch of his features, too, but if you give in, now, you’re setting yourself up for a world of hurt. 

You had barely just built up the courage to give your heart to him, in whatever shape he had scrunched and squeezed it into before, and he had already managed to bruise it. Giving in will only result in it breaking. 

“I have feelings. I have feelings for you. And I know you have feelings for me, too, you can’t pretend you don’t-,”

“It doesn’t-,”

“It matters.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like this - so sure, so serious, so raw - and when he takes a hold of your face, hands cupping your jaw, tender but firm, and forces you to look at him, you see the same in his features. “Cole is into you. And he said he was gonna ask you out, and I panicked trying to convince him not to. I should have had faith that you would have turned him down. And I should have been honest, and I should have told him that I’m into you. More than into you, I think I-,”

“I wouldn’t have turned him down.”

You lie with such ease that it makes your heart ache more than the truth, but it’s the only thing you can do to protect it.

If you let Luke carry on, you’ll let him back in.

You can’t let him back in.

Not with the tears that now well his eyes, or the way his face drops like you’ve just struck him in the gut - pained and powerless.

“What?”

Your hands shake in your lap so much you have to clench them shut, knuckles turning white as Luke’s touch slips from your skin. 

“If he asked me out, I would have said yes.”

Luke runs a hand through his hair, blinking repeatedly before he tears his gaze away from yours, and you feel like you can see his walls building - a sight that should flood you with relief, but doesn’t.

“So, what, everything we’ve been through together, all the things we’ve done, all the things we’ve said, you’re just gonna throw it all away like none of it matters?”

You can hear the hurt - can feel it even, clawing at your skin as if it’s trying to find a way to dig past the barriers you’ve put in place. 

But you have to do this.

“I guess not.”

Luke was always going to hurt you. Was going to burrow himself through whatever cracks you left bare to him, weasel his way into your heart and tear it from the inside out. And maybe you were always going to do the same to him.

“Alright then,” he mutters, robotic and distant, with his eyes stuck on the floor. 

He stands from where he had been crouched beside you, backing away before turning completely, and he walks away in long strides, the door to your bedroom closing with a soft click behind him. 

The tear that falls when he’s gone does so slowly. You feel it trail all the way down your cheek from the corner of your eye, until it drops, almost audibly, from your jaw and onto your lap. 

And then the rest follow, uncontrollable and unrelenting.

Inevitable, just like he had said.

A/N: so...... please don't hate me I wrote the ending first lmao!! I imagine this will cause riots in the streets tbh but please let me know what you think hahahah this whole story has become my baby!! she's problematic but she's mine!!!!

[destinationtoast]

Toastystats: Halloween fanworks!

So the thing is, I get to Blaze one post per month by virtue of having Tumblr Premium. And (while I have enjoyed Blazing pictures of my cats in the past) I thought perhaps this month people might enjoy some Halloween fandom stats + fic lists? So I threw something together. First, the stats:

Less that 1% of AO3 fanworks use the "Halloween" tag (or a subtag like "Happy Halloween" -- only 0.32%, in fact. But I found some big fandoms (10K+ works) that use a substantially higher-than-average rate of Halloweenery. (I couldn't look through every fandom on AO3, but I did look through all the fandoms with 10K+ fanworks as of January 2024. Note that some fandoms may write about Halloween a bunch without tagging it, and those aren't be captured here.)

Fall Out Boy leads the pack among these big fandoms, with nearly 1% of its fanworks using the "Halloween" tag or a subtag (0.93%). (I'd be curious to hear theories about why!) Some of the other fandoms shown above have a natural element of spookiness or horror (e.g., IT, Stranger Things), but many do not. The longer list is here. (These stats are based on pretty small numbers, btw, so please don't take these rankings too seriously. This is just a bit of fun.)

I also thought people might want to read some Halloween-themed fics from each of the above top 25 fandoms, so I highlighted works from each fandom that were complete and highly kudosed. If you're curious, the list includes this sort of info:

And I thought people might also appreciate Halloween-themed fics for different relationship categories (F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, xReader). Here's a screenshot of some of the fics in the relationship category list, if you're curious:

More information about how I created these lists below the cut.

Before we get there, could I interest you in taking a quick poll, since I am Blazing this post and curious about the audience Blaze reaches? Thanks -- and happy Halloween season! :)

The construction of these lists was definitely not an exact science. For each fandom or relationship category, I filtered to only show works with the "Halloween" tag. I then looked for complete fics in each fandom that appeared to actually be about Halloween or a spooky topic (based on their summary and/or a quick text search), and had a lot of kudos. (I didn't actually read these fanworks myself, though.) I also tried to diversify and make sure that each category included a variety of ships/fandoms. I ruled out collections of one-shots and things that appeared to be part of a long series such that they couldn't be read as a standalone. I also ruled out things that looked like incredible bummers, and honestly a few things that had major grammatical errors in the summaries.

But I linked to more in each case, so you don't have to visit the example fics I highlighted -- you can explore more on your own!

Also -- I did a lot of copy/pasting, and there may be errors in here. Feel free to let me know if you find any. Thanks, and enjoy!

[withleeknow]

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.05.2024]

[doumadono]

ANNOUNCEMENT

This is a turning point for me. I've been silent for too long, but I can't stay quiet anymore.

I'm going through writer's burnout, and it has hit me hard. I've been writing on Tumblr and Ao3 for nearly eight years now (with about 1.5 years on my private blog, doumadono). Over that time, I've written more than 400 stories across various fandoms, created the Sinful Sunday event and a series that many people like, helped many with numerous emergency requests — so many that one masterlist wasn't enough to cover them all.

But all of this has brought me to a place where writing no longer feels like a joy, but rather a duty. In my effort to make everyone happy, I lost myself and took on too much, accepting even the most twisted and difficult requests. It made me anxious and unwell whenever I thought about writing. This is why I haven't been posting much these past few weeks. I missed the breaking point and let myself reach a place where I was seriously considering quitting writing altogether and closing both my Tumblr and Ao3 accounts.

There's something else I need to address. I feel completely detached from Jujutsu Kaisen and Demon Slayer. I no longer feel comfortable writing for those fandoms. From now on, I'll be focusing mostly on My Hero Academia. Even though the manga recently ended, both the manga and the anime hold a special place in my heart. I’ve fallen in love with the story and its amazing characters. This is what feels right to me at this moment. That doesn't mean I'll never write for Demon Slayer or other fandoms again, but not now, not at this time. Maybe in the future — who knows?

Some of you might know that I've been dealing with a flood of hateful anonymous messages. Even though I’ve grown stronger and no longer consider them relevant, it still hurts to read such nasty words. This is another factor why I need to take a break.

So, what's going to change?

Sinful Sunday will no longer cover requests, and the event won't be as regular as it used to be. From now on, I'll post some sinful pieces specifically written for this event whenever I feel it's right. I'll write only for the characters I feel attached too.

Emergency requests will be limited to two slots and will no longer have a 48-hour window to be fulfilled. Once both slots are taken, emergency requests will be closed until I manage to clear the current asks in my inbox.

As of today, my ask box has been completely cleared. I won't be replying to any past asks, regardless of their origin or topic.

Commissions will remain open, as nearly all the requests have been fulfilled.

Regarding the following projects:

The Kvitravn series will be completed this year, but I can't provide a specific date just yet as I'm still working hard to bring everything together.

There's also a new series on the horizon featuring Dabi in the lead role, with a psychiatrist!Reader as the other main character.

As for Kinktober, I made a hard decision it will not be held as an event on my blog this year at all.

As of now, I want to focus on my own little My Hero Academia based AU that I created with my best friend @crystalwolfblog , and this is something that brings me a lot of comfort nowadays, and it's what I want to focus on. I’ll likely create another blog to post everything related to this AU, to keep things organized (the blog will be linked to my pinned post). This little AU was and is my safe haven for the past year and half, and since it contains all of my favourite characters, I want to focus on it fully.

The time for purification has come. I need to rediscover my purpose and find joy in writing again. To those who understand and have stuck with me since the ThePaperPanda days — you’re amazing and adorable, and I can never express how much I appreciate you, guys 💞

I want to share one last thought. This isn’t a statement, but rather a plea to readers: please respect writers, no matter the content they choose to explore. Writing is not as easy as it may seem; it requires a significant amount of time and effort, often taking up our personal time to craft a story. Don't send anon hate. Spread love instead! The least you can do to show your appreciation is to leave a comment, even if it’s just a word or two. For you, it’s a small gesture that takes less than a minute, but for the writer on the other side, it may be a much-needed sign that their work is meaningful. So if you enjoy an author’s work, don’t hesitate to leave a comment. It truly makes us writers feel like we’re on cloud nine.

Love you all, Marcianna

[littlemissclandestine]

ASK: ahhh i’m obsessed w ur adler headcanons!! pretty pretty plsss could we have more soft!adler headcanons? or maybe a few headcanons for how adler might react to realising he’s slowly falling for bell!reader before they discover the brainwash twist?? 🥺👉👈 either way just wanna express my appreciation for how you characterise him!! <3

Author's Note: Tehe back at it idk. This was an ask I got months ago but just had incredibly bad writer's and art block. Trying to get those creative juices flowing again! Thank you so much for the ask and the kind comments anon. I really really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy! <3 (your ask disappeared after i put it into Tumblr drafts??)

More Soft!Adler Headcanons:

In the morning before work, Russell wakes up a little earlier than you to spend some more time on his appearance. You see him shaving his few day old stubble and decide to help him out, taking the razor. He’d study your facial expression as you concentrate on going round each jagged edge of his scar, making sure to not cut him. His blue eyes tracing every little mark on your face, absolutely in awe of how beautiful you are even when you furrow your brows and he’d gently push a strand or two of hair out the way that had fallen over your eye. As you rinse the blade under the tap, he’d grab your chin and peck your lips, getting the taste of shaving foam in your mouth and you two would laugh about it.

I can imagine in Winter, Russell and his s/o ordering hot chocolate with some cream on top/coffee, walking and talking. When he notices your cream/foam moustache, he chuckles to himself but you pay it no mind, thinking it was his response to something you said. But he chuckles again and you question him. -> “Oh uh nothing. You just uh…got a little um...hold on.” He’d lean in and lick your lips before planting a kiss on them and leaning back to look at you with a smile, leaving you dumbfounded.

Witty jokes and comments that make you think how the hell did he come up with that one are definitely on the menu. Russell will sometimes randomly just burst into Russian or German mode and will try and teach you some words and jokes too. Mostly the swear words because everybody wants to know the swear words 

Adler and his fellow operatives were chatting one day in public with their gear on as they were on their way back to a hotel for the night before their early morning flight but the sight of kids running up to him caught his eye. They asked him questions, the usual ones, the story behind the scar and what he does for a living. At first, he wasn’t exactly the warmest towards them but when one of the kids begged him to pick them up, he grumbled and gave in, watching them just take his sunglasses and the other asking if they could touch the scar, earning a smile from him. Him an his group sat down and spent some time kicking a ball around and taking the time out for the children before they had to head back. Adler gave them all fistbumps and bent down to plant a cap on one of their heads with a wink and a side smile -> “Keep it. I don’t need it, kid.”

Slowly falling for Bell!Reader Headcanons: Part 1

Russell Adler didn’t think it was possible to be honest. Him falling for another person. Always thought of himself as a lone wolf after his divorce. Never took any interest in dates or anything because he simply didn’t have the time and partly due to a fear of being hurt again that he refused to acknowledge

Yet he found himself weirdly drawn to you. Maybe it was a sick and twisted fantasy of his, the visage of him being a human, cracking with every fleeting touch. The true monster in him seeping out, revealing his true colours

When he picked you up and out of the SUV in Trabzon, he felt nothing. Perhaps some sense of accomplishment as he was one step closer to locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but nothing more. As the initial interrogations continued in a secure location and your balaclava was yanked off by his own hands, a part of him knew he’d get attached when he saw you, in your rawest form  but he quickly pushed that thought away as fast as it appeared in his mind. But it’d creep up every now and then during the experimentation as he’d speak into the microphone and exhale the smoke through his nose as he stared at you through the glass, watching you carefully before dipping his head as he hears you let out a gut-wrenching scream and struggle in the chair, putting out his cigarette and calling it a day.

He’d catch a whiff of your perfume nearby to where he was working in the safehouse. The perfume on your wrists stayed behind on the desk after your leaned over to pass him something or rested your forearms on the desk. The subtle scent of your shampoo and body wash in the bathroom, lingering in the air. He’d inhale deeply and close his eyes, imagining you as his head resting on the back of his chair for a few moments before he stopped himself and his eyes snapped open, making sure nobody was nearby as if he was scared someone could read his thoughts.

A candle you’d left on for him as he worked late into the night once was never forgotten. Adler would relight it to remind himself of you when you were gone on a mission with the others, telling himself it’s just because it smells nice.

A Brick in the Wall: As Bell took photos of Kraus, Russell would glance over at her, watch you paying attention, adjusting the camera lens, sticking your tongue out as the camera shutter clicked and a small smile would creep onto his lips before he looked away and cleared his throat, giving you your next order. God, what was he thinking?

Some things however were just pure protective instinct. Like grabbing your forearm to pull you away from the railing as you stepped up onto to look over the edge of a balcony at night. He needed you alive for the mission of course, no other reason

 Or when he’d tuck his extra magazines into your ammo packs and make sure all your straps and harness were tight enough. Or even holding his arm out and across your chest when he had to hit the brakes hard while driving with a gentle you okay? after a few beats of silence

Or when he’d bought some food and you were out of it after an MK-Ultra session during the early days and he’d give you a little extra without a word to keep your strength up, looking into your eyes briefly as you cried but the guilt was creeping up on him and he’d leave before you sobbed. He’d close the door just as you burst into tears, his hand on the doorknob behind him and he’d sigh deeply, his eyes shut, trying to compose himself before walking off to find Park. They’re just a red. He’d remind himself constantly. But just a kid too…

Desperate Measures: As Belikov let the two of you in and you took out the guards and changed into their uniforms, he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances. Before you walked up the stairs, he stopped you and checked you over, head to toe, the expression on his face neutral but his mind was in overdrive. Russell took a step closer and his hands found the bottom of your skirt and tugged on it, pulling it down so it revealed less. A single nod and his lips a thin line before he turned and walked off. He refused to admit he didn’t want anyone looking at you the way he did.

He finds himself a little self conscious. This isn’t like him..since when was Russell motherfuckin’ Adler worried about the way he was perceived by a red of all people? Putting more aftershave on himself, a spray of cologne to mask the smell of cigarettes that had found its way into his clothing after years of the bad habit. A quick check in the mirror to adjust his outfit and hair before pushing the bridge of his sunglasses up and into place

Safe to say, you took him by surprise. He was of course impressed by your combat and cryptography skills as well as endurance during MK-Ultra, thinking it was such a shame you were on the wrong side. Began thinking of what-ifs…

After one particularly gruelling session, you were screaming and refusing to take the pills that Park was giving you to help you sleep, saying they made you want to vomit and the anti-sickness was not doing anything but Park explained that she couldn’t do much about it. Russell heard this from the other side of the door as he walked past your room late at night, telling Sims to source a different medicine he knew of. The next day, he entered your room as you wailed again, thrashing against your cot and he adminstered a dose, barely speaking to you before leaving again but as you clutched his hand, he rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand before letting go. Your touch overwhelmed him.

When he’d see you hang out and play poker or some board games with the others as he was filing reports and chasing up contacts, a tiny frown would form on his face, he’d start picking at the skin on his lips as he watched them or he’d look down and dust his pants off or fiddle with a pen, anything to distract himself from the green-eyed monster

If he heard you singing a song in the other room, he’d put it on for you in the car without a word spoken, you just staring at Adler as if to say how did you know that?

On one chilly night, you fell asleep in the dark room and Adler stood there in the doorway, looking at you, your breathing steady, face rid of anguish and you looked at peace in the red light. Slowly, he made his way over and draped his jacket round your shoulders, thinking to himself it’s just what any decent person would do. Can’t have his tool catching a cold now…

During stakeouts, Russell would start telling you random facts about himself he’s never told another person, saying to himself you’ll be gone soon anyways, that you were an outsider so that’s why it was easier to talk to you.

This feeling he had only seemed to grow with each mission. Instead of letting the others help you out when injured, he’d grip your shoulder as soon as they got in, steering you towards the nearest stool before anyone had a chance to say anything and command you to sit, treating you like the dog you are while he fetched the supplies.

As the weeks passed, he’d take you to your room and patch you up there, wanting some one-on-one time with you, making casual conversation, half to distract you from the pain and half to suppress the thoughts going round in his mind about being so close to losing you

He made you laugh once or twice and couldn’t stop thinking about it. It sounded even better than when Woods or the other crew members made you laugh and it made him smile to which you pointed out but he stood up and left shortly after, his standard, stoic expression returning to his face

Adler would stay up on a few occasions to make sure you slept, scanning your face as the pills began to take effect, his arms folded as he stood, looming over you, his finger scratching at his arm even though it wasn’t itchy. It was just unease which he consistently pushed down but he noticed he was getting more fidgety when it came to you. Almost like the guilt was eating him from the inside out. He’d take off his watch, place his cigs on the side and settle into a chair, telling himself it’s just for a few minutes but once he did stay the whole night, leaving before the others woke up. Nobody ever knew

If you ever asked about your time together as friends and during Vietnam when you’d having trouble remembering, he’d keep it short and sweet, but every now and then he’d make up something that was what he wished it would have been like. Nothing too out there.

During mission briefings, he’d find himself laying his attention on you the most as he talked, wanting to know you were really listening to him and secretly asking for your input too and once the others had returned to what they were doing before, he’d pull you to the side, asking you if you were okay with the plan and if there’s anything you need to go over. I mean, you were the main star of course so it makes sense but his hand would reach for your upper arm and then retract. Boundaries, Adler…

One thing that killed him though was the fact that you only ever grabbed him out of fear, during MK-Ultra when you didn’t want him to leave, when in agony from a gunshot wound, or just as you dropped off to sleep after he injected your when you were being disobedient. Couldn’t admit he wanted you to grab onto him in desperation as he- Get a grip, Adler! When did he start thinking of you like that?

After Cuba, he felt nothing. No sense of accomplishment yet as he was one step further away from locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but now he was two steps closer to saying goodbye to you for good…

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello there, so it’s my first time requesting for you and I read all the rules and I think I’m ready to request, so Glamrock Freddy, Monty, Sunrise and Moondrop x gn! Reader, (separately), where the reader is giving more attention to the animatronics plushies, rather them the real ones, headcanons. Thank you and feel free to ignore if you find this request confusing.

Ps: this message might get spammed, Tumblr is eating my messages lately, so sorry 😅. Anyways, thank you.

—⊱ I’m Right Here ⊰ || Freddy, Monty, Sun, and Moon (Separate) X Reader Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮       Character(s): Glamrock Freddy, Montgomery Gator, Daycare Attendant/Sun and Moon (FNaF: Security Breach)        Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns)        Warning(s): Jealousy/Slight Possessiveness, Physical Touch (Hugging, Kissing, etc.) – Besides that, Nothing!        Genre: Headcanons/Scenario, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship        Word Count: ~1,740 words        Request: “Hello there, so it’s my first time requesting for you and I read all the rules and I think I’m ready to request, so Glamrock Freddy, Monty, Sunrise and Moondrop x gn! Reader, (separately), where the reader is giving more attention to the animatronics plushies, rather them the real ones, headcanons. Thank you and feel free to ignore if you find this request confusing. Ps: this message might get spammed, Tumblr is eating my messages lately, so sorry 😅. Anyways, thank you.”        Author’s Note: Don’t worry, this request wasn’t confusing at all – I actually found it really cute and fairly easy to write (sometimes I like requests that don’t take that much brain power haha)! I know other writers have done similar requests, but I just eat this stuff up every time I see it. There’s just something so funny to me about characters getting jealous over a plushie. I hope you like it, and I hope I was able to do your request justice! FYI: All of the characters can be read platonically, but I did add an extra bullet point for each that leans more into romantic territory and is marked as such! (Also, my Sun and Moon bias is showing.)

      → If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

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     🐻: Freddy doesn’t get jealous very easily; in fact, he’s probably the least possessive animatronic in the entire Pizzaplex (with Chica being a close second)! So, when he notices you fawning over a plushie of himself you bought for yourself at the gift shop, he actually finds it quite adorable. You just look so cute treating the mini/softer version of himself as if it was alive! He may even take a few pictures of the sweet display. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest that you’re excited about your new plushie.

     🐻: However, he does start wondering if you’re trying to make him jealous after a few days of this behavior. In the beginning, he just thought you were excited to have a new stuffed animal for your collection, but he now had a sneaking suspicion that you were doing this on purpose. So, being the mature fellow that he is, Freddy decides to just ask you directly about your behavior. He even tells you that you almost purposefully ignoring him in favor of a stuffed toy makes him feel… not so great.

     🐻: Oh no, your “Make-Freddy-Jealous” plan backfired exponentially – all you ended up doing was make him feel bad! You just wanted to know if he could even feel an emotion like jealousy considering how open and emotionally mature he was… guess you got your answer there. You quickly apologize to Freddy, though, telling him that you could never love a stuffed animal more than you love and care about him. Thankfully Freddy isn’t the type of animatronic to hold a grudge, so your words make his mood brighten immediately. He forgives you fairly quickly since he knows you didn’t mean any harm by your little prank, but he will bring it up in the future to lightheartedly tease you over such a childish stunt.

     🐻 (Romantic Bonus Headcanon): Freddy will just watch you with a somewhat blank stare as you essentially drown the plush in a sea of kisses. There it is, that uncomfortable feeling again… So, he makes his way over to you, gently removing the plush from your grasp and bringing your hands up to cup his face. Freddy smiles at you gently and, with the plushie completely forgotten due to how cute the animatronic in front of you was, you instead started placing kisses all over his faceplate as you both giggle about the absurdity of the situation.

     🐊: Monty was very quickly not happy with the plushie of himself you managed to win in a crane game while you were slacking off taking a break in the Fazcade. At first, he felt his ego soar when he noticed how happy you were to have a smaller stuffed version of himself as you showed it off to him and some of his bandmates, but that feeling quickly faded with all of the attention you were currently giving it and not him (Monty is the complete opposite of Freddy when it comes to jealousy). You two were supposed to be playing golf, not fawning over some stupid doll.

     🐊: He fairly quickly comes up with an idea to get rid of the thing so you two could continue on with your usual hangout routine. Without much more thought to his plan, he goes to enact it. Monty points out something across the course and, when your attention is diverted, he “accidentally” knocks your plushie out of your hands and into the chlorinated water that weaves in and out of the golf course. At first, he finds the look on your face funny, but that’s quickly replaced with guilt when he sees your eyes start tearing up.

     🐊: He quickly grabs the plushie from the water and, with you following close behind him, takes it to one of the staff break rooms where a washer and dryer were located (they were there in case your uniform got dirty in one way or another – it was an establishment primarily for kids, after all, so stains were quite common). He apologizes in a painfully Monty way and, after some more crocodile tears from you, you eventually accept his apology when your beloved prize comes out of the dryer unscathed and only smelling slightly like a public pool. Not that much different from the real thing, honestly.

     🐊 (Romantic Bonus Headcanon): As soon as Monty sees you place a single kiss on the plushie’s face, it’s over for the poor thing. The exact moment your lips make contact with the cottony material, it is hastily grabbed out of your hands and flung across the room, bouncing off the wall with a comedic squeak. It’s unscathed since Monty knows how much you like the stupid thing, but he’s not letting you go near it for the rest of the night. He’ll just fling himself across your lap, making you essentially stuck in place as he demands to have your undivided attention.

     ☀️: When he sees you holding and doting over a stuffed version of himself one of the kids gave to you as a present, Sun feels his non-existent heart soar over the metaphorical moon; you just looked so cute playing with the mini Sun plushie alongside the children! However, once all the kids had left with their respective guardians, you were still playing with the doll. Well, that was strange – normally you’d be spending the last half hour of your shift spending one-on-one time with him. As more time passed and the time for you to clock out was nearing, Sun took it into his own hands to get your attention back on him.

     ☀️: Sun made his way over to you with a smile, easily snatching the plush from your hands and running around the daycare with it in his grasp. If you weren’t going to pay attention to him yourself, he just had to make you! You do as he expected, chasing him around almost as if you two were playing tag (or more in this case keep away). This isn’t quite what he wanted, but Sun was glad you were at least spending time with him, even if said time was mostly you yelling at him as you took time to catch your breath after running around for however long.

     ☀️: For good measure, Sun even puts the plush in timeout on a shelf far above where you could grab it without the need for a stepstool; it was a pain how tall the animatronics were sometimes (plus the fact you couldn’t find a single stepstool in the entire daycare). With crossed arms and a stern façade, Sun asks why bother playing with something that can’t even play back. After all, he thought you liked spending time with him before your shift ended! Believe it or not, Sun has a slight manipulative streak and, since he knows you have a soft spot for him, it doesn’t take very much convincing for you to spend the rest of your shift making arts and crafts rather than fawning over a plushie.

     ☀️ (Romantic Bonus Headcanon): Sun stares you down like a hawk from across the daycare as you place feathery kisses all over the face of the mini Sun. Thankfully the children were gone, so now he could enact his revenge for having to see you fawn over the plush for the past however many hours. Sun makes his way over to you and, without any warning, lifts you up in his arms and holds you the exact same way you’re holding the doll in your hands, placing his unique “kisses” all over your face just as you had done to the plush. Eventually the stuffed toy is forgotten in favor of giving your favorite animatronic your undivided attention.

     🌙: Moon pretty much immediately knows you’re up to something due to the strange amount of attention you were giving the small plushie version of himself. He’s sitting on the floor, cradling one of the children who is fast asleep in his arms as he glared at you from across the daycare. You were babying the mini Moon doll, giving it more attention than you had ever given him. As much as he hated to admit it, it was quite an annoying sight to see. He had no clue why he was becoming jealous over a plush, but he needed to get rid of the thing fast.

     🌙: Gently setting the child down on the soft mat in front of him, Moon silently made his way over to where you were sitting as you fiddled with the small bell on the plushie’s hat. You didn’t even notice Moon approaching until the plush was ripped out of your hands, the small bell jingling as Moon dangled it above your head with a smirk. You were going to shout at him, but he quickly cut that idea off by placing a finger to his mouth and making a “shh” noise between his closed teeth.

     🌙: However, no matter how much you quietly pleaded for him to give it back, Moon drew his arm back and flung the plushie over the glass walls. It landed in the net that surrounded the daycare and now had to sit there before you’d be able to retrieve it after closing. Moon didn’t feel bad in the slightest since you’d easily be able to get it back, but now you were ignoring him on purpose. Oh well, he’s sure you’ll get over it before the night ended. If you gave him the silent treatment for days, however, he would eventually apologize for throwing your stupid doll into the net.

     🌙 (Romantic Bonus Headcanon): The lights were off and you two were finally able to have some time to spend with one another, but here you were kissing a doll of the very animatronic you were supposed to be hanging out with right at that moment. Was Moon jealous over a stuffed toy? Perhaps he was, but he knew a fairly easy way to get your attention back on him. Walking over to where you were currently sitting, Moon sat down beside you and wormed his way into your lap, grabbing your face after batting the plush out of your hands before pulling you down and placing a feathery light kiss on your lips. Now that was certainly one way to get your attention, but it definitely worked out in the end.

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Hidden Embers

Series summary: You return to your home state the summer after graduating college. The relentless Texas heat, the suburban southern bubble and your treacherous relationship with your mom give you the feeling this will be a long summer. That's until Joel Miller enters the picture.

Summary: Your welcome-back party brings a re-encounter with one of your dad’s old friends, one you don’t remember looking so good.

A/N: Hello strangers, haven't seen you in a long long time. This is something that's been on the works for months now. Ideally, I wanted to put this series out when I had a good enough chunk of the story finished since I'm the most undecisive person ever. However, I wanna start posting some chapters on here as I go and then post the full completed thing on AO3. I will warn you though, it is very likely that as I write the story, I will keep on making some changes to previously posted chapters just so in the end it all makes sense and it's cohesive, I will let you guys know whenever there has been a major change. Take this as me asking the tumblr girlies to beta read this series before i publish it over on AO3. In any case, I hope the ones who decide to start reading here instead of waiting for the full thing enjoy it very much, I'm very open to suggestions, opinions and constructive critisism. :)

Warnings: Age-gap (Reader is 22, Joel is 46), Dbf!Joel, mommy issues

It was your first summer back home after graduation. The relentless Texas heat was bringing memories from your childhood that had been buried away until now, some of them felt more like dreams at this point. You had never been too good with the heat, but spending four years in chilly, gloomy New England had certainly birthed a new appreciation for it.

You weren’t sure you wanted to come back and stay for the entire summer, but your southern-to-the-core mother has a knack for getting her way. Something about “You were away for four whole years, I’m sure you can spare us a couple months before you jump right into a job in god knows where. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up moving back and finding something around here, a nice guy to settle down with and finally get your life going.” 

God forbid. 

Naturally, in true southern fashion, your parents had to make your graduation celebration a neighborhood affair. A big barbeque, with all the nice people your parents grew up with, went to highschool and college with, who married and had kids with each other. People who haven’t, a day in their lives, given a single thought to what might exist outside of their perfect suburban bubbles. 

You weren’t trying to act ungrateful – it was a celebration of one of your most important milestones after all. People were coming together to congratulate you and your achievements. But if it were up to you, none of them would have been invited and you wouldn’t have celebrated it like this. Honestly, you missed the trips you used to take with your dad as a kid, all the way out in the countryside. Just the two of you for a week during the summer, staying in an old cabin that creaked and shook whenever your steps were too heavy. You don't remember why you stopped going, but you wished you still did. It would have been a much nicer celebration.

None of today’s guests knew you as anything other than your parent’s daughter, the shiny new thing your mother was choosing to show off. You knew that’s how it was gonna be the second your mother told you there was no point in attending your college’s graduation party, why would you when they could make you your own celebration back home with all the nice neighborhood people instead of a room full of strangers?

Your dad had good intentions, you knew that… deep, deep down. But it had always just been the three of you, and even when it was blatantly obvious your mother was in the wrong, even when there was no way of justifying her behavior, he still stood behind her, echoing her words. 

And that's how you ended up here, prepping food for your own graduation barbeque, decorating your own garden, cleaning up your own house so it would be squeaky clean for people you hadn’t seen in well over a decade. It’s what a “Do it for me, i’ll make it up to you I promise. The community is just really important to your mom” from your dad gets out of you. 

You had probably been looking at yourself for a good twenty minutes now. Nothing you tried on felt quite right. It was either too formal, too casual, too revealing or too childish. This was a direct consequence of moving out of the south at the ripe age of 10; No one in Virginia taught you how to dress for a neighborhood barbeque. 

Last minute you land on a blue sundress, delicate white flowers scattered around, long enough to cover your knees but not enough to make you look like you just walked out of Sunday school. You took that as a win. 

At the sound of your mother loudly complaining about no one in the house ever helping (a comment undoubtedly directed at you), you decide to drag yourself downstairs. The sooner you get this party started, the sooner you could be done with it.

Rushing down the stairs, distractedly gathering your hair up with a tie, you unexpectedly bump into something – or rather someone.  

"Easy, there. Where's the fire?"

That familiar voice… same old Joel Miller. A few more grays overpowering the darkness of his hair, a couple more wrinkles here and there and a deeper tan painting his skin a more caramel-y shade. But it was still him. 

You knew very little about Joel, just that he was your dad’s best friend for as long as you could remember. The periodic phone calls they filled with hour-long football discussions, the christmas cards exchanged and birthday wishes texted. You remember him being around the house a lot before moving out of Texas, although the specifics of it escape your memory.

Now he’s standing right in front of you, firm hands holding you by your arms to make sure you won't lose your balance, and you’re faced with the fact that twenty-two-year-old you might be seeing Joel Miller through a different lens. 

Your brain isn’t really doing what it’s meant to do, which in this exact moment would be produce an acceptable response for the six-foot-something man with broad shoulders, dark brooding eyes and a musky, woody scent that made you wanna… No. Focus.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t even see you there… I didn’t think anyone would arrive until five.” you finally reply to his expectant stare. 

“No need to be sorry.” He says back, letting go of your arms once he’s sure you’re able to stand on your own. “Well, welcome home. Haven’t seen you since you were running around in mermaid tees” 

Yeah, now seemed like the right time to look for a hole in the ground to crawl into. 

“Oh, that’s not fair, I grew out of my mermaid phase long before we moved.  I was well into boyband territory last time you saw me” you try to joke your way through the conversation, hoping the burning sensation crawling up to your cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. 

The embarrassment of the moment would have churned your insides for much longer if Joel's mouth hadn't quirked up in a charming smirk, so captivating it was hard to believe he wasn't aware of its effect. 

That on its own was already causing some conflicting feelings to boil up inside you, but then he had the nerve to let out a small chuckle he seemed to have been trying to hold back. He was chuckling... Texas’ resident grump was chuckling at your joke, which wasn't even that funny if we’re being fully earnest. Why did you like that thought so much?

You were about to say something, anything really, in a shameless attempt to see if you could earn one more of those, when your mother's approaching voice snapped you out of the haze.

“Are you gonna make me drag you in here, or will you do me the courtesy of helping out... Oh, goodness me! Joel! I didn’t hear you come in, you’re here early.” She switched gears faster than a professional racer. Suddenly, she was back to being the neighborhood’s sweetheart, her voice dripping with that sickly sweet drawl.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the intrusion,” Joel replies, slipping back into his usual, almost stiff demeanor. Whatever new side you had seen of him a second ago was quickly gone. “Hank asked me to drop by a bit earlier to bring him the grill. Said mine’s better suited for the amount of meat he’s buying.”

“Oh, how that man refuses to listen. I told him we didn’t need that much meat. I'm making a whole lotta side dishes,” she whines, waving her hand dismissively. “Well, I guess everyone will be taking leftovers home then. Hank went over to the store to grab me some stuff I was missing. He should be back in a heartbeat.” She glances back at you and, in that passive-aggressive tone that almost anybody else would miss, said, “Well, sweetheart, don’t just stand there. Go help Joel unload his grill and show him what a good host you are.” 

It was only your third day back home. Somehow, four years of freedom had made living in this household even more unbearable. 

Smile, turn around, walk away. Choose your peace, choose your peace, choose your peace.

Heavy footsteps echo yours all the way to the garage, where Joel's truck waited. You let him walk past you to unlock the tailgate. “Your mom hasn’t changed one bit, has she?” Joel says distractedly while grabbing some metal pieces that looked like parts of his grill. 

“Oh, if you only knew.” you say back, trying your best to conceal the sharpness of your tone. 

He hands you the cold metal parts, surprisingly lighter than you anticipated. You were convinced he only made you carry them to let you feel useful. “Believe me, I know. Known your mom since way before you were even a thought runnin’ through her mind.” 

Right. Because Joel happens to be your parents’ age and over twice your senior. One of the many reasons why getting distracted by the way his muscles flexed while picking up the grill was so beyond wrong. 

“You uh… you still live a few houses up the street?” You asked, trying your best to redirect your reckless thoughts. 

“Same old house.” He replies with a slightly strained voice from carrying the weight. Once he set it down in the backyard, he turned around to take the pieces you were holding onto. “Renovated some of it, built a new pool out back.” 

“That sounds nice, might have to check it out sometime.” You said it without even thinking much. What compelled you to think it was acceptable to tell a man you haven't seen in over a decade you would like to ‘check out’ his pool, was beyond you.

You thought Joel would chuckle it off or maybe not even acknowledge it, which he would’ve been well within his right to do, but he looked up to you from his leaning position next to the grill and said “Yeah, I think you might.” 

You couldn’t shake off Joel’s words throughout the whole afternoon. 

First chance you got to zone out in between introductions, awkward small talk and getting asked the same thing for the thousandth time, your mind drifted back to Joel’s words. 

He was just being polite, right? He has always been a gentleman after all. Maybe it was just the southern hospitality in him, maybe he didn’t even mean it and was just trying to be nice.

Yeah, I think you might

You were probably just reading too much into it, but the way he said it seemed like a lot more than just being polite. Or, and this is a very big possibility, it’s been way too long since you’ve let anyone take you to bed and you’re latching onto the first man who looks your way. 

You try to distract your brain with the old lady in front of you instead, who’s been chatting you up about her four cats for over fifteen minutes. She’s surprisingly nice but you think you’d be enjoying her chatter a lot more if your mind wasn’t so distracted.

She notices as much.  “You doin’ alright there, sweetheart?” 

You  brush it off as best as you can. “Oh, I'm alright. I just think the trip and the unpacking is finally catching up to me.” You stand up from the lawn chair you’d been lounging on. “I’ll go grab myself a drink, can I grab you anything?” 

She smiles sweetly up at you and replies “No, sweetness, you go ahead.” 

The chatter outside dulls out as you close the glass doors behind you. You don’t bother turning on the kitchen overhead lights, relying only on light seeping in from the back yard.

The chill from the fridge hits your chest as you crack the door open to grab a can of coke. Just as you pop the tab, a shadow leaning against the door frame makes you jump. 

“Jesus, give a girl a warning.” you say bringing your hand to your chest trying to slow your heartbeat back down. 

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t mean to scare you.” Joel's voice comes from the shadow

Darlin’ ? Lord, were you screwed. 

You hoped the dim lighting was doing enough to hide the burning red that was probably staining your cheeks already, especially since Joel was pushing off of the door frame and walking over to you. 

“Needed a break from the crowd too?” you ask softly, cutting through the quiet.

The corner of his lips curves up in one of his killer smirks and you can already tell that’s gonna be one of your favorite things about him. “You readin’ me like a book.” 

You give him a tiny smile and take a sip of your Coke, the cold liquid a welcome distraction. “I thought you’d be manning the grill.”

He grumbles softly, the sound reverberating in his chest. “Hank’s got it covered for now. Figured I’d come check on you.”

You look up at him confused. “Check on me? Why?”

He shrugged, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright. This can’t be easy, coming back after all this time.”

More than the charming smirks or the pet names or the indecipherable jabs, this knocked the air out of your chest. You were so used to everyone telling you how lucky you were, how wonderful your parents were and how great it was they could put you through college, how perfect of a life you had and how easy it seemed for you to deal with it all. You get it, that’s how it looked from the outside and you didn’t blame people for thinking that. But the truth was you had just become shockingly skilled at hiding your struggles, pretending you had everything under control and plastering a big, dazzling smile on your face.

Somehow, in the few hours that Joel has been around you, at least in this past decade, he managed to see right through this smoke screen you’ve been building your entire life to keep people from seeing what’s going on inside. 

It leaves you speechless for a second. “Oh, um…” you can’t take your eyes off of him now, far too unconcerned to notice if you’re staring. “It’s been… exhausting and a bit hectic but, you know... I’m alright. Thank you for asking, Joel.” His name slips out of your lips so easily, like you could picture yourself saying it over and over again without ever burning out. 

He looks down, almost like he isn’t used to doing this either, like he’s searching for something else to say. Then his hoarse voice breaks through the silence “Well, if you’re not, you know where to find me.” 

With one last glance, a lingering one at that, Joel turns back and leaves where he came from. Like he didn’t just tip your entire world out of balance. 

And you’re left there in the dark, trying to figure out what the hell this feeling on your chest is and why, on god's green earth, your father’s best friend won’t leave your head. 

[notreallysama]

⸸ 𝐰!𝐭𝐡 ☣︎𝐧𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐬

𖤐 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. I haven't written in a long time, wanted to get started on tumblr. criticism appreciated (⸝⸝╸-╺⸝⸝) might make a bonus part for sylus later.

𖤐 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. none, it's sfw, just spoilers up ahead. no use y/n, and reader is gender neutral. a little bit of creative freedom on rafayel's part lol.

𖤐 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. I couldn't stop thinking about how the boys would react if they saw the way sylus treats you, so...

Out of all three of them, Zayne panics the most. He still has that stoic expression on his face, but he keeps clenching and unclenching his jaw, and he's utterly restless.

His hands shake. It's just a little tremble for anyone else, but for a surgeon? It's pretty serious.

He can't stop his thoughts from spiraling, forming every possibility under the sun about what could go wrong with your heart, depending on what situation could you be facing at the moment. It's quite difficult for him to maintain a clear head.

That is, until he finally finds you.

The moment his eyes catch sight of you, it's easy to push away every thought, other than getting. you. out.

Zayne is quite protective. Seeing the way Sylus... throws you around, tosses you, the way he talks to you like you're a pet, it makes his eyebrows twitch.

He hasn't handled you with care in all his lives, for an arrogant man to treat you with such little respect.

He knows he has to turn a blind eye, focus on getting you out of his hold, on reasoning with him to avoid pointless conflict, but it's so hard when his eyes keep snapping to the way he grips your arm like that.

"Release her. Whatever you are trying to gain, I can arrange it."

"I see you lack common courtesy."

"I was planning to avoid getting blood on my hands, but that doesn't mean I would hesitate, if I need to."

Doesn't talk. Not a word.

He doesn't give his brain a second to breathe, even. He doesn't let himself process the anxiety of you going missing. All he thinks about is plans, plans, plans. Where should he look next? Which part of the N109 Zone should he investigate after that one? Who should he contact to possibly get more information about where you were last seen?

There are very few moments, when he's sitting in his living room, the lights all off except for the little bunny night light, that his mind does wander.

You would be safe now, at home, if he hadn't let you out of his sight.

He blames himself, then, and the guilt is so heart-crushing that he gets up right there and then, and off to the next location.

When he finally catches sight of you, all that leaves his mouth is a breathless whisper of your name, before he rushes.

He doesn't bother with any of the people working for Sylus, not a second glance sent their way as he just dodges the attacks and moves as fast as light, just to get to you.

His eyes are zeroed in on the crimson-eyed man, his lips pressed together in a tight line as his brain works a hundred times faster.

His priority is to get you behind him. To put himself at ease that you're out of that insolent man's reach.

He talks only to you.

"Get behind me."

His expression is unreadable as he's told that there's still no news on your whereabouts, after three entire days.

It would be a lie if he says he didn't know the peaceful days of taking walks on the beach, calling you "Miss Bodyguard" in the most whiney tone possible just to get a reaction out of you, you staying with him while he works on a drawing... it would be a lie if he says he didn't know those days would eventually come to an abrupt halt.

Maybe he just thought he would have more time with you, before fate catches up.

Not that he is planning to say goodbye. Not again.

His manager has never seen a more serious look on his face before, has never heard his voice so... monotone as he calls to say he can't make it to today's event.

He knows where he has to go, he isn't entirely unprepared for this. It has just gotten a little more out of his hands than he'd like to admit. Nothing he can't fix.

But god is he irritated. Irritated at the way that greedy bastard is looking at him, the way he looks like he's barely bothered to protect you from him taking you away.

Whether it's because Sylus underestimates him, or how little he values you, it gets under Rafayel's skin. He's never been a patient man.

Ah, is that blood on his coat? He didn't really pay attention to which one of the freaks working for that jerk he had stabbed in the hallways.

"You don't have to make it harder than it has to be, you know?"

"A deal, with you? Don't make me laugh."

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

How to Leave Comments on Fanfiction

So, I recently made a poll to know if people might find it helpful to have a list of things they could talk about when leaving comments on fanfictions, be it on Ao3 or on here. A majority of people were interested in seeing the post so, well, I'm making it. I started writing and posting stuff online when I was a teenager, on a website where leaving constructive criticism was the norm. It's by far the place where I've gotten the most feedback and it was an incredibly formative experience for me as a young writer — and it taught me how to leave detailed comments.

Writing comments doesn't necessarily come easy. It's something that you may need to learn how to do, but the good news is that you can learn how to do it, so don't worry if you don't know what to say at first. Hopefully this list will give you some pointers on how to do that.

This is more or less the list I go through when I want to leave a detailed comment. Even if I don't have a specific idea at first, I'll go through the steps and I never come out empty-handed.

Comment etiquette:

What became apparent with the poll I made was that a lot of people worry about how they'll be perceived by the writers if they leave a comment. Now, obviously, writers aren't a monolith, but 99% of the time writers will be thrilled that you took the time to leave a comment to let them know what you enjoyed in their fic. I cannot stress this enough. We're not going to judge someone based on a positive comment they leave.

As it stands, on Tumblr and Ao3, it's seen as rude to leave negative feedback, unless the author has explicitly asked for it/agreed to it, so that's what I'll be going over here. Since quite a few writers did say on that post that they would like to get constructive comments as well, stay tuned, I'm trying to get something together to do that for authors. Other than that, you're good to go.

The main ways to let an author know your thoughts on a fic on Tumblr are:

reblogging a fic with your thoughts underneath it

reblogging with your thoughts in the tags, which is often less formal

leaving a comment as a 'reaction'

sending in an ask if they're activated on the blog (which means you can stay anonymous, if anon asks are allowed)

Reblogging means that your followers will see the post as well, and is therefore really appreciated on Tumblr.

As a note, you may find different systems work for different fics! Maybe leaving tag rambles works for you when commenting on drabbles, for example for me it's the system I use to leave comments on smut.

General advice:

Everything I'm saying in here is for people who want to be able to leave longer/more detailed comments and don't always know where to start. If, for whatever reason, you're not comfortable or you don't have time to do it at the moment, a simple "I love the fic, thank you for writing it" always goes a long way for an author.

The key thing to keep in mind if you're trying to find something else to say, I think, is to try making the comment specific to the fic you're leaving it on. It shows the writer what you took away from the fic and the fic's strong points, which is both meaningful and helpful to an author.

Comments don't have to be long to be meaningful. Don't stress about writing a ton; a one-sentence comment highlighting the fic's humor or how emotional it made you can be incredibly impactful.

With this out of the way, I'll go through things you can talk about in a comment, starting with what I think is the easiest and moving on to things that could require more thought. You don't have to do all of that. You may never use some of the things on that list. Leaving comments should not be a source of anxiety. So take what you want from the list, maybe come back to it if you need more inspiration, and don't worry too much about it :)

Favorite line(s) : pull from the fic to let the author know what your favorite line was. If you wish, you can expand on that by saying why it was your favorite: did it make you laugh? Did it make you feel something specific? Did the author nail the characterization with it? Was there some incredible metaphor? Did you find it beautiful or poetic even if you can't go into detail? Is there one line in particular at the beginning of the fic that hooked you in and made you want to keep reading?

All of that is very valuable for a writer to know. Some of my favorite comments I've gotten were a list of a reader's favorite lines from a fic with one or two sentences to explain why they liked them, so don't hesitate to do that more than once if you can!

Emotions:  if there’s one thing I know about writers, it’s that we’re thrilled when we’ve made you cry. So tell us: how did the writing make you feel? Did you laugh out loud? If you did, was it the dialogue, or the narrator? Did it make you cry? Which part? Could you relate to one of the characters? Did it make you feel seen? Did the fluff make you feel all fuzzy inside or did the angst twist knots in your stomach? This isn't an exhaustive list, and emotions are great to draw from when you're leaving a comment!

Favorite element of the writing: Is there one thing in the writing that struck you as being particularly good, or what was your favorite thing to read? Is the author a master at writing dialogue? Are their descriptions so good you could see the whole scene? Are they really good at getting in a character's head and describing their emotions? Were you hooked from the start and couldn't stop until you reached the end?

Characterization: Now, this might be less instinctive, but if you've been in a fandom for a while, you'll probably be able to identify these things fairly easily. You can tell the author if you think they've nailed one aspect of a character. Did you have a favorite character in the fic? What did you think of them? Did the author manage to capture their voice? Was the attitude spot-on? Which parts of the character, if you can name them? Were there aspects of the character you particularly enjoyed? Did the author shine a light on something you hadn't considered or on something you don't think is highlighted often enough? Is there one thing from the fic you can actually picture/hear a character doing/saying in your head?

Style: I'd argue this is the hardest part, and you shouldn't feel bad if it's not something you can really comment on. As someone whose first language isn't English, I know I struggle with it. Style can be perceived as the way the author's voice comes through in the text. It can come through in punctuation, in the way sentences are formed, in the choice of the words themselves. If, when you read, you feel something intangible that doesn't fit well in the other categories, it just might be the author's style.

Here are some things (non-exhaustive list, of course) you could say about an author's style: it can be direct, straight to the point. The author doesn't bother with ornaments. Every sentence feels impactful. Maybe the writing feels intense. You're overwhelmed by the characters and their feelings and you feel truly engulfed in the story. Maybe the style is light and airy. It's so easy to read you don't even notice you are reading. Maybe the writing is intricate. Going through it is like piecing a puzzle together, sentences are foreshadowing and metaphors reveal deep truths about the characters. Maybe the style is rich. While not always the easiest, it's a pleasure to read through it, the author has a wide vocabulary, and you might want to compare it to a well-written novel.

If you identify specific elements of that style (metaphors, interesting use of punctuation, etc.), don't hesitate to point them out and let the author know you enjoy them!

That is it for this post, hopefully it doesn't look too daunting — again, you absolutely do not need to do all that in any comment, but maybe going through this list can help you leave comments for authors you enjoy.

I like to end my comments with 'Thank you for writing and sharing this with us', so I'll tell you thank you for reading, I hope this was helpful, and please consider reblogging if you'd like to save this or if you think it could help someone else!

As a bonus, my friend @elidebrey and I (but mostly her) made a 'checklist' for commenting, to help remember all this if that's something you'd like, so use at will!

A big thank you to @elidebrey, @yoongihan and @antoniorhinothethird for their precious opinions on this ♥

[shadow4-1]

Shadow4-1's Masterlist for Headcanons/Imagines/Ficlets (Part 1)

I finally got around to making my masterlists! Under the cut is most of my headcannons, ficlets, you name if. They're in order by character - or group! I will be making a part 2 soon as Tumblr refuses to let me edit this anymore!

All links will be tagged with either an [NSFW] or appropriate genre tag like [Fluff] next to the title. Okay, I hope you enjoy. And please remember - MDNI! No age listed blogs will be blocked! (Banner Source)

Feel free to use any and all of my headcanons, imagines, etc. to make your own content! Credit/a tag would be nice! If not, I'd just appreciate a DM so I can read your content!

(Also, this isn't ALL of the content available on my blog! It's only the stuff I'm proud of. For everything I've ever written you'll just have to go swimming through my blog!)

Group Headcanons - {141} / {Los Vaqueros} / {Kortac}

(First) Kiss Imagines w/ the 141 Boys + Alejandro, Rudy, & Konig [NSFW]

No Boundaries - Task Force 141 Headcanons/Imagines [SFW]

Smelly - Reader & 141 Drabble [SFW]

Getting Drunk Imagines w/ the 141 Boys + Alejandro, Rudy, & König [SFW]

Getting drugged at a bar with the 141 [NSFW]

Captain Price:

Heart Eyes (Love At First Sight AU/Imagine - Reader x Price) [SFW/AU]

Getting bent over Price's knee and spanked with his belt in front of the boys [NSFW]

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Sweet n' Silly Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Headcanons [NSFW]

Man Thoughts - Ghost Edition [NSFW]

"King of the Forest" Ghost [SFW]

"There's only one bed" Trope [SFW]

You and Soap Trigger Ghost's PTSD [SFW/Fluff]

Doing yoga in secret some but Ghost's been watching the whole time [NSFW]

Ghost makes Soap get you on webcam [NSFW]

Pulling a knife on Ghost during sex [NSFW]

Soulmate!AU where you and Ghost are tied together through shared dreams [SFW]

A make-out session with Ghost [NSFW]

Ghost is a vampire AU [SFW]

Kissing both Soap and Ghost goodnight at the door [NSFW]

John "Soap" MacTavish:

Silly Little Soap Headcanons (w/ A Few Wee Nasty Ones) [NSFW]

You're Not My Boyfriend! - Crazy!Soap x Reader Imagine [SFW]

Ex-boyfriend Soap having a dirty polaroid of you [NSFW]

Doing a clothing swap with Soap for a training day [SFW]

Soap and Gaz getting unreasonably jealous over who you spend more time with [SFW]

Kissing both Soap and Ghost goodnight at the door [SFW]

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Making out in a motel bed with both Gaz and Soap [NSFW]

Soap and Gaz getting unreasonably jealous over who you spend more time with [SFW]

Konig:

Man Thoughts - Konig Edition [NSFW]

Makarov:

A chance encounter with Makarov [SFW]

Reader-Centered Headcanons:

Reader who's just trying to do her damn job. [SFW]

The first time the 141 sees you in something other than your fatigues [NSFW]

The 141 purposely picking you out of a pool of potential candidates [SFW]

Scuba diving training with the 141 [SFW]

The 141's jealousy at you harboring a crush on another task force's star member [SFW]

The 141 stages an intervention for you (they don't like you seeing people that aren't them) [NSFW]

Moments between the members of the 141 that attaches them to you forever [SFW]

Having to break up small fights between the 141 [SFW]

Your first spat with a member of the 141 and how you might be dealt with (by either Price or Ghost)[SFW]

A "lazy day" with the 141, except, it's really just you getting them to finally wind down [SFW]

The 141 wants you to leave your normie boyfriend, and you do eventually [SFW]

Being annoying as fuck and the boys decide to fuck with you back [SFW]

Waking up in a 141 dog pile [SFW]

You start to become an Omega (A/B/O Dynamic AU) [NSFW]

Texting your usual fuck buddy (Soap) to come to your room, except he doesn't - but Ghost does [SFW]

The 141 rents out a "haunted" mansion only for the place to be exactly as advertised [SFW]

Promising a kiss to whichever 141 guy wins a mock FIFA tournament [SFW]

Becoming the 141's medic by accident and tragedy [NSFW]

Doing some vent maintenance on base and getting stuck [NSFW]

Being nervous around the 141 and yet STILL garnering their attention [SFW]

A "lazy day" with the 141 (or getting them to calm down after a mission) [SFW]

Catching glimpses of the 141's search history [NSFW]

Unknowingly giving the 141 boners [NSFW]

Trapped for a week in a shithole safehouse [SFW]

[yourfriendlyfanperson]

A Chemical Reaction Called Love

Chapter 2: More than a Coincidence

~Pairing: Steve Harrington x F!reader

~Summary: Being the daughter of Hawkins Middle School Science teacher, Scott Clarke, has its perks. Constantly having to explain things to 'King' Steve Harrington wasn't necessarily one of them but it was something you had gotten used to. He might not be the brightest guy but at least he tried, and you appreciated that. You had big plans for the future, but they might be forced to change thanks to a phone call...

~Warnings: Sensitive topics might be brought up so reader discretion is advised.

~Word Count: 2.8k

~Authors Note: Hey everyone! Here's chapter two! Thank you so much for the love on the first chapter, I'm still getting used to how posting fanfics on tumblr works so I appreciate all the likes and reposts! If you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter let me know! Once again you can find me on Ao3 as Lilpipsqueak and W-tpadd as friendlyfanperson!

If anyone could tell me how to do the number link thing where I can link the second chapter to add to chapter one I would be so so thankful I have no idea how to do it

~Narrator's POV~

"Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n!"

She stops walking, turning around to look at who was calling her name in the corridor, and she sees Robin rushing towards her, almost falling back but she catches her balance before she falls and continues running towards her.

"You won't believe what I just saw," She says stopping in front of her.

"What?! What happened?" She asked, wondering what exciting information she found out now.

"Steve Harrington is going out with Nancy Wheeler," She told her, eyes wide open, "Can you believe it? I thought he only dated the pretty easy-to hook up with girls"

"I thought that too, but I also guessed something might be going on between them since I saw them hanging out yesterday" She shares with Robin, "I never would've guessed that Nancy would be the type of girl to go out with someone like Steve"

"Right! I mean she's so smart and pretty! She could get any guy in Hawkins and she went for the dumb popular guy of all" Robin said, she had never been able to understand what people saw in Steve, she saw him as a grade A asshole.

Y/n thought Steve was okay, she didn't want to have much of an opinion on him since she didn't talk to him outside of the classroom so technically didn't know the 'real' him, but she didn't hate him or anything like that.

"Maybe there's something about him that they see" She points out.

"Or maybe they just have such a low-self esteem they will settle for someone like him"

"You really don't like him do you?" She asks her, knowing very well her answer.

"I have a right to dislike him alright, he's an asshole to some people, is rich and he gets the chance to date most if not all of my crushes" Robin explains annoyed.

"How is he being rich something that adds to him being an asshole?" Y/n asks confused as to how that comment is relevant to the conversation.

"Because, meanwhile we're both here poor with our part-time jobs" She complains opening her locker as she takes out her books.

"I'm pretty sure he can't help the fact he's rich, and I'm not really poor, so technically you should hate me too," She tells her, partially joking.

"I could never hate you though, and you're economically okay"

"Wow, so you're saying I'm almost poor?" Y/n asks her walking to her next classroom.

"I mean...no, but also yes" Robin explains to her.

"Rude" Y/n adds as she pushes Robin away from her.

They both laugh at each other as they continue walking down the corridor, knowing that this is just one of their usual banters. Yet Steve stayed at the back of Y/n's mind after the conversation ended and she wondered what type of person he really is, whether he's an asshole like many think, or whether there's more to him than meets the eyes.

She had most lessons with Steve actually, but they never really talked outside of science, she guessed it was due to the fact in his other classes he sat next to Tommy or some of his popular friends, so it would be weird for him to speak to Y/n as if they were close friends since they weren't, she wasn't even sure if they were friends, she supposed they were simply acquaintances, or just classmates, anything along those lines.

Sometimes she would catch him staring at her, which she found a bit strange but she guessed he just spaced out those times, it happened to her sometimes as well so she knew not to overthink about it. And there wasn't really a reason for her to overthink about it anyway, she didn't find Steve interesting in that way, sure she thought he was probably hiding more than what he led on, and that his only mystery was more than just him trying to act cool.

Other times he surprised her as well, those times tend to be whenever he asked her about the lesson and if she could help him understand what was actually taught, and today just happened to be one of those days.

"Hey, Einstein," Steve says walking over to Y/n's desk.

She looked back at him surprised by the sudden start of a conversation as she packed her books.

"Yeah?"

"Did you-umm, understand anything that Mr. Drew explained?" He asks, knowing full well that he spent half of the class talking with his friends and the other half trying to comprehend what was coming out of Mr. Drew's mouth.

"You're asking me if I understood the crash of Wall Street in 1929?" She responds, slightly confused on how someone couldn't understand at least the basics about it.

"Yes" Was all Steve was able to say, realising how stupid he must seem now.

"Yes I understood it, did you?" She asks, and he could tell she didn't seem to have any intention to judge him.

"I mean, honestly, no, but I wasn't paying much attention to be fair," He says, feeling okay with the fact he might be a bit of an idiot.

"You gotta start paying more attention in class Steve, we graduate next year," Y/n tells him as she takes one of the books in her bag out again.

"I know, I know, and I will, I swear"

"You better, because I can help you study but I can't get you the grades at the end of the day. Now, here are the notes I took of today's class, they're pretty self-explanatory but if you need help with them just let me know and I'll go over the topic" She explained handing him her notebook.

"I own you big time" He smiles at her taking the notebook and putting it in his bag

"This is like the thirtieth time you've said that, you own me a lot," She tells him, mostly just joking, but also keeping it in mind.

"I know, but I'll pay you back one day," He tells her, actually being serious and wanting to eventually thank her for all her help.

"You don't actually have to, you know? I help you because I want to, not to get something in return" She points out as both of them start walking out of the room.

"I know, but I still need to thank you, you've helped me more than anyone else, even though it must get annoying"

"And there you're very right, it can be annoying at times but it's not so bad" He looks at her confused, unsure whether he should take it as a compliment or be offended.

"Is that supposed to be a good comment?" He asks.

"Well-"

"Hey, Y/n have you seen Barb around? Or do you know anyone that has seen her today?" Nancy asks her clearly worried.

"No sorry, I haven't seen her, I don't think anyone I know has any lessons with her so I doubt they'd know," Y/n tells her, a bit surprised by the question given the fact she never talked to Barb and was a year older than both of them so there was no way she would have any of her classes with her, "Maybe she's off sick"

"Yeah don't worry about it too much Nance I'm sure she's fine," Steve tells her, taking her hand and moving closer to her. Y/n knew it was time for her to go.

"I'll let you know if I hear of her though, I'll see you guys around," She said waving goodbye at them and walking off to her next lesson.

The rest of the day was pretty normal, nothing exciting ever really happened in Hawkins anyway, so aside from school and work there was nothing Y/n had to worry about, except, of course, the fact that Will was still missing and was yet to be found.

She hoped that what they had found last night would at least be a start, but she also knew that maybe what they found meant nothing to the investigation. All she wanted though was for Will to be found and returned safely home.

"Do you have work today?" Robin asks her as they walk down the corridor, the school day finally over.

"Yeah, I'm taking the bus there since my dad has to stay late finishing some things, do you?"

"No, I worked yesterday so I'm free today, but I have to help out my mom with some things" Robin explained to her as she opened the door and they both walked out of the school.

"Sounds fun," Y/n said sarcastically.

"I mean it shouldn't be too bad, but when it comes to my mom there are times when I don't even know what will happen"

~~~~~~

"Do or die, what's done is done" Y/n sings as she skates down the night streets to her house. She had finished her shift for the day and was finally heading home after a long day of serving customers at the cafe, but she got some pretty good tips so she didn't have much to complain about.

Due to the fact she didn't own a car or a bike, she always skated from the cafe to her house, it wasn't too far away and she actually liked skating, it was her way of exercising (since she wasn't in any of the school's teams) and it was fun since she could listen to music while getting home.

Robin had told her that she should just save up for a bike since it was quicker but Y/n would rather save her money on something else that she either needed more or wanted more. 'You'll break your arm or leg one of these days' was what Robin always told her, but in her 7 years of having skates she had only scrapped her legs or arms, she also doubts the fact that tripping on something will make her end with a broken bone, so, for now, it seems she'll just stick to skating.

"Hey dad, I'm home," She says, unlocking the door and taking off her skates, "What's for dinner?"

She closed the door and left her bag next to his, taking off her coat and placing it on top of a chair.

"They gave me some mac and cheese that wasn't sold today so we could eat that if you haven't cooked anything," She told him walking to the living room where he was sitting watching the tv as she waited for his response, but there was none, "Dad? What do you-"

"On today's breaking news the body of Will Byers, who was announced missing just yesterday was found by the police minutes ago in the quarry"

Y/n's face drops as she hears the news, she takes a seat next to her dad as she keeps listening to the news trying to process what's going on, trying to process the fact that Will is dead.

"Chief Hopper believes he got lost after crashing his bike and accidentally fell, resulting in a tragic but hopefully painless death, but as of now it is just a theory, and we don't actually know if it was an accident, or perhaps something more. We give our condolences to the Byers family and we hope that they'll be able to get through these tough times "

Scott stands up and turns off the tv right after, not wanting to listen to any more details about the tragic death of his student and his daughter's friend.

Meanwhile, Y/n is still staring at the screen shocked, frozen in place, trying to understand the news she was just given, Will Byers, the little twelve-year-old boy which she babysat for years now has just been announced dead. She can't understand how such a thing can be possible, how a boy who had his whole life ahead, who was just beginning to live, who was the kindest person she had ever met, was dead just like that.

"Honey, are you okay?" Her dad asks her sitting back down.

"I-no, no I'm not," Y/n says as she starts crying.

Scott immediately pulls Y/n into a hug, her head hiding on his chest as she hugs him back, he patted her back gently moving his head on top of hers as he closed his eyes. He hoped that Will's death had indeed just been an accident, he had to make himself believe it was, because otherwise he might not be able to sleep for a while knowing that there could be someone out there who wants to hurt kids, and that could possibly hurt his daughter, he also couldn't believe that Will was dead, a boy he had been teaching for years and saw almost as his son, to end up with a fate late that. Y/n on the other hand just kept thinking about Will, what his final moments were like, whether he suffered or not, she couldn't even imagine how Joyce or Jonathan must be feeling getting the news that he is dead.

"I can't believe he's really dead" Y/n whispered as she stopped crying.

"I know honey, it'll be okay, how about I heat up the mac and cheese," He says, trying to help things calm down for just a second.

"It wouldn't be right if I tried to talk to them tomorrow would it?" She asks him.

"Talk to who?" Scott asks confused.

"Joyce and Jonathan, they probably need some space and time, so I should wait a bit before talking to them, right?"

"Yeah it would be better for them, they need to process everything first, let's wait a couple of days,"

Y/n nodded at her dad as she moved away from the hug, standing up and grabbing her bag, "So, mac and cheese?"

~~~~~~~~

The next day was exhausting, everyone around the corridors kept talking about Will and what had happened, Y/n was glad Jonathan wasn't in school because it would've made things impossible for him, she hoped he and Joyce were okay. She also kept thinking about Barb, Nancy had told her in the morning that she was missing and no one had seen her since Tuesday night. Two people now had gone missing, one of which had been found dead, and Y/n had a terrible feeling that maybe everything that was happening was more than just an accident.

"Just, don't mention the beers, it's just gonna get us both in trouble, and Barbara's got nothing to do with it, okay?" Y/n faintly heard someone say as she walked out of the school.

"I can't believe you right now... I can't believe you"

"Nancy!" She heard someone shout as she walked towards the middle school, she saw Nancy walking out of the spot between the school and gym, angry, like really angry, she didn't even look up when she passed by Y/n, she just kept walking straight to the school.

"Nancy come on!" She turned around and saw Steve coming out of the same spot, he wasn't trying to catch up to her, he knew she would ignore him anyway, "Einstein, hey" He says, his tone softer now as he turned to look at Y/n.

"Hey, everything okay?" She asks him, partially because it was the normal thing to do and also because she wanted to know what had happened, as nosy as it sounds.

"Yeah, everything's okay," He told her; Y/n knew he was lying, Steve knew she knew he was lying, but in a way, they both knew it would be better to leave it like that, "What about you?"

"Oh I'm fine, just walking to the middle school to help out with the assembly" She explained and he nodded at her.

"Cool"

"Yeah, well, I'll see you later," She said unsure of what to keep talking about, as she started walking away.

"Wait," He said walking closer to her, "How much did you hear?" He asked her.

"Honestly, not that much, only the end of it"

"Did it sound bad?" She looked at him confused.

"The argument?" She asked.

"Yes, the argument, did I sound like an asshole?" Y/n didn't think she could really make much out of what she heard, but it didn't sound great either.

"I mean- I barely heard anything, I don't even know the context of the conversation so I don't think it's right for me to say" She explained to him.

"That was a stupid question," Steve said shaking his head.

"If you think you were an asshole then you should apologise to Nancy, she's already having a rough time given the fact Barb is missing, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want to deal with an argument at a time like this," She told him, trying to help, in some way at least, she wasn't sure what to say, but this was the best she could think of.

"You're right, I was an asshole. You know you give great advice"

"Thanks, well I'll get going now, I'll see you later Steve," She says waving goodbye at him as she starts to walk away.

"Yeah, I'll see you later Einstein" He adds softly smiling at her as he walks back into the school.

Thank you for reading! Any likes and reposts are appreciated!