#he definitely yells the second line for sure

[rainstormies]

Second Door on the Right | Eddie Munson

pairing: eddie x r!little sister's friend

word count: 3,1k

summary: best friends with his little sister, you’re stuck hiding a secret crush on Eddie - the ‘black sheep’ older brother who never sees you as more than family

best friend's brother | summer romance

1 | 2

The sound of pencil scratching was the only noise in Julie Munson’s room — besides the quiet hum of her Lisa Frank radio tuned to a Top 40 station and the occasional sigh from your side of the bed. You were both knee-deep in algebra, legs tangled in fuzzy blankets, notebooks spread out like an academic crime scene.

“I swear,” Julie groaned, flopping back dramatically, “if I ever use the quadratic formula in real life, I’ll personally mail Mr. Lawson a handwritten apology.”

You smiled, erasing a wrong answer. “He’d probably thank you for it.”

Julie laughed, tossing a gummy bear at you. You caught it in your mouth.

It was easy, being her best friend.

Julie was the kind of girl who knew every word to every Avril Lavigne song, had glitter nail polish on rotation, and wore way too much strawberry-scented body spray. You were different — a little quieter, maybe not as sure of yourself, not as pink-and-sparkly. But with Julie, it never felt like too much or not enough. Just… different.

That’s probably why you spent more time here than anywhere else.

The Munsons’ house was warm in the way older homes were — all creaky floors and mismatched furniture. There was something comforting about the chipped paint on the banister and the smell of laundry detergent mixed with whatever candle her mom had burning downstairs.

The only part that didn’t feel warm was Eddie.

Julie’s older brother. The infamous weirdo.

He was two years ahead of you — a senior now — all chains and boots and hair too long for your parents’ taste.

Julie called him “a total freak.” You weren’t supposed to listen to his band’s tape. “Too loud, too weird.”

But sometimes, when Julie was in the bathroom and you were waiting, you’d press play on the worn tape deck near her desk. Just for a second. Just to hear the sounds he made.

You’d never say it out loud — but you thought it sounded like something real.

Tonight, the house was unusually quiet. Their parents were out. Julie’s mom had made lasagna and left it in the oven with a note: “Don’t burn the house down. Be nice to your brother.”

You didn’t ask.

Julie leaned toward the window. “Is that his van?”

Sure enough, the rumble of a familiar engine pulled into the driveway. The headlights swept across the front lawn, briefly illuminating the floral curtains before going dark.

Julie groaned. “Ugh, he better not stink up the hallway with that gross cologne again.”

You hid a smile, scribbling the last answer on your worksheet.

Heavy boots on the stairs.

A door creaked open — then slammed.

His, definitely.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Swear he was adopted.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look that different.”

Julie gagged in response. “Gross.”

There was a pause. Then—

“I’m gonna grab something to drink. Want anything?”

“Water?”

“Coming up.”

Julie padded out, leaving the door ajar.

You sat back against her pillows, stretching. The hallway light spilled into the room in a soft line across the carpet. You could hear her footsteps downstairs, faint.

And then… another door opened.

You glanced up.

Eddie.

Fresh from whatever band thing he’d been at — hair messy, boots unlaced, rings glinting in the low light. He was halfway down the hall, a towel thrown over his shoulder, rubbing at a spot on his jaw that looked freshly bruised.

He didn’t see you at first.

And when he did — when his eyes landed on you, half-tangled in blankets and bathed in glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his sister’s ceiling — he paused.

For once, no smirk.

Just a blink.

“Didn’t know you were over,” he said, voice low and rough from yelling over amps or maybe from late nights and cheap cigarettes.

You tried to sound normal. Cool. Unbothered. “Homework night.”

He nodded slowly. Leaned against the doorframe.

“You like math?”

“Not really.” You shrugged. “Julie hates it more.”

That got a grin. “No surprise there.”

There was a beat of silence.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting — the fading bruise, the string of bracelets on his wrist, the band tee you didn’t recognize.

“New shirt?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrow ticked up. “Noticed that, huh?”

Your cheeks burned.

God.

“Looks… cool,” you added, trying not to sound like you cared.

“Thanks, Princess.”

The nickname had no bite to it tonight. Just something soft. Familiar. Almost affectionate.

Julie came thudding back up the stairs, breaking the moment. She glanced at Eddie and scowled. “Don’t you have a dungeon to crawl back into?”

Eddie gave you one last look.

“I’m going,” he said, backing into the bathroom. “Don’t spill glitter in the hallway again, I swear to god.”

Julie huffed and shoved the door closed.

Your heart was racing and you didn’t know why.

No — you did.

You just didn’t want to admit it yet.

You don't fall asleep right away.

Julie was out the second her head hit the pillow — muttering something about how algebra had personally wronged her. Her breathing evened out quickly, soft and rhythmic, and you lay there next to her, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she never bothered to peel off the ceiling.

They looked more real with the lights off.

The hum of the house was different now. Calmer. The occasional creak of the floorboards, the low whir of the box fan in the corner. Outside, crickets sang like they didn’t know tomorrow was the last day of school.

You thought about Eddie.

You didn’t mean to.

It wasn’t the first time you’d stayed over. Wasn’t the first time you heard him come home, the way the whole house seemed to shift under his boots, like he moved in a different rhythm than the rest of the world. But tonight was different.

He hadn’t called you Princess in weeks.

And somehow, it made your chest feel weird.

You turned toward Julie, asleep in her pink unicorn pajamas, mouth slightly open.

“Hey,” you whispered. “You awake?”

No answer.

You reached for the tape player beside her bed and hit play. Madonna, soft and muffled. You turned it down to almost nothing.

Somewhere in the hallway, a door creaked.

Then shut.

Maybe he was still awake.

You turned over again and stared at the ceiling until the sun started rising.

It was hot by the time you left school.

Sweaty backpacks, melting lip gloss, pencils snapped in celebration. You and Julie walked home in a tangle of limbs and laughter, shoes kicking dust up off the sidewalk.

“Three whole months,” she said dramatically, flinging her arms out like she might fly. “Three months of no Mr. Lawson, no homework, no waking up at 7am — this is better than Christmas.”

You smiled, tugging your ponytail tighter. “You say that now. By August you’ll be bored out of your mind.”

She shot you a glare. “Blasphemy. I have plans.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh, yeah. Pool days, mall trips, making out with Nick if he ever calls me back…”

You laughed.

“And,” she added, “you, me, and Hawk Theater. Every weekend. Deal?”

“Deal.”

By the time you reached the Munson house, the sun had turned the metal railing by the steps too hot to touch. You followed her inside, backpacks thunking onto the floor. The place was quiet — her mom’s car gone, probably at the store.

Eddie’s boots were by the door.

Julie noticed too. “Ugh. He better not be hogging the living room again.”

You opened the fridge, grabbed two root beers, and bumped it shut with your hip.

Julie flopped onto the couch, feet kicked up over the armrest. “We should go see that movie I told you about — the one with the aliens?”

You raised a brow. “The one that’s definitely rated R?”

She grinned. “My cousin’s older than he looks. He can get us tickets.”

You handed her a drink. “So, illegal?”

“Totally worth it.”

From the hallway, the sound of footsteps. You looked up just in time to see Eddie — shirtless, towel around his neck, water bottle in hand. Hair messy like he’d just showered.

You froze. He glanced your way and smirked.

“Ladies,” he drawled.

Julie groaned. “Do you own shirts anymore?”

“Not in summer, I don’t.”

He didn’t linger. Just grabbed something from the counter and disappeared back toward the stairs.

Julie cracked open her soda. “You’d think he was auditioning for a Whitesnake video.”

You didn’t say anything. Just took a sip and stared at the blank TV screen, hoping your face wasn’t red.

That night, you stayed over again.

Julie had begged. “We have to start summer right.”

So you packed a bag. Again. And she let you steal one of her extra toothbrushes. Again. You both ate popsicles on the porch in the fading light and made a list of everything you were going to do that summer:

Pool days (minimum 12)

Mall runs (must include frozen yogurt)

Sleepovers (non-negotiable)

Secret movie nights

Maybe find cute boys

That last one was Julie’s idea. She wrote it in big capital letters. You didn’t argue. You just bit your lip and thought about how she'd react if you had put Eddie's name next to it.

By the time the moon was high, the list was taped to her mirror, and you were curled up under the same blanket, your feet pressed together like you were twelve again.

You heard him come upstairs.

Felt the quiet of his steps this time.

Not stomping. Not clunky. Just… slow.

You closed your eyes and pretended not to listen.

And when you dreamed, it wasn’t about the pool or the mall.

It was the hallway.

The soft knock on your door that never came.

The sound of your name whispered like a secret, just once.

The door opening.

And his eyes.

Always his eyes.

The pool was packed.

Lawn chairs cluttered like forgotten furniture, kids cannonballing into the deep end, boom boxes wheezing out Van Halen and Madonna in equal measure.

You were still toweling off your legs when Julie returned with two giant Slurpees and a fresh wave of indignation.

“I swear to God,” she huffed, flopping down beside you on the cracked white chair, “Nick’s gonna give me a brain bleed.”

You took your drink without protest.

“What happened now?” you asked, already smiling.

She sucked her straw dramatically. “Okay, so first he’s all ‘we should hang out later’ — like, okay, duh, it’s summer. But then he’s like, ‘not sure what time though, my cousin might come over’ and I’m like… is this a date or a group project?”

You laughed. “Maybe he’s just awkward.”

“Awkward I can handle,” Julie said, adjusting her sunglasses. “But this is mixed signals. This is Morse code from hell.”

You hummed in agreement, barely listening now — because across the pool, just past the diving board, Eddie was laughing. Shirtless, wet curls tied back, black swim trunks clinging low on his hips. His tattoos looked darker in the sun, like they’d soaked up all the heat and made it part of him.

His friends were with him — a blur of noise and long limbs. One of them did a backflip off the diving board that earned an actual applause.

Eddie didn’t notice you watching.

But Julie did.

She followed your gaze, peeking over the rim of her shades. “Ugh. Them.”

You blinked. “What?”

She nudged you with her elbow. “You need a summer romance. Like, real bad.”

You choked on your drink. “I do not.”

“You do too.” She kicked her feet up. “We should find you a guy. Not Nick — he’s too flaky — but like… someone who plays guitar and has good hair.”

You stared down into your cherry slush.

“And definitely not Eddie,” she added without missing a beat. “Because, ew.”

You smiled like it was funny.

Like it didn’t sting more than you expected.

Julie leaned back and closed her eyes like the sun might solve all her boy problems. “God, my life is so tragic.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Your eyes flicked back to the far end of the pool, where Eddie now sat at the edge, bare feet in the water, hair dripping down his shoulders. He leaned back on his hands, laughing at something the guy next to him said, and your stomach flipped like someone had kicked it off the diving board.

You’d told yourself it was nothing. Just a phase. A dumb little thing — the way your ears perked up when he talked, the way you remembered dumb things he said weeks later, the way he smelled like tobacco and shampoo and something warm underneath it all.

But sometimes… sometimes you wondered if it was more.

And sometimes, like now, it hurt to know he’d probably never see you that way. Not when you were just Julie’s friend. The one who wore matching pajamas and snuck Oreos from the kitchen at midnight.

You were the hallway he passed through to get to his room.

Not a destination.

You took another sip of your drink and stared straight ahead. “Yeah,” you said finally. “Definitely not Eddie.”

But your eyes betrayed you.

And across the pool, his met yours — just for a second.

And then he looked away.

And you tried not to hope that maybe, just maybe…

…he was thinking about you too.

The house was quieter than usual.

No TV humming from the living room, no pots clanging in the kitchen, no Julie yelling your name to help her pick an outfit she’d already decided on.

You padded barefoot down the upstairs hallway, arms crossed against the muggy air.

The A/C was busted again. Mr. Munson had sworn he’d call someone about it, but the only thing colder than the vents was his sense of urgency.

You’d gone in search of something cold to drink — maybe a popsicle, maybe something sweeter — when you passed by Eddie’s door, half-shut between the bathroom and the linen closet.

And stopped.

There was music playing low inside — Sabbath or Dio, something murky and metallic — and a faint golden light spilled onto the hallway floor from the cracked doorframe.

You should’ve kept walking. Should’ve gone straight to the kitchen.

But then you heard the pencil.

Scratch, pause, scribble.

Curiosity tugged at your heel.

You stepped closer, careful not to creak the floorboards, and peeked inside.

Eddie was hunched at his desk, back to the door, a foot tucked under him, pen moving in frantic little bursts across a notebook. His hair was down again — dark curls brushing the collar of a faded Corrosion of Conformity shirt — and his stereo crackled faintly beside him, the low buzz of guitar filling the room.

You opened your mouth without thinking.

“Is that… a goblin with a mohawk?”

He didn’t startle much. Just turned, slow and curious, pencil still in hand.

“Technically,” he said, tilting the page your way, “it’s a bloodthirsty goblin prince with a tragic backstory and a taste for vengeance.”

You laughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Ah. My mistake.”

His smile pulled easy and crooked — not the kind he gave at school, all performative and exaggerated. This one was quieter.

“Julie’s friend. You're here again.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Eddie. You're also here again.” You said in reply.

He gave a mock gasp. “You remembered my name. I’m touched.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile stayed.

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just full.

The kind of silence that made you feel like something was about to happen — even if it didn’t.

“What’s it for?” you asked. “The sketch.”

“Campaign,” he said. “New storyline I’m working on. Politics, cursed forest, lots of weird magic shit. Should keep ‘em busy for a while.”

You let your eyes drift to his desk — the notes, the tiny painted miniatures, the barely-hanging-in-there shelf above it stacked with books, cassette tapes, and a photo cracked along the frame. Him and Julie. Probably first day of school. He had the same wild curls even then, just shorter. Less tamed.

“You ever play?” he asked.

“I tried once,” you said, snorting. “There was this group at the library. One guy made me a wizard and then got mad when I wouldn’t pretend to fall in love with his elf.”

Eddie barked a laugh — loud and honest.

“Oh, hell no,” he said. “You deserve reparations for that. On behalf of all Dungeon Masters, I offer you free snacks and a proper character arc.”

You grinned. “I’ll consider it.”

He watched you. Not in a creepy way — just kind of… curious. Like he didn’t expect you to still be standing there.

“You always this funny?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Only when I’m not being called Julie’s sidekick.”

“That’s unfair,” he said, tilting his head. “You’re more like her secret weapon. Don't know how she'd survive without you.”

The compliment caught you off-guard. And the fact that he had noticed.

Your gaze dropped to his hands — ink-stained fingers curled around the edge of his desk.

“I like your room,” you said. Quietly.

He blinked, surprised. “Most people say it smells like weed and paint thinner.”

You smiled. “It does. But it’s still cool.”

A moment passed. And then another.

You didn’t want to leave.

He didn’t ask you to.

But then you heard the crunch of tires in the driveway, the unmistakable squeak of Julie’s voice through the open front door.

You stepped back fast, heartbeat loud in your ears.

Eddie stood up, like his body moved before his brain could catch up.

He looked at you. You looked away.

The bathroom door opened behind you, and you ducked around it quick, already pretending you were on your way down the stairs.

Julie’s voice was louder now — something about how their mom nearly hit someone with a shopping cart, and how Nick finally said he’d call her after work.

“There you are,” Julie said, spotting you in the hallway. “What’ve you been doing?”

You paused. “Was gonna get a drink.”

You followed her to her room, your pulse still high.

You didn’t look back.

But you could feel it — Eddie’s gaze at your back. Like the brush of static.

And that night, long after lights were out and Julie was talking half-asleep about the outfit she wanted to wear when she saw Nick again, you brushed your teeth and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Not Julie’s friend.

Just a girl with her heart lodged in her throat.

And a crush that was getting way too hard to hide.

a little summer romance fic for u<3 inspired by my current vacay in spain💌 song aesthetic: bad omens by 5 seconds of summer

[gallavenjiam]

I have a HC that Buck listens to 1930's love songs. The first time he hears Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny from the Andrews Sisters, he immediately changes the name to Tommy and sings it to his boyfriend all the time. I can imagine they're in the grocery store just stocking up and Buck just randomly blurts out

"Oh Tommy, oh Tommy how you can love

WHAT MAKES ME LOVE YOU SO"

And Tommy pretends to be annoyed but he can't control his face so he ends up smiling like a dumbass every single time.

[sincerelyneo]

diet pepsi | n.jm

“losing all my innocence in the back seat”

📀now playing: diet pepsi by addison rae

❯ summary: Jeno has one rule — his little sister is not allowed at street races. Jaemin knows this, and still, he can’t help but feel a thrill when he spots you sneaking out to watch him race. That is, until he sees you with another guy, and suddenly, he’s all in favor of Jeno’s rule. And he’s pretty sure that rule also means he should intervene and give you a ride home.

❯ pairings: jaemin x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: brother’s best friend, smut, racing!au

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, arguing, jealously, pet names, car sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering, virginity loss, slight corruption kink, bit of angst, ‘daddy’ mentioned once but not in a kink way?, jaemin is lowkey a dramatic asshole in the first half, mention of marking, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just a jealous brother’s best friend trope because it eats every time

Jaemin’s blood runs cold when he sees you—wait, what are you even doing here?

He’s never been so tense in the driver’s seat before. He’s usually all calm and controlled, razor-focused on the track, with only one thing on his mind: winning. And he’s pretty damn good at it. But today, he can’t seem to focus. Not with you—Jeno’s little sister—standing right there on the sidelines, sticking out like a beacon in a crowd of rowdy onlookers.

So out of place, timid and awkward. Normally, he’d find it cute if he wasn’t so pissed that you’re even here. You don’t belong among his reckless racer friends, the ones with wandering eyes; and the girls with short skirts, heavy perfume, and sharp eyeliner.

He’s never been this distracted at the starting line before, never found anything particularly interesting to gaze at through his freshly cleaned windshield. But there you are. 

Ripped blue jeans clinging to every curve that he’s spent years thinking about—too many nights with his hand wrapped around his cock, imagining how his fingers would mold and print into the soft flesh of your skin. And those cherry-red lips—they make pride swell in his chest, a small thrill from knowing he’s the only racer here with a red car. It’s probably just a coincidence, but Jaemin lets the possessive part of his mind take over, because he wants nothing more than to see that red smeared around your cheeks as he kisses you—wants it to stain him like a claim.

God, what’s he even thinking?

You’re his best friend’s little sister. Off-limits.

Speaking of which, why are you here? Jeno’s not racing tonight, and he’d kill you if he found out. Actually, Jeno would kill him, even though Jaemin had no idea you’d even show up. Jeno hated you being at the races on a good day, let alone when he wasn’t here to keep an eye on things.

And maybe that’s why, for the first time, Jaemin’s gaze drifts to his side mirror as he speeds off. Because Jeno’s not here to watch over you—so he has to. Yeah, that’s it. It’s for Jeno’s sake. Definitely not because he’s worried about you. And definitely not because he likes the way your cherry-red lips part in a cheer—a cheer he likes to imagine is all for him.

Who’s he kidding? Jaemin loves knowing you’re here, watching him race. Honestly, it’s the biggest rush he’s ever felt—the purest shot of adrenaline—and he’s never pushed this hard on the track. But right now, he only wants to win for you.

And he does, slamming on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt the second he crosses the finish line. A few friends clap him on the back as he gets out of his car, congratulating him, but he doesn’t care about them. He only wants you—to hear you say he did great, to see that proud look in your eyes. He wants you to beg him not to yell at you for sneaking in tonight… or worse, promise he won’t tell Jeno.

Except, Jaemin’s not so sure he can negotiate on the “no yelling” part of that deal. Not when he spots you in the crowd, looking up at Jisung. Jisung, who’s got your attention on him instead of his win. Jisung, who’s making you laugh—and Jaemin knows he’s not that funny. Jisung, who’s handing you a can of Diet Pepsi—and you’re just taking it, smiling at him with those red lips, lips that don’t belong to him. 

Jaemin knows Jisung doesn’t have a bad bone in his body—Christ, the guy wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he’s one of his racer friends. Still, he doesn’t like the way you lean in when you laugh or how you’re looking up at him with pretty eyelashes fluttering. It makes something stir in him, something sharp and possessive. Without thinking, he storms over, snatching the damn can from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

You gasp, the sound almost too soft, "Woah, Jaem–"

"What are you doing here, Y/N?

You stumble back, heart skipping in your chest. He’s looking at you like he’s about to devour you whole. Gaze locked with yours, primal and urgent, scanning you with a heat that makes your breath hitch, throat going suddenly dry. You came here to see him—no one else. But the way his eyes are on you now...you don’t know whether telling him that would be a good idea. 

You swallow hard, feeling small beneath the weight of his stare. “I—uh, I—I’m just… here to watch,” you mumble. "I didn’t think it’d be a big deal..."

Jaemin doesn’t respond right away, his eyes narrowing as they flick over you, then over to Jisung, then back to you. "Alone?" he finally asks. "You just showed up here by yourself?"

“Well yeah–I didn’t think anyone would mind..."

"Jeno’s gonna fucking kill you when he hears about this," he mutters exhaling sharply, the tension in his jaw is visible as he crosses his arms. "You know he doesn’t like you being here.” His eyes flicker to Jisung for a moment before they shift back to you, a little colder. "And I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know you’re accepting drinks from other racers, huh?”

Your brow furrows, a tinge of annoyance creeping in. "It’s just a can of Diet Pepsi, it’s not—"

Jaemin cuts you off. "It doesn’t matter what it is," he snaps. "What matters is that you’re here, without telling anyone where you were going. Without Jeno knowing." He shakes his head in disbelief. 

You scoff. "I’m an adult, Jaemin. Jeno’s not my keeper, and neither are you–"

Jaemin’s jaw tightens, and something flickers in his eyes—something dark. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. "That’s not the point, Y/N," he growls, his voice lowering. "The point is you’re here, at a street race, by yourself. You think that’s smart? You think that’s safe?" He takes a step closer.  "What if something happened to you?" 

"I’m fine, Jaemin. I can take care of myself, okay?" Your voice cracks, frustration spilling out, but the sound doesn’t make Jaemin soften like it usually would.

He steps even closer, towering over you, his presence dominating, and you can feel his breath on your face, hot and quick. “This—this shit—" he gestures around to the crowd, the cars, the racers that surround you both, "this is not safe for you. You shouldn’t be here."

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, jaw set as you refuse to back down. "Why? You and Jeno come here every other weekend?” What’s the big deal?" 

"The big deal, Y/N, is that you're a pretty girl, surrounded by a bunch of horny assholes who'd love nothing more than to corrupt a sweet little thing like you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and your mouth goes dry as his words hit you like a punch. You blink, trying to process, but the anger in his eyes is enough to make your pulse quicken. Jaemin must realize what he’s said because there's a brief moment of hesitation. He clears his throat, trying to regain control.

"And you never told anyone," he tries to add, his voice a little less steady now, "And you're letting random guys buy you drinks—"

"I already told you. It was just a Diet Pepsi, Jaemin. You’re blowing this way out of proportion!" You cut him off. 

You don’t even know what you’re arguing about anymore— and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t either—it’s like he’s mad for the sake of being mad, the two of you going around in circles.

And frankly, you're tired of it. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. You’ve always had a thing for Jaemin, and now was supposed to be your chance—your shot to make him see you as more than just Jeno’s little sister. You knew he’d be distracted with the race, but you thought if you showed up, maybe he’d finally notice you, really see you. But instead, he’s making it perfectly clear that you’ll never be anything more than that girl he feels the need to protect.

“Stop treating me like a child, Jaemin,” you sigh. “I’m not some fragile little girl who needs you to babysit her." 

You turn on your heel, ready to walk away from him, but before you can take more than a few steps, Jaemin’s hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"No. We’re not done talking."

He steps forward again, grip on your limbs tight but not painful, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s pulling you toward the exit, the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement is far too loud in the heavy silence that’s settled. 

"Jaemin, wait!" You tug against him, stumbling slightly, trying to free your wrist from his grasp. "I’m not going anywhere with you. I told you, I don’t need you babysitting me—"

"I’m not asking." His voice is low and final. "You’re going home, and you’re going with me."

"Let go of me!" You hiss, still trying to yank free, but he just tightens his grip, pulling you with him as if you’re a ragdoll.

Jaemin finally stops, turning to face you, his eyes sharp with frustration. He growls at your protesting, stepping into your personal space. "I’m taking you home, Y/N. Don’t argue with me."

You stare up at him, chest heaving with anger and something else—something you don’t want to admit to yourself. "You’re insufferable," you mutter, but it’s weak. 

You know you’re defeated. There’s no point in fighting him anymore. His presence is suffocating, overwhelming, and every fibre of your body knows he’s not going to let this go until he’s got you back home. You have no choice but to comply really. And you groan whilst slipping into the passenger seat of his car, imagining the story he’s going to muster up for your brother. 

Jaemin gets into the driver’s seat, his body tense and irritated, and you almost feel bad that he can’t celebrate his win—almost. He places the can of Diet Pepsi in the cup holder, the soft clink of the can echoing through the car. Then, without breaking his focus, his gaze flicks to you, his voice low and commanding.

“Seatbelt.”

You huff, rolling your eyes as you slide it on. “Yes, daddy.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, Jaemin’s jaw tightens, the muscle flexing under his skin. His eyes darken for a split second, a dangerous glint flashing, something that makes your pulse stutter for just a moment. His fingers curl around the steering wheel, gripping it a little tighter than necessary as he tries to compose himself.

He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat, nostrils flaring. “Don’t push your luck, Y/N.”

You sink into your seat with a sigh. The silence in the car hangs as he drives, thick with awkwardness and annoyance. Your throat still feels dry from the argument, and before you can even think about it, you reach for the can. The cold metal soothes your fingertips. But the second your lips brush against the rim, you can feel Jaemin’s eyes on you—hot, intense, and focused.

You can feel him watch your every move, and as you pull the drink away from your lips, his eyes narrow in on the red stain your lipstick left on the silver rim. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, jaw tightening with it, his gaze flickering between your lips and the can in your hand. Without warning, he snatches it from your fingers, one hand still on the wheel, eyes focused and full.

Then, Jaemin presses his own lips against the spot where yours just were, right over the mark you left. Sipping the drink slowly — savouring it.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, voice a little breathless, startled.

Jaemin’s eyes widen, and for a split second, his grip tightens on the can before he abruptly pulls it away from his mouth, tossing it into the cup holder without a second glance. His brows furrow as he tries to make sense of his own actions, as if he’s suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must look. His mind is reeling—over a simple lipstick mark on the rim of a can. Something so innocent, yet it’s driving him crazy.

He clears his throat, trying to regain an ounce of composure, but his voice cracks slightly. "I was, uh..." He hesitates, biting back a sharp breath, his eyes flickering to the road before snapping back to you. "Just making sure it wasn’t spiked…?"

It sounds weak, even to his own ears, and he knows you’re not buying it. The way your lips part tells him everything. You narrow your eyes at him, a little too sharp for comfort. 

“Spiked?” You glance at the cup holder, where the can now sits innocently. “How would you even know from the taste, Jaemin? Not to mention Jisung gave me this, that boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Jaemin knows that. Still, he curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair as the frustration builds in his chest. His entire excuse is a mess, just like the thoughts spinning in his head.

"Look, let’s call it precautionary, okay?" His voice is clipped and there’s a tightness to it. "Don’t make it a big deal."

You lean back in the seat, a small bitter laugh escaping you. “Me making things a big deal? Oh, the irony.”

He doesn’t respond or bite back or try for the final word and it makes the silence thicker. Jaemin’s grip on the wheel is so tight his knuckles are white, and honestly, you don’t know how long you can keep doing this.

“You're impossible, you know that?" The words slip out before you can stop them, and your chest tightens as soon as they do. "I didn't come here for you to babysit me or make me feel like I need your protection. I came here because I—" You stop yourself. 

Jaemin's head snaps to you, "Because you what?" 

For a second, you can’t speak. The words are right there, but they feel too big, too much to let out. You’re caught between the urge to spill it all or keeping it hidden, scared to change the dynamic. But you’ve been pretending for too long, playing by the rules, and now, you want to stop hiding.

“I came here because I wanted you to see me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not as Jeno’s little sister. Not as some kid. I wanted you to see me… as me.”

Jaemin doesn’t react, not at first – well, he does, but it’s subtle. His hands go completely white around the wheel, his jaw clenched so tight you can almost hear it. Without saying a word, he pops the indicator on and pulls over, the tyres screeching slightly as he brings the car to a sudden stop.

You freeze, and a small wave of panic bubbles up inside your chest. Did you say the wrong thing? Did you make it weird? He’s your brother’s best friend, and now you’ve crossed that weird line that’s bound to make everything awkward. Jeno’s gonna kill you.

You swallow hard, waiting for him to snap, to tell you how messed up this whole thing is.

But he kisses you. 

His hand on your cheek, without warning, pulling you into him, and consuming your lips with a force that steals the air from your lungs. It’s not gentle like you expected him to be. He’s typically always gentle with you — unless he’s mad, which right now, he is. This kiss is desperate. Hungry. And you like it because it’s the kind of kiss that makes your body forget how to breathe. The kind of kiss that tells you he doesn’t see you like a kid – like Jneo’s little sister.

“You drive me fucking insane, you know that?” Jaemin growls, nudging your noses together. His hands find your waist, to grip it. “You walk around in those jeans clinging to your ass, with your cheeks flushed, and that fucking lipstick the same shade as my car.”

You giggle softly against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You noticed?”

“Of course I fucking noticed,” he groans.

Jaemin’s lips trail down your jawline, each kiss slow, and teasing, and needy. The desperation in his movements is evident like he’s trying to savour every inch of your skin. The feeling is foreign to you—each soft press of his lips sends a rush of heat through your body. The simple touches make you gasp, drawing a low, satisfied groan from him as he feels the reaction in your body.

His breath catches, lips brushing softly along the sensitive curve of your neck as he pulls you closer. His hands tighten around your waist, and the pleading in his voice intensifies, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in it. He’s holding back, trying to keep his composure.

“Tell me this is a bad idea, Y/N,” he whispers, his lips grazing your skin with kisses. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Your breath is shallow and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The way your hands find their way into his hair, fingers threading through it as you desperately tug on it, unsure of what else to do. 

“Please, angel, you have to say no,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice low and desperate. 

“Don’t want to,” you whimper, shaking your head again. “Want you, Jaem. Always wanted you. Only you.”

"Fuck..." he groans, his lips trailing away from your skin to look at you.

And what a pretty sight you are. Eyes glazed with lust, pupils blown wide, dilated with something raw and needy. So innocent, so forgiving, so eager – so fucking his. It’s enough to make him painfully hard, though he was already straining. Hearing you say you've always wanted him – and only him – had already sent a rush of heat straight to his cock.

Jaemin can’t help himself. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek again, his thumb teasing the softness of your bottom lip. You gasp, and his pupils darken, fixating on the way your mouth parts, the red colour staining his thumb. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of—a perfect fantasy. 

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble, gorgeous.”

He’s still hesitating, and you can feel it — you fucking hate it. Something takes over you, and without thinking, you take his thumb into your mouth, deep, sucking hard. Jaemin practically growls, his lips parting as a hiss escapes him from the sight. 

A switch flips, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, he yanks his thumb from your mouth, kills the engine, and climbs into the backseat. His eyes are sharp as they focus on you, which tells you to follow suit. He doesn’t care that on paper this is a ‘bad idea’. His cock is telling him it’s the best one he’s ever had.

It’s clear the moment you climb into the backseat, the way his body shifts into something animalistic. You try to settle beside him, but Jaemin doesn’t let that happen. He grips the hem of your shirt, yanking you down and onto his lap. The heat from his body radiates through the thin fabric of your clothes, his chest pressing hard against yours as his hands slide possessively around your waist.

His hands roam down your back and you can feel the hard press of him against your ass. It makes your pulse spike and your sweet red lips fall open for him, making him smirk with pride. His lips trail down to your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he murmurs your name, low and rough.

It’s all-consuming. Hot and desperate. Panting and breathless. Bodies moving in sync. The car heats up from your bodies softly grinding against each other. His hands are everywhere. 

“Angel,” he growls, his voice low with restraint, “if you keep grinding on me like that, I won’t be able to stop.”

You bite your lip, keeping your rhythm steady, your hips pressing into his. “Good.”

Jaemin catches a hand around your jaw pulling you away from his lips. “I’m serious, Y/N. Are you sure you want this?”

You nod, your gaze heavy with need.

He shakes his head, “I need words, gorgeous.”

“I want this.”

Such a simple phrase shatters his restraint, unravelling him completely. With a growl, he tosses you onto the back seat, lips trailing hotly down your body until he’s between your legs. His fingertips graze the waistband of your jeans, and he leans in, voice a low whisper.

“Can I?”

You nod, but he shakes his head, his eyes dark with hunger. “Say it.”

“Yes...” You breathe, the word barely escaping your lips, but it’s all he needs.

The jeans slide down your hips and ass, past your thighs, until they’re bunched around your ankles. Jaemin’s eyes flicker down, landing on your panties—darkened with dampness.

"So wet from just a little grinding?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So fucking cute."

A rush of heat floods your chest. You’ve never done this before. And suddenly, it’s all too much, too fast. His words, your own desperate need, the car, the argument... everything crashes together. Without thinking, you press your legs closed, embarrassed by your body's reaction.

Jaemin's brows furrow as he watches you closely. "You okay?"

Your cheeks burn with a blush, stuttering as you struggle to find your voice. "I-I-uh," you falter, hoping he’ll say it, ask you the question. But he doesn’t. His eyes are fixed on your mouth, waiting for you to say it.

"I’ve never done this before."

Jaemin’s eyes flicker with something dark before he hums lowly. “You still want this?”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Words, Y/N.”

“God—yes.”

A satisfied smirk curves on his lips. “Good,” he murmurs. “Your body’s a fucking work of art I’ve been dying to see, and I never want you to feel embarrassed about showing it to me—and only me, yeah?”

This time, you don’t nod. You meet his gaze, voice steady as you tell him, “Yes. Only you.”

He smiles, hands resting on your knees as he gently eases them apart, his gaze fixed on you, completely mesmerized. If someone had told him this was how he’d be celebrating his win tonight, he’d have laughed in disbelief.

But now, his knuckles brush over the front of your underwear, a feather-light touch that sends a spark through you. Your hips react on their own, bucking slightly as his fingertips tease your sensitive nerves through the thin damp fabric.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

He drags his fingers to your waistband, sneaking underneath to run a soft finger up your slit, drawing a gasp from your lips. He takes that as permission to slip the pair down your legs, meeting the same fate as your jeans somewhere in his car. 

Jaemin keeps his eyes dead set on you as his fingers work to find your clit. The moment he does, he starts working slow, taunting patterns against it, each movement deliberate and unhurried. The sensation is leg-numbing, sending waves of pleasure through you—so much better than when you do it yourself. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands, “I wanna know how I’m making you feel. Tell me.”

Your mind is spinning, words slipping through your grasp, and all you can manage is a choked, incoherent moan. It’s not enough for him. Dissatisfied, he sinks his middle finger into your pussy at your silence. You jolt at the intrusion, the feeling intense and foreign, but his eyes stay locked on you, waiting.

“Tell me,” he groans, relishing in the feeling of how tight you grip around his finger.

“F-feels good,” you manage to stammer.

“Yeah?” he taunts, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he slowly picks up the pace. “Want more?”

“Yes–” you nod eagerly. He wastes no time, slipping his ring finger inside to join the first, matching the rhythm, savouring the warmth encapsulating around him, and you unravel beneath him.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, breaths shallow and quick, completely undone from the tortuous pace of his fingers. Jaemin’s expression softens as he takes you in, a quiet, satisfied coo slipping from his lips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, “So sweet… so vulnerable just for me.”

A low chuckle escapes him as he feels your walls threatening to tense, wanting to flutter around his fingers, and it sends another wave of pride through him. He shifts his eyes down, and without hesitation, takes your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue in slow, devastating circles.

If he’s going to make you cum for the first time, it’ll be on his fingers and his mouth—he’ll make sure of it.

“S-so good, Jaem—” you gasp, voice trembling as his mouth and fingers work in perfect sync, pushing you closer to the edge.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through your body. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips still pressed to your skin. “Gonna let go for me, huh? Let me feel it.”

His words, his touch—it’s all too much, and you can feel every nerve on fire as he coaxes you over the edge until you’re cumming from the steady rhythm of his fingers and the relentless, teasing laps of his tongue. You're a shuddering mess beneath him from the orgasm he’s given you. 

He fucking loves it, looking in complete awe.

As you start to come down, muffled whines still slip from your lips, riding out the aftershocks of your release.

“What is it?” he prods, his voice smooth but persistent, but all you can manage is a frustrated sigh, annoyed with his stupid teasing tone. “Angel..I don’t know what you want if you don’t tell me.”

"All I want is—" You gasp when he lightly brushes your sensitive clit again,"—your cock."

A smug smirk tugs at his lips. His hand slides to rest possessively on your hip as he moves to hover above you, his gaze locking with yours.

“Are you sure?”

You nod, your lashes fluttering with need, and he takes that as permission to rid himself of his pants, his hand wrapping firmly around the base of his cock. He positions himself carefully, just at the edge of your pussy. 

It’s not how you’d pictured your first time—definitely not the romantic, cute scenario you’d always fantasized about. But one thing was certain: Jaemin was here, and that’s all that really mattered. Though, you hadn’t expected him to be this… big.

He picks up on the hesitation in your eyes, sensing the tension coiling tight in your chest.

With deliberate slowness, he slides his length teasingly between your drenched folds, making your breath catch as your nerves tense.

“I’ll take it slow,” he pulls down to murmur against your lips. 

You nod, your lip caught between your teeth, biting down hard enough to taste the metallic tang as he presses his tip against your cunt. His other hand grips your hip, his fingers digging in as he applies pressure, holding you in place. He stays perched above you, eyes fixed on your face. 

"Keep looking at me," he says, watching the way your face squirms. "Please."

His begging has you fighting to keep your eyes from fluttering shut, staying locked on him as you watch the way his pink lips part, the way they twitch, holding back a moan when he inches forward just enough to feel his tip slip past the threshold.

He pushes forward in a slow, savouring motion, and when he finally sinks into you completely, you stretch around him. Your brows furrow, caught between the sting of pain and the rush of pleasure. His teeth catch his lower lip, holding it there as a low, skin-tingling moan rumbles deep in his chest, his body staying still, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Please move,” you beg, barely able to get the words out, desperation lacing your voice.

He struggles to keep his breathing steady as he watches your face, studying it for any sign of discomfort. Once he’s sure you’re fine, he begins to draw his hips back slowly, his movements deliberate and deep, wrecking you as he rolls his hips forward, filling you again.

Your eyes want to flutter shut, the bliss almost too much to keep conscious but you want to please him. Jaemin pulls you closer, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, and you moan into it, the sound pulling a breathless, stomach-knotting whine from him.

He increases his pace, and you cry out, your head falling back as your hips begin to meet his. One of Jaemin’s hands tightens around the side of your waist, grounding you as he drives deeper, faster, harder — greedy. 

You move feverishly, hips bucking wildly as you try to take him deeper, craving the way his cock stretches you, hitting every nerve with overwhelming pleasure.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he gasps. "Keep looking at me. I wanna see how pretty you look when I’m making you feel good."

You can only respond with a breathless gasp that catches in your throat as he buries himself deeper, rolling against you whilst your nails dig into the fabric on his shoulders.

His hand slips from your hip for a moment, reaching for your fingers to guide them down where your bodies are connected. His fingers curl around yours, bringing your hand to your throbbing clit. You take the hint, fingers moving instinctively to find the sensitive bundle, desperate to ease the tightness building in your abdomen.

"Not gonna last long, angel," he breathes, his voice ragged. "But I need you to feel good."

"Fuck," you whimper. Your hips begin to writhe, chasing the pleasure as every part of your body burns with need.

“So fucking warm and wet and tight,” he groans, forehead slick with sweat. 

Your bodies feel like they’re burning, the car steaming up with heat, the windows fogging so thickly that you leave a handprint on the glass as you steady yourself against Jaemin’s building deliberate thrusts. 

He’s fucking into you with an erotic urgency, as if he’s trying to spill out every fantasy he’s ever had about you since Jeno introduced you. It’s like he’s remembering, all at once, that he’s broken all the rules—off-limits, bro code—and he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t regret it one bit. Because the feel of you on his cock is totally worth it.

Your stomach starts to tremble as warmth floods your lower half, your muscles contracting and fluttering around him. The feeling overwhelms you, and it only encourages him to slow his rhythm, to drag out your orgasm as long as possible. 

Jaemin finally caves, moving his face to nuzzle against you. Your hands find his hair, tugging him up so you can kiss along his neck, your lipstick staining his flesh, marking him with that signature red colour.

You keep your hips rolling with his, even after the earth-shattering orgasm he’s just given you. Every cry, whimper, and moan spills from the back of your throat at the force of him, your voice chanting his name in a string of desperate mumbles. Your body convulses and shakes as you clamp around his length, and he grunts at the feeling, whispering praises to coax you through it.

He snaps his hips upward, grinding his body against you to savour the feeling. His muscles begin to shudder, jolting as he gasps for air, his own orgasm hitting him hard.

Hearing and feeling him lost in so much bliss only stretches the aftershocks of your release, both of you a mess of limbs and shameless sounds. Then, you feel him still completely, his release erupting in warm spurts, filling you and making you feel full of him. He’s everywhere—his scent, his kisses, his cum.

You’re left utterly spent, like a limp puddle, but Jaemin stays closely intertwined with you. You both inhale ragged breaths, neither of you daring to break apart. You’re reduced to fluttering glances weak panting and slick skin.

Jaemin’s eyes shift toward the side window, his fingers gently combing through your hair before he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

And when he finally tries to move, there's a sudden clink, and the faint sound of liquid splashing. You both glance down at the Diet Pepsi can now toppled over and spilling its contents all over the car seat. A muffled chuckle escapes Jaemin's lips as he shakes his head.

“That stupid fucking drink,” he mutters with a grin. 

“You should be grateful,” you hum, “Without it, we probably would never have fucked.”

Jaemin shakes his head and laughs, but the humour quickly fades as his expression turns serious. He leans in close again, his lips brushing yours. 

“Not true,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted you ever since I met you. I would’ve made a move eventually.”

“Oh yeah?” You tilt your head, teasing him. “What’s been stopping you?”

“Jeno,” Jaemin says quietly, and it’s like it hits you both at once.

Your stomach twists in knots, the mention of your brother, Jaemin’s best friend, suddenly making everything feel... wrong. 

“What are we gonna tell Jeno?”

[isamoa]

“ WHAT GETS THEM HARD! ”

jjk men x f!reader ࿐ MDNI.

ᰔ、summary. jjk scenarios on how their dicks get hard ofc

ᰔ、tags. (ft. gojo, geto, toji, choso), nsfw, female anatomy, cunnilingus, exhibitionism, sexting, masturbation, etc.

ᰔ、a/n. these are just my silly depictions. if u dont agree idgaf lol

SATORU GOJO has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive. his pants definitely start feeling a little tighter at the sight of you eating a popsicle or something. specifically in public. he would have no shame in it either—casually forming a smirk on his face and dropping a snarky innuendo about the way you’re eating. “can you suck me off like that when we get home?” he’d mumble from across the table, his eyes peeking out from the top of his glasses, a smirk plastered on his lips; wet from the constant licking of his tongue. your eyes widen, a small ‘pop’ sounding from your mouth when you took the frozen sweet out to gasp at the man in front of you. “gojo! are you serious?” you’d yell in a whisper, looking around to see if anyone had heard him. “you’re right,” he’d sigh, standing up from his chair to reveal the very prominent and very obvious bulge in his pants. “we should just do it now.”

SUGURU GETO on the other hand is a polite man. like satoru, he’s a real freak in the sheets—but not as shamelessly. the littlest things can get him hard for sure, but unintentionally seeing your undergarments would really get him going. like an accidental peek at your panties from under your skirt, or a shirt thats a little too see-through showing off the print on your bra. he wouldn’t say anything of course, not right away. you would just be minding your own business one minute and then he’s dragging you towards the bedroom the next. “sugu- what are you-?” you would ask in a confusing tone, craning your head to look at the said man who was now behind you—pushing your stomach up against the countertop; a single hand brought up to grope your breast while the other laid flat against your hip. “your bra is showing.” he’d let you know blankly; an attempt to distract you while his hand slid it’s way into your pants. you would look down in response to his comment, noticing that your bra was in-fact showing like he said. unfortunately for him, you also already noticed the hardon pressed against your back.

TOJI FUSHIGURO gets hard from eating pussy. simple as that. he will get embarrassingly sloppy—juices coating his face and dripping down his chin, loving every second of it while his cock slowly grows harder. emphasis on grows. and if you think for a second that he does it for your pleasure, think again. this man will eat you out purely for his enjoyment only. his eyes are closed and his hands are squeezing at your thighs—legs thrashing uncontrollably from the uncomfortable pressure in his pants that’s about to come undone. “toji- let me help you.” you’d beg with a whimper, dragging your hand from the top of his head down to his cheek when you noticed the constant shuffling of his legs and the crease in his eyebrow. he’d laugh darkly, the breathy snicker creating a hum between your core that made a whine escape from your lips. “im fine mama,” he’ll say cockily, pulling a hand away from your leg to undo his zipper. “ill cum soon, you don’t gotta do ‘nun.”

CHOSO is a needy guy. his face will turn red at a simple flirty text—but send him a slutty pic and he might just cream his pants. fully naked or dressed in lingerie, his favorite or not, he will definitely feel some pressure down below. he might ignore you for a while, uncertain on how he should reply; if he’s even able to. “fuck- couldn’t wait till i got home, could you?” he’d whine quietly, trying his best to keep his voice down from the bathroom of his office job; one hand holding the phone up to his ear while the other rushed to unbuckle his belt. “sorry cho,” you’d apologize from the other line, voice rather faint as you posed for another picture to send him. “when are you coming?” you ask doubtfully just as his phone vibrates with another notification from your contact. “now- im comin’ now baby.” he replies with a huff, phone almost slipping from his ear. “really!?” you try to clarify—much more excited than the first time. “no, i mean im cumming. right now.”

[haveihitanerve]

Gotham fucking loves Brucie Wayne

Some nice Brucie Wayne headcanons for you all

Hes an idiot and a dork but he makes social events interesting because who else would fall into the chocolate fountain?

At any social event where kids are invited as well he can most definitely be found with the kids, talking to them like they are adults

He never treats anyone as inferior unless they're dicks

He once punched riddler in the face because he interrupted a girls birthday party

He has an entire fashion line that is dedicated to giving people actually comfortable practical clothes

Hes an absolute unit in bed. For both men and women. (either top or bottom)

He once held a man upside down by his ankles and shook him until everything had fallen out of his pockets because he had used to be a bully and was now a dick

Can and will walk teenagers home if its late at night. 

Always tips very generously

He was once in line at a batburger and there was a karen yelling at the poor 16 year old cashier and he walked to the front and just started sticking 100 dollar bills into the tip jar with the nastiest smile aimed at the karen. ‘The more you yell the more i tip.’ (the cashier was, coincidently stephanie brown, and she high fived him)

He has a social media but never uses it unless its to draw awareness to a certain cause or to show off his children. 

He also posts beautiful pictures of gotham, or of mundane everyday things, showcasing the beauty in life

(Is canonically a feminist)

Will protect waiters/servers/janitors from creeps or gotham elite who think theyre better than them

He stopped adopting kids but still pays for as many college tuitions as he can

Funded a city wide disability infrastructure plan so people with wheelchairs could go places too

He once rocked three guys with guns’s shit because they were attempting to molest these little boys

Punched a teacher in the face for making a student cry

Will at any time drop everything the second one of his kids asks him to

There is an entire instagram account dedicated to pictures of him helping old people cross the street

Once a month he visits inmates at the prison and offers them jobs

Genuinely cares for his workers and buys them houses and cars if they need it

Literally created gothams public transportation system and made sure it was free

Teamed up with poison ivy to make public gardens for everyone to enjoy

Funds clean energy research

Any celebrity fan mail he receives he answers personally

One time a little girl asked him to come to her birthday party and he did and brought presents

Taught an entire school basic self defense

Brucie Wayne may be an idiotic little shit but he is the Prince of Gotham and Gothamites would lay down their lives for him more willingly than they would for Batman.

[stormberry-12]

sunshine and sarcasm // P1: oh god, it talks? ~ lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x fem!introvert!piastri!reader

warnings: slight language, creepy guy.

notes: Let me know if I should make another part, wasn't really sure if I wanted it to end here. Also, ignore that the timeline doesn't line up... xxx

You walked through the bustling paddock in search of the bright orange garage-

Sorry, papaya.

Your older brother, Oscar, had his face and race number plastered above the overhead door. It was the Australian Grand Prix and your entire family had been invited to experience it in person. You actually didn't even live in Australia anymore. You had been working out of the country for many years, perfecting your craft and experiencing great opportunities outside your hometown. So this early pop-up to free practice was surely a surprise for Oscar.

"Y/n/n?"

"Osco!!" he crushed you in a hug.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had work, mum wasn't even sure you'd make it for the race Sunday-"

"I wanted to surprise you," you grinned back at him, "If I can only make it for one race a year I want to experience the whole shebang! Even the practice sessions,"

"Oh mate, I'm so excited!" Oscar exclaimed, with the most enthusiasm his personality offered. To some, his tone may have sounded sarcastic but you knew, by the glint in his eyes, that he was genuinely happy you were here. "Shit- I have media, but then I could totally show you around, the second round of free practice doesn't start for another few hours,"

"Sounds good!" you smiled, Oscar's gaze trailed over to his teammate standing on the other side of the garage. You knew who Lando Norris was, from interviews with Osc, but you had never actually met him.

"I can introduce you to Lando too, he's great,"

"I'm good," you mumbled and your brother chuckled. There were definitely similarities, personality-wise, between you and your brother. You didn't need to meet Lando and you didn't want to meet him. From certain clips online you were sure his loud persona would be way too much for you-

"OSCAH!" The Brit yelled making both of your heads turn back to him. Proving your previous thought. "GET OVAH HERE YOU'RE SLOW!"

"Oh god, it talks?" you hissed.

"He is a person, and yes he talks." Oscar scolded, "He's very nice, don't be rude."

He gently elbowed you in the side, before walking towards the other racing driver and a set of cameras. You went and sat upstairs at some tables, putting your headphones in and waiting for your brother.

Once you were out of earshot, Lando turned to his teammate, "Who's the lady?"

"Oh, my sister. Well one of them, I have three." Oscar replied.

"Huh..." Lando hummed, hesitating, "Think you could introduce me?"

"Mateee," Oscar grumbled, already knowing where this was going. It wasn't the first time he had to tell one of his friends that you weren't interested.

"Pleaseee Osc?" Lando pleaded, Oscar side-eyed him hard.

"You know, I offered to introduce her first and she said 'I'm good.'"

"Ouch,"

"I'm sure it's nothing personal, she's just a bit introverted and grumpy-"

"Runs in the family I see..."

"-and then you proceeded to yell very Britishly across the entire room," Oscar finished, ignoring his teammate's jab.

"What do you mean 'Britishly'?" Lando chuckled.

"What do you mean 'runs in the family'?"

"Touche,"

"Oh my god," a loud giggle interrupted your peace, you lifted your head to see the two Mclaren boys on the floor playing Twister. You hadn't meant to catch them in the filming process but you couldn't deny it was quite entertaining.

You removed an earbud to hear Lando mumble, "What a sight that is..."

You chuckled to yourself, Osc was squatted with his butt right in Lando's face, both giggling uncontrollably.

"I'm in... such a bad place right now." Oscar sighed.

"I'm like in the splits," they giggled once more.

"Left foot yellow," one of the Mclaren media team instructed, after spinning the wheel for them. You stood up and walked over to the crew, exchanging smiles and waves with some of them.

"Oscahhh,"

"We can't be on the same sticker can we?" Oscar shook with laughter.

They mumbled something incoherent, Lando's voice cracked slightly, "Ahhhh, my voice is gone. Oscah call it quits. YOUR LEFT FOOT IS NOT GOING BETWEEN MY LEGS!"

Everyone laughed, both drivers looked up noticing your presence.

"Y/n/n help me!" Oscar pleaded.

"Y/n/n tell your brother he's lost!" Lando countered, smirking over at his teammate. You houghed, wondering who this guy thought he was, using Oscar's nickname for you. To be fair though you hadn't properly introduced yourself.

"Sorry Osco," you smiled at him, "It's not looking too good for you..."

Oscar tried to maneuver his body once more, before standing up and accepting defeat, "That's it, I'm done-"

"Yeh, he's called it. I win!" Lando cheered.

They cut the cameras and you waved at your brother, "Alright, I'm going to find lunch Osc, I'll find you later,"

The bustling paddock was a lot to take in, you had asked around the garage to see if anyone knew of a nice outdoor spot to eat. But after noticing that the few picnic benches close by were all occupied, you sighed in defeat. Holding your food bag close to your chest, you retreated to the McLaren garage.

However, a hard hit to your back made you stumble and drop your food, content spilling all over the ground.

"Whoops, sorry gorgeous," A man snarled, chuckling. His eyes were narrowed at you as a sickly grin spread across his face. "Hey, what's a pretty lady like you doin' all alone around here,"

"Just getting lunch," you replied curtly, avoiding eye contact. "And I'm not alone-"

"Well, that hasn't gone too great so far has it," He put an arm around your shoulders and you froze. "My apologies, come with me let me buy you something to eat,"

"No. Thank you. I'm headed to—uhm—find my boyfriend anyway, " you lied, scrambling out of his grasp and towards the garage.

"Oh come on gorgeous," his large strides met yours as you walked away.

"Please leave me alone, I'm not interested."

He grabbed your wrist pulling you to face him, hot breath hitting your face. You shook slightly, preparing to kick him with all your might, and start screaming-

"Y/N/N!" a voice yelled.

British.

The accent gave away who it was, but honestly, at this moment you didn't care, as Lando Norris' arms wrapped firmly around you from behind. You pulled your arm out of the other man's grip and he took a step back.

"Do we got a problem here mate?" Lando spoke, his sharp tone catching you by surprise. You clung to the top of one of his arms that draped around your shoulders and the man eyed the both of you in annoyance.

"No. Just trying to help the lady out," he houghed, you felt Lando's chest heave against your back.

"Well, I believe as she probably told you before, she's quite all right on her own," Lando responded cooly. By this point crowds of people, which often formed when Lando Norris was around, watched and whispered at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Okay-" The man turned to leave.

"Hey, asshole." Lando spoke again, the anger you felt radiating off his body now leaving his mouth. Wishing you could see his face at that moment, you squeezed his bicep in a silent plea to let it go. Not wanting to cause more of a scene than you already had. "Don't just walk away, apologise to her."

You hesitantly made eye contact with the man across from you. And after spoiling your lunch, pestering you, and invading your space he mumbled one simple half-hearted word.

"Sorry," and walked away.

Lando gently released you and you slowly angled your body to face him. Not making eye contact, you scanned the people around that had clearly watched but were now avoiding your gaze.

"Oh god, I've caused a scene," you whispered.

Lando chuckled, making your face heat, "You're so much like your brother," You met his blue gaze, "It's okay. Are you okay?"

"Oh um- yes thank you for..."

"No worries, that guy was pissing me off," he mumbled, something flashing in his eyes, suddenly shy he added, "Sorry if I uh- crossed the line there-"

"It's alright..." you said softly, "I should get going, thanks again-"

"Wait! Let me walk you?" he offered with a small smile, "We need to get you more lunch right?"

You nodded and started towards the McLaren garage for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Lando followed by your side in silence, glancing over at you multiple times, seeming to ponder a conversation starter.

Hating small talk you quickly offered something else, "Want to see some embarrassing photos of Oscar?"

His face split into a grin, shaking his head excitedly. You pulled out your phone and started scrolling through some of the most horrendous photos that you had taken of your brother over the years. Including baby photos of course, and 'Vines' that you had made in your teenage years that made Lando squeal with laughter.

Your chest fluttered slightly at his warm laugh, so engrossed in your memories that you hadn't even noticed how casually he held your elbow and pulled you to the side. Only a few steps away from the garage and not wanting to end the moment.

"Wait, go back!" he giggled. You had landed on a horribly angled photo of your brother at the ripe age of 13, glaring at you angrily through the camera.

"His hair is so bad!" You wheezed.

"Can I just-" he held out his hand and you offered your phone. He took it and quickly typed in a phone number to send himself quality Oscar photos. "Thank you so much. My life is complete," he joked, handing the phone back to you.

"No problem," you laughed, smiling up at him.

His cheeks turned pink, and he spoke softly, "So are you-"

"LANDO!" he was suddenly called by one of the McLaren mechanics.

"Oh shit," he cursed checking his watch, slowly stepping away from you, "Sorry, I gotta go- shit -um I'll see ya around okay?!"

He gave you a wave, turning before you could answer, and jogging over to his team. You waved back hesitantly, but just like that he was gone. You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and began walking in the other direction, wondering if he had turned back over his shoulder.

Why did you want to look back?

You continued your adventures around the paddock, getting food and the tour that Oscar had promised. You had missed him truly, he was one of your best friends as a kid and still was. It still felt strange adjusting to your lives as adults.

Eventually, it was time for him to head back and get in the car for another practice session. A group of fans surrounded Oscar for autographs, and he shot you a sympathetic look which you waved off with a smile. Standing off to the side, you pulled out your phone in an attempt not to look awkward, surprised by the many texts you had missed.

Oscar looked over your shoulder, catching you by surprise, "Who are you texting?"

You jumped, "No one-"

He gave you a confused face and then smirked at your screen, "Heh, is mum mad?"

Your face snapped back down to your phone, one of the other people to text you was your mother. You noticed her last message was in all caps and quickly opened it, color draining from your face.

Turned out Lando didn't need to tattle on you anyway.

And good god indeed.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

How would the LADS men react to their MC being really sweet and soft spoken but become toxic during video games (screaming, cursing out players, laughing when they lose)

Crash Out

You were so composed and well spoken in public. Little did your man know what he was in for when it came to you and video games. A/N: I watch a whole lot of CoryxKenshin, Berleezy, Joeiaco, PeegTV, and Britani so I kinda (hella) be screaming and crashing out everytime I play video games CW: Strong language

Zayne

Zayne is the type thats worried about your cortisol levels as he’s watching you yell at the tv. He would definitely brings you cold water and some fruit while trying to gently coax you off the game for a while, but would only end up doing as you say which is to leave you the hell alone.

You currently have a death grip on your controller and trying very hard not to yell into the mic on your headset. You failed.

MC: You fuck ass camping bitch what kind of bullshit is this?!

Zayne: Uh honey?

MC: Yes baby?

You leave the match — slamming your headset to the ground — and focus on Zayne giving him with the most innocent look

Zayne: Are you alright?

MC: Im good why?

Zayne: You sound like you’ve forgotten yourself

MC: Oh because this musty PT Cruiser built bitch was camping the third floor during the entire match pissin’ me the fuck off

Zayne: …

MC: …

Zayne: Why don’t you take a break?

MC: I will

You give him the sweetest smile before grabbing your headset and slipping it back on your head

MC: Right after I blast this little bitch to hell and laugh in their face

Zayne: ……….ok

Rafayel

Rafayel is the type to just check in sparingly to avoid being the one in the line of fire. He was not trying to catch a stray when you were raging, but he also just wanted his girlfriend back, but instead he had hot headed Hades on his hands. Rafayel comes in to find you at your PC set up he can tell something is wrong even with your back to him

Rafayel: You seem angry

MC: I CAN’T BEAT THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME

Rafayel: WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?!

MC: I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU

Rafayel: YES YOU ARE

MC: *Heavy sigh* I’m playing this game Scrutinized and I'm supposed to file all these reports while also making rounds around the house because there's two killers trying to kidnap me and I don’t fucking understand how this lucky charms bitch keeps getting in the house

Rafayel: Have you tried taking a break?

MC: I DON’T NEED A FUCKING BREAK I NEED TO BEAT THIS MANS ASS WITH A SKILLET AND HOT GRITS

Rafayel: ……..I miss my sweet girlfriend where did she go?

MC: Im sorry Raf

You pull him how down by his collar and give him a quick kiss

MC: Check back in an hour I should be done with night 1 by then

Rafayel nods and leaves you to scream at your computer. He silently leaves littles treats on the desk for you. He’s scared he might be the one to receive your wrath if he bugs you too much.

Rafayel: Done yet?

MC: BITCH GET UP OH MY GOSH

Rafayel: nervermind ._.

Xavier

The type that tries to help, but only ends up pissing you off unintentionally. He just wants to help, but you don’t want his help because you know the second he gets his hands on the game he’ll not only beat it, but would beat it in record time.

MC: I’m about to rage I'm about to rage I’m about to rage

Xavier brings you a glass of water and sits it on your desk

Xavier: What's wrong baby?

MC: I have yet to beat this fucking game this damn Nun from hell keeps spawning everywhere

Xavier: What game is it?

MC: Nun Massacre

Xavier: You don’t seem like yourself want me to try?

MC: Xavier I love you however if I let you try this game and you beat it in one go Im not eating with you for a week.

Xavier: I just don’t like seeing you stressed

MC: and I don’t like seeing this refrigerator built bitch get the best of me

Xavier: and you don’t want my help?

MC: No

Xavier: Are you sure

MC: Yes

Xavier: ……you’re sure?

MC: Ask me one more time and see what happens

Sylus

Sylus is so amused seeing you get so mad over a game. He’ll be egging you on for sure he’s not even trying to make it better. He wants to see your anger practically radiating off of you. You’re on the brink of raging? He’s chuckling in the background. You’re about to slam your hands on your keyboard or throw your controller? Go ahead he’ll buy you a new one.

MC: *yelling into the headset* FUCK YOU BITCH …. YOU SOUND LIKE YOU’RE EASY TO DRAW SHUT THE FUCK UP TALKING TO ME TURN YO MIC DOWN

Sylus: *Chuckling* like they’re easy to draw?

MC: YES! That bitch was just mad because I found her camping spot and sniped her ass

Sylus: You should do it again just to make her mad

MC: Oh trust me I'm on her ass now her play style is corny I'm not letting her team win this match

Sylus: Would you like me to bring you anything while you show her who’s boss?

MC: Water and some cherries please

Sylus: I’ll be back in a minute

Sylus walks out and can still hear you yelling all the way in the kitchen

MC: GET FUCKED BITCH SUCK MY DICK

Sylus brings backs what you asked for and kisses your cheek before making himself comfortable to watch you cuss people out over a game.

Sylus: A dragon growing her horns

[softaestluv]

Breaking Bread

Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather. Your lieutenant who’s only spoken a handful of words to you.

Simon Riley who happens to be sat at the only open table in the mess hall.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Sergeant! Reader

This chapter does contain smut. 18+ content only!

Tags: Short n’ Sweet, Fluff, Pining, Slow burn if you squint, Food as a love language, Eventual romance, Military inaccuracies, Hand feeding, Smut, Vaginal fingering, Pet names, Creampie, Dirty Talk

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5 | ao3 | masterlist

Usually, your leave goes by too quickly, as if you blinked and you found yourself on base again. Didn’t get enough sleep, didn’t stuff yourself full of enough expensive cuisine, didn’t see your friends long enough. Have to force yourself to drag your feet out of bed, into your car, and take the long trench back to a miserable occupation.

Except this time, it seems to drag; you can’t wait for it to come to an end. You don’t entirely know why, can’t seem to scratch the itch under your skin that only one person seems able to despite how mundane and insignificant the majority of your interactions have been.

So, you find yourself a little too eager to return, mind buzzing impatiently.

When you do finally see him, you practically swoon. Black cargo pants, black compress shirt, black balaclava makes you entirely too giddy. Feel entirely too guilty checking your lieutenant out, but you can’t help it when he’s ravaged your thoughts your entire leave. When you silently walk to his side, and he sees you after your bashful stare.

When you don’t look at him, don’t say anything; his deep voice comes. Melts over your body in warm strokes that has you biting your tongue to stop from smiling.

“Hi, dove.”

You look up at him, his eyes far too soft for a man of his reputation, “Hi, sir.”

You can tell he wants to say more, for the first time since the two of you have talked. Can tell from the way he stares at you, the way he leans a little closer to your frame.

But duty calls, sergeant’s yelling across the room, asking what they’re supposed to do next. You push on your tippy toes before he can get too distracted from you, press your lips as close as they can get to his ear.

“I have treats for you, come by my room after training?”

You smile at him sweetly when he nods eagerly. Laugh a little too loud when you hear him shout that training is over, cuts the day short just so he can follow slowly behind you to your room.

You perch the door open, wait for him to walk in. He’s been in your room countless times by now, examining your injuries with piercing eyes and soft hands, but not like this. From your own invite, the lack of a mission or injuries definitely blurs the lines of why he’s there, makes the air incredibly suffocating. Though, you continue like your throat isn’t tightening, chest beating far too loud.

“I didn’t mean end training now,” You tease, digging through the box you brought from home before displaying the Chantilly cake, “Made it for you yesterday before leaving; it’s not nearly as fresh as it should be, but I thought it would be better than the artificial food here.”

You peer up at him as he stares down at the cake in your palms. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes means, but he doesn’t say anything, makes you suck your lip between your teeth, nervously fidgeting from foot to foot.

“Do you want to try some?” You ask, embarrassed from the way your voice shakes, unsure if you made the right move to make him a fucking cake— should you just have brought him chocolate?

“Yes.”

“Okay, let me uh-“ You pause, realizing you didn’t think this entirely through, that you don’t have any utensils to cut the cake, “Ah, shit. I don’t have anything to cut it with.”

Ghost pulls a knife from a strap in his cargos, handing it to you without a second thought. It makes you chuckle softly, cutting a decadent cake with such a massive weapon, but it makes do. Quite fitting for the man you’re feeding.

Still, you feel a little stupid when you turn to him and tell him you don’t have a fork either. This doesn’t phase him; you watch him pull his gloves off in one quick move, pushing his balaclava up over his nose, and pick up the slice you cut with his bare hands. Takes a bite just like that, raspberry juice spilling over his fingers and knuckles.

You look at him wide-eyed, can’t really decipher the sight in front of you as reality. Not when he doesn’t stop until the whole piece is gone, vanilla cream frosting smeared over his lips and fingers. Stare dumbfounded as you watch him suck the cream from the pads of his fingers, moving lower to lick the raspberry juice from his knuckles.

“Do you want another piece?” You ask in shock.

He just nods, so you cut him another piece, watch the previous scene unfold in front of you a second time; the raspberries staining his fingers and lips red.

You offer him a third slice; you intended for him to have the whole cake, so you’re more than willing to give him every slice. He accepts, sits on your bed with a new slice, thighs spread wide.

“C’mere,” He says, two fingers beckoning you over to him.

You paddle over, of course, but not without hesitation, your mouth drying, nerves fluttering against your stomach. You stop in front of him, an arms length of distance between the two of you, but he tsks his tongue, not pleased with the distance. Pulls you between his thighs by your hip.

You gasp quietly in shock, your hands falling to his shoulders on instinct. Ghost acts like it’s normal, holds the cake to your lips like you’re not pressed so closely to him; your body shoved right up against the inside of his thighs. The two of you practically face to face even though he’s sitting and you’re standing.

You take a bite, try your best not to spill any of the berries between the two of you, but they land on his lap anyways. Maybe you should feel a little ashamed how he holds an item up to your mouth and you obediently swallow without a word said, but you can’t find it in yourself to really care.

The both of you take turns biting pieces of the cake until all that remains is the red juice staining his hands, white cream painted across his thumb, and raspberries in his lap. He sucks the frosting off his thumb— can’t help but feel a little remorseful that he doesn’t slip it into your mouth for you to lick clean.

You don’t offer another slice, and he doesn’t ask for one, don’t think you quite have it in you to push your way between his thighs again if you do. His palm is heavy on your hip, the air is heavy around the two of you. Seems to weigh you down, freezes the two of you in time. Though, his stare is thicker, penetrating, makes your fingers twitch on his shoulders.

“Made that just for me?” Ghost asks.

You nod, swiping your tongue over your lips like you’re trying to lick any remnants off, but really you’re just incredibly anxious. He grips your chin lightly, slowly pulls your face to his, and hovers your lips over his. Can feel his warm breath on your cheeks when he starts to whisper.

“Our little secret, dove?”

Your eyes flutter slightly at the tone of his voice, firm and rich, licks a searing warmth down your back. All you can muster is a another nod, don’t think you can do anything more with his strong grip on you.

Seals his lips over yours in one claiming swoop, fierce, possessive. Didn’t expect him to kiss you like this, breath stripped straight from your lungs over some cake. A Cake he tastes like, vanilla frosting and berries, sweet and tart. Causes you to lick into his mouth fervently, like you were trying to lick the taste clean.

It’s wet. Lewd smacking of saliva in the confines of your private quarters.

It’s hot. His mouth scorching against yours, burns the shape of his lips on your skin.

When the two of you separate you, you chase after his lips pathetically, think your knees might buckle under you. He seems to know, maybe it’s because your eyes are already half-lidded off one kiss or the way your chest is heaving, taking shallow breaths, but his large palm clutches the back of your thigh, thumb cupped under the curve of your ass.

His other hand dips under your shirt, spreads his touch on you wide and avaricious. Maybe you’re too eager, but your body is itching, stinging with a carnal desire. When it feels as if Ghost’s touch is the only thing that soothes your ache. So, even if you weren’t sure that he wanted more, you peel your shirt off hastily, drop it behind you without a care.

“No need to rush, sweeth’art,” He drawls, slowly.

“Wanted you for weeks,” You confess, struggling to unclasp your bra, “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

You’re not even ashamed of the desperation in your tone. You can’t go back now, it’s too late; you won’t continue to pretend. You let your lieutenant take without a word for months, let his talons hook into your flesh, and bury deep without recourse.

Ghost inhales deep when your bra finally drops, engulfs your breast in one hand. He’s seen almost every aspect of your body by now, traced his fingers over your injuries, but he’s never seen you like this, never touched you like this.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He breathes, closes his eyes to gather himself.

His touch is sticky on your skin from the raspberries, leaves red fruit stains on your hip and chest. Trails his fingers over the swell of your breast, brushing lightly over your nipple, pinches the bud between his thick fingers softly, eyes darting to yours when you exhale a quiet noise.

You squeeze your thighs together at the look in his eyes, dark and dilated. Makes your head spin as he consumes you whole with one look, arousal pooling thickly in your panties. Ellicit’s a squeak from your throat when he rolls the bud in his fingers, tugging at the sensitive bead. Repeats the motions on each nipple until you start to fidget impatiently, need more.

“G-Ghost,” You stammer.

“Hhm?” He hums, the hand just below the swell of your ass sliding up to finally squeeze the supple fat.

You don’t exactly know what to say, don’t want to sound too pathetic, so you start to unbuckle your pants. Hurriedly shoving the restricting material off your hips, standing in your panties in front of your lieutenant.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, dove,” Ghost groans, low and strained.

“Already said that, lieutenant,” You tease, but it doesn’t have any real gusto behind it, not when he turns you around swiftly, and palms both of your ass cheeks.

Your panties join the pile on the floor, the first article of clothing your lieutenant has peeled off you, but it leaves you completely naked and bare. Makes you acutely aware of the fact that nothing covers your most intimate parts while he sits there fully dressed when you feel the air on your cunt. When one thumb spreads your cheek wide, your wet folds revealed.

“Look’atcha,” He hums, approvingly, “Pretty little sergeant aren’t you?”

You stutter over a moan when he slides two fingers through your swollen folds, knuckles teasingly brushed against your clit. When he draws his hand back you almost whine in protest, but he pulls you flush in his lap, back pressed to his broad chest, and spreads your thighs wide over his. You decide you like this much better despite the warmth scalding down your entire chest when he leaves your cunt bare and displayed.

Ghost’s hand snakes down your chest, presses his fingers back to your drenched pussy. Two fingers dipping through your folds to gather the slick dripping from your entrance. Your head rolls back on to his shoulder, one arm bent to grasp at the back of his neck, the other digging indents into your thigh when he strokes against your clit.

You think you might be going crazy when he starts to rasp filthy into your ear, when your lieutenant has been so restrictive of his words before this— ‘Soaked f’me, dove, eager little thing you are.’

Each syllable practically goes straight to your clit, makes you hypersensitive, clenching around nothing. His words sting with embarrassment, but you don’t want him to stop, cling to every word like you’re afraid he’ll never speak again.

“Made me a sweet little cake,” He lilts against your ear, drawing firm shapes on your clit, “Wanted an excuse t’get me in yer room?”

“J-Just wanted to make you a treat,” You explain, and you’re not necessarily lying, you hadn’t fully planned for this to happen.

“Yeah?” He muses, withdrawing his hand from your clit, “So, you want me t’stop?”

Your protest is a little too pitiful, high-pitched as you clamber your grasp to his wrists to stop his movements. You’re immediately grateful for pushing his hand back down despite how desperate it makes you look when a thick finger catches on your rim, when he puts up no resistance as you slip it in your welcoming entrance.

You instantly melt against his chest, a pleased moan ricocheting off your bedroom walls when he takes back the reigns. You’re being too greedy over your lieutenant, as you always are, but he never seems to give you enough. Always leaves you with a yearning ache in his absence, so you think you deserve to be, let yourself succumb to the pleasure.

His hand is massive, covers your entire pussy with it, palm pressed to your clit. And his fingers are deft, skilled and focus from years as a sniper. Curls and spreads two fingers in your throbbing cunt, scratches at the fire that’s been burning viciously in your core for months.

It’s almost too overwhelming, choking on your mewls after a few determined strokes. You know you shouldn’t, that it’ll make your impending orgasm spill from your control, but you can’t help it; you’ll regret it later if you don’t.

You have to look.

So, you lift your head to peer down at your body perched on his lap. One meaty palm pinching your breast, a brawny arm banded over your hip, and two beefy fingers disappearing into your pussy. Covered in your expense, glistening in the dark of the room.

You want to burn the image to the insides of your eyelids; your lieutenant pinching, gripping, claiming your flesh. White seeps into the corner of your irises at the sight, fighting the insistent coil that tightens in your womb.

You nearly double over when he ruts his hips leisurely against your ass and you feel the shape of his bulge in his cargos. It makes you pant like a dog, grinding back down eagerly against the curve. He lets out a low groan at the sensation, and you feel it in fucking your toes, curled tightly as you clench around his fingers.

“Feel that?” He purrs in your ear— yeah, yeah you fucking do.

Emphasizes his words with another rut, “All ‘cause of you.”

“Ghost, I-I,” You start, but you’re not entirely sure what you mean to say, not exactly sure what you want.

But he seems to know what you need, curls his fingers just at the right angle, has a delicious feeling washing over you. It devours you, eyes blurring as you lose control of the seal, spilling your expense in Ghost’s palm with a quick jerk of your hips.

He doesn’t stop, his motions unyielding. Fingers you steady through your orgasm, gumming your walls and mind into mush until you’re trying to scramble out of his demanding grip with floundering legs and clawing fingers, whining that it’s too much.

“Sit still, dove,” He demands, but he doesn’t have any real bite to it, not like his commands during training, removes his fingers from your over sensitive walls.

You try your best to listen to your lieutenant, but it’s nearly impossible when your climax is still thrumming under your veins. Fidgeting anxiously when you hear the metal clanking of his belt, when his cock finally springs free between your thighs. It curves long and wide over your pussy, your mouth watering when you see the fat of his cockhead poke through the tips of your thighs.

You can’t even stop yourself from grinding your puffy folds over his length. Dragging your drenched pussy from his tip to shaft.

“Fuuuck,” He grits through his teeth.

Lays his hand on your hip, but he doesn’t stop you, lets you smear your slick over his cock earnestly. Maybe your mind is muddled from your previous orgasm, everything still a little too fuzzy, but you find yourself keening and mewling into the room. Snapping your hips over his girth over and over again like you’re actually riding him, his tip tugging at your sopping entrance with each drag.

You want it more than anything, clenching and weeping for more, but you can’t stop your rutting.

“Ghost, please,” You beg, because he has to be the one to do it, “Oh, please— need it.”

“Such a sweet girl,” He lifts you slightly, lines his tip with your aching hole, and slowly lowers you over his head, “I got you, don’t worry.

Your walls pop over the curve of his swollen head, and you think you might pass out from how tightly you’re holding your breath. You almost wish you were facing him or pressed into the sheets, so you could scratch at something. Grapple onto anything to ground yourself.

Ghost pets softly at your side, “Breathe, baby.”

And oh fuck.

You think you might’ve been able to if he hadn’t called you ‘baby’ so tenderly. You know he only means well, but the word practically sends you into a frenzy when your rugged and brute lieutenant is treating you so gently, so obscure compared to his usual stoicism.

It makes you slam your hips flush over his shaft, take him in one full swoop, pussy pressed against his pelvis. It’s not what he wanted you to do, you know that, but it rips a breath out of your lungs, makes you finally breathe like he told you to.

“Fuckin’ hell, dove,” He snarls, bruises his hold on your hips, “I didn’t mean like that.”

You really can’t say anything more, his grip so strong on you that you can’t move either, so you just lull your head against his shoulder, place your hand over his on your hip. He stays still for a few seconds, lets your pussy morph into the shape of his cock.

You’re appreciative of the fact; you get to focus on how massive he is, how full you feel. Gives you time to really feel the burn of the stretch, brings you back to reality of sorts.

But when he starts whispering sweet nothings into your ear again, your pussy starts to drip down his cock and pools on his balls. And he hasn’t even started to move yet.

“That eager, baby?” He teases, drawing shapes against your hip, “Need me t’fuck you tha’ bad?”

It almost hurts waiting for him to move, but when he finally does, grinds low and shallow against your cervix you’re utterly fucked— literally.

And his mouth just doesn’t stop.

“Oh, dove,” He grunts, “When’s the last time you fingered yourself? Grippin’ me like a lifeline.”

Each thrust is followed by a new sentence, a long drawl of his Manchester accent. You don’t say anything other than the desperate moans he fucks out of you, enjoy the cadence of his voice entirely too much to tell him to shut up even if his words are humiliating.

“Jesus, your cunts fuckin’ warm, sweeth’art.”

But when he really starts fucking you, shallow strokes become determined thrusts, firm and unwavering, his words start to slur a little, like he can’t stop babbling your praises.

“So sweet to me you know that? My sweet little sergeant,” He slurs, “Brings me little treats ‘n now you give me yer sweet little cunt, too?”

“Gh-host,” You hiccup over your words, as a second orgasm builds in your core.

“Need t’make you all mine now, huh?” He asks, but you’re sure it’s rhetorical because you already are.

You think you feel him in your cervix, splitting you and two and ripping you to shreds.

You know you can when his hand presses to your stomach, right where his cock kisses and laps at your womb, and he tells you to look.

“Oh— god. Ghost, I—I can’t,” You wail when you see your stomach bulge with his cock after each thrust.

“S’good, baby,” He praises, struggling to thrust deep when you keep clenching around him, “Feel s’good. S’pretty wrapped around me. Jesus, look at you.”

You start to try and push yourself off him when the fire in your core becomes cruel and ferocious, ruptures a stinging warmth that you can’t take anymore, but Ghost doesn’t let you get far, keeps a solid hold on your hips.

He’s telling you something, you’re sure, but you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. Not when he turns your face towards his and meet his dark irises. You lose yourself after that, your orgasm ruptures, explodes and reaches an absolute crescendo.

Ghosts follows suit shortly after, kisses your womb, and paints it a pretty picture. Fucks his cum into you with a few languid strokes, pussy squelching loudly with both of your desires drenched on each other. Makes you one.

The afterglow seems to drag, your body pulsing softly from an intense orgasm. Your limbs practically bricks, lax and molded against Ghost’s chest. Lightheaded and blissed when his large palms pet at your sides, kisses your shoulders and neck.

Turns you in his lap so you face him, blinking slowly at him like a cat before his lips stamp a soft kiss to your mouth. He noses along your jaw; it’s sweet, raw.

“Should’ve done that a long time ago,” He says, and you burst out laughing, nodding in agreement.

The two of you don’t go to dinner in the mess hall that night; instead, you bask in each other’s warmth, eat the rest of the Chantilly cake as your meal. Ghost feeds you the cake again, but this time you’re not hesitant to suck his thumb in your mouth, and lick the vanilla cream off. Though, it only results in you bent into the sheets, Ghosts chest thick and heavy against your back. The both of you stained in red smears and marks from the raspberries.

When the next day comes you feel a little bashful when a couple sergeant’s see your lieutenant leave your room. But you can’t seem to care for that matter when the two of you walk to the mess hall together. Eat breakfast together, like you do most days, and drink a cup of warm tea he made you for the first time since your leave.

Lunch and dinner go the same, except now he pulls you to the seat next to him rather than in front of him. Keeps a warm palm on you as you two eat in comfortable silence.

You don’t mind the silence, never really did, especially now that you can’t get him to shut up when he’s between your thighs.

Or when ‘Our little secret?’ becomes his way of asking for a kiss, pulls you from the hallway into a secluded room, back pressed against the wall, his large hand splayed beside your head. Nudges his knuckle under your chin before whispering it against your mouth, and stamping his lips on yours.

Shared tea time in the rec room takes place in either of your rooms now. Still share one cup of tea, still let him press it to your lips because he seems to like doing it. Though, you never really get much reading done when you end up under his larger frame because he can’t keep his hands off you for long.

Neither of you have to say goodbye after the tea or wish him a good night anymore when you stay with him, tangle yourself in his sheets instead.

Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather, but one you understand just a little better now. Still a little rough around the edges, even with his pretty dove. A man of few words, but what he says is enough, what he does is even more.

[robinminustherichard]

Fuck it Friday pt2

BuckTommy Reconciliation | Eddie Critical

UPDATE 5/16 -- this scene has been incorporated into an ongoing fic! Check it out here!

"Eddie isn't your competition."

Tommy blinks, having just gotten grabbed and dragged in-between the 118 & 217 engines, faced with a dust-covered and almost crazed looking Evan. It's not exactly the reunion he had been trying to stop himself from hoping for.

"Uh--" he says, but isn't really sure what to say here.

"What did you say to me, when you picked me up out of that hallway? The night in the lab."

Tommy pretends to think, but he knows without having to. The words have been playing in his head since that night.

"I told you I was there, I told you I was sorry."

Evan nods, eyes wide. He's standing just a half step away from Tommy, breathing just a little labored.

"What else?"

"I said, uh, 'you did everything you could'."

Evan nods, and his gloved hand reaches out for Tommy. Tommy lets him, still confused and trying to keep up.

"Bobby made me leave. He made me leave him to die, and I don't know if I could have gotten off that floor if you didn't come for me."

"Evan--"

"No, please, I need to...I need to say this. I was devastated, and I'm still devastated. And you picked me up, you told me you were there for me. You told me that I did everything I could to save him."

"Of course I did." Tommy says, simply and without exaggeration. "Because you did."

Buck nods seriously, and his expression darkens for a moment.

"I have spent every minute since you put me in an ambulance that night trying to be there for everyone else, like Bobby wanted me to be. I've tried to be okay. And you know what my bes-" Evan's voice cracks, he purses his lips a moment in frustration and grief, "you know what my best friend said? That I was making Bobby's death all about myself. That everyone felt like they don't know how to 'handle' me."

Evan looks gutted at his own words, biting his lip but still looking right at Tommy.

"Eddie was never your competition, Tommy. He never will be. Because he's telling me that I didn't do enough to save Bobby, that I make everything into the tragedy of Evan Buckley."

Tommy feels rage well up within him, hot and volatile. He connects his back roughly with the truck behind him to ground himself and lets Evan finish.

"But you--" Evan says, voice cut down to a whisper, eyes blinking rapidly as they water, "you came and got me. Before that, you came when I called. And I have a hell of a lot to apologize for, but Tommy I have never felt anything like what I feel for you before. If you'll let me, I swear to you that every day I will show you how much you mean to me. How much I love you. I will make sure you never think you have competition again."

Tommy swallows thickly, struck by the speech. Evan patiently waits for him to answer, his cheeks getting more red by the second.

"I'm gonna kick Diaz's ass," Tommy says, squeezing Buck's hand, "and I'm going to kiss the hell out of you."

A smile breaks across Evan's face, and it's beautiful in the dying sunlight around them.

"Not necessarily in that order." Tommy says, and grabs Evan by the turnouts, smashing their lips together in a kiss that's definitely going to get him another talking to if they're caught. He tries to keep it brief enough to avoid that, but Evan makes a disappointed sound that stops him from pulling away completely.

"I love you too," Tommy mumbles against his lips, "of course I do. How could I not?"

Their moment is soundly popped then by Gerrard yelling out "Buckley!", and Tommy sighs before reaching out to straighten Evan's turnouts and get a good look at him. They can't help but smile at each other.

"So," Evan tells him, head tilting and mouth smirking in the way he knows always got exactly what he wanted from Tommy, "what are you doing Saturday?"

Tommy scoffs theatrically but it doesn't get rid of the smile on his face.

"That's my line, Buckley."

[rafesangelita]

kook!sweetheart reader that gets rafe to teach her how to drive because her rich parents shelter her and don’t want her exposed to the dangers that comes with driving 😓

warnings: bsf!rafe, rafe yells lol

“wait, i’m scared!” you took your hands off the steering wheel, your heart beating in your ears as the engine of rafe’s truck roared to life. “look around us, it’s nothing but empty space, it’s impossible to mess up, ‘promise.” he reassured you, taking your hand and putting it on the shift gear. “is your foot on the brake?” you hummed, glancing at him before you put the truck in drive.

“alright, now just ease off of it slowly, it’s gonna go by itself.” once the vehicle started moving and you looked a bit more comfortable, rafe let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “atta, girl..” you ignored the butterflies in your tummy, keeping all of your attention on the parking lot in front of you. “okay, you could give it a little gas now— hey!” rafe shouted, making you jump and slam on the brakes.

“see! i can’t do this!” you cried, rubbing your palms on the denim of your jeans. “yes, you can babe, it’s just- i said a little bit of gas, and we nearly flew across the island.” rafe sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. you stayed silent, already regretting asking rafe to take you out today. “hey, it’s alright, okay? m’sorry for yelling.” you swallowed thickly, slowly stepping off of the brake.

“this is good,” rafe sat up in his seat, “take a turn up here after the white line.” you did as he said, both of you cheering when you turned smoothly into the next parking aisle. “i did it!” you clapped your hands, quickly recovering when rafe grabbed ahold of the wheel. “let’s keep our hands on here, alright?” he laughed nervously. “s-sorry, that was stupid.” you huffed, cursing yourself in your head.

“no, you got it. let’s try parking, yeah?” you didn’t even want to imagine how terrible your parking was about to be. sure enough, you and rafe found yourselves standing in front of his truck, examining the position. “well.. you definitely parked.” he rested his hands on his hips, the sun beating down on both of you.

two parking spots. you took up two parking spots. “you know what, i’m just gonna have you drive me around everywhere, sound good?” rafe agreed without hesitation. “let me take a picture before we leave.” later on that day once rafe was in the comfort of his own bed, he did what he did every night and looked at your socials.

you had two new stories on your instagram, the first one being the photo of his truck from earlier with the text ‘i’m just a girl </3’, and the second being an off guard of rafe with one hand on the steering wheel, the words ‘my chauffeur is hot, yours is not!’ making a smile form on his lips.

[velaenam]

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. when the sky took caleb, all you got back was a folded flag and the echoes of everything left unsaid. you thought that the hardest part would be losing caleb– turns out, it’s learning how to keep living without him.  𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – ANGST, swearing, mature themes. loss of life, grief. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬– not proofread. couldn't sleep, so i wrote this in one go. please excuse the inconsistencies. i hope you guys enjoy. i may write an epilogue ^^ — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

11.6k

3 years previous.

“let’s give a round of applause for your valedictorian– caleb xia!”

the sun is brutal, but caleb looks unbothered standing at the podium—uniform crisp, cap tilted just right, smile at ease. he scans the crowd, his face unbroken by the intense amount of bodies that showed up for today’s celebration. the applause fades. the wind shifts. and then he starts his speech.

“i thought flying would be the best thing that ever happened to me.  i trained for it. worked for it. sacrificed a lot to get here. i made a lot of friends– a lot of life long connections. but somewhere along the way, something… better happened.”

his voice doesn’t shake. doesn’t rush, cool and calculated. he glances down at his notes like he needs them– but it’s not his notes it’s his bad drawing of a plane. must’ve gotten the wrong paper on his way here. he clears his throat, very well so improvising.

“i’ve written this speech more times than we’ve flown in the simulations. i wanted to write about everyone that helped pave the way for me, but, you see, the best part of my life didn’t come from the sky. it came from someone who kept me grounded. someone who made sure i never forgot who i was when everything else got loud. she sat through my late-night calls, my stress meltdowns, my terrible ramen phase. and she’s the reason i’m still standing here, sane, intact, and apparently valedictorian.”

there’s light laughter, scattered claps. he holds up a hand. but he’s not looking at his classmates. he’s looking straight at you.

“can you come up here for a second?”

you blink. once. twice.  you point at yourself like an idiot. caleb just nods. still smiling and someone behind you shoves your shoulder gently. “go, go!” you stumble forward, heat crawling up your neck. you can feel everyone watching, whispering, wondering. your heels were the only noise that was heard as it clicked across the pavement. his classmates cheer.

caleb reaches his hand out to help you onto the stage like this is a movie and he’s memorized every line. you lean in, voice low. “what are you doing?” and he doesn’t answer. instead, he pulls a small box from his uniform pocket. and just– goes down on one knee. your eyes widen, lungs deplete of air. the air vanishes. the world stops.

“i want to fly a thousand missions and still come home to you.  i want to grow old with you before i grow old in the cockpit. you are the love of my life, and i can’t envision my life without you.…..will you marry me?”

gasps. someone in the crowd yells “holy shit!” caleb’s hand doesn’t shake. his eyes are soft. wide open and waiting for your response. your body was stilled, it was just so mesmerized at this moment. you don’t cry right away. you’re too stunned.  but you nod. and laugh. and nod again. and then tears flow.  you cried at how, despite that this was his moment ,he decided to share it with you– decided to share it with the one he loved the most.

“yes,” you say. then again, louder: “yes!”

the crowd erupts. his classmates lose it. someone sets off a confetti popper they definitely weren’t cleared to bring. caleb slips the ring on your finger and pulls you into his arms, spinning you like the cliché he swore he wasn’t. you don’t care. you’re dizzy. you’re full. you’re his. and for one perfect second,  the sky has never felt closer.

the knock is soft, almost hesitant at first—three measured taps that echo in the hallway like a heartbeat. you’re curled up on your couch, the low hum of the tv a distant comfort, when the sound reaches you. for a moment, every instinct tells you it’s caleb; maybe he’s finally returned, his voice promising that he’d surprise you with flowers and that worn-around-the-edges smile. you set aside the book you were pretending to read, rise slowly, and shuffle toward the door with bare feet and trembling anticipation.

when you swing the door open, the sight that meets your eyes makes time momentarily stop. there is no caleb, no familiar face framed by the doorway– just two military officers in crisp uniforms, their expressions a blend of duty and gentle sorrow. one of them, a woman, taller than the other, offers a respectful nod while the shorter man carefully holds out a small, unassuming box. resting on top of the box is a folded flag, pressed down as if to protect it from the chill of the unknown. the flag’s fabric is soft and worn. it looks reverent. of the highest importance. the most precious gift to be given. its creases speaking of countless memories. you feel a sudden, disorienting numbness replace the hope you’d clung to just moments before.

“good morning ma’am. are you mrs. xia? colonel caleb’s wife?” you steel your nerves, as you give a meek nod. 

the three of you stand there, intensity piling over each other nonstop. your eyes start to water, as one of them start to speak, “we.. regret to inform you..” the man says, voice low, smooth, practiced, “colonel caleb xia-” and that’s when it breaks you. you were about to face the music. face the fact that they’re about to announce that your husband, childhood best friend, the man of your life.. “..-was involved in a flight incident three days ago. a systems malfunction. his aircraft lost contact over the water- and there was no distress signal. search and rescue operations have ceased as of this morning.” 

presumed. lost. presumed lost. presumed. presumed. 

the words echo in your skull like your heartbeat as if it wont sync with the rest of you. the officer keeps talking, and you don’t register most of it. words like sacrifice, and service, feel far away. like they’re happening to someone else. not to you. 

your knees buckled, but your legs don’t give up. your throat is stuck. you couldn’t say anything. the pain that was slowly boiling over as the officer set’s the box down on your coffee table. as she walks past you once more, she doesn’t meet your eyes, but leaves you with one final sentiment, “we.. offer our deepest condolences.” she says gently as they leave. your chilled fingers find their way to the doorknob, closing it gently. 

as the officers walk to their vehicle, they hear a blood curdling scream coming from your house. followed by screams of crying. they tense up, as they head into the car, forlorn amongst each other. 

you stare at the box. the box sits there on your coffee table, untouched and solemn, as if it holds the final echoes of his laughter, the soft echo of his whispered promises, and the bittersweet memory of a love that once soared higher than any runway. in that quiet moment, every fiber of your being is caught between the hope of a return and the harsh, unyielding pain of loss—a loss that is carved into each fold of the flag resting there, a silent tribute to the life that was, and the heart that must now learn to continue without him.

the room feels too big now. it stretches wide and hollow, filled with quiet corners that used to hold his voice. your body is folded in on itself on the living room floor, back pressed to the couch, legs drawn tight to your chest, like curling inward might make the ache stop echoing.

the tv still hums softly in the background, forgotten, casting dim light across the walls that shifts every time the screen changes. none of it feels real. it’s like you’re watching yourself from far away—like you’re not really here, not really in this moment, not really alone.

for a while, you try to pretend it’s not real.  you stare at the floor. you pick at the skin around your thumbnail until it bleeds. you blink too fast to see straight. you wait for someone to wake you up.

but no one does.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until your lips part and the first sob slips out—shaky, strangled, helpless. like your body is trying to warn you that this is going to hurt more than anything else ever has.

your face burns with pain. tears stain your face and neck, as if you have cried for years. your hands tremble at the sight of that fucking flag. that fucking flag that doubles down as a reminder that he was fucking dead. you were slowly unraveling. becoming ballistic. 

your face crumples and the sound that follows is raw. ugly. gutted. you press your forehead to your knees and cry like you’ve never cried before– like it’s ripping something from inside you just to let it out. your shoulders shake. your breath stutters. you grip your sleeves so hard your knuckles ache.

you cry for the stupid way he used to tap on your door in threes.  you cry for the voice that used to call you “baby” like it meant something holy. you cry for the way his arms wrapped around you perfectly, like you were the most priceless item in the world. the way he would wake up early just so he could take care of your daughter without you having to do it first. the silly plans he makes for you when you had a hard day. just to see you smile. you cry for the fact that your baby will never see her father ever again. 

you cry because he promised he’d come back. and now there’s a flag sitting on your coffee table instead.

when the sobs finally slow, you’re left in the quiet aftermath—your body trembling, your cheeks sticky with tears, your throat raw. the room is still. the only thing you can hear is the soft hum of the refrigerator and the muted static from the tv you forgot to turn off.

you lift your head.

your eyes land on the box again. it hasn’t moved. but something in you has. your heart thuds unevenly as you crawl forward on shaking hands and knees, closing the space between you and the thing that holds whatever’s left of him. you hesitate when you reach it. your hand hovers above the lid, fingers twitching. your breath catches.

you don’t want to know what’s inside.  you don’t want to see the things he left behind.  but not knowing hurts worse. because at least if you open it, part of him will still be here. you press your hand to the cardboard. it’s warm from the sunlight filtering through the window, but the weight of it is cold in your chest.

you let your palm slide to the flag. the fabric is soft, neatly folded, impossibly precise. you wonder who folded it. if their hands were gentle. if they cried.

your fingers curl around the edge of the box.  and with a breath that doesn’t feel like enough,

you lift the lid.

and the world goes quiet again.

your fingers grip the edge of the lid and lift slowly, carefully—like opening it too fast might break whatever’s inside.  the cardboard creaks. the air shifts… and then it’s open.

you don’t know what you expected. maybe you thought it would feel colder. heavier? louder? but it’s quiet. inside are his things. small and simple. personal. they sit still, like they’ve been waiting for you.

your hands tremble as you reach in. the first thing you pull out is his flight jacket—brown and worn, creased in all the places you remember him folding it. the left sleeve still has your hair tie around it. the one he stole from your nightstand. the one you never asked him to give back.

you press the jacket to your chest and close your eyes for a second. it still smells like him. like apple soap, his favorite that he stocked up on at the flea market, and jet fuel and something warm you can’t name. you hold it a little longer before laying it gently on the couch behind you.

next, there’s a ziplock bag. inside is a small flash drive, black with a chipped corner.  You recognize the sticker stuck to the front. his messy handwriting. your name. a little heart next to it.  you don’t touch it yet.

you pull out a small notebook. it’s filled. the cover is creased, the spine soft from being carried around too much. you flip it open to a random page that was sticking out and find his handwriting again—neater than you remember. a list of things he wanted to do when he came home.

go to that lake and teach her how to ride a bike learn to make bouquets for wifey fix the chair in the bedroom or she’ll kick my ass again go on a date. super overdue. 

your vision blurs again. you blink hard. your thumb brushes over the last line, like touching it might make it real. beneath the notebook is a small envelope. no postage. no seal. your name is written across the front in ink that’s faded just slightly at the edges. you set it down gently, like it might explode. every touch made you feel hotter. like you were about to erupt yourself.

and then– at the very bottom– is a photo.

creased. softened at the corners. well-loved. it’s one of you.  you’re smiling, barely looking at the camera, sunlight catching in your hair. he must’ve taken it when you weren’t paying attention. on the back, written in pen:

love of my life. my heart. my once-in-a-lifetime

your tears didn’t give you any time. your hiccups come fervently. you crouched down, your forehead hitting the dark floor, not caring if the impact hurt you in the slightest. your hands balled into a fist– as you slammed down on the floor repeatedly. this was a curse. did you piss off a god? did they want to punish you? you wailed, not caring if neighbors or a passerby hears you. 

the first time he took you flying.

the airfield was quiet that afternoon, touched with golden light and the distant hum of activity. caleb had been pacing near the hangar, hands shoved into his flight suit pockets, pretending he was calm. pretending this wasn’t a big deal but it was. you knew it and he knew it too.

he’d talked about this day for weeks. “when the weather’s perfect, and the schedule clears… i’ll take you up. just us.”  and now here it was– sunlight stretching across the tarmac, barely a breeze, and the world wide open.

“you sure you’re ready for this, lieutenant?” you teased as you approached, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses half-slipping down your nose. “don’t call me that,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “you make it sound so formal.” “you’re about to fly a whole ass plane with me in it, caleb,” you said, grinning. “that’s kindaaa formal.”

he didn’t laugh—not at first. he just stared at you for a second, lips pressed together like he was holding something back. his fingers twitched at his side. not nerves about flying. you’d seen him pilot with calm precision under pressure.

no. this was different.  this was you.

you followed him out to the jet, heart racing. it wasn’t big, but it was beautiful– sleek lines, pale blue paint kissed by sun. the cockpit door was already open.  he helped you up the steps like it was second nature. you didn’t need the help. he still offered.

inside, the cockpit was warm. the leather smelled like old vinyl and the faint smell of caleb’s cologne. you settled into the co-pilot seat, buckling in, glancing sideways just in time to catch the way his hands lingered on the controls—steady, but shaking. just barely.

“you okay?” you asked, quieter now. he nodded, adjusting a dial.  “yeah. just… haven’t done this ….with you before.”

you blinked. “you mean flying?” “no,” he said, turning to look at you. 

the plane hummed to life beneath you. the engine low and alive.

he looked at you like the sky had nothing on you.  like this– being here, with you– was the risk and the reward.

“you trust me?” he asked. you didn’t hesitate.  “always.” and god, the way his face softened. the way his eyes held yours for that extra second, like he was memorizing the way you said it.

then the wheels lifted from the ground, and the sky opened for you both. you looked over at him mid-flight—hands sure on the controls now, wind sweeping against the windows—and thought:

he was never more beautiful than when he flew.

the knock doesn’t wake you.

it’s the doorbell that does—bright and insistent, slicing through the heavy quiet like sunlight through curtains. you stir against the couch, body aching from how you must’ve curled up at some point during the night. your throat is dry. your eyes sting. your limbs feel like they belong to someone else. 

it takes a second to remember. then it all hits. the box. the photo. the letter you still haven’t read.

you sit up slowly, blinking against the light. your hand is still clutching the edge of his flight jacket, twisted in your sleep. you press your face into it once– just once– before the doorbell rings again.

you move on autopilot, feet bare, blanket slipping off your shoulders as you make your way to the front door. when you open it, you don’t expect her. you don’t expect them.

his sister stands there with a soft expression, one hand resting on the shoulder of the tiny girl standing beside her—the girl with his eyes.

your daughter.

you freeze in the doorway, one hand still gripping the edge of the frame. you’re not sure if your face is blotchy, if your hair is a mess, if your grief is still showing like blood beneath your skin. but she doesn’t say anything.

she just offers a quiet, “thought i’d bring her back a little early,” and a soft smile, almost apologetic. like she knows.

your daughter doesn’t wait.  she sees you and beams, eyes crinkling, arms lifting like flight.

“mommy!”

you kneel before you can think, before you can stop the tears that spring up all over again– this time, different. she crashes into your arms with the full weight of someone small and unbreakable, her hair smelling like strawberries and sunshine. you wrap her up. hold her so tightly it nearly hurts. she giggles against your shoulder. “you squishing me.”

“i missed you,” you whisper, voice barely there. “i drew you a picture,” she says proudly. “it has a plane in it. like daddy’s.”

your heart twists. your eyes close. you nod against her hair, swallowing hard.

caleb’s sister steps inside without needing to ask, her eyes scanning the living room, the box still open, the flag still folded, the quiet aftermath still lingering like smoke. she says nothing about it. just rests a hand on your back as you sit with your daughter, fingers brushing through her hair.

“do you want juice?” you ask, voice a little steadier now. “yes! and waffles.” you kiss the top of her head. “you got it, captain baby.”

she runs off to the kitchen like it’s the best morning in the world. you stay kneeling there on the floor for a moment, staring after her. the ache is still there. the hole caleb left behind hasn’t shrunk. but right now, in this soft, impossible moment, it doesn’t feel quite so wide.

because part of him is still here. in her laugh. in her joy.  in the way she runs like she’s never known anything but love.

you feel arms envelope you, like a cocoon. your sister in law pulls you in her arms, her voice trembling as her jaw tightens. “i’m sorry..” she musters as her tears land on your shoulder. she was strong in her own way. she was a rock to you when things went wrong. when you needed help she was there. she hadn’t even found out the news– but from her glance at the folded flag.. she knew… she knew..  she couldn’t even beat around the bush. 

the next day felt like death. 

you wake up in his hoodie. not because you meant to sleep in it, but because at some point in the night, you stopped trying to be strong.

your phone is buzzing. again. and again. you don’t want to check it.  you already know what you’ll see. but you do. thumb slow. screen too bright.

and there it is–  his name. everywhere.

not in headlines, not yet.  but in comments. stories. posts from people you barely remember.

“can’t believe it. he was the best of us.” “my heart goes out to his family.” “rest easy, colonel caleb xia.” “you were so loved, man. you didn’t deserve this.” “sending prayers to his girl and daughter.” “we’ll take it from here.”

the words blur..  you scroll until your thumb aches. you like none of them. you reply to no one. you close the app, but the weight of it stays. he’s gone. and now the world knows it. 

you ignore the messages and missed calls from your family and in laws. you even ignored his sister.

you hear footsteps– tiny ones– padding down the hall.

“mommy?”

you look up.  your daughter is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, still in her apple pajamas. hair wild. eyes puffy from sleep. she hugs her stuffed rabbit tighter to her chest.  the one caleb bought her.  the one she never sleeps without.

“when is daddy coming back? i’m starting to miss him.. he always makes me waffles when i wake up..”

your breath stops.

she says it like it’s happened before. like it’s normal. like she expects a phone call later. a video. a souvenir. you kneel slowly, legs weak beneath you. your hands reach for hers, steadying even though you’re anything but. “baby,” you say softly. “come here.”

she walks over, all sleepy and innocent, and crawls into your lap without hesitation. she rests her head on your shoulder, small fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. you rock her gently. back and forth. back and forth. and then— you try.

“remember how we talked about how daddy flies really high in the sky?” she nods. her voice is small. “with the big plane.” you breathe in. it hurts. like hell. “sometimes,” you whisper, “the people we love go up so high… they don’t come back down.”

she frowns, brows furrow, in that cute way she does when she doesn't understand. “but daddy always comes back.” you press your forehead to hers. your voice shakes. you didn’t plan this. how do you explain death to a child who still thinks love can fix everything? “i know, baby,” you say. “but this time… he couldn’t. something went wrong. and he had to stay up there.”

“he forgot?” the way her lip trembles nearly breaks you. “no, sweet girl. he didn’t forget. he would never forget us.” she’s quiet for a long time.

“is he… in the stars now?” she whispers. you nod, even though your eyes are full again. “yeah. he’s in the stars.” fuckfuckfuck- you rapidly look to your right, away from her eyes, so you can blink the tears away.

“can he see me?” you nod harder.  “always.”

she buries her face in your shoulder and says nothing. and you hold her like she’s the last tether to your heart. like maybe if you stay still enough, quiet enough, caleb might still be listening.

you rock her gently. back and forth.  the morning sunlight spills across the floor.  the phone buzzes again on the counter.  you ignore it. right now, the world can wait. you’re too busy holding what’s left of him.

it was a beautiful day. of course it was.

clear skies. gentle breeze. birdsong carried over the low hills of the memorial field like it didn’t know what today was. like it didn’t matter that the only thing missing from the funeral was the one person it was for.

they called it a ceremony. a tribute–  a celebration of life. as if any of those things made up for the fact that they never found his body. as if a flag folded with precision and placed on velvet could replace the man who used to carry your daughter on his shoulders through grocery stores. as if taps, played too perfectly, could echo louder than the silence he left behind.

you sit in the front row, wearing black you didn’t remember picking. hands clasped tightly in your lap, nails digging into your palms. your breathing is slow. measured. because if you breathe too fast,  you might feel it all. and you can't. not here. not now. not for her. 

caleb’s photo sits on an easel beside the podium. he’s smiling in it—smiling like he always did when you were behind the camera, like he was in on the secret that life could be beautiful. you can’t look at it.

the general speaks but you don’t hear him. his mouth moves, his voice low and reverent, but it all feels like it’s underwater. like someone pressed pause on the world and forgot to tell you. your fingers tighten around the small hand holding yours–  your daughter. sitting beside you in a navy blue dress she didn’t want to wear.

she doesn’t understand why there’s no casket. no goodbye.no daddy.

she fidgets in her seat. you glance at her once, eyes glassy, and see that she’s clutching her stuffed rabbit like it’s the only thing keeping her together.

someone begins to read caleb’s accomplishments.  his rank. his record. his honors.  you hear the word “sacrifice.” it lands like lead in your stomach.

your vision blurs, not from tears— but from distance.

you’re floating somewhere behind your own eyes, not really here, not really now. watching your body sit perfectly still while your heart bleeds out across the grass.

and then…

a sob.

not yours.

small. sharp.  your daughter.

“where’s daddy?”

the voice cuts through the speech. the silence after it is instant, jarring. you feel every eye shift.

her bottom lip quivers, hands balled into fists. she stands up, turns to the crowd, and says it again—louder this time, more broken:

“where’s my daddy?!”

your throat seizes. you try to reach for her but your arms feel far away. in a split second– she’s running towards the general.

“why isn’t he coming?!”

your vision breaks.  the disassociation splinters. everything crashes back into you— the sunlight, the wind,  the sound of her crying, the echo of a man they call fallen  but you still want to believe is just late. like he’ll burst out of wherever he’s hiding, and laugh at the sick and stupid joke.

your body doesn’t think, you’re already running towards her as you scoop her into your arms, dragging her back into the chair. her fists beat weakly against your chest, her wailing unmatched. “he said he’d come back!” she sobs. “he promised!”

you hold her so tightly you’re not sure where she ends and you begin.  you press your face into her hair and finally, finally cry. loud. unrestrained. not for the ceremony. not for the image. but because she said what you couldn’t. because she’s five, and she understands the truth you’re still trying not to choke on.

he’s gone.

he’s not coming home.

and you’re still here, letting her cry,  in a world where taps plays for people who never got to say goodbye.

everyone was gone.

they left with soft smiles and casseroles in their arms, careful condolences tucked into envelopes you haven’t opened yet. they whispered, they nodded, they touched your shoulder like grief could be comforted with just enough gentle hands.

but now it’s quiet again. just you, the breeze, the wildflowers at the edge of the memorial field.. and him– or what’s left of him.

your knees are pressed into the grass in front of the stone they gave him. it’s smooth.  too new.. his name carved into it like that makes it official. Permanent.

colonel caleb xia. loving husband, brother, and one hell of a pilot.

“you asshole,” you whisper.

it slips out soft, breathy. your voice cracks around it. you huff a laugh, and then the tears come–again.

“i can’t believe you left me here to raise a mini-you,” you say, rubbing your thumb over the stone . “she’s got your eyes. your smile. your attitude.”

you look up at the stone. at his name.  your chest tightens.

“you should’ve seen her today. she stood up and yelled at a man in uniform because she didn’t understand why you weren’t there.” your voice trembles. “i didn’t know what to tell her. how do you explain to a baby that her father is now a folded piece of cloth and a few medals in a box? a tombstone?” you wipe your face, trying to pull it together, but you’re shaking.

“and i can’t–i can’t do it like you could. i don’t know how to make waffles the way she likes them. i don’t know the airplane sounds you used to do at bedtime. she asked me last night if you still brush the stars with your plane and i–” you stop. you choke on the sentence. then laugh through the tears.

“you’d be so smug right now, wouldn’t you? hearing that. you’d say something like ‘told you she was gonna be a handful just like me.’ and then you'd flash that dumb grin and i’d want to punch you but kiss you at the same time.” you look down at the marble and press your hand over it.

“i miss your voice,” you whisper. “your stupid jokes. the way you used to braid my hair for me.” you look at the stone again, and something crumbles in your chest.. something deep. you couldn’t let go.. you don’t want to. coming to terms with him being gone would be the end of you, and you knew it. this was your soulmate. the soulmate who is now laid down in the ground, never to return, and you had to just.. live on? 

“god, i loved you,” you say.  and now you’re sobbing. “i loved you so fucking much.” you lean forward, forehead resting lightly against the stone. the breeze picks up around you, brushing through your hair, tugging gently at your sleeves. you felt delusional as you think that maybe the tugging was him in the afterlife.. some sort of comfort yields to you.

you close your eyes. you stay like that for a long time. just breathing. just existing in the space where he should still be. “i’ll take care of her,” you whisper finally. “i swear. i’ll make sure she remembers how soft your hands were. how you laughed when she tried to salute you. how you cried when she called you daddy for the first time.”

“but you’re gonna owe me for this,” you add, voice hoarse. “when i see you again, you’re explaining everything.”

you pause. smile, just barely. “and you’re making waffles.”

three days later

the house is quiet. the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like it’s waiting for something. your daughter’s at school. you packed her lunch this morning with shaking hands and kissed her forehead twice before she ran off with her backpack bouncing behind her. she’s resilient. But she’s tired around the eyes lately. quieter.  you didn’t say anything. she didn’t either. 

you told yourself you’d clean. maybe eat something. instead, you’re here. kneeling in front of the box again. the one that’s been sitting on the floor beside the couch since the funeral. untouched.  you’d meant to leave it closed for a while.  give yourself space. time.  but that never really helps, does it?

you open it slowly, like it’s a wound you’re reopening on purpose. his jacket still smells like him. the notebook still rests inside, half-written. the photo of you is curled slightly at the corners. you press it flat again without thinking.

and then–  the flash drive.

small. black. a little chipped at the edge, but still intact. your name is written on the sticker in his messy handwriting. next to it, a tiny drawn heart.

you hesitate.

then you stand, walk to your laptop, and plug it in. it hums quietly as the screen flickers to life.

two folders appear. one labeled "for you." the other, "for our girl." you click the first one. a single video file. “if something happens.”

your heart starts pounding before you even hit play, tears brimming to life as you read that. you click. and there he is. your breath catches so hard you nearly sob right there. he’s sitting in what looks like the base’s rec room—his hair a little messy, flight suit unzipped just enough at the collar, like he’d rushed to record this. he’s smiling. not nervous. not rehearsed.

just him.“ hey,” he says, and the sound of his voice– god, it hits like thunder. you felt a shock, like the first time you heard him talk all those years ago. “if you’re watching this, something went wrong. and i hate that. i hate that you’re hurting.  but i didn’t want to leave without saying what i needed to. i'm hoping i can delete this video after i come back from my flight.”

you press your hand to your mouth. his eyes are soft. like he’s looking right at you.

“i love you. not just the easy kind of love. not the kind that fades. the kind that roots itself in your bones.  the kind that makes you want to be better, because i get to come home to someone like you.”

you watch him as he pauses, running a hand through his hair. your tears cascading down to your collarbone and beyond. you take deep breaths as you swallow just as hard.

“you made everything make sense. you gave me a life i didn’t think someone like me could have. and our daughter–”

he swallows. his eyes shine just a little.

“she’s the best thing i’ve ever helped create. every time she smiles at me, i think, how the hell did i get this lucky? and i couldn’t wait to give her a brother. or a sister. or both. i wanted more mornings.  more bedtime stories. more bothering mommy while she’s doing her woman stuff.  more late-night snack raids. i wanted it all with you.”

your shoulders shake. tears are spilling down your face, hot and uncontrollable. you don’t try to stop them. his voice keeps going, steady, like it’s holding you.

“if i’m not there– please tell her every single day that i loved her.  that i still do. and that i was trying to come home.”

he smiles, soft and full of everything he never got to say in person. even though he was persistently smiling, you could tell that his eyes glossed. he was trying to hold himself together.

“there’s another file on here. it’s for her. just… in case she ever needs me at night. i love you..”

the video ends. the silence it leaves behind is deafening. you stare at the dark screen, your reflection, then look down at your hand. you sob into your hand for a long time. the kind of grief that splits you apart, the kind that wraps you in warmth and ache at the same time.

eventually, with trembling hands, you open the second folder. “for our girl.” another video. you recognize the cover of the book instantly.

“the airplane that could.”

 her favorite. you hit play. and there he is again.

this time, sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the book open in his lap.“ okay, kiddo,” he says, voice soft. “bedtime story, dad edition. you ready? his one’s for brave girls who fly high and land even higher.”

you laugh through your tears, hand pressed to your heart, as his voice fills the house again. reading each word like he’s still here. like he never left. and for a few minutes, he hasn’t.

you don’t know how long you sit there.

the laptop screen dims every few minutes and you keep tapping the touchpad to wake it, desperate not to miss a second. your fingers hover near the video file like they’ve made a habit of it already. you watch the story once. twice. three times.

and on the fourth playthrough, you press your palm to the screen. his image is pixelated under your skin. but it’s his voice that gets you.

the way he makes the little airplane’s “zoom!” sounds. the way he laughs when he trips over a sentence and mutters, “she’s gonna call me out for that one.”  the way he pauses after the final line and says, “night, kiddo. dream big. daddy loves you.”

you rewind that last part. three times. you don’t realize you’ve been crying again until a drop falls onto the keyboard. you wipe it away and sniff, laughing softly—like he’d just caught you.

the sun’s shifted by the time you hear the door open. your daughter’s back from school, jacket half-off, hair windblown from recess. she drops her backpack in the hallway, calls out, “mommy?” you swipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “in here, baby.”

she walks in, still hugging her stuffed rabbit, and climbs up beside you on the couch. her head rests against your shoulder like she’s done it every day of her life.  you close the laptop for a moment.

“can i show you something?” you ask softly. she looks up. her eyes are wide, curious. “is it daddy?” you nod. “he made you something. before… before he left.” her lips press together, and for a second, you think she might say no. but then she nods. “okay.”

you open the file. press play. and you don’t watch the screen this time. you watch her. her eyes light up the second he speaks. “that’s daddy,” she whispers. her hand tightens around yours.

as he reads, she mouths along to her favorite parts. laughs when he makes the airplane noises. leans in when he says, “you can do anything, little flyer. you just have to believe.” you hear her whisper the words with him.  she’s memorized them. and when he finishes, “night, kiddo. dream big. daddy loves you.” she smiles through tears.

you’re crying again. silent. broken in the most beautiful way. she looks up at you.  “can we watch it again?” you nod.  “as many times as you want.”

and you hit replay. and you both sit there, curled together on the couch,  wrapped in a blanket watching the man you both loved  tuck her into sleep from somewhere beyond the sky.

a few days later

it’s raining. soft and steady, the kind of rain that doesn’t demand anything from you. the kind that just stays. your daughter is asleep—finally. she asked to hear “the airplane that could” twice tonight, and you let her. every word caleb read, every silly sound, every warm pause—it fills her room like he never left. you made tea but, you haven’t touched it.

instead, you sit on the floor of the bedroom in an old hoodie and sweatpants, the box beside you, your fingers resting on the envelope you still haven’t opened.  it’s thinner than you remember. lighter. but it feels like the heaviest thing in the world.

you run your thumb over your name again. the ink is slightly smudged, like he held it for a while before setting it down. and you take a breath– and you open it.

the paper shakes in your hands as you unfold it. it’s his handwriting. no doubt. you’d know it anywhere—slanted, a little messy, confident.

you read:

my girl, my woman, my wife, my life, if you're reading this, something happened. and if something happened, you’re hurting. and god, if i could change that, if i could tear the sky open just to get back to you, i would. i’d do it a thousand times.but this is my backup plan. because you always said i needed one. so here it is. my heart on paper.

your hand flies to your mouth. your eyes burn. you keep reading.

first: i love you. not just the everyday kind of love.  but the kind of love that made me rethink everything.  the kind of love that made base housing feel like a palace, made ramen feel like a meal, made 3am deployment calls feel like they could wait a few more minutes because you were still asleep on my chest. i love the way you laugh. the way you fight. the way you love. i love the way you yell at me from the hallway to get my clothes out of the washer. i want more with you. i wanted more. more babies. yeah, i said it imagine a tiny version of you with my ears–terrifying.  but perfect. i wanted to put another crib in the corner of our room. i wanted to teach our daughter how to ride a bike, and let you laugh at me when i ran beside her like an idiot. i wanted home with you. every version of it. i was gonna ask for the instructor position when i got back.  no more deployments. no more taking off without knowing if i’d come home. i was ready to teach. to stay. because you made staying feel like the only dream worth chasing.

you stop. your vision is too blurry. you blink, wipe your face, your chest heaving. but you keep reading.

but if i don’t come back– promise me something. i know that i told you before that i’m obsessed with you– deeply devoted– and i am. i always will be, and i wanted you to be the same.. but this is different now.. don’t put your heart in a box with my name on it. don’t shrink just to keep loving me. be happy. fall in love again if you want to. raise our daughter to be wild and brave and soft the way you are.and when the house is quiet, and the world feels big and empty, pull out the notebook. it’s all in there. the first day i saw you. the night i almost kissed you but chickened out. the fight we had over burnt toast. it’s messy. real. it’s me.and it’s yours. always yours. —caleb

your hands are shaking. you fold the letter against your chest and sob. not the sharp, sudden kind. this one is slow. broken. like letting go and holding on at the same time.

you reach into the box, pull out the notebook. the leather cover is worn. familiar. you press your lips to it.  you don’t open it. not yet. but you will.

and when you do, you know it’ll be like hearing his voice again. not a goodbye. just a continuation. just love, written in the only language he had left. you stare at your tea that’s been on your table this entire time. it was cold, long forgotten. you look at the window, watching and listening to the rain still hitting against the glass. finally, you look back at the book, tracing the edge of the notebook with your thumb for a long time. just sitting there. the only thing that matters is what’s inside this worn leather cover.

you open it slowly. his handwriting greets you like an old song. the first page is dated 6 years ago. early fall. just two weeks into your first year of college.

september 9 dorms are hell,  someone stole my towel and i think my roommate sleeps with his eyes open.but today i saw her. i don’t know her name. she was in the common room, sitting cross-legged in front of a vending machine like she was trying to make peace with it. said it ate her dollar and she refused to let it win. she had on a nasa sweatshirt that was way too big, and i think she’d forgotten she had a pencil behind her ear. she muttered something about orbital mechanics and kicked the machine. it gave her a snickers. i think i’m in love.

you laugh. it slips out through the tears, a sound you didn’t think you could still make.  a memory rises with it– you, hunched in front of that vending machine, furious and hungry and too broke to lose another dollar and him, standing behind you with a bag of chips and a look on his face like you’d just rewritten the sky.

you turn the page.

september 15 her name is gorgeous. she’s in my aero engineering lecture. i sat two rows behind her and spent half the class trying to think of something cool to say if we bumped into each other outside. i said “hey.” she said “you look like the kind of guy who brags about parallel parking.”i don’t know what that means but i think she’s right.

you cover your mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter and ache. god, he remembered every detail. the next few pages are scattered—little notes about campus, sketches of planes, scribbled song lyrics he never finished.  but you keep flipping. page after page of a boy slowly falling in love with a girl he hadn’t even kissed yet.

october 3 she said she wanted to be the kind of woman who builds things that fly. said it with her eyes half-closed, on the roof at 2am, wearing my hoodie like it already belonged to her. i don’t even remember letting her take it, but it looks better on her.  i told her i wanted to fly them. she said, “guess that means we’re stuck with each other.” i wanted to kiss her. i didn’t. i just said “yeah.” i should’ve kissed her.

you’re crying again. you hold the journal to your chest, just for a second. because he wrote these things for himself. but maybe, deep down, he always hoped you’d read them one day.

and now you are. and he’s here again,  word by word, memory by memory– falling in love with you on the page, like he never stopped.

you flip through the journal carefully, the pages worn and full of little smudges from where his hand must’ve lingered. his writing gets a little more rushed as the months go on—like his heart was moving faster than his pen could keep up.

you find it, tucked between two pages. a folded napkin taped inside– faded ink, the logo from that burger place near campus.  and beneath it, a date you’ll never forget.

october 14 – first date i picked her up at 7. i say “picked up,” but we both know i walked across campus in a panic, stopped twice to fix my jacket, and almost tripped on my shoelace outside her dorm. she was already waiting by the door. hair tied back. that stupid nasa sweatshirt again. she smiled at me and i forgot my own name.

you laugh, pressing your fingers to the page. you remember it exactly– how he blinked at you for a full five seconds before remembering to speak.

we went to that burger place with the wobbly tables and the jukebox that only plays sad 80s songs. she said she liked the milkshakes there. i said “me too.” i don’t even know how the milkshakes tasted. i just wanted to match her. she talked about stars and i listened like they were falling out of her mouth.

your chest aches. you flip the napkin up to read what’s scribbled underneath.

she drew a rocket on this napkin. i told her it looked like a shoe. she punched my arm. i’ve never felt more in love. after dinner we walked back to campus. slow. like we didn’t want the night to end. she said her favorite part was when i didn’t talk too much. i said my favorite part was when she laughed with her head tilted back. she said that was a dumb favorite. i said i was a dumb guy. and then– she looked at me. really looked. i stopped breathing. in love or terrified? the world may never know.

your heart’s pounding. you turn the page.

she asked me if i was going to kiss her or just stand there looking like a scared intern.i panicked and said “both?” she kissed me. it was fast. messy. perfect. she pulled away smiling.  i didn’t know where to put my hands.  i think i said “wow.” stupidstupidstupid she said, “took you long enough.”

your hands are trembling as you close the journal for a moment, hugging it to your chest.  you can still feel that night. the cool air. the neon lights of the diner behind you. the taste of vanilla shake on his lips. the way he looked at you like you were a miracle he’d never stop believing in.

he wrote it all down.  because even then–  he knew: he knew he’d love you forever.

you flip further into the journal. the entries start to space out a little, scattered between class notes, training schedules, coffee stains. but one page stands out—creased at the corners, the words pressed harder into the page like he couldn’t write them fast enough.

bold letters across the top:

november 17 – I WON.

you smile immediately.

i fucking won. nationals. first place. best time of my life. my lungs are burning. my legs feel like they might fall off.  my hands won’t stop shaking. and all i keep thinking is— she was there. she saw me. her voice was the only one i could hear.

you remember it. you feel it still—your throat sore from screaming, the way your hands ached from clapping, your whole body buzzing with pride.  you were near the front, right by the finish line. you jumped so high when he crossed, you nearly fell over the railing.

she was wearing my jacket. the big one. said it made her feel “official.” i saw her before the race—she blew me a kiss and said “don’t lose. i bet snacks on you.” i think that’s when i knew i had to win. couldn’t let her down. or lose snacks.

you laugh, pressing your fingers to the words. he was always like this—charming and ridiculous and so sincere it hurt.

when i crossed the finish line, i didn’t even look at the clock. i looked for her. found her jumping up and down, hands cupped around her mouth, yelling like she wanted the world to know i was hers. i’ve never felt more like i belonged to something.  not the medal. not the track. her. she ran down to meet me after. shoved people out of the way like it was life or death. she threw her arms around me before i could even catch my breath and kissed my stupid, sweaty face. said, “my champion.” i wanted to cry. i wanted to marry her. i will.

you close your eyes. the sound of the crowd still echoes in your ears. his arms around you, shaking from the race, from the weight of it all. how he buried his face in your neck like the win didn’t matter half as much as the fact that you were there. how he whispered, “i did it for you.”

he always did.

december 12 – i said it. i told her i love her. and i meant it so hard i thought my chest might give out.

your breath catches before you even turn the page.

it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. not that night. not like that. we weren’t dressed up. there weren’t candles. it was just us. just the couch.  just a shitty movie playing in the background. she was curled up next to me, stealing all the blankets. hair a mess. feet cold. skin warm. she was ranting about something—some professor she didn’t like, or the terrible sandwich she had for lunch.  and i wasn’t even listening. not really. i was just looking at her. and i thought, god. i love you. and it came out.  just like that. out loud.

your fingers tremble as you turn to the next page.

she stopped talking. just blinked. looked at me like i’d thrown a brick through the window. i panicked.  i froze.  i didn’t even try to take it back. i just said it again. “i love you.”and then, quieter: “i didn’t mean to say it right now. i just—i mean it.”

you laugh—soft, broken, a sound from somewhere deep.  you remember the way he said it.  like it had been sitting behind his teeth for months.

she stared at me for a second. and i swear, my whole life happened in that silence. then she kissed me.  slow. full. like she was trying to memorize me.. sappy... and then she whispered, “took you long enough.”

your chest tightens. your fingers press to the page like touching his words might let you feel him again.

i don’t care how long i live— that moment? that kiss? the way she smiled after? that’s the one i’ll take with me. that’s the one i’ll keep. forever.

you close the journal against your heart.  tears fall in silence. not from pain— not only. but from knowing, absolutely, that you were loved. so fully. so honestly. and that even now, he’s still loving you in every word he ever left behind. your lips tremble as you part your lips, “why’d you have to defend this country you stupid man.. you should’ve just became a fucking scientist or something.” you half laugh half hiccup as you held the journal tighter against you.

after some time you peel from it, readying yourself for the next excerpts.

april 4 – first time. i don’t know how to write this without it sounding like every dumb teenage diary in every coming-of-age movie, but— we slept together. and yeah, it was sex.  but it was more than that. it was her hands in my hair when i couldn't stop shaking.  it was how she made me feel safe even when i felt like i didn’t know what the hell i was doing. i’ve never been looked at like that before.  like i was something worth loving. like i could mess up and still be enough. she kissed my shoulder after and whispered,  “we’re good, yeah?” and i said,  “we’re so good, baby.” and i meant it with every damn cell in my body.

august 28 – the scare. she was late. not by a day. by five. i didn't sleep the whole week. and it’s not that i wasn’t ready—hell, i don’t know if anyone’s ever ready.  but i wasn’t scared of being a dad. i was scared of what it might do to her. of her giving up the sky she wanted for diapers and night feeds and stress.but when she told me it was a false alarm— we just sat in the bathroom, laughing.  half from relief, half from how stupidly close we felt to everything changing. and i think that’s when i knew. if it had been real, i’d have loved that kid so hard they’d never doubt who their father was. because she’d be the mother. and that alone would’ve made them magic.

february 2 – ring shopping, kinda.  okay, okay.  technically i said we were helping james pick out a ring for his girlfriend. technically, that wasn’t a lie. but also, i wanted to see what she’d pick.  what made her eyes light up.  what styles she hated.  what made her whisper, “i could wear something like that forever.” and damn, she did. there was this one—gold, thin band, little oval-shaped diamond tucked in the center. she didn’t even say much about it. just touched the glass in front of it and smiled like she saw a future. our future. i didn’t buy it that day.  but i went back.  and i swear, when the time comes— i’ll put it on her finger like a promise. like everything i am belongs to her.

you didn’t think it would hit this hard.

you thought this one would be sweet. nostalgic. the kind of memory you keep behind glass and smile at when no one’s looking.  but the second your eyes land on the words

your throat tightens. you know this one.

you pull the journal closer, your thumb resting against the page, and you start to read.

may 25 – graduation. i asked her. i was valedictorian.  they called my name last. the applause was loud. i smiled, shook hands, made jokes. i gave a speech. i don’t even remember half of it. because all i saw was her. and i also forgot my speech paper at home.

your eyes sting immediately. you bite down gently on the inside of your cheek—like maybe if you anchor yourself hard enough, you won’t fall apart. you remember where you sat that day. front row.  wearing his jacket even though it was warm out. hands trembling in your lap.

she was front row. wearing my jacket. eyes red from crying. hands clutched in her lap like she was trying not to run up onstage and tackle me.

you let out a shaky breath, tears sliding slowly down your cheek.  it’s like watching a memory through someone else’s eyes—but it’s yours. it always was.

i had the ring in my pocket the whole time. heart racing so hard i thought it would give out. after the speech, i asked her to come up.  she looked confused. nervous. and when she finally walked up there— i dropped to one knee in front of the entire class.

you smile through the tears. god, the way the crowd erupted.  how you covered your mouth and shook your head in disbelief, even though you knew. you always knew.

i said, “i want to fly a thousand missions and still come home to you.  i want to grow old with you before i grow old in the cockpit. will you marry me?” and she said yes.

you press your fingers to your lips, like you can still feel the kiss you gave him onstage—fast, breathless, the only answer you could give.  Yes.  a hundred times yes.

i’ve never won anything more important.  not the title. not the speech. her. she’s it.

you close the journal slowly, but your fingers stay pressed to the cover, unmoving.

his handwriting still lingers behind your eyelids. the way he wrote her—not even your name, just her, like it was enough.  like it said everything. and maybe it did. you lean back against the couch, cradling the journal like a heartbeat.  your voice is barely a whisper when you say it out loud.

“you were it for me too.”

you open to the next entry. the page feels heavier.

september 10  – wedding day. i don’t know where to start. maybe with the way her hands shook when she laced them with mine. maybe with how she kept adjusting her veil like it wasn’t already perfect. maybe with the way i saw her walking toward me and forgot how to breathe.

you exhale shakily. your hand lingers on the ink where he pressed a little harder—where he wanted the words to stay loud, like that moment still echoed in his chest.

she looked like sunlight.  like warmth. like she was born to ruin me and rebuild me in the same breath. and god, she did.

you smile through the tears, lips trembling. you remember the way he cried first. you remember laughing at him—softly, not to tease, but because it was so unmistakably caleb to weep like that and pretend he wasn’t.

she made fun of me for crying.  i said, “have you seen yourself?” she rolled her eyes.  and then she promised forever. and i promised it back. with every cell in my body.

your smile was forlorn. you stared at this entry just a bit longer than the others.. eventually you flip to the next entry, dated not long after.

november 14 –she’s pregnant. i’m writing this with both hands shaking. she told me this morning. came into the room holding that little test like it was a secret, like if she said it too loud the moment might disappear. i was brushing my teeth. i almost dropped the toothbrush. and then she said, “you okay?”and i said, “i think i’m in love with you all over again.”

you cover your mouth. you remember the way he dropped to the floor like his legs gave out. how he kissed your stomach before you even had a bump.  how he whispered, “we’re gonna be parents,” like it was something holy.

she kept pacing. said she wasn’t ready. said she was scared.and all i could think was— i get to build a life with her. a home. a child who’s half her, half me.and if this baby has even an ounce of her fire— the world better watch out. …maybe we should name it apple.

your eyes squeeze shut. your hand shakes against the page.

 august 12 –  she’s here. our daughter. i don't even know how to start this. i've rewritten the first line seven times. nothing feels big enough. no words feel like they belong to what just happened. but she's here. our little girl. and she’s perfect. her name sounds different when i say it out loud now.  heavier. real.  it used to be a name we whispered over dinner. a maybe. a dream. now it’s a person. a whole person. and she has my eyes. i swear to god the second they handed her to me— i thought the whole world paused. like even time wanted to watch.

you smile through the tears. your fingers rest over the date on the page, like holding it might take you back to that room—where everything changed.

you flip through more pages, just details of his experiences with your daughter. he was sweet, adoring, and the sweetness may have fooled you if your eyes didn’t land on this page;

february 18 –  i’m leaving in the morning. deployment orders came in. she tried so hard not to cry. held our daughter in one arm, kissed my cheek, told me she’d hold the sky down till i came back. she always says things like that—poetic and steady.  like if she can speak it into the world, it’ll make it true.i wanted to believe her. i do believe her. but i’m scared. not of the mission.  not of flying. i’m scared of missing too much.

march 4 – base is loud. hot. everyone’s tired. i think about them all the time. i have a picture taped to the inside of my locker—one of the three of us on the couch, blankets everywhere, popcorn stuck to our shirts. my daughter’s head is in her mom’s lap.  her mom is laughing. i look like i’ve already won the war. i stare at that photo every morning before briefing. whisper to it,  “i’m coming home. wait for me.”

you flip through more entries, until you get to the last page. you almost didn’t want to read it. head light, breath staggered, the paper felt thinner now. you take a deep breath– or as best as you possibly can, and continue.

may 3 – in case something happens. i need this written down. i don’t know why i feel like writing this now.  maybe it’s just a quiet night.  maybe the wind sounds different. maybe love makes you preemptive. just in case. if i don’t make it home— if you’re reading this—god, i hope you know i loved you with everything i had. from the moment you kicked a vending machine to the day you said “i do.”  from the time you placed our baby girl in my arms to the last voice note you sent before this mission. you’ve been my gravity.  my sky. my reason to fight, and the softness i always returned to. and if i don’t get to hold her again—  tell her i never stopped trying.  tell her she’s brave like her mommy.  and kind. and funny. and too smart for this world. tell her i was hers from the first time i felt her kick. and you. you, baby— live. laugh again. love again. fall asleep in someone’s arms and know that it’s okay. you were my forever. and i’ll be waiting at the edge of every sky. until you find me again.

his final entry is burned into your mind. the words feel heavier than paper has any right to be.  your hands are shaking. your lips part like you want to say something, maybe to him, maybe to the empty room—  but nothing comes out. just air.  shallow. trembling.

you press the journal to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth.  and then it hits. not slowly. not gently. like a punch straight through your ribcage. the kind of grief that doesn’t knock. it takes. your body curls in on itself. your shoulders begin to shake.  and the first sob breaks out of your throat like it’s been waiting days to escape. you try to muffle it— fist pressed against your mouth, breath caught halfway between a gasp and a cry.  but it keeps coming. a second sob. then a third. and then you’re full-on breaking.

you bury your face into the hoodie still stained with his cologne, the one you’ve worn three nights in a row.  your knees draw up to your chest, arms wrapped tight around yourself like you’re trying to hold your heart in place.

you can’t wake her.  your daughter is down the hall. so you cry as quietly as you can. but the pain still slips through.  in your breathing. in the way your body rocks slightly like he used to do when she cried in the middle of the night.  like you’re trying to soothe yourself the way he would’ve done.

you were my forever.  and i’ll be waiting at the edge of every sky.

your hand presses to your mouth to stifle the next sob, but it still escapes—loud enough to crack through the silence,  not loud enough to wake her.

you whisper his name. once.  twice.  like a prayer that’ll never stop aching.

and then, quieter: “i miss you, caleb. i don’t know how to do this without you.”

you sit there in the dark, with his words against your heart and your tears soaking the only piece of him you still have left to hold. and for the first time in days,  you let yourself fall completely apart. because tonight,  you don’t have to be strong. not for her.  not for anyone.

just for this—  this goodbye you never got to say, and this love that never stopped living inside you.

a few days later

the house is quiet. soft sunlight spills through the kitchen windows, painting the floor in gold. the kind of morning that doesn’t ask much of you, just presence. just breath.

you’re at the sink, mindlessly rinsing dishes that weren’t even that dirty. the journal still lives on the table behind you. closed, but not untouched.  you haven’t opened it again—not yet. you will. just… not yet.

and then— the front door swings open.

“mommy!” your daughter calls, her voice high and full of breathless excitement.

you turn, startled. she’s carrying a basket. no, dragging it, really—too big for her tiny hands, but she’s determined. a woven handle hangs off her wrist, stuffed to the brim with pastel-colored wrapping and little ribboned items peeking through the top.

she marches straight into the kitchen and sets it down with a loud thud.  you blink at it.

“baby… what’s all this?”

she beams, huffing and puffing, “lukey and kiereny’s dad gave it to me at pickup! he said it’s for you!” you freeze. luke and kieren. you know those names. they’re in her class. and their dad— that’s…

you kneel down slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “he gave you this? for me?”she nods hard.  “he said it was to make you feel better. and he said you could call him if you were sad.” you glance at the basket—carefully curated, clearly thoughtful.

bath bombs in calming scents. artisan chocolate. a small jar of lavender honey. a soft-rolled pair of cozy socks.

and nestled between everything, a sealed envelope with your name written across it.

you take it with gentle fingers. your daughter leans against your arm, watching. you unfold the note.

i’m sorry for your loss. i understand how you feel. if you ever need anybody, don’t hesitate to reach out to me.

— sylus

and below was his phone number.

you read it twice. then a third time. short. simple. but it lands softly in your chest like something warm against all the cold. he didn’t overstep. didn’t try to fix it.  he just… offered his hand.

you let out a slow breath, blinking hard. “do you know him?” your daughter asks, looking up at you. you smile—small, tired, but real.  “not really,” you say. 

“but maybe i will.”

[mixingandmelting]

There’s a vid that I can’t find anymore! But it was a streamer playing Stardew Valley, and she was trying to get her character pregnant. When the morning came in the game, and it didn’t happen again, she frustratingly yells/complains, “WHY AM I STILL NOT PREGNANT YEEET?” After that, her BF slowly pops his head around the corner, looking at her.

So, I was wondering how the batboys would react to hearing their s/o randomly yell that while in another room or maybe next to them while they play their game? 😂

Dick:

….That’s one way to welcome him home. 

He just got back from his day job (being a gymnastics instructor this time) and in the middle of taking off his shoes, he hears you scream that particular line. And he’s now more confused than ever who exactly you were directing it to: yourself, him, or that one game you’ve been playing since a month ago. 

At least Haley’s not worried about it, happily wagging her tail and running in circles in front of her dad. 

He presses a finger on his lips, ruffling her head when she instantly goes quiet for him before picking her up and tip-toeing to your room.

“Is it so hard to get me pregnant?! Or is it too much to ask that I give birth to kids?!” 

His eyes grow wider at every step he takes, your rant becoming more absurd the closer he gets to your room. You want to have kids? Who’s kid? His? One of the characters in the game? 

By the time he reaches the door frame, he stiffens, hearing you slam your headsets down and stomping towards the door. 

“Uh, I’m back?” It didn’t make the situation better, awkwardly smiling there while waving a hand in front of the doorway. 

“…You-How much did you hear?” 

He doesn’t answer, the silence being a telltale on its own. 

“…I was just trying to further romance my in-game character. That’s all.” Your voice comes out quiet and muffled, your hands covering your face. 

“Well, I was going to say all you had to do was tell me and we could’ve gotten to it right away-” He dodges the oversized body pillow you swing at him. 

Placing Haley down, he goes over to you and hugs you from behind before picking and twirling you up in the air. You squeal, patting his arm with a hand while your flustered mind struggles who to tell off: him or Haley, who nips at your pants. He doesn’t let you live down on it for the rest of the week though, pumping his eyebrows up whenever he passes by and sees you playing the game. 

Jason:

Slowly, he walks back and takes a peep at you from the doorway. His eyes wide with every question a man could possibly have. 

He was simply passing by, planning to get to the one book he’s been meaning to read at the couch since you like having your gaming time. Even getting a good cup of coffee ready and carrying a pillow snug under his arm. 

Then you screamed that line. 

“I did not just spend this much time with you only for you to do this to me! We’re even married!” 

He takes a second to think before silently nodding his head in agreement, recalling everything you told him regarding your efforts to romance one of the characters including how you had to specifically buy some pendant to propose. And only after you give them a bouquet and reach ten hearts. 

“Why else did you think I chose you over Sebastian?! Did you think I was going to choose based on looks?!” 

Oh, there’s more tea? 

The next handful of minutes flies by, his book forgotten. He’s pretty sure no one could blame for it either when the gossip was just too good to pass. Then an idea struck. 

With expertise, he sneaks into your room and slowly makes his make towards you. 

“Seriously, he’s such a jerk.” 

“Oh most definitely.”

“Even when I forgave him for cheating on me.”

“Tell me about it.” 

“Like, come on just why won’t he ask- What the fuck?! Jason?!” 

He raises an eyebrow, his trademarked, shit-eating smirk ever so present.

“If you really wanted one that badly, you could’ve just asked.” 

He cackles, letting himself get tackled onto the mattress that happens to be behind you/ the one he’s currently sitting on. His arms automatically wrap themselves around you, using the magic of smothering you in his embrace to calm you down as he knows you know he’s doing you a favor in covering your expression up. Glad to know it works, you snuggling into his shirt with flushed ears. 

Tim:

He chokes on his water, hacking and coughing up a storm. The two of you are currently hanging out, playing the same game. And it was quiet too, with the occasional mumbling of profanities whenever the characters decided to give attitude towards either you or him. Until you scream why you weren’t getting pregnant. 

“W-what?” It takes him some time to finally ask the question, his throat sore and needing time to recover. 

“Yes! Pregnant!” You make hand motions to your screen, backing away as he tries to lean and look over. “I did everything that everyone online said! Upgrade the farmhouse, add the nursery, go to bed BEFORE 10 PM-! What am I doing wrong?!”

“It IS a 5% chance; it might take a while.”  He rubs circles on back in attempts to console you. Too bad it fails, you rolling your eyes and groaning.

“Yeah, but I'm at my final straw here. Especially when I’ve been playing for two years…”

…Is it really that hard to get kids in the game? 

He takes a quick glance at his screen where his character is happily raising children with their respective spouse. And he hasn’t been playing for a year.

“… Tim?” Crap. He was quiet for too long. 

He jumps into action, trying to change the scene but he’s too late. You gasp. Your eyes wide in betrayal 

“You-How-“ Oh no. It’s never a good sign when you fumble over your words. “It took you how long again for you to ask me out? But you already have kids in the game???” 

“Well, I was nervous-“ 

“More like abs-er-gutless.”  

…Excuse you? Sure, he’s not a Greek God like Dick or built like a refrigerator like Jason but he knows he has pretty good abs and takes full offense to that. 

So, without a word, he gets up and hauls you over his shoulder.

“Tim, what are you doing???” 

“Taking you with me to prove a point.”

Needless to say, he’s successful in changing your mind that night as well as receiving a heartfelt apology for creating a word to describe his apparent “lack of muscles”. 

Duke:

He’s so glad the two of you aren’t out in public. The scene it would’ve caused especially with how loud your voice was- he can feel himself getting the goosebumps. The two of you were hanging out at your place with him having stepped out to use the restroom while you told him you’d wait. 

Now he's facing a dilemma as he awkwardly stands at the entrance way to the living room. The rational side of him wants to shake you, ask if you’re aware you’re still in high school. The protective boyfriend side of him wants to know who you were asking and for what reason. 

The worst part is that there’s no real, good way to find out unless he leans his head out from behind the wall. And him getting caught red-handed for snooping on you is the last thing he needs to happen right now. 

“How is it that I’m not pregnant yet?!”  Please, he’s on his knees. Stop saying that and instead, drop the context. “A week! It’s been one whole week and I’m still without kids!”

Screw it. 

Slowly he moves his head forward. Then blinks.

There, with your back towards him, he can see the screen of your laptop filled with colors, all retro, 8-bit themed. His eyes make out a character that you keep moving, seemingly walking around in an area filled with green, red, different shades of browns. 

…Oh. You’re playing Stardew Valley. 

Sliding back behind the wall, he sighs in relief. Finally, he can rest and be assured it’s not between yourself and him or with some other guy he didn’t know about. You’re yelling crazy things like usual whenever you play that game. That’s all. 

“Duke? What are you doing there?”

“What? Oh, uh, nothing. Just coming back from using the restroom, that’s all.” If not for the furious blush on your cheeks, he would’ve really thought you were unamused. 

“...I’m going to stick my head into the kitchen sink for a second, don’t follow me.”

The next hour is spent with him convincing you that it’s fine and there’s nothing to feel embarrassed about. Then another once he admits after you give him a look that it’s funny and he probably won’t forget about it. 

Damian:

Really? Out of all things you’re going to yell, you’re yelling that? His eyes are flat as cement, not even a single drop of him laughing at the sight. 

First off, why in the world would you be this frustrated? It’s a just game that’s meant to waste time, nothing worth all the effort and the attention. Second, why are you so desperate to have a child? With a fictional character nonetheless? Is he not your significant other? Is that character more interesting than him that you decide to spend hours interacting with them and not him?

“It’s probably because you lack the skills to get the game to move as you please.” He doesn’t appreciate the snort you let out in response. 

“Sure and you do when you can’t even get to reaching eight hearts.”

Say what now? 

“Of course I can! I just haven’t gotten that far since I’m busy with keeping a city safe!” 

“Excuses, excuses. That’s what they all say.”

“Excuses???”

The two of you glare at each other, huff, and turn away. Only for you ruffle your hair after another failed attempt. 

He slumps into his chair, drilling holes to your side visage. He can’t understand. Was that game really more important to you than him?  But he doesn’t like how it’s making you this fed up either. A moment of compilation later and watching your face scrunch up, he gives in.

“Here, let me try-”

“Okay, that does it!” His back straightens when you slam your hands onto the desk. “We’re getting ice cream, go on a walk, and come back to this stupid game!”

“...Why again?”

“Because I’m frustrated and I’m not going without you!” Blankly he blinks, watching you stomp out of the room. Well then. 

Despite snorting, a tiny smile forms on his lips as he jumps off his chair and follows right behind you. About time you make his visit worthwhile, you should’ve proposed this from the start. He does end up sharing your pain once the two of you come back, resulting in failure every time he tries and causing him to hate the game even more. 

[cinnamoonblue]

The 'Nice Lady'

ONE SHOT (REQUEST) - Portgas D Ace/Reader (female)

REQUEST: I am not sure if you take requests but if you do, can you do a small fluff of ace introducing y/n as his wife in alabasta to the strawhats!

WARNINGS: english is not my first language, explicit language, use of pet names, Ace is a little touchy but you don't mind, stealing, fighting marines

WORD COUNT: 3,7K

✰ MASTERLIST ✰

NOTE: This request was so fun to write so I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did ♡ I know that it took me a month to post it and that is why the end is kind of rushed, for which I'm sorry, but I hope you guys understand that things take time and that writing is just a hobby for me ♡ Thank you for all the support ♡ Feel free to like, comment and reblog as it helps reaching more people ♡ Enjoy♡

Arabasta – the hottest island and country you have ever been on. Sand and endless kilometers of desert between each city are everywhere. Right now, you are in Alubarna, an ancient city and the capital of Arabasta. The city architecture is manly domed buildings and towers, with ruins from the past all over the outside parts of it, making it very exotic and attractive for people from other islands to visit and explore, though now it is mostly local people around as the country has suffered a big lack of water so the drought that has taken over the country is life treating, except for the capital.

Looking for an escape from the burning hot sun in the busy market streets in Alubarna, you have found yourself in a small clothes shop, trying on different and typical for the country dresses or two-piece sets. Taking look at the mirror and twisting your body left and right you will lie to yourself if you say that you haven’t fallen in love with the current two piece set you are wearing. It is a beautify long white skirt with golden belt on top of the waistline with small Caribbean blue stones attach to it. Your chest is covered by a white top – white see-through long sleaves and a bra part, covered in white and golden sequins with a beautiful crafted Caribbean blue stone in the middle of it, you have never felt prettier in a pair of clothes as you feel now. Looking at the mirror you feel like a princess of the desert.

“You are definitely coming home with me.” You murmur with a smile to yourself as you check yourself out one last time. “How much are you by the way?” Tapping with your hands trying to find the price tag your eyes widen once you have found it. “A thousand and five hundred berries! Are they crazy?” Shaking your head in disbelief you take the price tag in your hands and tear it away from the skirt. “Not like I was planning to pay for it anyway.” You whisper with a smile as you gather your own clothes in the small green zebra print bag you have carried with yourself. Stepping out of the changing room you look around carefully before going to the cash register.   

“Oh, I see you have liked the set, m’lady.” The middle-aged man, the owner of the shop you guess, says as he sees you approaching him.

“Yes, I did – in fact I plan to buy more, but you see...” Your gesture to him to get closer to you like you don’t want the rest of the customers to hear what you are about to say. “I’m very pretensions and I was wondering - do you by any chance have something that it hasn’t been displayed yet?” You flutter your lashes at him. “The price doesn’t matter.” You give a little wink as you see him falling for your little act.

The middle aged, slightly round and bald man’s eyes spark with happiness as he hears this – you are his favourite type of client. He tells you to give him a second and that he will be back in just a second and the moment he leaves the cash register you don’t waste any time and run out of the shop. After a moment you hear a scream, a yell, something among the lines “Catch the bugler!”, but it is too late now as you have already escaped and blend yourself with the crowd in the market.

Walking along the streets you start to look around for your husband. He has to be somewhere near by, you just hope he hasn’t wandered somewhere far away, as sometimes he has the habit to does so.

“Buy this apple and you will be able to live up to thousand years.” You hear a merchant offer his scammed goods to someone.

"Sorry, I'm not interested in living thousand years. I just need to live today." You hear the person responds, and a sly smirk appears on your lips. Fixing your posture and lifting your chin up a bit, you start walking around the market a bit more confident. It doesn’t take long before you hear a voice behind you. “Who in their right mind has let you wander around all by yourself?”

Biting on your inner cheek, trying to stop yourself from smiling, you answer. “My husband.”  

“Ah, what a fool is your husband. Letting a gem like you all alone.” The person walking behind dramatically says. “What if someone steals you?”

“I doubt someone would dare.” You shrug with one shoulder as you make a turn, walking into a small dead-end alley, away from preying eyes.

“Hm, how so?” The man behind you smirks as he has followed you and now stands even close to you.

“Because my husband always finds me.” You smile as you turn around to face the man standing behind you and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a burning, full of passion kiss.

“You look beautiful baby.” Ace says as he pulls away from you and checks you all without any remorse. “Damn, I really need to stop letting wander by yourself, because someone might steal you from me for real.” He pulls you close to him as he runs his hands around your bare waist, feeling your soft skin under his fingers.

“I can say the same for you Portgas.” You giggle as you place your fingers on his broad muscular chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingers. He is always so warm, even without the burning sun, Ace is like a walking one, but you don’t mind it, you never had and never will. After all you have gotten a personal heating blanket in the face of your husband for the rest of your life, how can you complain? “Are you hungry my love?”

“Always.” He slowly nods and licks his lower lip, not being able to tear his eyes from the curves of your body in this two-piece set. He usually can’t take his eyes of you no matter what you are wearing, or not wearing, but this piece of clothing is doing something to him.

“I meant food Ace.” You softly sigh as you place two fingers under his chin and lift it up so he can look at your eyes. “Eyes here boy. So, are you hungry?”

“Always.” He says as he pulls you close to him once again and kisses the top of your head before you get on your way to dish and dash somewhere.

You are both sitting at the bar in the first restaurant you have found. While Ace is already on his third plate you are still on your first, taking your time savouring the taste of the tipical local dish you have ordered for yourself, enjoying the new flavours that you are trying for a first time ever, while your husband just appreciates the fact that the food is good.

“Have you got any leads so far?” You ask your raven-haired husband.

“No.” He answers with frowned brows. “But I’m sure I have something on Lu-” Hearing a loud splash noise from the plate of your husband, you jump on the side as you don’t need to look to see that it is in fact him having a narcolepsy attack midway lunch.

“Thanks God, he didn’t eat something with sauce on it.” You breathe out relieved, after checking your outfit to see it has gotten a spot or something from the food. People in the restaurant gather around your worried, but you told them not to worry as you got this. Pulling Ace up, you clean his face with a napkin as this has become like a second nature to you now, as he slowly starts to wake up.

“Sorry, baby. Please don’t tell me I ruined your clothes.” He gives you an apologetic look as he checks you out to make sure he hasn’t splashed any food on you. You shake your head with a smile and before you get the chance to respond to him - he is gone. Your husband is literally gone, as he has been swept away with a force straight through some walls and now instead of him, a guy identically looking like your husband, stands next to you.

“Ha, now this is interesting turn of events.” You chuckle as you observe the boy with the straw hat standing next to you. “Running away from trouble Luffy?” You ask like you have known him for years, even though this is the first time ever you see your husband’s little brother, whom you only know from stories and his bounty poster.

“Yes, this annoying Smoker doesn’t leave me alone.” He answers to you without even questioning how you even know him or what is he running from. “Hey, are you eating all this by yourself?” He looks back and forth between you and the three extra plates left with food from your husband.

“Eat them if you are hungry.” You smile and hand one of the plates to the young reckless pirate and his eyes widen from happiness as he takes the plate and devours it in seconds. “You can take the rest as well.” You say standing up as you make your way to where your husband has been sent flying to make sure that he is okay, you know he is, but you are sure he would like to know that it was his little brother who caused all that.

“Thank you, nice lady.” Luffy screams after you with full mouth.

You just giggle as you make your way through the broken walls. “Damn, this was quite the impact.” Murmuring under your breath you finally reach your husband, who is getting up from the ground and doesn’t look very happy with what have happened. “Are you okay, Ace?” Your sweet voice catches up his attention and he just nod. Opening his mouth to say something he is getting interrupt by a yell from Smoker, who you haven’t even noticed until now, but he is long gone before any of you can react as he goes to chase after Luffy once again.

“Straw-hat?” Ace looks at you with excitement.

“Yes, I forgot to mention that the person behind this mess in no other than your little brother, so I think you might want to jump in the chase.” With a little twist of your body to the side you gesture to your husband to go run after his brother.

“You know where to meet me princess.” Ace says as he gives you a quick peck on the lips and runs after his brother.

“Huh? That’s weird. Why am I the only one here?” Luffy wonders as he finds himself in a dead alley sitting on a water barrel, with neither his crew nor brother around. Speaking of his brother, he still can’t believe he has reunited with him after not seeing each other for who knows how long. “Where did everyone go?”

“Sheesh! I guess my letting you escape was pretty pointless.” Luffy hears the too familiar voice sarcastically says somewhere close to him. Looking around and then finally up, Luffy sees his older brother standing there with a big smile.

“Yo, Ace!” Luffy jumps on his feet as his brother lands on the ground.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Luffy.” Observing now his grown little brother, Ace can’t feel anything else but be proud of him and of the man his is becoming.

“You too, Ace.” Both grip on each others’ hands is a strong lock over the barrel. “How long has it been?”

“Good question, but Luffy, it looks like you still go on your own pace, just like you did when you were kid.” Ace smirks mischievously as he can feel his brother putting force in trying to get Ace’s hand down and claim himself a winner.

“You too, Ace. I was surprised you ate a Devil Fruit, but besides that you’re the same.” Luffy says with a big grin.

“Oh, ye?” Ace laughs out loud as he hasn’t expected to hear this. He has definitely changed a lot since they last saw each other.

“Like when you would sneak into the fields and eat a hundred watermelons and then spit the seeds like your mouth is a gun and run?” Luffy blurs out fast as Ace has taken upper hand in their hand fight.

“This wasn’t me. It was you.”

“And then you got big bumps right here.”

“That was you again. I just watched and laughed.” Ace says as he is close to take the hand of his little brother down, but the barrel with water under them breaks due to their strength and their hands stay in the air locked in a firm handshake.

“I guess we’re both the same.” Luffy’s big smile spread across his face as him and Ace unlock hands and go for a high-five. “This brings back memories.”

Walking around town the two brothers are having small talks and catching up to each other, yet Ace still hasn’t mentioned the fact that he has married the girl of his dreams recently as he wants to do this when you are standing next to him. You have turned his life upside down in the best way possible and having you in it makes it finally worth living.

“Say, what kind of crew you have?” Ace is curious to know with what people his little brother has surrounded himself and Luffy wastes no time telling him about his crew – a swordsman, a navigator, a cook, a lair and the latest addition a reindeer. “That’s quite the variety you’ve got there.”

“We also have a princess and a duck now.” Luffy excitedly exclaims. “They’re all so interesting.”

“I’m sure you are the most interesting of them all.” Ace chuckles. “Still, a handful of people for a pirate crew... That’s just like you.” He smirks looking at Luffy.

“And I want a musician, too.”

You are waiting patiently by the Striker. It has been some time now, but you are sure that Ace is just catching up with his little brother. As you are sitting and waiting, finally, you see you husbands silhouette approaching you. You get up on your feet and smile at him once he stands in front of you.

“How was it?” You ask while wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You have to meet him officially.” Ace tells you with a big smile. “He is already on his ship so we can make a quick visit. After all I need to check his crew personally, what if they are not good enough for him?”

“Ay, ay commander.” You laugh out.

You and Ace gather your things quickly in the Striker and get to the open sea fast. As you are approaching the Going Merry you notice that there are quite lot of marines.

“I will take care of them.” Ace winks at you and you playfully roll your eyes. He just wants to show off to his little brother and crew, but you won’t deny that you enjoy the show yourself. It doesn’t take long for your husband to take down the three marines ships after all he is Fire Fist Ace, what else is there to be said?

Landing on the railing of the Going Merry, Ace is met with an awe by the entire crew. While they are having their little interaction you have reached the ship with the Striker and quietly made your way up to your husband who sensed you the moment you stopped your little boat.

“Hey, Luffy.” Ace awkwardly says with a big grin spread across his lips. “There is someone I would like you to meet.” He scratches the back of his neck as he is not sure exactly how to announce to his brother that he is a married man now. “You see I-”

“Hey, what are you doing here, nice lady?” Luffy asks confused as he is the first one to notice you standing next to Ace on the railing, and now him, his crew and your husband all look at you confused. A sea of questions start being thrown at you from how you managed to get on the ship to who you are, until one particular question takes everyone out by surprise.

“Nice lady? Why does he call you this?” Ace looks at you in confusion.

“Oh, we met in the restaurant where he sent you flying.” You explain with a smile and Ace’s eyes shit to Luffy who nods his head in confirmation.

“She let me eat for free.” Luffy adds and now it all makes sense to Ace why he calls you the ‘nice lady’. “How you two know each other?”

Looking at you, with all the love and admiration in the world, Ace can’t stop the smile which spreads across his face as he says, “This is my wife.” You return the smile as you two step down of the railing into the deck and interlace your fingers. “Luffy and crew, this is my wife (Y/N).” Ace introduces you to everyone and they are all in awe, now that the confusion and shock has passed away.

“He is a good big brother.” Chopper, the cute reindeer doctor says, and Usopp the guy with unusual long nose nods in agreement.

“Wish I had one growing up.” Usopp adds to Chopper’s comment.

“And he is a good husband.” Nami the navigator of the ship as she has introduced herself to you exclames as she cluches her chest admiring you and Ace.

“A loving one on top of it.” Vivi, the princess of Arabasta, adds as she wraps her arms around Nami.

“I hope I get blessed with such a beautiful, gorgeous wife myself one day.” Sanji, the cook of the ship cries out, and for a moment you even think that if his eyes can turn into a heart shape they will. 

“Simp.” Zoro, the swordsman, makes fun of him, but the blush on his face is not helping as he shyly takes glance at you.

“Wife? Why?” Luffy’s eyes shifts between you and Ace in slight confusion. The whole concept of marriage has been something he has never understood so this is a bit confusing for him.

“What do you mean by why, you idiot?” Sanji screamed at him. “Having a wife as beautiful as (Y/N)-swan must be the closest feeling to heaven.” He cries out again.

You and your husband just laugh at the scene in front of you. His brother is exactly as he has described him, but he is obviously a good kid with good friends along his journey.

“When did you two married?” Vivi looks at you excitedly and Nami follows her with a question.

“How did you two meet?”

“How do you find a woman like her?” The lovesick cook cries out... again.

Before you or Ace can answer any question Luffy interrupts. “Why don’t you stay with us for a bit?” To which you agree.

Two days have past since you have joined the crew and both, you and Ace, are having fun with his brother and friends. The similarities between Ace and Luffy sometimes scare you a bit, due to the fact that you are aware they are not biological brothers by any means, yet they act and look like ones so much.

The night has taken over the desert and you are having fun with the girls, missing the feeling of having female company around you, as the crew you are part of is mostly made of men, which you don’t mind, because not only you have met the love of your life among these men, but also your family.

Everyone has started preparing to go to sleep, while the little adorable reindeer Chopper is having a little banter with Usopp, but Zoro is quick to put an end to it. Meanwhile Ace is observing everyone and everything carefully, enjoying the night, but also lost in his own thoughts.

“Yo, Luffy. Come here.” Ace calls out for his brother and signals to him with a nod to follow him. Stepping aside from everyone and making sure that no one would hear him, Ace looks at Luffy seriously. “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?” Luffy raises one brow a little annoyed with his brother interrupting his fun before bed.  

“If something ever happens to me, I-” Ace can’t finish his sentence as he is quickly being interrupt.

“What do you mean if something happens to you? You have promised me that you won’t die.” His brother is quick to remind him the promise Ace has given a long time ago.

“And I won’t.” Ace replies slight harshly as his brother doesn’t even let him finish his sentence. “Now let me finish what I have to say.” He scolds Luffy. “I’m saying – If something happens to me, I want you to promise me to take care of her.” Ace can’t help but look at your direction. “I know she is strong and can handle herself no matter what, but please, promise me that you will look after her if something ever happens.” He returns his attention to his brother.

“I promise Ace. But you also have a promise to keep.”

“And I will.” Ace winks to his little brother as he pats his back, and they return to the rest of the group.

Seeing them coming back you give Ace a smile – a smile for which he is willing to die for but also keep on living for every day, as his days have become better since the day he saw it for a first time ever. Back there he has promised to himself on the spot that he will call you his wife no matter what, and he did keep his promise.

writing, format, header & dividers © cinnamoonblue ©cinnamoonblue, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[avsarchivez]

BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH THANOS

SUMMARY : what the title says 🤷🏻‍♀️

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WARNINGS smut, cursing, mention of drugs and alcohol, small mention of breeding, slight mention of bullying? should be all correct me if I’m wrong.

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a/n; im a little nervous ive never really made anything like this before 🫣 hope you enjoy 💜

SFW

• thanos is VERY possesive of you. when in public, he makes sure to always keep an eye on you and will always have an arm around you.

• that means if he sees somebody even look at you for one second too long unfortunately their fucked :/

• his nicknames for you outside of bed consist of ma, mama, senorita, baby, babygirl, beautiful, gorgeous, sweetheart, darling, flower, and my girl.

• you two are always touching each other. no matter if it’s you on his lap or his tongue down your throat, namgyu and se-mi hateee it😭

• when you see thanos picking on min-su or anybody who don’t deserve it you yell at him. he pouts for the rest of the night. :(

• thanos keeps a ring in his center console for MONTHS, he still hasn’t had the balls to ask you.

• he love love loves it when you kiss all over his face, he’ll ask for more and then begs you not to tell anyone.

• when he’s wasted he’s sooo clingy. he’ll lay on top of you, face cuddled in your neck while you run a hand through his hair until he falls asleep.

• thanos would never tell you this but you saved him. i imagine he went through bad abuse growing up and struggles with ptsd and bipolar, which makes him take pills to distract himself and take everything out on everyone (except you). you always make sure to talk him through ptsd attacks and stay on top of his lithium.

• you two are definitely like one of those annoying couples you see in the movies who are so in love it’s insufferable.

• eventually you two try for a baby.

(willing to write more ab this if anyone’s interested.)

!NSFW!

• thanos and you fight A LOTT, somehow it almost always ends with your face pressed down into the mattress, white knuckle grip on the sheets as he thrusts into you mercilessly from behind.

• he lovessss eating pussy 🫢

•when fucking you from the back, he will occasionally snort lines of your back. he will do the same with your tits.

• if you so much as smile at another man, your in for it. he drags you home, forces you onto your knees and reminds you that he’s the only man you need.

• when he’s on drugs, he’s aggressive as shittt. he’ll laugh when you struggle to get out of bed the next morning.

• when he’s sober he’s definitely not soft, but it will be a lot more loving, he’ll whisper sweet nothings into your ear like ‘look at you, my perfect girl…’ or ‘fuck your so beautiful.’

• you two live with each-other so i wouldn’t be surprised if he fucks you 2-3 or even 4 times a day. poor you.😭

• he would make an anonymous x account and post videos of you two getting nastyyyy. he blurs/crops out your faces because obviously, he’s famous and he would be lucid if somebody knew it was you two. that’s only for him to know.

• he also will blur your tits, those are his.

• when you two finish, thanos version of after care is sharing his oh so precious weed with you.

[prettycopperpennies]

Falling Walls | Kang Dae-ho (Player 388) x F!Reader Oneshot

Description: If Dae-ho thought you would be an easy ally he had another think coming. (golden retreiver x black cat type shit. Slow burn)

Warning: Cursing, Toxic Ex (not Dae-ho), no gore but the setting is squid games.

Dae-ho x Female Reader

Player 456 was telling the truth. You were in shock as you saw people falling to the ground out of the corner of your eyes. You listened much closer the second time Player 456 ran to the front of the group and yelled out instructions.

“Get behind someone bigger than you,” he said, his last command before the massive doll turned its back to the rest of you.

Suddenly you were being maneuvered. Player 388 had stuck out a strong arm and swooped you behind him. You were surprised by how quickly he jumped into action, but your incredulity only lasted a few moments. With a huff you stepped out of his shadow. You made it a few steps before you had to freeze again right beside Player 388.

“Didn’t you hear what he said? ‘Get behind someone bigger’,” he said, clearly surprised by you overtaking him. You glared ahead, not daring to move. 

Dae-ho was completely lost. He had moved out of his way to help you, and it’s not like he expected you to be worshiping the ground he walked on for it, but he definitely did not think you would be annoyed. 

As soon as the song began again you turned your head in his direction and said, “Didn’t you hear what he said? If you’re going to talk when we’re not supposed to move then you had better cover your mouth.”

Dae-ho’s mouth was agape, not sure how to respond. Lucky for him he didn’t have to think up something to say; you were already moving far past him. He could have easily kept up with you, but an older player had taken your place behind him. He couldn’t leave a defenseless old woman behind so his only option was to watch you as you made your way across the field.

You turned around when you crossed the finish line watching with bated breath as the other players tried to cross in time. You exhaled when Player 456 and Player 120 just barely dragged an injured man across the line, but as soon as they crossed over the hurt player was “eliminated”.

You jumped when you heard the gunshot ring out, and jumped a second time when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s because that player was supposed to be taken out of the game earlier. I don’t think they’re just attacking random players now, it’s okay,” a voice said.

You turned your head to see it was Player 388.

What is his deal? you asked yourself as you shrugged off his shoulder.

“I know that,” you said curtly, turning on your heel and walking towards the opening doors. You wanted to get away from the now blood soaked playing field, creepy doll, and the annoyingly friendly Player 388 as soon as possible.

What’s her deal? Dae-ho asked himself as he watched you walk away. He couldn't figure you out, but unfortunately for you he was determined to.

1 YEAR EARLIER

You were sitting on the couch, surrounded by tons of papers. Receipts, debt notices, loan statements, threatening letters, and an eviction notice. The lines of letters and numbers (way, way, way too many numbers) started to blur as you began to well up with tears. 

You heard the door open but never close, and you looked up to find your boyfriend frozen in the door frame. You grabbed fistfuls of paper; not even making a dent in the haphazard stacks around you. Your boyfriend flinched as you held them up for him to see.

“When were you going to tell me about… all this?” you asked.

He didn’t answer and instead took a few tentative steps towards you.

“Don’t,” you warned, trying to sound intimidated as your voice quivered.

He didn’t listen to your one word warning as he slowly closed the space between you with each step.

“I’m so serious. I’m not just going to forgive you,” you said.

He was close enough to reach out a hand, cupping your tear stained cheek with his palm before saying, “I don’t expect you to. I fucked up-”

“Yeah, you did,” you said. Your tone was stern and unforgiving, but you still hadn’t brushed away his hand.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

“We’re getting evicted,” you said, tears now freely running down your face. He sat down next to you pulling you into a tight hug. You folded into it. Even though it was all his fault, he had always been the one to comfort you.

“I’m going to fix this, okay?” he said, “You don’t need to worry. It’s my fault. I’ll fix it.”

“No,” you said with a shake of your head, “This is a partnership. I don’t care who’s fault it is. We get through this together.”

“Really?” he said with relief as he pulled out of the hug to hold your cheek in his hand once again.

“You would do the same for me,” you said.

“Of course I would,” he said. 

You sighed, feeling a glimmer of hope. You could always count on him to help you feel better about anything, no matter how hopeless it seemed before.

PRESENT DAY

Everyone in your vicinity started to cheer, but you stayed stoic. Yes, you had just won the vote, but you weren’t elated. It was simply a pragmatic decision on your part. It was not like you wanted to stay. You simply had no other choice.

As you walked back towards your bunk you saw the player who kept trying to help you during the first game. You were surprised to see he had voted O. You figured he would want to end the games immediately before anyone else got hurt. His own eyes went over the crowd and landed on you. You quickly looked away, hoping against hope he hadn’t noticed your staring.

“There is no way we both showed up wearing the same thing,” a familiar voice said. You rolled your eyes before turning to face Player 388. He was sporting a sarcastically shocked expression, looking between your outfit and his.

He pointed to your blue O patch and his before saying, “I mean, it’s down to the accessories and everything. What are the chances?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. There was no way in hell you were about to crack a smile over such a cheesy joke. You scoffed before heading in the direction of your bed.

“What I was trying to point out was we both voted O. Let’s be allies,” he said, easily keeping up with your quick pace.

“I don’t need an ally,” you said curtly. You were suddenly stopped in your tracks as he stepped in front of you.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked before gesturing with a nod to the other players.

You looked around realizing a lot of people were already forming groups. This did not bode well for you. You had meant what you said: you didn’t need an ally… Or, maybe it was more like you didn’t want an ally.

As you looked around the room Dae-ho noticed your nervous expression. He felt guilty when he saw how his point had stressed you out. He mentally kicked himself for inadvertently freaking you out.

He leaned towards you, dipping down a little to bring you closer to eye level.

“I don’t think it’s actually a big deal,” he said in a much quieter tone, attempting to make up for his comment moments earlier, “It’s more like I need an ally, you know? I’m sure you’d be fine on your own.”

You were taken back by how gentle this seemingly boisterously energized player seemed. You turned back to face him only to realize how close the two of you were.

“I know I’ll be fine,” you said, but this time you couldn’t quite manage to sound as vexed as usual.

“No, I totally agree. You seem like a badass,” he said. If jokes didn’t work in breaking down your apathetic facade maybe compliments would.

Or maybe not, Dae-ho thought to himself as you openly rolled your eyes. You side stepped around him. This time Dae-ho stayed back as you stalked off to your bed.

“I’m around if you change your mind,” he called after you.

“I won’t,” you said over your shoulder, determined to figure out a way to make your way out of this on your own.

You ate by yourself. You were one of the few people who had not seemed to find their own group of people to buddy up with. Player 388 was talking across the room to a group of men that included Player 456. He seemed completely at ease, and you found yourself almost jealous of his outgoing personality. He caught your eye once again, giving you a small wave. You did not return the gesture instead moving your eyes off him as quickly as you could.

I’ll be fine, you said to yourself, repeating the phrase once again. This time though you struggled to believe it.

SEVENTH MONTHS AGO

You were packing as fast as you could trying your best to ignore the many excuses your boyfriend was telling you.

“She’s just a friend,” he insisted for the millionth time.

“Very good friends apparently,” you spat back, wrestling with yourself to keep your tears back. This asshole was not about to make you cry.

“Y/n, it didn’t mean anything,” he said.

“To you, maybe!” you said.

“I don’t care what it meant to her. Really, I don’t. You matter so much more tha-”

“Shut up! What do you think seeing her and you together meant to me? How it felt?” you asked.

“Babe, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Don’t call me babe. And don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it,” you said. It wasn’t exactly true though. You couldn't help it. You still found yourself caring about him a little, and hearing him say sorry sent a squeeze to your heart no matter how much you wished it didn’t.

“I really am sorry,” he said as he reached out his hand.

He used his classic move, gently cupping your cheek as he apologized for whatever new fuck up he did. You paused for a moment, shaken by how close it was to working, before you shoved his hand away.

“I’m leaving,” you said, grabbing your bag.

“Wait, don’t go. Let’s talk, please,” he said, the words coming out quickly as he followed down the hall. You quickened your pace knowing any second now he could break your resolve. It didn’t matter how bad he hurt you, you always seemed to forgive him. But not this time.

PRESENT DAY

Your mouth went dry as soon as the voice announced over the loudspeaker to form groups of five. It was as if the universe was hell bent on proving you wrong and Player 388 right. It seemed like everyone else was making groups with ease, basically already having a group already made thanks to the previously forged friendships.

Dae-ho was giving you the space you wanted, but he couldn’t help but notice the nervous expression you wore when he spotted you in the crowd. He wanted nothing more than to go over and offer you a place on his team, but he stopped himself from going over and giving you a helping hand. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to help you; it wasn’t what you wanted. His shoulder relaxed, which he hadn’t even realized he had been tensing, when you found a group just in the nick of time.

You ended up with a group of men led by Player 100. He was surly off the bat and not at all interested in making friends which was fine by you. It wasn’t a problem till it came to choosing who would play which game. 

“And you can play Jegi,” Player 100 said, assigning you a game.

“I’ve never played Jegi,” you told him.

“Then you had better find a way to practice! If you mess up, we’re all dead,” he said with a huff like it was somehow your fault for never playing.

“How would I practice?” you asked.

This is exactly why I don’t need an ally, you thought spitefully to yourself.

“There’s pebbles all over,” he said, pointing at the dirt ground you all stood at, “Pick some up. And. Practice.”

“Is everything okay over here?”

Player 388 was walking up to your team. His expression was one you hadn’t seen before, and it was surprisingly intimidating. But he wasn’t looking at you. Instead he was glaring down Player 100.

“Go back to your own team. We’re fine here,” Player 100, waving him off.

But Player 388 didn’t seem so easily scared off. He stepped between you and the old man, clearly not planning on leaving any time soon.

“Look, it’s not my fault she’s refusing to play Jegi,” Player 100 said, not backing down either.

“Are any of you good at Jegi?” Player 388 asked the rest of your group.

One member timidly raised their hand, trying their best to avoid the glares from Payer 100. Suddenly another member spoke up saying they much preferred Djaki over Spinning Top. That opened up the floodgates, and all three players on your team quickly started to admit they’d like to switch games. Player 388 looked at you with a much kinder expression (one you were used to seeing him sport).

“Which do you want to play?” he asked.

“I’m alright at Biseokchigi,” you admitted. You couldn’t tell if he was actually starting to wear you down or it was thanks to his earlier moment of intimidation, but your usual cold shouldering demeanor was momentarily dismantled.

 He nodded before looking over to your other group members, one of whom was happy to switch spots with you. Player 100 openly scoffed at his team's betrayal, but his attitude was somewhat quelled with Player 388 gave him another look.

“What game is left over?” he asked the team without ever taking his eyes off the old man.

“Spinning top,” you said.

“Alright, then you’ll have spinning top,” he said, assigning Player 100 a game in a very similar fashion the man had assigned your game to you. You waited a moment for Player 100 to disagree, but he knew when he was beat. Without argument he took a seat on the ground, and your other teammates followed suit.

Player 388 turned to you and asked, “Are you good? You know, maybe they’ll let you switch teams.”

“I’m good,” you said, moving towards the end of your team’s line to take a seat.

“Let me help you,” he asked. You were taken aback by the earnest desperation in his voice, but you managed to shake it off before responding.

“I don’t need your help,” you answered curtly.

He groaned in frustration, but left you to your own devices as he went back to his own team. You had gotten your way, and yet there was a part of you that was a little sad to see him go.

“Lucky you know Dae-ho. I would kill to have a marine as an ally,” your team member sitting next to you said.

“Who’s Dae-ho?” you asked.

“Player 388. I thought you two had formed a pact or something,” they said, their eyebrows raising with surprise.

“Oh. No, we haven’t,” you said.

Dae-ho managed to cheer louder than anyone else for your team, which wasn’t an easy feat considering how loudly everyone was yelling. As soon as you crossed that line relief flooded through you. Of course, there was one person in particular who caught your eye mid celebration.

When Dae-ho saw you smiling at him he felt his knees start to go weak. For the past few days he’d only been getting eye rolls and frowns, but he hadn’t expected you to look so beautiful when you smiled. As soon as you looked in his direction he started to whoop even louder, giving you a grin. He swore he could see your demeanour brighten even more as the two of you locked eyes. But, as much as he wished the moment would last, you and your team were soon swooped out of the room.

Your eyes shot to the doors every time you heard them open to let in a new celebrating group. A tinge of disappointment jabbed at you as each group passed and it was missing one familiar face. You tried to distract yourself, making and remaking your bed countless times.

Why is there literally nothing to do here, you thought to yourself.

You were trying to convince yourself you were bored, not worried for one very specific player who had somehow started to worm his way into your heart. Whether you were willing to admit it or not, the fact that he stood up for you meant something to you.

Your bed was in the midst of being made for the hundredth time when the doors opened once again. You had almost given up hope, but still you chanced a look. Against all odds you saw a familiar ponytailed tall frame. Without thinking you rushed down the steps with relief fueled adrenaline.

Dae-ho stopped mid conversation with his team as soon as he saw you standing just a few feet from him, breathing heavily. He bit back a smile at the uncharacteristic situation you were in. It wasn’t until you were face to face with him that you realized exactly what you were doing. You were so happy he had made it, fully terrified for the past half hour he wasn’t coming back through those doors, that the second you saw him your brain turned off. But now, with Dae-ho’s eyes looking into yours, the switch had been flipped and your mind was racing once again.

What am I doing? you internally screamed at yourself. You thought about just turning around and walking away, but he had already seen you (of course he did, you had ran directly up to him).

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“What? Yes,” you said, trying and failing to sound apathetic, “I ran down the steps just now.”

“Any reason why?” he asked.

“I… really have to go to the bathroom,” you said.

It was a shitty lie. You both knew it. You internally cringed, but Dae-ho was all grins. At a feeble attempt to prove your claim was true you started to head in the direction of the restrooms.

“I’m not letting you off that easy,” Dae-ho said.

“What are you even talking about?” you asked, feigning confusion.

“That’s actually so weird,” he said.

“What’s so weird? Me having to pee? I hate to break it to you Dae-ho, but everyone does it,” you said.

“Nah, I’m talking about you being a terrible liar. I wouldn’t have guessed that in a million years,” he said.

“I’m not lying,” you said, stopping to glare him down. Your attempt at intimidation was completely undermined by the “I’ve totally been caught” blush blooming on your cheeks.

“Relax. That just means you're a good person,” he said.

Somehow that comment had shot through a crack in your walls and hit your heart straight on. You didn’t want to admit how much it meant for this absolute golden retriever of a person to think of you as a good person.

Dae-ho noticed your silence and it stung. He didn’t like how simply telling you you were a good person totally knocked you off your feet. He knew what he said was true, and it hurt him to think hearing it was something special. He didn’t think a compliment like that should be something foreign to someone like you.

“You really are a good person, you know,” he said, repeating what he had said before.

You were surprised to feel a burning behind your eyes. The earnest tone in his voice, what he was telling you, it was all about to bring you to tears. The walls you so carefully crafted weren’t cracking, they were crashing down. You couldn’t stand feeling so vulnerable and instead of shooting back some quippy comment you took off before he could see a single tear slide down your cheek.

Dae-ho watched you rush off to the bathroom, leaving him feeling heartbroken for the distant girl he had undeniably fallen for.

3 MONTHS AGO

You rubbed your forehead in frustration as the elevator music played from your phone. You had been on hold for three hours and were about to lose your mind.

“Hello Miss y/n,” a voice said, finally bringing an end to that cursed generic tune.

Your fist clenched tightly around the phone, more than a little relieved to finally hear a human voice, “Yes, hello! I’m here!”

“So we looked through your records, and it seems like the best course of action for now is to suspend your account and get a new card,” the voice said.

“But I’ve already done that,” you said with a sinking feeling.

“Oh… Ah, yes I see that,” they said.

“So, you see why, right?” you checked, hoping for some sort of solution in the midst of the worst storm you had ever found yourself in.

“Um…” the voice trailed off, clearly trying to find what you were alluding to in some sort of file.

“It’s my ex. He had my credit card info and used it to pay off his loans, but I can’t pay any of it back. I’ll be put into debt,” you explained, running a hand through your hair in stress.

“I see. Well, perhaps we can cover some of that. I believe if you report him-”

“I tried, but that…” you bit your tongue, stopping the “asshole” just on the tip of it from falling out, “He’s currently seeing someone pretty high up the ladder in the force, so...”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it really didn’t seem like a productive phone call,” you admitted.

You quickly brushed away the frustrated tears falling down your face as if this person was standing in front of you. Of course, they had no idea, but even now you couldn't even stand the thought of someone simply being on the phone with you while you were like this.

“Listen, he stole my identity, took out credit cards in my name, paid off loans with my money, took out more loans in my name, and I need to figure out a way to fix this,” you said, praying they couldn’t notice the quivering in your voice.

PRESENT DAY

You were standing on the raised circular level a little nauseated by the hypocritically cheerful carousel motif. You tried to focus your head, but it was admittedly hazy. You had spent the last twenty four hours trying desperately to tamp down thoughts of two men in your life. Once from the past and one you were all too aware was very much in your present. You were completely unsuccessful in your attempts, and instead you had been tossing and turning all night and completely unable to eat at mealtimes.

Dae-ho glanced in your direction, knowing he wouldn’t catch your eyes no matter how much he hoped. He hated seeing you the other day leave the bathroom with red rimmed eyes. Clearly you had been crying. All he wanted to do was give you a hug and tell you it was okay. It was okay to cry, to be sad, or mad, any of it was okay. But if he thought you were distant before then this was a whole other level. Ever since your conversation after the last game you were avoiding him even more than before, which was saying something. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from watching out for you as the horribly familiar voice echoed across the room as it explained the rules.

You had managed to stumble across some much deserved luck. You choosing to stay ally-less seemed to be an advantage for Mingle. Everyone had their previously forged groups, but as the numbers called out by the voice fluctuated there was always people needing just one more person to join their group.

You and Dae-ho seemed to be playing your own separate game: how to look at each other without the other person noticing. Despite your resolve to completely forget him you could not stop yourself from scanning the crowd after every round. You would always feel relieved every time you saw his tall figure among the crowd. Dae-ho was doing the same, making sure you always had a group before he went into his own room. He was starting to worry as the game went on. You had seemed tired before the game even started, and as it continued he could see the exhaustion start to set in.

As soon as the voice said “Two” you tried to keep your head in the game, but the rush of bodies around you already had you stumbling. You couldn't even find someone to pair up with, and the rooms were quickly filling up. With a deep breath you accepted the failure that was approaching. But then a hand grabbed your own and pulled you towards one of the few empty rooms. You saw the number 388 on the back of your savior’s shirt.

Of course, you thought to yourself. Despite being so sure of your fate just moments ago you were hardly surprised Dae-ho saved you just in time.

He closed the door behind the two of you, and suddenly the hectic world was shut out. You both stood, frozen, looking at the other. You couldn’t find what to say. You had kept yourself closed off for so long, and so severely, opening up was suddenly an impossible task. Dae-ho was of course the first one to break the silence.

“Sorry. I know you’ve been keeping your distance for a reason, but-”

“Did you just apologize for saving my life? God, that is so…you,” you said, and despite everything you felt an exasperated smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

He paused for a moment before giving you a feeble laugh. You bit at your lip in nervousness, knowing what you were about to ask and it terrified you. Dae-ho noticed your stress and assumed the game, and how close you both just came to losing, had really shaken you up. He wanted desperately to offer you some sort of comfort; to say something or just hold you. But before he could do anything you were speaking up once again.

“Want to be allies?” you asked.

He gave you a soft smile as he took a step towards you with a nod, “Of course.”

“Okay,” you said, trying not to sound so overly relieved.

“I mean, I had never even thought about it before, but it seems great for a totally random idea,” he said, and you let yourself laugh at his little joke.

Dae-ho’s chest puffed up a little as you giggled, practically on cloud nine to not only get you to smile but actually laugh. He wanted to do it over and over again for as long as you would let him.

1 WEEK AGO

You turned the card over and over again in your hand. Your cheek was still stinging from the odd interaction in the subway. But at the end of it all you were given the very card you were holding now. You hadn’t been able to crawl out of the hole your ex made for you. You had no other answers.

With a deep breath you dialed the number on the back of the card.

PRESENT DAY

You waited nervously on your bed as gunshots rang out from floors above you. You thought about going too and helping them, but when you admitted you didn’t know how to use a gun they told you it might be best for you to stay behind. You still felt bad. Dae-ho and you were officially allies now, and you couldn’t help but feel you were letting that partnership down.

When Dae-ho stumbled into the room, you sat straight up. Something about him didn’t seem right. He seemed totally out of it as he rifled through pockets of jumpsuits. You quickly crossed over to him, kneeling down next to him.

“Dae-ho, is everything okay? Are you okay?” you asked.

Your voice pulled him out of the barrage of intense thoughts and images flashing through his mind. He was shutting down, but hearing you suddenly brought him back. He looked at you; a buoy in the storm.

Your heart broke for him as you saw his eyes start to well with tears. Instinctually you reached out and pulled him into a hug. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, and you could feel his shoulders start to relax. Neither of you had been that physically close till this point, but even in this heightened situation it seemed so natural.

“I… I can’t go back. It’s too much like…” he couldn’t finish his train of thought, but you recalled what another player had told you during the second game about Dae-ho being a marine.

“It’s okay,” you said, rubbing calming circles on his back before helping him get on his feet. He grabbed your hand in his, interlacing your fingers with his, needing to stay close to you in this moment. You let him pull you to sit next to him as he sat on his bed, and you wrapped a protective arm around him.

“I don’t know what to do, y/n. They need help, but I…” he started, struggling to finish his sentence once again.

“You stay here, okay?” you told him. You moved to get up, but he wouldn't drop your hand from his. Instead, he looked at you with wide-worrying eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll take them the ammunition,” you assured him, once again attempting to get up. He stopped you once again, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in your throat as he brought his hand to your cheek. It was a feeling that should seem so familiar, but somehow as Dae-ho gently held your cheek in his hand it couldn't feel further from your ex. Just like everything else Dae-ho did, this was real and not some “move” to get you to do something for him.

“I can’t be the reason you are put in danger, y/n,” he said, proving you right. He was not trying to make you forget any mistakes or to fix anything for him. He just wanted to hold you close.

You subconsciously leaned in, and it only took a half of a moment for Dae-ho to meet you in the middle. The kiss was gentle and full of care. You naturally leaned into his palm as he cupped your cheek.

“I’ll be alright,” you said, breaking the kiss.

He moved his hand from your cheek to the nape of your neck, guiding you so your forehead rested against his.

“I’m not going to let you risk everything for me, okay?,” he assured you.

Player 120 entered the room, and the both of you moved away from each other. He tried over and over again to apologize while she grabbed the ammunition he had gathered, but then she was stopped by one of her own allies. All of you snapped your heads to the sliding doors as guards entered the room. Player 120 and her friend quickly and quietly hid the ammunition she was currently holding.

Dae-ho grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. Neither of you knew what was coming, but it seemed like it would be alright as long as you had each other.

[itsonlybaby]

♰﹔ 𝐟𝐰𝐛 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞

ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis﹔you and bellamy were friends, friends who often did each other favors.  ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ ˚ cw﹔ bellamy blake x reader, nsfw, praise  ﹒ ◠ note﹔ none  wc﹔ 800   ˚ ۪˖𓏲 mood﹔ playlist

Being friends with Bellamy meant you got special treatment not many others could get- well, nobody else could get. That only meant you'd be helping him more than usual.

It wasn't a secret, everyone knew something was going on between you and Bellamy, nobody would act that close with a normal friend, but nobody cared enough to speak up about it.

You were in Bellamy's tent, legs on either side of his hips as he roughly thrusted up into you. He wasn't even fully pulling out, just grinding deeper into you while you wiggled in his grasp. You grinded your hips to meet his; eliciting a moan. You grabbed onto tufts of his hair to try and stifle your pleasure elsewhere, not wanting to wake anyone up.

Bellamys hand trailed down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze, "Just like that, princess,"

Your head dropped down into the crook of his neck, the pleasure was palpable. No matter how many times you'd find yourself on his dick, you'd never get used to the feeling.

Bellamy stopped his movements, leaving you whining.

"You want it that bad?" He teased.

You nodded in reply.

"Then ride me."

Bellamy smirked as he watched your face flush, you'd never done anything like this before. It was always Bellamy doing everything for you.

Bellamy's hand found your hips and gently guided them, helping you get started. Once you found your rhythm Bellamy let go, his hands now focusing on your breasts bouncing with every movement. His thumbs traced over your nipples, sending a spark up your body.

Your head found its place on his shoulder, once again trying to silence your moans by gently biting on the exposed skin.

"Gonna make me cum, princess." Bellamy muttered, both hands cupping your breasts as you rode up and slammed back down. Bellamy knew he was close, and so did you. With every moan, you went deeper and deeper on him.

"Bell..." You moaned out, your legs beginning to shake, you wanted to scream out your orgasm, but you remembered where you were.

You threw your head back and clasped your hand around your mouth, much to Bellamy's disapproval.

"Always sound so pretty like this." He breathed out. He loved hearing the sounds that came from your mouth when you climaxed, it was his favorite part.

Your orgasm splurged through you in fast waves, leaving your body exhausted. Bellamy snaked his hands to your hips and held you up as he pounded into you, not quite near his own orgasm.

His dick continuously hit your oversensitive sweet spot, leaving no room for you to recover from the previous high.

"It hurts, Bell." Your hands grabbed his arms, digging into the skin. His skin felt hot, lined with sweat from the damp air around the tent.

"It's okay, take it all." Bellamy hushed you, his pace never slowing.

You weren't sure how long you could last with the relentless thrusts, your legs began shaking uncontrollably around him again. You knew if he kept this up you'd surely cum again. Closing your eyes you tried to hold on, not wanting to cum a second time just yet.

"Look at me, princess." Bellamy demanded. You shook your head, knowing if you were to obey you'd surely come undone.

"You asked for this." Bellamy grabbed your thighs and lifted you up with him, placing you on the bed roughly he spread your legs, his dick never leaving your pussy. You were definitely looking now, the eye contact making your stomach flutter.

The new position brought new waves of pleasure. Allowing his dick to hit different places in you.

Bellamy's hand found its way to your hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging on it, forcing you to watch his dick fill your pussy.

The sight was enough to make you cum again, "Oh god, yes!" You yelled. It was like you'd been tipped over the edge as he fucked you through your second high. Your eyes rolled back seeing stars, the entire world went white.

"Such a mess." He said as your cum began painting his dick white. Every muscle in your body was exhausted, twitching, and sore.

Bellamy's pace began to quicken, he felt his own high was close. He let go of your hair and grabbed ahold of your legs to stable himself better.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He spoke shakily, eyes focused on pounding into your slick pussy. His head slumped forward as thick white strings decorated your stomach, heavy breaths filled the tent while you both caught up with your composure.

With a big sigh, he stood up and tossed you your clothes.

"Same time tomorrow, got that?" He said, placing his own shirt on.

Rolling your eyes you nodded playfully, you could act like you hated your routine, but he knew you didn't. It's why you come back every day.

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