#i could have done something with her hair

[moonstruckme]

Who's That Girl AU

cw: modern au, sexual harassment mention

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s not unusual for Remus to hear Sirius’ voice before Sirius even enters the flat. Now, yours has only joined it. 

“I was only trying to be nice,” you say as the door opens. 

Sirius ushers you through first, each of you carrying paper bags in both hands. “We can’t have every bloke in London showing up at our flat because you want to be nice.” 

“It’s not that I want to, I just feel like it’s normal!” 

James throws Remus a look, pausing the film they’ve only just begun in favor of live entertainment. “Bickering already?” he asks. “I know it’s bound to happen between flatmates, but Sirius, mate, she’s only been here two days.” 

“It’s not my fault.” Sirius discards your bags by the end of the couch, flopping down. “This home can only harbor one whore at a time. It’s flat policy!” 

“When did we make that policy?” James asks Remus. 

Remus shrugs. 

“Well, that’s sexist,” you say. 

“How?” Sirius challenges. 

“I…I’m not sure.” You set down your bags next to where Sirius did. “But it is, somehow. I’ll figure it out.”

Finally, Remus’ curiosity wins out over his determination not to encourage Sirius. With great reluctance, he asks, “What happened?”  

Sirius waves to you. “This one tried bringing two different men home. Two!” 

James looks to you with wide eyes, Remus to Sirius with narrowed ones. 

“That’s not fair,” you say, arms crossing as you sit at the end of the couch. “All I wanted was to get shampoo.” 

“Then please.” Sirius gestures with a flourish. “Demonstrate for us all how it played out.” 

You roll your eyes. “Seriously?” 

At this, Sirius cracks a smile. Remus groans. 

“That’s me, babe,” Sirius says smugly. 

Your brow furrows for a second before you realize what you’ve done. Your eyes roll again. “Whatever, fine. So, we were leaving Boots—” 

“No. Start from the tube.” 

Your mouth twists as though you’ve tasted something bad. “That one’s embarrassing.” 

“Then maybe you’ll learn from it.” 

“Oi.” Remus gives Sirius a firm nudge. He says to you, “You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to.” 

You really do look embarrassed, but you soften some at Remus’ tone. Take a breath. “No, it’s fine. So we were on the train—” 

“The tube,” Sirius cuts in. 

“Do you want to tell it?” you nearly snap. 

James snickers into his palm. Sirius holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender, nodding for you to continue. 

“We were on the tube, and I look up to see this guy staring at me. He smiled and said he liked my hair.” 

“And you smiled back at him,” Sirius supplies. “That’s important.” 

“Fine, sure.” You pull your legs in, folding your arms over them. “I smiled back at him, and I said thank you, right? Because he gave me a compliment.” 

James hisses through his teeth. “Nothing,” he says when you look at him. “Keep going.” 

You’re beginning to look wary. “Anyway, then the guy started talking to me, asking where I was from and how I liked London and stuff, and somehow it escalated into him telling me…basically saying what he’d like to do to me.” Your mouth gets that distasteful twist again. “It was pretty vulgar.” 

“Aw, babe.” James’ expression is pained. “I’m sorry.” 

“Wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t encourage him,” Sirius tsks. 

Remus thwacks him on the arm. “Let her talk.” 

“Yeah,” James chimes in, “and where were you during all this? A gentleman would have stepped in.” 

“I did step in!” Sirius defends himself. “I got us the hell off the tube before that wanker could start publicly assaulting her.” 

“I do appreciate that,” you say weakly. 

“Thank you. If it weren’t for me, she—oi!” James crawls over Remus to begin wrestling Sirius, both of them laughing while trying to appear angry. 

You press your lips together, clearly trying to suppress a smile. Remus wants to warn you not to encourage them, but by the glitter of mirth in your eyes it might be a wasted effort. 

“Alright,” James says once he has Sirius trapped with James’ hand covering his mouth, “go on, lovely. You said there were two incidents. You can tell the second one without interruptions.” 

“Thanks,” you say, grinning. “So the second thing was that as we were leaving Boots, after getting all my stuff, this guy held the door open for us. I said thank you and we left, but then when we were about to get back on the tube the same guy came up to us. He asked for my number and seemed confused when I said no, because I guess he thought we had a connection or something?” 

Sirius is struggling against James, who’s fighting to keep a straight face as he keeps the other boy pinned down. Remus feels earnestly bad for you. It’s clear you’re confused about where these interactions went wrong. 

“Did you smile at him, also?” Remus asks. 

You think for a moment. “I guess I probably did.” 

“Oh.” James sounds pitying. “Why would you—eugh!” He lets go of Sirius quickly. “Did you just lick my hand?” 

Sirius shoves him off, fixing his hair. “Don’t fucking muzzle me, you brute.” 

“Nasty prat.” James wipes his palm on his shirtfront.

“Love, why do you keep smiling at people?” Remus asks.

“Exactly!” Sirius throws up his hands. “That is the question of the day.” 

“I don’t know.” You frown, defensive. “Because I’m pleasant?” 

“Awe.” James slings an arm around your shoulders, using the other to pat your cheek. You look as though you’d rather not be touched with the hand recently infected by Sirius’ spit, but you’re too nice to say so. “You’re just an innocent little country mouse, aren’t you? You can’t smile at people here like that, babe.” 

Your frown softens confusedly. “Why not?” 

“Because when you do, people think you’re trying to be extra friendly with them. Like you’re singling them out or something.” 

“Seriously?” 

Remus pins Sirius with a glare just as he opens his mouth. 

“So, no smiling at anyone?” you go on.

“No chatting either,” Sirius tells you sternly. 

“There are exceptions,” says Remus, “but generally people tend to prefer going about their own business. Starting conversations with strangers on the tube or at Boots isn’t really…done.” 

You look perturbed by this news. James laughs, giving your cheek another fond pat. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be alright,” he assures you. “You’ll figure it out in time. For now, just don’t give anyone the flat number, okay? Don’t need any unexpected visitors.” 

“That’s right.” Sirius nods firmly. “There’s already one whore in this flat. Those are the rules.” 

“Not a whore,” you remind him. 

“Where are these rules?” James wants to know. “I need to make sure there are no others I need to know about.”

[gerardscrane]

writing a mini fic about this

My name is George Ryan Ross III but my kick ass band just calls me Ryan. And I’m 18 years old— I live in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Thats where I started the band). We liked to call ourselves, Pet Salamander, then for a little bit we were Summerleague Rock. But after this dreamy older boy BRENDON joined the band? We totally had to switch up, and call ourselves something proper. So nowadays, we’re Panic! At the Disco. After The Smiths song (A/N: If you don’t know who that is get OUTTTT!!!!)

I woke up in a big t shirt and immediately started playing some ‘Third Blind Eye’ (A/N: if you don’t know THEM… GET OUT!!!!) as my mom yelled ‘TURN THAT GARBAGE DOWN AND GET DOWN HERE!!!’ I put my middle finger up at her and kicked my speaker. Threw my hair into a messy bun, and walked down the stairs. When i got into the living room i almost came on the spot when i saw… PETE WENTZ? OF FALL OUT BOY?

“Hey son… Its me. Pete. You belong to me now…” I gasp in shock, “Mom you sold me?! How could you!? Your son!!” My mom yawned and rolled her eyes, “Do you think I can be jobless and afford a three story house with two pools and a hot tub without human trafficking? Besides, your son number 7 at this rate. Been there, done that. Bleh. Go with this gorgeously handsome man this instant!” I just couldn’t believe it— Not only did I have 6 other siblings I didn’t know about but even more shocking was that Pete Wentz wanted me! A mere bad bitch with a bob…

To be continued…? (No. The author is going to take a stroke on a crashing aeroplane, fall into the Indian ocean, hike all the way to Mumbai and get kidnapped by drug smugglers who are trying to cross the border to China. Later to escape she’ll agree to marry a Belgian cult leader online who will fly her to the middle of Brussels where she will live in a confine with him and his 13 sister wives who are also his daughters before she escapes by killing him, gets arrested for that and the Grand Theft Auto she committed when she steals an SUV whilst trying to cross the border, spend 14 years in prison before getting deported back to the UK where she’ll finally get checked for that stroke she had because truthfully she shouldn’t have survived that. The doctors deem her hospital bound and while she has the time she’ll re-log into Ao3, find this, get embarrassed, delete it and then find 15 years later that fan fic has grown a cult following so she’s forced to re-write but instead of following this story she’ll just write porn without plot smut about Ryan and Pete.)

ryan ross is like a y/n who got sold to pete wentz if you think about it

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x reader imagine

dating a civilian

The meeting had been dragging on for too long, and Mark was already exhausted. Missions, responsibilities, the weight of being Invincible—it was all piling up. But when Eve made her comment, all of that faded into the background.

"Mark, I just don’t get it," Eve said, crossing her arms. "You’re risking too much by being with a civilian. You know that, right? She can’t keep up with you. She can’t fight. She’s vulnerable."

Mark’s jaw clenched. He slowly turned to face her, his usual easygoing expression hardening into something unreadable.

"You think I don’t know that?" His voice was quieter than usual, but firm. The room went still.

Eve hesitated. "I just mean… You live in different worlds. What happens if she gets hurt because of you? Or worse? You should be with someone who understands what it means to be a hero."

Mark let out a sharp breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me, Eve. I love her. And yeah, she doesn’t have powers, but that doesn’t mean she’s weak. She’s stronger than you think."

"Mark—"

"No," he cut her off. "She takes care of me. After every fight, every mission, every time I come home half-dead, she’s the one who patches me up. She’s the one who holds me when I feel like I’m falling apart. She makes me want to be better, not just as Invincible, but as a person. And you think she’s not enough just because she doesn’t have powers? That’s bullshit."

Eve frowned, clearly taken aback by the force behind his words. "I just… I worry about you."

"Then trust me to make my own choices," Mark said, his voice softer but no less determined. "I know what I’m doing. And I’m not going to let anyone make me doubt that."

The room was silent. No one else dared to speak. Mark exhaled slowly, shaking his head before turning away, ready to leave. "I’m done here."

When he got home that night, he didn’t say anything at first—he just wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, breathing you in. You could feel the tension in his body, the weight of the conversation still lingering on his shoulders.

"Mark? What’s wrong?"

He buried his face in your neck, his voice a little rough. "Nothing. Just… I love you."

You smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair. "I love you too. Always."

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze full of determination and something fiercer—something protective. "No one gets to tell me that I shouldn’t be with you. No one."

And you knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word.

[myownwholewildworld]

a man called joel (part 1)

↪ a "a man called otto" inspired fic ― jackson!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist | AO3 summary: joel has lost everyone he held dear: sarah, tess, ellie. he's truly had enough of this life, given up to the point where he's decided to end his own suffering. that is until you move in next door and slowly worm your way into his life... author's note: where do i even start... this mini-series is gonna be angsty, guys. please heed the tags/warnings below as we are diving into the mentality of a man who's done with life. if this is triggering for you, please don't read and take care of yourself. if you like what you read, please consider interacting with this post! love you all <3 tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. your daily dose of angst as prescribed by the doctors. topics of death/murder and losing a child. suicide attempt. dual pov. reader is female, has hair. no use of y/n. joel is in his late fifties and reader in her 40s. wordcount: ~4.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

Joel thought he knew loneliness.

After losing Sarah, he defeatedly greeted it.

When Tommy disappeared from Boston, he reluctantly welcomed it.

With the loss of Tess, he wholly surrendered to it.

And when Ellie turned away from him, it completely wrecked him.

It didn’t matter how many times Tommy reassured him that everything was going to be okay. That Ellie would only need time to understand, time to accept.

But time was a weird thing. It stretched like an elastic band, dragging out for what seemed to be an eternity, only to snap back to its original resting position. It was like all the time had passed and none had at once.

Time wasn’t going to fix this. Time wasn’t going to bring back everyone he’d lost. All the reasons that kept him bound to this earthly plane.

While he still had Tommy, Maria and his nephew… it was a cruel reminder of the life he once had. One that seemed too far away―a previous lifetime. One that, for a split second, Joel thought could have again with Ellie, mend the mistakes of his past, have another chance at parenthood.

And then as soon as it came, it was gone.

The gaping hole in his chest had only gotten bigger, grown like a tumour that was only spreading to the confines of his mind. Solitude was a cancer, one that had stolen all joy away from living. It swallowed him whole, chewed him. It grinded on his bones, eroding them away, until his bare carcass was nothing more than a reminder of who he once was. Who he once had.

Sat on the bench of his lonely, frozen porch, Joel returned his attention to the yellowing pages of the book Maria had lent him.

“Alone, abandoned by his premonitions, fleeing the chill that was to accompany him until death, he sought a last refuge in Macondo in the warmth of his oldest memories.”

One Hundred Years of Solitude felt fitting. Like a silent joke thrown haphazardly his way. Joel wondered if the choice had been intentional, if his unconscious mind had seen the title and thought, “sounds ‘bout right.”

He often found himself seeking that same warmth in his memories of the past, just like Colonel Buendía. Only now they turned cold, hazy with mixed emotions, painful. They didn’t bring him joy anymore, a reminder of his failures as a father.

Twice, to add insult to injury.

Pouting, he looked up, just in time to see Tommy walking besides a woman he’d not seen before.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid, but it’s yours,” his brother said nonchalant, pointing to a house in blatant disrepair.

You looked… torn. Devastated. As if life’s weight was too big to bear. Too heavy to withstand. The tired frown pinching your brows emphasized your ethereal features, puffs of cold air clouding in front of your mouth.

You replied something he quite didn’t catch, watching from a distance.

Always from a distance, like the outsider he was, even after all these years. Joel felt like he didn’t belong, despite Tommy’s efforts. His brother had his own family to tend to, his own worries. His own dreams.

His? His were gone, buried with the love he didn’t know he had, didn’t know how to deal with.

There was really no point in this anymore. A nuance, that was what he had become. A reminder to his brother of their dark past, their dark actions―ones the younger Miller wanted to move on from. Ones the older one gripped too tight to his chest.

His inner light was slowly dwindling, dying out. And he had no more strength to keep it alive. No purpose either.

He’d end it tonight. Wouldn’t postpone it any longer.

“That’s my brother, Joel. He lives across the street, can help you with anything you need,” Tommy offered, waving a gloved hand at him.

Joel lifted his gaze off the book again, his heavy sight falling on your exhausted face.

A brief, fleeting smile curled your lips―so fast he thought he’d imagined it. A ray of sunshine in a downcast day. A torchlight in the darkest of nights. A tiny crack on the ceiling of a pitch black cave.

How weird.

“Hi, Joel,” you muttered, half shy, half wary, from behind the bulky scarf around your neck, a sheathed hand bashfully waving at him too.

He hmphed in reply, the words hitching in the back of his throat. You looked as out of place as he felt, and perhaps that was what drew his attention.

The way you held back, half hiding behind Tommy’s back, trying to make yourself as small as possible. As if your trust was first to be earned, not to be given out freely. The way your wavering smile crumbled off your lips when he didn’t return it.

Joel felt like a dickhead. But composing a smile was a herculean task―it drained him. It even hurt; the corners of his chapped, cold-bitten lips too tense to undo the flat line his mouth had fallen into for the past couple of years. Smiling felt like a mask toppling, cracks fragmenting his weathered skin. There was a time when it was easy, how a smirk would curve his lips, especially when he saw Sarah in the little things Ellie did.

But that was no more. Not when Ellie wouldn’t even look at him, talk to him nor acknowledge his presence in the same room. Not when he would see his brother looking at his son with adoration. His broken heart was slowly rotting away, festering, spreading to his other organs―decay taking over.

“Joel?” Tommy almost snarled at him, bringing him back to earth.

“Hm?”

“Move your ass over here right now. Introduce yourself properly!” his little brother scolded him, teeth gritting, and Joel couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

With a heavy sigh and cracking knees, Joel stood up, book tucked under his elbow as he came down the few steps of his porch. The white blanket covering the street was mostly undisturbed except for the few footprints Tommy and you had left behind. He liked the quietness of this road.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, extending his hand towards you. “Joel Miller.”

You looked up at him through your lush eyelashes, peeking through the thick wool of your scarf, and blinked.

“Oh. Nice to meet you, Joel,” you husked, offering him your name. He repeated it under his breath, testing how it rolled off his tongue.

Your gloved hand squeezed his gently, a soft, ephemeral caress that was gone before he could register it.

“Joel and I were construction workers prior to the outbreak. If you need help, bet Joel will be more than willing to lend a hand, right, brother?” Tommy palmed his shoulder in jest, an easy smile on his face.

“Oh, did you? Those are some helpful skills. I used to run the flower shop within my family’s garden center. Don’t think that will help much around here,” you joked, a low chuckle bubbling up your throat, softening your tired expression.

“All skills are useful,” Joel chipped in, talking before thinking. “Could do with bringing more life to the streets of Jackson during spring. ‘S depressing enough.”

Perhaps it was just how the light reflected off the snow, a myriad of sparkles dancing around in the air under the sunlight, but your eyes came alive, glistening under the bright rays.

“Oh, yeah. I’d love to help with that. We could start a seed bank, so we can plan ahead, decide what we want to grow,” you daydreamed out loud.

“Sounds great to me. Will speak to Maria, see if she likes the idea,” Tommy cheerfully added, walking towards the front porch of your new, dilapidated property. “Come, I’ll show you around.”

Joel grunted in goodbye, retracing the steps back to the bench while you and Tommy disappeared through the front door of the property opposite his.

Untucking the book, he searched for the dog-eared page and resumed his reading.

“[…] Colonel Aureliano Buendía scratched for many hours trying to break the hard shell of his solitude.”

Joel lost himself in the world Gabriel García Márquez had created. A world that profoundly resonated with him, with his experiences. Just like the Buendía family, he too felt doomed to spending the rest of his life in solitude. He’d already done it for the last twenty odd years, and it had been exhausting.

But soon he could finally rest.

“Gotta be nicer to newcomers, brother,” Tommy interrupted, startling Joel, walking up to him. “We have to make them feel part of the Jackson family. So I’d appreciate it if you were a bit more… don’t know, open to talk? Otherwise, you’re gonna scare them away.”

“Mhm. Yeah. ‘M trying, little brother,” Joel closed the book again, slightly frustrated with being interrupted.

Tommy sat down besides him, arms hugging the back of the bench. “Wouldn’t kill you if you made friends here, y’know? Open up a bit so you’re not so alone. How’s therapy going?”

Therapy wasn’t helping. At all. Seeing his mistakes in a different light had only made everything worse for him. Joel felt more broken than before he started going to these mandatory sessions Maria had ordered so “he would not be a danger to himself” ― her words, not his.

“‘S going,” was his succinct answer.

Tommy huffed and puffed, rolling his eyes and smacking his knees before getting up.

“You’re like a goddamn brick wall, Joel. One of these days you’re gonna have to open up or everything you’re holding too close to your chest will kill ya,” Tommy shook his head, putting on the hoodie of his winter jacket. “See you tonight at dinner. Be there at seven sharp, you know Maria hates it when you’re late.”

“Hmm. Sure. See ya,” Joel husked, watching his brother merge with the white veil falling from the sky.

Joel wanted to say something else; express his love, perhaps. But couldn’t, the words just got stuck to the back of his throat and wouldn’t come out. What a shitty farewell that was, considering it was the last time he would see Tommy. That Tommy would see him alive.

He’d hoped his little brother would forgive him. For everything.

In the raw solitude of his home, Joel got off the chair he was standing on, testing the tension of the raffia rope one last time. The hook he’d drilled to the ceiling seemed strong enough to hold his weight—at least for long enough.

He stared at it for an eternity. Not with doubt—he’d made up his mind—but with memories swarming his mind. The noose swayed gently in the air above his head, almost as if it was speaking to him, telling him to get it over with.

Joel was done. He felt like an empty carcass moved solely by muscle memory. Get up early, go on patrol, have some breakfast in the community hall. He’d find himself, more often than not, searching the room for Ellie. Not because he thought he could mend the mistakes that made them drift apart, but because he needed the reassurance that she was okay. Okay without him. Okay with the life she was living—the one he’d selfishly chosen for her.

It pained him. His heart would go rampant in his chest, only to quiet down to a wheezing murmur whenever Ellie would look his way with disdain. With a hate he could no longer bear. A hate, he first thought, he could embrace and live with.

And despite the outcome, he would not have made a different choice that day at the hospital. Because he would rather have her as a stranger in his life than surviving a world where he lost another child.

It wasn’t time that did it. He still abode by those words—would do to his dying breath, on his dying bed. Ellie had healed a wound that had been festering and bleeding for far too long, stitched it up with fragile sutures. An open wound he thought would remain with him for as long as he lived. An open wound that now was cracking again, seeping into his heart and poisoning his blood, his exhausted mind.

Like a disease it was consuming him, to the point Joel had convinced himself he wasn’t needed anymore. His job—whatever that had been—was done. Ellie was safe, her secret buried with the corpses he’d left behind in the Firefly’s medical compound. She wouldn’t miss him; he was as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow.

Ellie was better off without him. Without the constant reminder his presence would bring her.

He was dispensable now, his purpose fulfilled. Joel was adamant that the few people close to him—people he could count on one hand and would still have fingers to spare—would not suffer with his prompt, albeit thought-out, departure. This venomous thinking had him believe that, in any case, he would be doing them a favour. Who wanted to be around an old grumpy man that would darken the mood of a room with his mere presence?

Tommy would understand, he told himself countless of times. His brother was a happy family man, with a toddler and a loving woman by his side. The last thing he needed was to worry about the bastard who wrecked his own moral compass in the name of survival.

His brother would grieve him, sure, but he would eventually be glad to be rid of the dead weight of him. Tommy had a family to take care of, one Joel didn’t see himself a part of anymore. How the younger Miller had been able to turn his life around and find joy in this godforsaken planet was beyond Joel’s understanding.

Joel was happy for Tommy, he really was. But witnessing his brother’s joy while he spiralled down into his own personal hell was eating away at his corroded mind. Eating him alive.

Selfish bastard. He deserved what he got—or, rather, what he didn’t get. Only a monster would envy his own brother’s bliss. Only a lunatic would crave a fleeting memory like a thirsty man chasing after a mirage. Only a fool would seek unwarranted forgiveness.

And Joel Miller was no fool. He hadn’t asked for Ellie’s absolution not because he was proud, but because he knew himself unworthy of it. Kissed by Death herself, everything he touched surely died, like a corrupt Midas cradling his gold. He’d learnt the hard way now—wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Joel blinked, blurry vision slightly clearing as his eyes focused on the noose again.

This was the right choice. And it had been easier to make than what he expected. Once the idea of ending his own life wormed its way through his brain and took deep root, Joel even found it comforting. Knowing that he could finally rest—become one with the stardust bathing this decaying universe—was strangely soothing.

There was nothing nor no one left in this worldly plane for him. Joel had nothing else to give, nothing else to live for besides for himself. And that was not a good enough reason to keep him bound to the ground.

He was done. Tired and done.

Joel took one last look around, his misty eyes falling on the dresser by the window.

A picture of baby Sarah smiled back at him, her chubby hands raised in the air, searching for him while he crouched down in front of her. His own arms reaching out to grab her as Sarah took her first steps. Her curly hair framed her sweet little face, her orbs sparkling in the dim light of their Austin home. He could remember that exact moment in time as if it was yesterday.

A picture of Ellie and himself when they settled back in Jackson after the hospital fiasco. It was a candid photo where neither of them was aware of it being taken, one of the first times he attempted to show Ellie how to play guitar. Joel had an amused look in his eyes, while Ellie was visibly pouting, arms folded in frustration.

He shuffled the pictures, thumbs gently stroking the frames, and positioned them right in front of where he’d hang himself. Their faces the last thing he would see—fitting yet soul-crushing.

With a resolution he’d not felt in years, Joel turned on his heels and faced his demons.

Standing up on the chair, his fingertips traced the O-shaped rope one last time before threading his head through the hole. A weary sigh later, he booted the chair beneath his feet and his heavy weight pulled him downwards.

The rope tightened around his neck, tense like a coil ready to snap. His throat collapsed on itself, legs instinctually kicking, and Joel had to fight his own survival instinct to let nature take its course, surrender to it. But even then, his eyes were fixed on the picture frames on top of the dresser.

His mind slowly drifted away, eyes shutting, as he gasped for air that didn’t reach his lungs.

No. No, no, no.

Sh, shh. Sh… Okay. You’re okay, you’re okay. Move your hand, baby. Move your hand.

I know, baby. I know, I know, I know, I know. I know it hurts. Come on, baby.

You’re okay. You’re okay. I know, I know, I know, I know, baby, I know. I know. I know this hurts. You’re gonna be okay, alright?

Baby, baby. Baby, listen to me. I gotta get you up, okay? I gotta get you up, alright? Come on. You—Come on. I know, baby. I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know. I KNOW!

TOMMY, HELP ME!

“Sarah, no!” Joel choked and gagged, lips turning blue and tears streaming down the crows’ feet kissing the corner of his eyes.

His bloodshot eyes cracked open in a last attempt to focus on the pictures. But instead of the photographs he’d carefully arranged, Joel saw something else.

Kneeling in front of him was his daughter, touching the tip of his boot with trembling hands. As beautiful and young as the day she died—as if no time had passed. As if she had been with him all this time. Tears clouding her eyes, she mouthed a prayer for him to stop—one that didn’t quite leave her lips, but loud enough for Joel to hear.

It’s okay, baby girl. I’m finally coming with you. Can’t wait to see you again, he thought as the last remnants of his consciousness slipped away like a bird in flight.

His muscles stiffened, the jerking of his limbs slowly dying out. His eyes rolled back, mind numb and gone.

With his last breath, his face suddenly relaxed, mouth slightly agape as he welcomed Death like an equal.

You swore.

He was lost to the darkness, but there was no light to look for. Liars.

“[…] and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.”

His feet dangled gently in the void of his living room for a minute, the quietness of the space ethereal as Death claimed him for her ranks.

Suddenly, the hook to which the noose was tied dented the ceiling, the plasterboard giving way and the hook becoming loose, breaking off.

Joel fell to the floor like a dead weight, the tangled mess still hugging his neck.

And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, someone knocked at the door.

You’d lost your whole group, the ones you had stuck to for the last twenty-four years of the apocalypse. One by one, they’d left you. Some were gone to the virus, others at humanity’s cruel hands. Either way, you were alone. Stumbled across Jackson by sheer luck, exhausted and drained.

When Tommy and his group had approached you rather cautiously, you assumed the worst. But even that thought—that your life could come to an end, just like everybody else’s—was somehow a relief.

Instead, he greeted you, introduced himself and his companions. Offered water, a bite to eat. Tommy even asked if you were alone and when you shrugged in response, he invited you to join them.

At first, you had been wary, but the moment you crossed the gates of the palisade and saw the town brimming with life, the worry and doubt fell off your shoulders a bit.

And now here you were, inside a house that now was almost a home. It would need some repairs, probably a lick of paint if you could find any, but overall a sturdy ceiling above your head. You had seen other towns in the last two decades, but every oasis of civilisation you had found ended up crumbling under either the yoke of bad men or the infected.

You wondered how long it would take for this place to come to the same demise. Experience told you this would eventually fall, but it would do you no good to ruminate on the future. Whatever had to happen, simply would.

Despite the house being unoccupied, it had been used as storage. You had spent the last couple of hours sorting stuff into piles, deciding what would be useful and what could go to another home. By the end of it, you were sweating and in need of some cold air to clear your mind.

Walking outside with your coat on, you took a look at the weeds growing in the front yard, peeking through the blanket of snow. Perhaps you could start with your garden first, test out your rusty skills before you committed to something bigger.

You were crouching down by what you thought was a flowerbed when a brief motion caught your attention. Frowning, you looked up and across the street. Tommy’s brother’s house was right in front of yours, something swaying behind the drawn curtains of the living room.

Tilting your head, you paid more attention, stilling in place. You couldn’t make out what was happening behind closed quarters, but you thought it looked like the man called Joel was perched on a ladder. Perhaps changing a lightbulb?

You watched him from a distance, mind drifting back to when Tommy forced his brother to introduce himself. The brotherly bond had made you crack a smile—a memory coming back—Joel’s reluctance almost endearing. He’d not been rude with you, for you understood his uneasiness around strangers.

You were about to resume your inspection of the flowerbed, when you saw a commotion unravelling behind the curtains. It looked like Joel had suddenly fallen to the floor. Perhaps he’d lost his footing on the ladder?

Jumping to your feet, you wondered what to do. He was probably okay, maybe just a concussion and a scratch, but what if he wasn’t? Judging by his looks and grumpy demeanour, you hazarded Joel was in his late fifties. Although he seemed to be in good shape, a bad fall could render anyone unconscious.

Despite not knowing him, moved by your caring nature, you ran towards his house, your coat almost catching on the Miller mailbox. Climbed up the steps of his porch and banged the door.

“Joel?” you asked once you stopped, remaining quiet.

No answer. So you knocked again.

“Hey, Joel?” you insisted, ear flat against the door.

Nothing.

“Damn,” you uttered, walking to the living room’s window.

The curtains, although not opaque, didn’t let you see much through them. You could barely make out the body of a man curled on the floor.

Your heart began racing when you realised he wasn’t moving at all. Panicky, you tapped the window’s glass and shouted his name again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted, running to the front door again in a frenzy. Tested the handle, but didn’t budge. “Joel!”

You tried for a few more minutes while you considered running back to the community hall for Tommy. Or maybe break the window yourself—get in and help him however you could.

Luckily, you didn’t need to. The door cracked open, and you caught Joel’s profile in the gloom of his home.

“What do you want?” he husked, voice gravelly, hoarse.

His blunt acrimony took you aback for an instant, but the look in his eyes, red and glassy even in the darkness, urged to check in on him.

“I— Well. Uhm,” you stuttered, gathering your thoughts. You didn’t want to come across as nosey, just a caring neighbour. “I was in my front yard and thought I saw you falling from a ladder or something… And when I came over and you didn’t open, I did peek through the window… And you were…” you trailed off, the man’s deep scowl frightening.

“I’m fine,” he replied succinctly before clearing his throat.

The door had swung open a bit more, Joel’s face becoming clearer now. He was all rugged and weathered, and you wondered if the apocalypse had taken a fatal toll on him. Joel Miller looked like a man tiptoeing on the edge of the world, tiredness smeared across his features, creasing the skin around his eyes.

Your gaze dropped, the scarlet skin on his neck distracting. The redness was mutating, changing colour ever so slightly—it was bruising.

Unwittingly, your hand reached up to his face. But before you could stop yourself from being awkward with a stranger, Joel took a step back. As if the thought of your touch repulsed him, as if he could not bear the thought of a friendly, caring caress.

A bit late you realised you’d been so out of line, your hand immediately dropping to your side.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Shit. I just… your neck. What happened to your neck?” you mumbled, breathless.

Although his expression didn’t falter, his eyes did for him. They were so expressive, windows to a broken soul. They carried a pain you quite didn’t understand, but it was palpable and profound. It leached through his eyes, and you wondered what had happened to him to be this shattered. To be this… alone.

“It’s none of your damn business,” he barked a low growl. “Leave me alone. I don’t need you snooping around my house like I’m some goddamn old man in need of a carer. I don’t need anyone. Get off my porch and fuck off.”

“But that’s not—”

Your retort died off in your mouth as Joel closed the door right in your face, rather dramatically.

While the exchange should have at least irritated you, you only felt worried.

Joel wasn’t okay. You just knew he wasn’t, and this instinct of yours had never failed you. He didn’t need anyone—he needed help.

taglist: @wow-life-love4 @denisanoemi @wencontre @ccmoonshine @mystickittytaco @peelieblue @guelyury @marisemonteiroo @fangirlcentral1 @layaispunk @brittmb115 @senhoritamayblog @joelmillerisapunk @eff4freddie @missadangel @moel-jiller @sunnytuliptime @queenofdisaster12 @lizzie-cakes @pedrofan @ladywraith

[takaraphoenix]

I think that part of why Stiles aiding in Peter's murder is so important to me is because it stands in such a contrast to Peter's behavior toward Stiles.

Peter never harmed Stiles, at all. He doesn't hurt him, the worst he does is drag him along by his collar and shove his face down onto a car but even that is done much gentler than werewolf strength could make it.

But Stiles? Stiles took the first step in Peter's murder, by throwing the first Molotov cocktail. By wanting to set the victim of a horrific fire on fire again.

It's so ruthless and vicious and it is contrasted so hard by how Peter truly goes out of his way to not harm Stiles.

Not in the hospital when Stiles realizes Peter is the Alpha. Even though Peter could have so easily killed Stiles before Derek got there, but instead Peter just stood there and smiled at Stiles.

Not on the lacrosse field when he could have janked Stiles around, forced him with threats of violence. Even though Peter had just violently and animalistically attacked Lydia, yet even the act of making Stiles get off the ground is straight-up gentle by guiding him by his chin and not hauling him up with force.

Not in the parking garage, where it would have been so easy to force the bite onto Stiles, where it would have been so easy to just kill Stiles once he fulfilled his use. Even though we see the dead nurse in his trunk, because he killed her for being no longer useful. Even though he wants to give Stiles the bite, yet he accepts the rejection. And he just... leaves, not a hair harmed on that boy.

Peter's own behavior toward Stiles already stands in stark contrast to his behavior toward literally everybody else.

And, to me, it is heightened even more by the contrast of Stiles' own ruthlessness.

Because Peter did something worse than harm Stiles. He harmed those Stiles loved. He bit Scott and he tore into Lydia.

And it's probably my favorite character trait of Stiles', his unbreakable loyalty and his ruthless defense of those he loves. And I like to think it's also Peter's favorite character trait of Stiles'.

Which makes the murder so much more fucked up, in such a delicious way. Because it was traumatic and literally deadly to Peter, but I like to think that a part of Peter appreciates the part Stiles played in it.

Peter, who killed everyone who was involved with the Hale Fire, appreciates the ruthless murderous intend Stiles feels when those he loves are harmed and wronged. Even when it's the one boy he never harmed, never wanted to harm.

And that's fucked up and twisted and delicious and perfect.

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Coffee and Journals

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: You step out of your comfort zone and meet a guy in a coffee shop who you somehow befriend, and end up in the theaters with him translating a Russian film.

A/N: omg this one is so cuteee, I love it lmk your thots<3

BYR(b4 u Reid): use of y/n, mentions of anxiety, readers never had a bf, inexperienced reader & Spencer, can be season 1 & 2 Spencer | none <- [warnings]

It started with a trip to the coffee shop.

You weren’t supposed to be there, at least, not alone. You didn't go places alone. That was just how… things were. But it was a new year, and you were tired of every year being the same.

No new friends, no love interests, no new experiences.

You knew, deep down, that you couldn't keep living like this. The loneliness was starting to feel like a weight pressing down on you, making everything dull.

So, here you were, Ordering a drink at the register, by yourself. God, was your voice shaking?

“Um, can I get a-a regular iced latte?” You asked, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. The cashier nodded, you paid, and that was it.

It was such a small thing ordering coffee, and you’ve done it a lot of times just this time you didn’t have the comfort of a friend right beside you. You were all alone.

You felt proud, proud that you left your home, came to the café alone, and now you were going to enjoy it at the shop.

You picked a small table, hands gripping your journal as you sat down, waiting for your order to be called. The café was a little too busy for comfort. Too many eyes, not on you, you knew that, but… it felt like they were.

You took a deep breath, opening your journal.

Do I look weird?

No, no. There were plenty of people doing the same thing. You weren’t standing out.

After a few moments your drink was finally called, you stood up, going to grab it, only to find there was two.

The man beside you just looked at you unsure of which one was his and which one was yours.

“Oh- um, I’m not sure which is which.” He said, glancing between the two drinks. You looked at him, then at the cups, trying to find anything that could differentiate them. Nothing.

“Uh, excuse me, which one is the iced coffee?” You asked the barista. “They both are.” She answered flatly, like it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard. Your stomach twisted immediately.

Great, now I sound stupid.

“Which one has non-dairy milk?” The guy asked

The barista sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe that one.” She pointed to the cup on the right.

You and the guy exchanged a look.

“Um… I guess I’ll just take this one.” You mumbled, grabbing the drink you had originally reached for. You don’t have any dairy problems, and didn’t care for the kind of milk used so it wasn’t too much of a problem.

You can hear the guy sigh as you walked away.

You sat down, watching him talk to the barista, clearly trying to get his order fixed. You couldn’t blame him for being frustrated.

You refocused on your journal, writing down your thoughts about stepping out of your comfort zone. About how weird it felt. How anxious you still were, and how you hoped this wouldn’t be another failed attempt at trying to change.

“Hi, I’m sorry, but do you mind if I have a seat?”

You looked up.

It was the non-dairy guy.

Your first instinct was to say no. You didn’t want anyone sitting with you. This was already too much social interaction for one day.

Or you could just leave, but if you let yourself retreat, wouldn’t that be losing? Wouldn’t you end up right back where you started, lying in bed tonight, frustrated with yourself for failing at something as simple as existing in a public space ?

“Of course.” You said instead, nodding toward the empty chair.

He gave you a polite smile and sat down. You stole a glance at him. Tall, kind of lanky, brown hair, sharp features, hazel eyes. He didn’t seem much older than you.

You tried to focus on your journal again, but it was hard with someone new in front of you.

“You know, an iced coffee isn’t something I normally get.” He said suddenly

You blinked, looking up.

He was talking to you.

“I usually just get a regular hot coffee.” He continued, like this was a totally normal thing to say to a stranger. “Today I wanted something different. And, well… you saw how that went.”

You let out an awkward little laugh, like the ones you give people when you aren’t sure what to say.

Is he crazy? Why is he talking to me?

“I get it.” You said after a pause. “I don’t usually get coffee on my own, and the one time I do, my coffee gets mixed with yours, and then the barista has a shitty attitude.”

That was relatable, right? That made sense?

Stop overthinking.

He smiled. “I’m Spencer Reid.”

First and last name, who does that?

“I’m y/n.” You said, giving him a small smile in return

you didn't give him your last name, it felt too formal, you guys also didn't shake hands which relieved you because those were always so awkward for you.

Almost all physical touch was awkward with you.

“I'll let you get back to work.” He said, pulling a book out of his bag.

“It’s not really work.” You admitted, which shocked you because you were trying to continue this conversation. “Just journaling.”

He glanced up again, nodding slightly. “Studies show that journaling can improve working memory, reduce stress, and even strengthen the immune system,” he said. “James Pennebaker, a psychologist at the University of Texas, found that expressive writing helps people process traumatic events by organizing thoughts and emotions, which can lead to improved mental health and reduced anxiety.”

You stared at him.

“Yeah… That’s kind of why I’m trying it.” You said, giving a small smile.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “How do you know all that?” He just shrugged as if it was nothing “I read alot.”

“That’s cool.”

“Really?” He smiled a little. “A lot of my friends think I’m crazy, and that I should be spending more time doing other things.”

You shook your head. Well… okay, you did think he was a little crazy. But only because he could start a conversation so easily. You couldn’t imagine doing that.

“Not crazy, I think it’s fascinating your brain is able to retain all that information.”

The two of you settled into silence after that. You wrote, he read. You noticed he was flying through pages at an insane speed.

Curiosity got the better of you.

“How are you reading so fast?” You blurted out.

He looked up. “I can read 20,000 words a minute.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you lying?”

He laughed. “No. I uh… I have an IQ of 187, so I think that helps a lot with my reading abilities.”

“That’s like a superpower.”

“Some would say it’s the lamest one to have been given.” He joked, you shrugged. “Maybe. But I think it’s cool.”

And, honestly?

You were surprised by yourself.

A simple conversation. With a stranger.

A man, even.

ʚɞ

Over the next few months, you found yourself at the coffee shop at least three times a week. And almost every time, Spencer was there too.

At first, it felt like a coincidence, like an unspoken routine you both had fallen into without realizing. But eventually, he started waving you over when he spotted you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestured to the empty seat across from him. And, recently, you had started doing the same for him.

You’d sit together, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about what you were reading, new movies, or random events happening around town. It felt… easy.

“How’s journaling been?” Spencer asked as he took a sip of his coffee and looked at you.

You glanced up from your book. “Oh, it’s been really good. It actually helps a lot more than I thought it would.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah, it helped me a lot too.”

“You journal?”

He shrugged, shifting slightly in his seat. “I used to. Not as much anymore, but when I have the time, I try. I think it’s a good outlet, especially for people who struggle with intrusive thoughts, or high stress levels.”

“You think only people who struggle journal?” You questioned

“Not necessarily.” He said, tilting his head slightly. “I mean, anyone can journal. But research suggests that people who journal regularly are often those who need a way to process their thoughts. It can help regulate emotions by engaging the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for rational thinking. That’s why it’s often recommended for anxiety, PTSD, and even problem solving.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “Yeah… I think it’s helped me a lot with my anxiety.”

You weren’t sure why you would say it, you never really talk about what you struggle with but somehow with Spencer it felt safe.

You looked up at him, Spencer’s eyes had softened, his expression shifting from analytical to something gentler. “That’s good.” He said sincerely. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I think it’s obvious. I mean, I’m constantly fidgeting, can’t make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation with people.” You say as you look down at your hands

He shook his head. “You don’t seem that way with me.” His brows furrowed slightly.

“Well, yeah. Not anymore.” You admitted “When we first met and you asked to have a seat, I wanted so badly to say no, and even get up and leave.”

His mouth parted slightly before he quickly recovered. “Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But I had to let you because if I hadn’t, I would’ve felt like I lost that day, and definitely would’ve felt horrible about it. But… thankfully I did.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, processing your words. Then, the corners of his lips lifted into a small genuine smile. “I’m glad, glad that you let me sit with you.”

“I’m glad too.”

It felt strange, strange in a way that made your chest feel light and unfamiliar warmth settle in your stomach. Having someone new to talk to, someone who, despite barely knowing you, felt like they had been in your life forever.

Spencer made things easy. Talking to him didn’t feel like a struggle, like you had to overthink every word before you said it. He listened. He never made you feel awkward or unsure.

Somehow, being around him made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were figuring yourself out.

Both of your coffees were nearly empty now, the melted ice clinking softly against the cup. It meant this little hangout, or whatever you can call it, was coming to an end. And you didn’t want it to.

Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his cup before he cleared his throat.

“Um, Y/n.” He said, voice softer than usual. You looked up at him, giving him a small, curious smile. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for half a second, then pushed his hair behind his ear, a habit you noticed. “There’s this old film playing at the theaters. It’s not far from here. I was wondering if you’d like to go?” He paused, glancing down at his hands before quickly adding “It’s in Russian, though, so if you’d like, I can translate it for you.”

“Russian?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his lips twitching up slightly. “Yeah. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just- I thought it would be nice.” He said as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. “I’ve never seen a Russian film before, but I do like the theaters. And if you’re offering to translate, I’d love to go.”

Spencer let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like he had been holding it in without realizing. “Yeah?” His voice was lighter, hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His lips parted, like he was about to say something else, but he just nodded quickly instead. “Alright. Um. I can pick you up? If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You could see the way he was watching you carefully, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. Not with him.

“No, yeah, I’m fine with that.” You said, a soft warmth settling in your chest.

Spencer’s fingers tapped against the table before he spoke again. “Can I-uh-can I have your number? Just so we can communicate better.”

You smiled, reaching for your phone. “Yeah.”

ʚɞ

Spencer arrived at exactly 8:00 p.m, right on time. When you opened the door, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels before offering a small, shy smile.

“Hi.” He said softly

“Hi.” You echoed, feeling your pulse quicken.

You both walk towards his car, and to your surprise he opened the door for you. It was a small gesture, but it made something warm settle in your chest.

Was he just being polite, or did it mean something more? You didn’t want to overthink it, didn’t want to confuse kindness for something else.

At the theaters, Spencer insisted on paying for your ticket. When you offered to cover snacks instead, he shook his head. “No, really, it’s fine.” He said, handing over his card before you could argue.

“Okay, well, now we have to go somewhere else after this. My treat.” You said, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, considering for a moment. “We could get ice cream after?” He suggested.

You smiled. “That sounds nice.”

As the movie started, Spencer leaned in slightly, quietly translating the dialogue for you. At first, it was just a whisper here and there, but soon he got really into it, his voice subtly changing to mimic different characters, his hands gesturing slightly as he explained a scene.

You let out a small laugh.

“What?” He asked, turning to you with a small smile.

You shrugged, grinning. “You’re so good at translating. And getting into character, it’s honestly amazing.”

His expression shifted, something like pride flashing in his eyes before he looked down for a second, almost bashful. “Oh. Thank you.” He said, meeting your gaze again.

You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had leaned in until the moment. His hazel eyes held yours, the sounds of the movie fading into the background. Your breath hitched, and you quickly shifted in your seat, breaking the moment.

Spencer cleared his throat softly before returning to translating, but you could tell he’d noticed it too.

When the movie ended, you tossed the empty popcorn bucket and drinks into the trash bin. “So how’d you like the movie?” Spencer asked as you both walked towards the exit.

“It was really good, I didn’t expect to like it as much as I did.” You truthfully answered.

Spencer smiled, as he opened the door for you to exit the building. “They play foreign films here once a month. I’d be happy to come with you again. We could watch together.”

“I’d love that, it’ll be really fun.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I love films, and translating stuff.”

“I could tell.” You teased, giggling softly.

He glanced at you, something hesitant in his expression. “Still up for that ice cream?”

“Are you?” You asked. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“No-no I want to.” He assured you quickly. “I just wasn’t sure if you still wanted to.”

“I do.”

He nodded, a relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Perfect. I can leave the car parked, and we can walk to one?”

“That sounds good.”

As the two of you walked side by side down the sidewalk, you glanced up at him. “Do you usually go to these movies alone?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sometimes my friends join, but most times, it’s just me.”

That made you frown slightly. You didn’t understand how someone like him, someone so interesting, so kind, could go alone so often.

“Well, now you won’t have to.” You said looking up at him. He turned his head to you, a flicker of something soft in his expression. His stomach fluttered at your words.

As you both walked, your hand brushed against his. Instinctively, you pulled it back, quickly intertwining your fingers together in front of you. “Sorry.” You murmured.

Spencer shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

You nodded, slowly letting your hands fall back to your sides. He noticed the way you kept fidgeting.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He said.

You blinked. “Hmm?”

He glanced at you, his brows slightly furrowed in thought. “I can tell you’re nervous.”

Your stomach tightened slightly. “How?”

“Little things.” He said simply. “Like biting your lip, looking around a lot, touching the hem of your shirt.” He pointed out each thing, and you hadn’t even realized you were doing them.

“Oh.” You laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “I just- I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever gone out with someone who isn’t my friend.”

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching up slightly. “Oh? I thought we were friends.” He teased.

Your eyes widened slightly. “No-no, we are friends! I just meant my other friends.” You rushed to explain.

He chuckled. “I know what you meant. It’s okay.”

Then, he stopped walking.

You took a few more steps before realizing and turned to face him. “What?”

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on you with something unreadable.

You frowned. “What?” You asked again, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Spencer let out a small laugh, but then his expression grew more serious. “I like hanging out with you.” He admitted. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful.

“And I don’t want to scare you, but… the little time we’ve spent together, at the café, and now today watching this movie, it’s made me just want to be around you more.”

Your breath caught in your throat. No one has ever said something like that to you before.

Your heart pounded as you swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Oh. That’s…nice.”

Spencer’s lips pressed together, and you could tell he was waiting for something more, something deeper. And you wanted to say more, you really did. But fear gripped you.

“Spencer, I-i feel a lot of things right now.” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel nervous, scared, excited, happy- I can really go on. But I’ve never had a male friend before, never been in a relationship, and what am I saying? I could be misinterpreting this whole situation, you meant as a friend right? Like- you don’t mean romantically want to be around me more?” You were rambling, your words spilling out before you could stop them.

Your face was flushed, ears burning.

Spencer took a small step closer.

Your breath hitched.

“I’d like to get to know you better.” He said carefully, his voice steady. “And… see where we go.”

His hand found your elbow, gently squeezing it, his touch was warm and reassuring.

Your lips parted slightly. “Really? With me?”

It felt unreal.

Unreal that anyone could possibly see you in a romantic way, no one ever has.

Spencer nodded “With you.”

You exhaled, your heart racing. “I’ve never, I’ve never been in a situation like this. No ones ever wanted something with me before.”

“Well…I do.” He gave you a small, soft smile.

Your hands trembled slightly as you rubbed your face. Your chest felt tight, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t untangle.

“Spencer, you don’t understand.” You whispered, your voice barely holding steady. “I don’t know how to be with someone. I don’t know what people do when they’re getting to know each other, I don’t- I don’t know.” Your words tumbled out, laced with panic, with doubt.

Spencer took another step closer to you, his expression soft but steady. “You do.” He said gently “We do it all the time. Every time we sit together in the café, every time we talk, every time we share something about ourselves, that’s us getting to know each other.”

You swallowed, looking at him, searching for some kind of reassurance in his face. He seemed so sure of what he was saying, so certain.

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.” You admitted, your voice cracking. “I could mess it up.”

Spencer shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, I’ve never been in a relationship either.” His voice was soft but unwavering. “I don’t have all the answers, I know just as much as you do. But that’s okay. We can figure it out together.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him. He meant it, every word. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice.

“All we have to do.” He continued “is keep doing what we’ve been doing. Spending time together, learning more about each other. And when we’re both ready, we’ll navigate whatever comes next. There’s no pressure, no expectations… just us.”

Something inside you shifted, something warm, something terrifying, something new.

You looked into his eyes, trying to believe in what he was saying. In him.

“Okay.” You whispered

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, as if he’d been waiting for that answer.

“Okay.” He echoed, as if sealing the moment between you.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. The streetlights cast a soft glow around you, the distant hum of the city filling the silence. Then, without thinking, Spencer reached out, not hesitantly, not awkwardly, just gently, and let his fingers brush against yours.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was just enough. . .

hope you guys enjoyed this one <3

Tag list

@alastorssimp

~ also if you guys want to be tagged in all of my SR fics just lmk and I would love to ~

read all my other works here<3

[jassy2uall]

– Always You

Billie Eilish x fem! Reader

“You’ve always had a crush on your best friend Billie but could never find a way to tell her. You just didn’t think she felt the same or that you’d be the one. It’ll never be you, or will it?”

Warnings - lots of angst and jealousy (get some tissues guys)

————————————————————

You and Billie have been best friends since you were six years old. You’ve known her just as long as Zoe has, but unlike Zoe, your relationship with Billie is more complicated and more serious. You’ve always had a tiny crush on her, but you never told her. You were afraid of ruining the friendship, and even more afraid of rejection. So, you buried those feelings deep down, convincing yourself you’d forgotten about them.

But you hadn’t.

When Billie became famous, everything changed. Her rise to stardom only complicated the feelings you thought you’d moved past. Every time you saw her on stage or in the spotlight, it was like those buried emotions resurfaced, stronger than before. It even enraged you when you’d see her flirt with so many people, especially women. It was like a punch to the gut each time, the reality of her new world far removed from the one you two had built together.

You’d always been there for her through her past relationships, but you never liked anyone she dated. They weren’t good enough for her, you told yourself. You were the one who truly understood her, the one who’d been there through it all. You convinced yourself for years that you were all she needed, that you were good enough for her—you just couldn’t tell her that.

But then came Coachella. That day, your emotions reached a boiling point when you saw Billie being all flirty with Odessa and Quen. It was like you couldn’t hold it in any longer—the jealousy, the longing, the fear that maybe it would never be you. After watching her take turns kissing both of them, something inside you snapped. You’d seen enough. You ran off the stage, your heart pounding in your chest. You heard Zoe call out to you, her voice barely cutting through the blaring music, but you didn’t care. You just couldn’t be there anymore. Billie didn’t even notice. She was too caught up in the moment, dancing and enjoying herself, oblivious to the storm building inside you.

Would it even matter if she had noticed? Would she follow after you? The questions swirled in your mind as you pushed through the crowd, your thoughts racing faster than your legs could carry you. As much as you wanted to leave, it dawned on you that you had a ride with Billie and her friends, and they weren’t exactly in the mood to leave, unlike you. Even though it was dark outside, it was still early, and Coachella was far from over.

You pulled out your phone and quickly called a Lyft. Unfortunately, it was going to be 20 minutes until it arrived. You sighed in frustration. You were ready to get out of here. You kept hearing Billie shouting into the mic, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. The more you heard her talk, the more the tears fell, unbidden, down your face.

That’s when you saw a streak of brown hair approach you slowly. Your vision was blurry from the tears, but you recognized her—Claudia. She looked at you with concern, worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asked, gently placing her hand on your shoulder.

“I saw you run off stage. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, wiping your eyes and avoiding her gaze. You hoped she wouldn’t notice, but your voice betrayed you.

“I can clearly see you’re crying, Y/N. Zoe told Billie you ran off. She’s worried about you.”

Sure, she is, you thought bitterly. You forced a weak laugh, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“She said she’s going to talk to you as soon as she’s done.”

That was it. You snapped. The frustration, the hurt, the years of suppressed feelings—everything came crashing down on you.

“Yeah, right!” You yelled, your voice cracking with raw emotion. “She doesn’t care about me or my feelings!” You stepped back, shaking your head. “I can’t do this anymore, Claudia. I just can’t.”

Claudia’s confusion deepened. “What do you mean?”

You paused for a moment, wiping your eyes. Were you actually going to tell her? You’d never told anyone except your sister, who pretty much knew before you did that you liked Billie. You took a deep breath, gathering your nerves.

“I like her, Claud,” you finally muttered, the words slipping out before you could even fully process them.

Claudia’s eyes widened, her drink falling to the ground as she stepped back, stunned. “You what?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I like her,” you repeated, your heart pounding. “Like, like her. For a while now,” you admitted, the weight of your confession heavy on your chest. “But I never told her because I didn’t think she’d feel the same, and I tried to forget about it, but I just can’t.”

The words kept tumbling out, and once you started, it felt like there was no stopping them. “She makes it so hard not to like her. Everything she does mesmerizes me. She’s so beautiful and kind, and she has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. Every time I look into them, I wanna tell her how I feel, but I don’t. I didn’t want her to reject me or, worse, ruin our friendship. But I’m pretty sure after tonight, our friendship’s pretty much over. Because she doesn’t give a damn about me or how I feel, and if she does, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

You wiped away more tears, your face flushed from the outburst.

Claudia stood there in stunned silence, her eyes softening as she watched you, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes, despite the alcohol still buzzing through her. She didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could see her processing what you had said. She reached out slowly, pulling you into a hug. You didn’t even realize how badly you needed it until she wrapped her arms around you.

“I never knew any of this,” she said into the crook of your neck. You could smell the alcohol on her, but you didn’t care. “And you’re wrong about one thing,” she pulled away slightly, looking at you seriously. “She does care about you.”

You didn’t want to believe her. You couldn’t. “No, she doesn’t. If she did—”

“She does, Y/N. All she ever talks about when she’s with me and Finneas is you—what you’re doing, what you guys are talking about. I’m telling you, you’re always on her mind.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Then how come every time we’re together, she’s always focused on something else or someone else?”

“She’s busy, you know that.”

“Yeah, too busy for me, I see,” you said sadly.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it: your Lyft was about to pull up.

“Enough about this, Claudia. I’m going back to the hotel to pack my things,” you said, taking a few steps toward the pick-up area.

“What? No!” she yelled, trying to pull you back.

“As I said, I can’t do this anymore. It’s never going to be me, Claud. And I’m done trying,” you told her firmly, walking toward the Lyft. Claudia didn’t follow you. She just stood there, her expression a mix of sadness and concern, watching you leave. You glanced back at her one last time before climbing into the backseat.

“If she really cares about me, like you say, then she’d be right here, talking to me, trying to stop me from leaving. But she’s not,” you said, gesturing toward the stage where Billie was performing.

“She’s not, is she?” you whispered to yourself, before shutting the door behind you and leaving Claudia standing there, as the car sped off toward the hotel.

[bellatrixscurls]

cinnamon girl | a jegulus x reader series. pt 1

masterlist

summary : your father insisted that you be dating Rabastan Lestrange, for protection and security. But what happens when said boy wants to run away from his Death Eater duties, and a certain bespectacled boy lands him a hand, leading to something more than he could’ve ever imagined.

pairing: regulus black x malfoy!reader x james potter, initially rabastan lestrange x malfoy!reader.

specifications : 1. this will be an entire series, but please be patient with me. 2. reader is one year younger than Lucius. & 3. this series is full of surprises.

warnings : angst, fluff, swearing, eventual smut, arranged marriage, mentions of bruises and broken bones, Sirius being dramatic, eventual polyamorous relationship, death eaters, death

“Do you know what time they’ll be here tomorrow?” you ask Lucius exhaustedly, leaning your head against his shoulder as you walk together to the Slytherin dorms.

It has been a pretty long day. Your legs hurt and you want nothing more than to finally get to your dorm and pack your things for Christmas break.

He sighs and throws an arm around your neck, his own eyes closing from the endless studying he’s done these past weeks. “Eight thirty, maybe nine. I’ll have to tell Evan about that, he doesn’t really do mornings.”

You laugh weakly, finally reaching the common room as Lucius opens the door for you. You’re about to open your mouth, but are interrupted by the loud chatter of your friends.

“He did what?”

“How could he be so stupid?!”

“For Merlin’s sake, Rabastan!”

“Hey, guys. What are we cussing out Rabastan for today?” your brother falls on the sofa and you’re right behind him.

But they don’t seem to take Lucius’ amusement lightly, and you can see that when Severus stops tugging at his hair to turn to you, and so do your other friends. Their shocked expressions make you sink further into the sofa.

“He’s all bloodied up in the hospital wing right now. Apparently the idiot got into a fight with Potter and, well… Let’s just say that now he can’t move his right hand at all” Narcissa explains and your eyes widen. How could’ve James done that to him?

“From the shoulder down. Can you imagine?” Barty shakes his head and your brother, still beside you, gasps.

You throw him a dirty look before turning back to Narcissa. “Can we go see him? I think he’d want us to be there.”

“I mean, he is in a lot of pain and Madam Pomfrey said he might be there for a few days” Bellatrix chimes in, carelessly rolling her eyes as she stands up abruptly. “We could always just hex Potter, that’s something Rabastan would want.”

The raven haired boy’s eyes shoot up and lock with yours, carefully placing his book on the table. “I don’t know about that. What I do know is that I’m staying behind for Lestrange.”

“Yeah, cause that is so entertaining” Bellatrix mocks her cousin, going back to discussing hexing James.

Your frown slowly fades as you and Regulus maintain eye contact. You’ve always wondered how he could be attentive and protective of his friends, but still seem cold and uninterested all the time.

“Will you?” he asks suddenly, his demeanour still as calm as ever. You have to blink rapidly, and when you do, you swear that you can see the corner of his mouth tilt up.

“I’m- Sorry?”

“Will you stay here for the holidays? To keep Evan company” he muses, and you can tell by his tone that he is utterly amused.

“I wish. He’s my boyfriend after all” you sigh softly, chewing on your bottom lip. You hesitate at first, but still lean in closer to Regulus, so only he can hear. “But father wants me and Luce home on the 31st. He said that we have to meet someone.”

Regulus’ shoulders tense up and you notice his eyes widen a bit, but he still manages to brush it off like it’s nothing. “The 31st is still two weeks away” he inquires and you nod slowly.

“You’re right” you give him a small smile, resting your chin on your brother’s arm that was now sitting around your shoulders again. “You’re right, I’m staying here.”

The green eyed boy hums contently, picking up his book once again as he traces his pale, slender fingers over the pages. “Good.”

You’re left gawking at him, and now that his attention wasn’t solely focused on you, or so you think, you can finally relax. Even speaking a few simple words with him made you nervous, your heart throbbing against your ribcage.

🦢

Later that evening, you find yourself not able to sleep. You’re tossing and turning, and your throat suddenly feels dry.

You curse yourself for not bringing a glass of water, before you get out of bed, the cold air hitting your bare legs and shoulders. You put your slippers on and do your best to open the door without making much noise, as to not wake up your roommates.

The stairs are old and with the creaking sound they make, you’re more than certain that you managed to wake up someone. The common room was dimly lit, and that mostly thanks to the fireplace.

“Can’t sleep?”

Your eyes widen as you clutch your chest, breathing heavy and alert, but the fear quickly dissolves when you catch sight of Regulus.

“Why would you do that?” you scoff, but still feel your cheeks burn, now very aware of his eyes on you. You’re almost bare, your pajamas doing very little to cover you.

He laughs quietly and your chest fills with ease. “And I didn’t even try” he sets his glass of water on the table, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he turns to get a better look at you. “You seem troubled.”

Regulus, always most observant. Damn him.

You sigh, walking toward the couch and plopping down next to him. “I’m just confused. I mean, Rabastan has a big mouth and sometimes that gets him weeks worth of detention. But he never gets… beaten up” you scrunch your nose, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue.

He nods, as if understanding why you’re worried. “I didn’t take Potter as one to break someone’s face either.”

“Exactly!” you beam for a moment, having been dismissed and laughed at by your brother earlier when you told him just that. “He’s been my partner in Potions since third year. The guy teared up when he saw some mosquito wings and I had to listen to his whole theory about how the mosquito must’ve had a family and they’re probably waiting for him.”

This makes Regulus laugh out loud, his hands covering his face as you sip your water, barely able to control your laughter yourself. “Tell me about it. He sits in front of me in Transfiguration. He turned Tammy Smith’s hair elastic into a ginger cat. It chewed on her hair and even scratched her scalp. Her hair hasn’t grown in that spot, and she has to wear a ponytail everyday. It’s been four months.”

“Right?! When I asked her why she refuses to wear her hair down anymore, she just glared at me” you giggle quietly, now feeling a little bad for her.

A comfortable silence settles between you two, and Regulus speaks softly after a while. “Someone should talk to James about it. I heard he’s in the hospital wing too.”

“Is he?” your bottom lip juts out slightly, and you look up at Regulus. “You’re right, someone should talk to him.”

He chuckles lowly, “I meant you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Oh, come on” he draws out, his lips pursing, as if he’s trying to bit back a smile, or worse, a smirk. “He’s fond of you. You can’t tell me you didn’t know that.”

You hope that he’s joking, but when you look at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke, he’s serious. And it makes you wonder : Is James Potter actually fond of you?

“I think he’s just intrigued about us. I mean, Sirius barely lets us come near him. I can’t tell you how it’s like to brew potions whilst his eyes burn holes in the back of my head” you say, and in all fairness, that’s how it is.

James is a sweet, gentle guy, one that you would like to get to know better, but you just can’t. And it seems as though Regulus finds great pleasure in teasing you about it.

“You might be right” he shrugs, still not very convinced. He picks up his glass and stands up, walking toward the boys’ dormitories. He reaches the end of the stairs and comes to a halt, looking carefully over his shoulder, his words merely a whisper into the night. “Sirius leaves for about twenty minutes at lunch every day, in case you reconsider it.”

🦢

Your clock reads 11:01 o’clock when you finally gather the courage to leave your dormitory, heading straight toward the hospital wing. You’ve told no one, but deep down you know that Regulus is right. He needs to know that not all of you want to hex him for whatever it is he did to your boyfriend.

You finally reach the door and take a deep breath before slowly pushing it open. You figure Sirius should be gone by now.

The beds were empty, except for James’ and a sleeping Rabastan. You thank Merlin that he’s asleep.

“Y/n?” James calls your name, his voice hoarse and brows furrowed. Of course he didn’t expect to see you here.

“In the flesh” you force a tight lipped smile as you sit on the chair by his bed. His leg is bandaged, but other than that he seems just fine. “I didn’t know James Potter could fight.”

Your comment makes him smirk, “There’s a lot you don’t know about him. Heard he’s a pretty cool guy, doesn’t really pick fights either.”

Him talking about himself in third person makes you roll your eyes fondly, shaking your head. “I might not know this James very well, but I sure know who will pick up a fight if he feels like it” you sigh and look to Rabastan still sleeping peacefully, his bed just across from James’. “What did he say?”

His face flashes with something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he makes sure to ground himself, his signature smirk returning to his face. “He’s just got a beatable face.”

Your shoulders drop and James sighs defeatedly. Of course you wouldn’t give in just like that. “Fine, he got into an argument with Pa- Sirius. Mean things were said, he tried to hurt Sirius, so I had no choice.”

Liar. You don’t know much about James Potter, but what you do know is that he would never slap someone, let alone put them in the hospital.

You huff a laugh, eyes meeting his for the second time. “What did he say?”

“Oh- Well, now- Let’s just keep it at that” he says with a small smile, a very uncomfortable one at that. “You should go, though. My friends will be back any minute.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your mouth. He thinks that he can just lie through his teeth and then dismiss you like you’re stupid? You don’t want to give him that satisfaction.

You don’t say more though, and that leaves James with a heavy heart. You move nonchalantly, sitting in a similar chair, but now by Rabastan’s bed.

You did have a chance to say something, to snap at him or persuade him. But you didn’t.

It could get way more interesting than that.

[elliesbabygirl]

ch.003 ⇄ ch.004; Francesca - Hozier

"My life was a storm, since I was born"

my masterlist.

word count: 3.7k words

Series synopsis: friends with benefits, that's what ellie wanted. yet, she can't let you go, even after the messy'breakup' between the two of you

Warnings: swearing, mentions of fighting, scars, light use of y/n, + lots of fluff in the beginning. I think those are all the tags for this ch....(also not proof read)

was ch.003 fire or was it firee🔥🔥I'm so glad people liked ch. 003 as well, especially with all the love you guys have given the series so far. we're back to my regular schedule of updating, this week has been crazy hectic and has had me running around like a maniac with college! 😭 please enjoy ch.004 for now, ch. 005 is already (halfway) in the works as an apology for being so late with ch.004. !!

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, casting warm golden streaks across the sheets. The dorm apartment was quiet, the usual noise of campus life barely a hum in the distance. Everything felt slow, easy—like time didn’t exist here.

You stirred slightly, warmth pressing against your back, a strong arm draped lazily around your waist. Then—lips, soft and warm, trailing from your shoulder to the curve of your neck, slow and deliberate, like she was savoring the feel of you.

A sleepy hum escaped your throat as Abby’s mouth lingered just below your ear. “Mm… morning,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, her lips brushing against your skin between words.

You shivered, eyes fluttering open as a lazy smile tugged at your lips. “Morning,” you murmured back, your voice still heavy with sleep.

Abby hummed in response, shifting slightly, pressing herself closer, her hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest against your stomach. Her fingers were warm, calloused from the gym, but her touch was impossibly gentle.

“You awake yet?” she mumbled against your neck, her lips moving slowly, teasingly.

You exhaled a soft laugh, tilting your head slightly to give her more access. “Not really.”

Abby grinned against your skin, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your jaw. “Good,” she murmured. “Means I get to wake you up properly.”

Her lips trailed lower, pressing lingering kisses down the side of your throat, her fingers tracing lazy circles against your stomach. Everything about her touch was unhurried, like she had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

Your breath hitched slightly as she nipped at a particularly sensitive spot, and you felt her smirk against your skin.

“You always this needy in the morning?” you teased, your voice still groggy, but laced with amusement.

Abby huffed a soft laugh, tightening her grip around your waist. “Only for you.”

That made something warm settle in your chest.

It wasn’t official. It wasn’t labeled.

But it was something.

And for now, that was enough.

Abby’s kisses slowed, eventually settling into lazy, affectionate pecks against your shoulder as her arms tightened around your waist. Neither of you were in a rush to move, content in the warmth of the sheets and each other.

You sighed, stretching slightly before relaxing back into her hold. “Think we should make breakfast?”

Abby groaned dramatically, nuzzling into your neck. “That sounds like so much work.”

You laughed, reaching back to lazily run your fingers through her hair. “So, what? We just starve?”

Abby tilted her head, lips grazing your ear. “We could always stay in bed,” she teased, voice still thick with sleep.

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Tempting, but I’d rather not die of hunger.”

Abby exhaled heavily, like deciding on food was the hardest thing she’d ever done. “Fine, we’ll doordash.”

You grinned, turning slightly in her arms to face her. “Knew you’d cave.”

Abby gave you a playful glare before grabbing her phone off the nightstand. She scrolled lazily through the app, one arm still wrapped around your waist, keeping you close. “What do you want?”

“Surprise me,” you murmured, resting your head against her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Abby hummed, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before placing the order. “Alright, food’s on the way. Should be here in, like, twenty minutes.”

You exhaled in contentment, letting your eyes slip shut again. “Guess that means we have twenty more minutes to be lazy.”

Abby smirked, setting her phone down and wrapping both arms around you again, pulling you flush against her. “Best news I’ve heard all morning.”

The next twenty minutes passed in a blissful haze. You stayed curled up together, exchanging sleepy conversation between soft kisses, fingers tracing aimless patterns against each other’s skin. Abby played with your hair absentmindedly, her breathing slow and steady, like she could stay like this forever.

Then, a buzz from her phone broke the moment.

“Food’s here, baby" Abby murmured, but neither of you moved.

You groaned, burying your face against her chest. “I just got comfortable.”

Abby chuckled, rubbing slow circles against your back. “Guess you should’ve ordered after we got up, huh?”

You sighed dramatically before finally pulling away, stretching as you sat up. “I’ll get it,” you said, sliding out of bed. “You just stay here and be useless.”

Abby smirked, watching as you pulled on some sweats and grabbed your keys. “Oh, don’t worry—I fully plan on it.”

You rolled your eyes fondly before heading out the door, making your way downstairs to grab the food.

Still wrapped in the warmth of the morning, completely satisfied with you and Abby’s morning banter.

The elevator ride down to the main floor was quiet, the soft hum of the machinery the only thing filling the space. You pulled your hoodie tighter around yourself, still caught in the warmth of your morning with Abby, your mind far from anything that could ruin it.

The lobby was mostly empty, aside from a student lounging in the corner with their laptop and the delivery driver waiting near the front entrance. You approached, giving a polite nod as you grabbed the bag of food, barely paying attention—

Until you heard her voice.

“Shit.”

Your stomach twisted.

Slowly, you turned, and there she was.

Ellie.

She was standing near the other end of the pickup area, gripping a takeout bag of her own, looking like she had definitely not planned for this. Her hoodie was slightly wrinkled, dark circles sat heavy under her eyes, and for once, she looked genuinely caught off guard.

You stiffened, the weight of everything—the fight, the yelling, the humiliation—hitting you all over again.

Ellie swallowed, shifting awkwardly before clearing her throat. “Uh… hey.”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared, unsure of what to do.

Ellie exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Fuck, this is—uh, I wasn’t—” She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut for a second before forcing the words out. “Can I… can I talk to you? Just for a second?”

You inhaled.

She looked nervous, really nervous, like she was fully prepared for you to walk away.

And you could.

You didn’t owe her anything.

But instead, after a long pause, you sighed. “Fine.”

Ellie blinked, like she wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes. But she nodded quickly, shoving her hands into her hoodie pocket. “Okay. Yeah. Uh—outside?”

You hesitated before nodding, following her out through the glass doors. The morning air was crisp, the sun just beginning to warm the pavement. You crossed your arms, still gripping the bag of food, watching Ellie carefully.

She rocked on her heels, exhaling sharply before looking at you. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked.

Ellie ran a hand down her face, her jaw clenching like it was hard for her to get the words out. “For everything. For the fight, for ruining your night, for…” She hesitated, shaking her head. “For making you feel like shit.”

You stared at her, unreadable. “Why now?”

Ellie exhaled, her gaze flickering down before meeting yours again. “Because I should’ve done it sooner. Because I—” She stopped, huffing out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Because I couldn’t stand the idea of the last thing you ever heard from me being some jealous, fucked-up excuse for an argument.”

Something in your chest tightened.

Ellie shifted her weight, gripping the strap of her bag. “I was an asshole, I am an asshole. I let my shit get in the way and took it out on you, and I don’t—I don’t expect you to forgive me, but you deserve to hear me say that I know I fucked up.”

You swallowed, processing.

This was different, she was different.

There was no smugness, no anger, no deflection. Just… honesty.

Finally.

You stood there, gripping the bag of food a little too tightly, staring at Ellie like she was something you couldn’t quite figure out.

She looked… different.

Not just in the way she spoke, but in the way she stood—shoulders slightly hunched, like she was bracing for impact. Hands buried deep in the pockets of her wrinkled, oversized hoodie, her hair still a mess from what you guessed had been a sleepless night. She looked so small like this, so unlike the Ellie you once knew.

You weren’t sure what to say.

So you just kept staring, letting her words settle in.

Ellie shifted under your gaze, chewing the inside of her cheek like she wanted to say something else but didn’t know if she should.

Finally, after what felt like too long, you exhaled, a small frown tugging at the corners of your lips. “Can we… revisit this?” Your voice was quieter now, less guarded. “Like… after our psych lecture? Instead of going to class, we can just—talk.”

Ellie blinked, like she wasn’t expecting that. Then, too fast, she nodded—way too fast. “Yeah. Yes. Absolutely, whatever works for you.”

You sighed through your nose, shaking your head at her awkwardness, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, your gaze drifted slightly above, something else catching your attention.

Just above her brow.

A thin, faint scar was forming where the cut from her fight with Abby had been. It wasn’t big, but it was noticeable now that you were up close.

Your stomach twisted.

You hadn’t really looked at her since that night. Hadn’t let yourself.

But now, seeing the scar—knowing exactly how it got there—it reminded you of everything that had led to this moment.

Ellie caught the way your eyes lingered, her brows furrowing slightly before she reached up, brushing a finger over the healing wound. “Oh. Yeah,” she muttered, clearing her throat. “Guess I kinda deserved that one, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at her, your frown deepening ever so slightly.

Because as much as you wanted to pretend you didn’t care anymore—

Some small part of you still did.

You still hadn’t said anything. Just stared at the scar forming on Ellie’s brow, your fingers tightening slightly around the takeout bag.

Ellie shifted under the weight of your silence, exhaling sharply before awkwardly shrugging for a second time. “I mean… I did deserve it,” she muttered, trying to play it off. “Fucking up your date and all, Abby had every right to knock me on my ass.”

Her lips quirked like she was going to try for a smirk, but it didn’t quite land.

You finally blinked, shaking yourself from your thoughts as Ellie rubbed the back of her neck, glancing off to the side. “Dina kinda, uh… talked some sense into me after that night,” she admitted, voice low, like she didn’t want to say it but knew she had to. “Told me to quit acting like a fucking idiot and actually apologize instead of, y’know… making everything worse.”

You huffed a quiet laugh through your nose, shaking your head. “Sounds like Dina.”

Ellie let out a breathy chuckle, glancing at you briefly before shifting on her feet. Then, hesitantly, she rubbed the back of her neck again and cleared her throat. “Listen, uh—about that talk…” She hesitated, like she was debating whether she should ask at all, then forced the words out anyway. “Can we—not do it after psych?.

You tilted your head slightly. “You wanna skip class twice just to talk?”

Ellie huffed, looking mildly embarrassed. “I mean… yeah. I don’t wanna half-ass it between lectures, y’know?”

You studied her for a moment before nodding wordlessly, pressing your lips together in thought. “I’ll text you where to meet later this week,” you muttered, shifting your grip on the food bag.

Ellie straightened slightly, looking a little less tense, nodding too quickly again. “Yeah. Cool, sounds good.”

An awkward silence stretched between you both.

You swallowed, glancing back towards the door. “I should get back.”

Ellie nodded again, hands still shoved deep in her hoodie pocket. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You hesitated for half a second before turning towards the door, pushing it open without another word.

Ellie exhaled once you were gone, running both hands down her face, her heart still hammering like she had just survived a near-death experience.

Because even though she knew this talk wouldn’t fix everything—

At least now, she had a chance to try.

The walk back up to your dorm felt longer than it should have. Your mind was still caught on the conversation, on the way Ellie looked—nervous, fidgety, not herself. It was strange seeing her like that, like she was holding back from saying more.

But you pushed it aside, exhaling as you reached your door and unlocked it.

Abby was still in bed when you stepped inside, propped up against the pillows, scrolling through her phone. The second she saw you, she smirked. “Took you long enough, thought I was gonna starve to death.”

You rolled your eyes, setting the bag down on the desk before kicking off your slippers. “Yeah, yeah. Dramatic.”

Abby sat up fully, stretching her arms over her head. “Everything good?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Ran into Ellie downstairs.”

That made Abby pause.

You could feel her eyes on you, but you kept your focus on unpacking the food. “It wasn’t anything serious,” you added quickly. “She just… apologized.”

Abby was quiet for a second, then hummed. “Huh.”

That was it. No snarky comment, no irritation, just that.

You glanced over at her, raising a brow. “That’s all you have to say?”

Abby laughed, grabbing the takeout container you handed her. “What, you want me to throw a fit about it?”

You sighed, shaking your head before plopping onto the couch. “No. Just… wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.”

Abby grabbed a blanket from the bed and tossed it over the both of you before settling in beside you, peeling open the styrofoam lid. “Not my business,” she said simply, spearing a fork into her pancakes. “Long as you’re okay.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest warm.

You smiled softly before digging into your own food, cutting into the fluffy stack of waffles, the scent of syrup and butter filling the room. Abby grabbed the remote, flicking through the streaming options before settling on Juno.

“Good?” she asked, glancing at you.

You nodded, shifting to lean against her shoulder. “Yeah, haven’t seen it in a while.”

Abby hummed, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before focusing on the screen.

And just like that, the morning settled into something soft, something easy.

No tension, no stress. Just you, Abby, and the quiet comfort of a lazy Saturday.

The IHOP was quiet for a weekday evening, the low hum of conversation filling the space around you. The scent of syrup and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, the overhead lights casting a soft, yellow glow over the laminated menus and worn leather booths.

Ellie sat across from you, fidgeting.

She had been fine when you both walked in—casual, even. But now that the waiter had taken your orders and left, the silence between you grew heavier, and Ellie looked like she felt it.

Her leg bounced under the table, her fingers picking at the hem of her hoodie, twisting the fabric between them.

You sighed, resting your elbow on the table. “Ellie.”

Her head snapped up, green eyes slightly wide, like she had been too caught up in her own head to realize she had been acting weird.

You tilted your head. “You had a plan for this, didn’t you?”

Ellie exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah,” she admitted, cracked lips pressing together. “And now I can’t remember a single fucking word of it.”

You sighed, leaning back into the booth. “That’s because you’re overthinking it.”

Ellie let out a dry, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “No shit.”

She hesitated, fingers drumming against the table, before she finally forced herself to meet your eyes again. “I just… I don’t wanna fuck this up more than I already have.”

Something in her voice was softer than before, more careful.

And for the first time since ever, it felt like she was actually trying.

Ellie sighed, rolling her shoulders like she was trying to physically shake off the tension weighing her down. Her hands wrapped around the ceramic mug of coffee in front of her, fingers twitching like she wanted to pick at her nails but was consciously stopping herself.

You recognized it immediately.

It was an old habit, one you hadn’t thought about in a long time—something Ellie always did when she was overwhelmed but trying to keep it together.

You exhaled softly, glancing away, giving her the space to work through it, to start when she was ready.

Ellie cleared her throat, eyes flickering to the window before back down at her coffee. “I guess, uh… I should just pick up from where we left off the other day,” she muttered, tapping her fingers against the rim of the cup.

You nodded wordlessly, waiting.

Ellie inhaled through her nose, shifting in her seat. “Right, so—about the fight, about everything that happened outside your dorm…” She trailed off, huffing, rubbing a hand over her mouth before shaking her head. “I was a fucking idiot.”

You raised a brow, but stayed quiet, letting her go on.

Ellie let out a breathy chuckle, humorless. “Like, I knew I was being an idiot in the moment, but I still didn’t stop myself. I was high, I was pissed off, and I didn’t think—I just reacted. And, fuck, I made you deal with that. With me, and you shouldn’t have had to.”

Her fingers tightened around the mug, jaw clenching. “I don’t even know if there’s a way to actually fix things, but… I do know I don’t wanna leave things the way they are.”

She looked up at you then, her expression guilty, serious.

And for the first time since the fight, you actually believed her.

Ellie exhaled sharply, her fingers drumming against the coffee cup as she collected her thoughts. She wasn’t used to this—actually talking about her feelings, laying them out like this without deflecting, without making some stupid joke to avoid the weight of it all.

But you were sitting there, waiting, listening. And for the first time in a long time, Ellie wanted to get it right.

She inhaled through her nose, gripping the cup a little tighter. “I don’t know how to say this shit right,” she admitted, shaking her head. “I’ve never been good at it. Even when we were together. I—I was never comfortable in my own fucking skin, let alone my emotions, and I know you noticed it back then. I just… ignored it. I ignored you when you tried to talk to me about it. I thought if I just—kept shit casual, kept my walls up, it wouldn’t matter.”

She let out a dry chuckle. “Turns out, it does matter, and I was a fucking idiot to pretend it didn’t.”

You swallowed, staying quiet, letting her keep going.

Ellie exhaled, rubbing her palm over her mouth before resting her elbow on the table, fingers threading through her hair. “Dina’s been on my ass ever since that night,” she admitted, lips twitching slightly. “I mean, she should be. She told me I was being a fucking coward, that I didn’t just lose you because I ‘wasn’t the relationship type’ or whatever bullshit excuse I kept telling myself.”

She hesitated, then huffed. “I lost you because I was scared.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but still, you didn’t speak.

Ellie finally looked up, eyes sharp but sincere. “And I fucking hate that it took me losing you to realize what I actually felt for you, but that’s the truth. And I don’t expect you to forgive me for any of it, I don’t expect you to just—take me back or let me fix this overnight.”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “But I am gonna try, and this time, I’m gonna do it the right way.”

Her voice was steadier now, firmer. “No more tough guy act, no more hiding behind jokes and pretending I don’t care.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto yours, something raw and open in them. “I do care. I always have, and if you give me the chance, I’m gonna prove it to you.”

The words settled between you, heavy but honest. Ellie wasn’t just saying it—she meant it.

You didn’t know what to say.

Your mouth was slightly open, your eyes wide, just staring at Ellie as you tried to process everything she had laid out in front of you.

The words were still hanging between you, raw and real, and for the first time, Ellie wasn’t hiding behind her usual bullshit. No deflections, no jokes—just her, stripped bare, admitting things you never thought she would.

Before you could even attempt to respond, the waitress returned, setting your plates down without a second glance and walking away.

The smell of syrup and butter filled the air, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch your food.

Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

You had just gotten comfortable with Abby. Sure, neither of you had labeled it, but the way things had been—sleeping in the same bed, kissing each other awake in the mornings, lazy weekend breakfasts spent tangled up together—it felt like something real.

And now Ellie was sitting across from you, saying she wanted to fight for you.

What did that even mean?

Were you supposed to just ignore what you had with Abby? Were you supposed to believe that Ellie had actually changed?

Your fingers gripped the edge of the table, anxiety creeping up your spine as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

You wanted to bring Abby up, wanted to say something about her, about how you’d moved on, about how you weren’t just sitting around waiting for Ellie to figure herself out.

But you didn’t.

“I miss you,” Ellie admitted, barely above a whisper. Her eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, like she couldn’t handle looking at you for too long. “I miss waking up next to you, hearing you laugh at my stupid jokes, just… being around you.” She swallowed hard, her fingers tugging absentmindedly at her cuticles. “And I know I have no right to ask for that back, not after everything. But I—” She sighed, shaking her head. “I wish it was still me.”

© 𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 ─ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙. 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙨.

Author's note: I'm so sorry if this feels lackluster, but I promise y'all that this ch. is needed in order for everything to click into place😭 💔

TAGLIST: @liasxeatt @vahnilla @sleepingwasp @morticeras @violetszn @eriiwaii @elliesactualgirlfriend @mikellie @lovely-wisteria @idletyouruinme @losing-it-lately @robinphobia @sexlus

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST!!

[navybrat817]

Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Local Figure!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky didn't have a great day, so you help him unwind.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied sex, light fluff, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by an ask from @yenzys-lucky-charm, so I'm also submitting this for her Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge (🗡️ A: Smoothing out the crease in Cranky’s frown while straddling their lap B: Cranky character melts, pulling them in for a kiss). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky tossed his jacket away and loosened his tie the moment the front door shut. In public, he had to maintain an image of confidence and controlled passion, carefully toeing the line between showing too much or too little emotion on the issues at hand. When things didn’t go his way, he couldn’t lash out or show defeat. Behind closed doors, he could allow himself to be a bit cranky. He didn’t have to put on a show.

With you, he didn’t have to put on a show either.

“Go sit, and I’ll make you a drink.” It wasn’t a suggestion. He didn’t drink often, but it was a rough day and you sensed that he needed one. If the drink wasn’t enough to help him unwind, you were sure you could think of something else.

Bucky kicked his shoes off before he took a seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Town Hall meeting should've gone off without a hitch, but Nick just had to show up and run his mouth.” His hands curled into fists when he grumbled, “Fucker.”

Bucky was never a fan of Nick Fowler. The man had a way with words and had experience, he’d give him that, but the guy wasn’t trustworthy. Too many secrets, too many people in his pocket. Some would say Bucky wasn’t trustworthy either since he was also a local figure, but he cared about his town and only wanted the best for everyone who lived there. He couldn’t say the same for Nick since he was only out for power and would step on anyone to gain it.

“It was rocky at times,” you said carefully, pouring him a glass of whiskey. Being overly optimistic would’ve been an insult, and he valued honesty since it was sometimes difficult to know who was telling the truth in his line of work. “But it ended on a high note.”

“He still proposed to cut funding for the library, and people agreed with him. It’s struggling as it is, and it needs the money,” he muttered, his steel eyes softening when you brought his drink over. “I swear he only proposed to cut funding to piss me off.”

Education was important to Bucky. The library, in particular, held a special place in his heart. It strived to create a welcoming and inclusive environment for the community, offering free resources to all. More than that, it was a space where history was preserved, and where people could feel valued and respected. It brought people together.

“And it’s working,” you pointed out, running your fingers through his soft caramel hair once you sat down and earning a sigh in response. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let him get under your skin.”

Nick getting under Bucky’s skin meant he was losing, and Bucky wasn’t a man who lost.

“I’m trying,” he promised, taking another large sip and drawing your attention when he licked a drop from his lips.

You had to blink so you wouldn’t let his sexiness distract you from making him feel better. “Don’t forget, you have a fundraiser right around the corner,” you reminded him. There were people who would love to make a contribution to one of his passion projects, including the library.

His shoulders relaxed the more you played with his hair. “That’s true.”

“And listen, if I could get away with it, I’d wear my ‘I READ BANNED BOOKS’ shirt when I attend just to make you happy,” you teased.

That got a chuckle out of him. “That shirt got my attention.”

Going to that Town Hall meeting was one of the best decisions you ever made. “If you think that got your attention, wait until you see the dress I’m wearing.”

Closing his eyes with a groan, you had no doubt he was imagining it. He had an amazing suit picked out and you got something to not only match but something to drive him wild. “As long as John doesn’t show up and hit on you,” he tried to joke, but there was an edge to his voice.

As if the meeting wasn’t enough to put your man in a bad mood, bumping into John Walker after was the icing on the cake. If there was someone Bucky couldn’t stand more than Nick, it was John. The arrogant public worker rubbed him the wrong way, demanding respect and trust when he hadn’t earned it.

“We both know he wouldn’t stand a chance,” you said. Gorgeous looks aside, Bucky had you hooked from the beginning because of who he was. No one else could compare.

“If he tries anything…” Bucky could cut men down with a mere look, but people like Nick and John liked to push.

Taking the glass from his hand and setting it aside, you slowly straddled him. “You’re still cranky.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he whispered, resting his hands on your hips. Of course, he wasn’t. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked to dwell in any unpleasant headspace or emotions.

“I know. You had a rough day, and you have every right to be cranky. But I also know that the smile I love is in there somewhere,” you smiled. Bringing your hands to his face, you smoothed out the creases in his frown. His body went lax beneath yours when you did it again. “I just need to find it… Ah! There it is.”

Something you loved about Bucky was that he smiled in different ways before his mouth moved. He did it with his eyes, something so warm and loving that only you could see. Some days you heard it in his voice, in the tone he used and the words he chose. Even the way his body relaxed with you was a smile, happiness blooming from his core.

And Bucky was smiling when he pulled you in for a kiss.

Your heart tried to beat right out of your chest when he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Tasting the whiskey when his tongue slipped past your lips, you moaned. The kiss was full of hunger, eager to take what you were willing to give. There was a hint of desperation, like he was trying to use your mouth to chase his bad mood away. Above all, it was vulnerable, a side of himself he trusted you enough to show.

“You’re too good to me, sweetheart,” he whispered, rolling his hips up and making you moan again. “But I’m still a little cranky.”

“Is that right?” you smiled, rocking your hips teasingly just because you could. Making the powerful man hard made you feel powerful. “Are you proposing that I do something about that?”

The fingers on your waist flexed. “I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”

“Promises, promises,” you teased.

“I keep my promises,” he pointed out. In a world of liars and cheats, Bucky was a man of his word.

“That’s true.” You pretended to think about it when he thrust his hips up with a small growl, heating up your core more. “Okay, fine. Rest back so I can make the crankiness go away.”

And knowing Bucky, he’d make sure you felt nothing but bliss, too, before the night was over.

I know, lovlies, I don't need more AUs, but I would give him everything and more. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[navydoves]

Perfect Ice

✎ᝰ summary: ranked 6th in his league with numerous medals proudly displayed in his home, figure skater zayne finds managing his crush on you more difficult than any ice he has ever skated on.

✎ᝰ cw: fluff, some pining, zayne has perfectionism problems

✎ᝰ wc: 1.6k

✎ᝰ a/n: short drabble in case i start getting into ice skating aus lmao

⭐︎

there was something about the way the white ice illuminated your soft face that made you look so angelically perfect to him. you, with your heavy coats and thick boots, made quite an impression on zayne from the very first day. "this is your coach," introduced the greying old man that was now zayne's former coach. "treat her well and don't give her a hard time like you've done with me. my hair is the colour of the ice now because of you." an imperceptibly awkward smile flickered on zayne's lips. he didn't like change - not when it was this sudden at least - and your sudden appearance as his counsel made him feel... distended. out of place. strange. you didn't greet him cordially like he attempted to with his hand out and a polite verbal introduction. you instead stood there with your eyes flickering down to his smooth extended palm and shook your head.

"i prefer to keep my hands in my pockets when they're not in mittens. it's nice to meet you zayne, i've heard much about you." the smile on your lips was genuine, he noted, but you were a bit avoidant for some reason - not that zayne could judge. all he has been regarded his entire life was a socially inept, introverted guy who only danced and spoke to the ice.

he nodded slowly and retracted his hand back to his side before stepping back and murmuring about going back onto the ice. was this the introduction? just a simple hello and goodbye despite how this change would impact his career? he wasn't one to judge on looks but you looked young enough to be competing yourself, not coaching.

the thought lingered in the back of his mind and followed him through the training season. what could you offer to him that he wasn't already striving for? you were there for his every practice but never really gave him input on his skating, you simply just watched. it was only after a month that he began to hear your voice from the sidelines every so often.

"bend your knees more for better edge control, you hesitate to go low sometimes. is it 'cause of your height?"

zayne's eyes widened slightly at your words. advice? from you? and as a matter of fact, zayne did have a problem with his height. while his long legs did make for an elegant look in his form fitting, all black outfit, they were also difficult to manage on the ice during bends. his recovery time was late and always something he needed to work on, but zayne's perfectionism masked his weaknesses well enough that only those with well-trained eyes could see to them. you trained yourself to see him so opaquely so quick.

"… yeah … it is because of my height."

and from then on he was hooked. your perception of him became an obsession for zayne. you could see every flaw in every performance of his and you called it out every single time. you never did it disapprovingly, though, only ever informatively. like his mistakes were matters of fact that couldn't be argued over subjectivity. no. he messed up. he needed to do better. there was no more to it than that and you gave him no room to overthink about your words.

perfection was what zayne strived for. you had a clear eye for perfection. and in that sense, zayne started to see you as perfect. there was an undefinable point between the two of you that solidified his feelings toward you. it felt like one day he appreciated you as a coach and the next he yearned to appreciate you past the rink. you were perfect.

in the way you watched him glide across the ice from the side benches with your hands stuffed in your pockets and legs crossed - you were perfect. in the way you jotted down notes so messily to the point of incomprehension by all but you - you were perfect. in the way you smiled gently when he listened to your advice and did perfect executions - you were so perfect. he had seen beautiful women in his past, sure, but he's felt nothing toward a girl like you whose beauty was both internal and external, until now.

it was because of simmering feelings that he became closer to your true personality. coffee after practice? he learned then that you had a preference for tea. warm-ups? he learned then what your favourite stretches were. a casual glide on the ice? he learned that you couldn't really skate. that was a real shock.

and yet, as insane as the logic may have been, you only knew skating as far as you watched it. you studied movements and the anatomy of dancing on the ice, but you couldn't replicate those movements yourself. to most skaters, this would've been an immediate call to cashier your position and replace you with an actual, experienced trainer. yet to zayne, this only added to your perfection. you've mastered the knowledge of the ice so perfectly that you didn't even need to step on it. beautiful.

and as per his insistence, you found yourself slipping into the unfamiliar snugness of skates and stepping on the ice, zayne's hand guiding you gently. you shed the extra layers of coats and held his palm with the bare skin of your hand for the first time. enamored was an understatement on zayne's part. his eyes never wandered on women, but today he found himself appreciating the view of your smaller form next to his bigger, lithe one.

"it's very easy. left, right, left, right. i'm sure you know already, but on the ice i'm the one who's going to be coaching you, alright?" zayne whispers with slightly mirthful tone to his usually even voice. he kept his eyes on your knees and feet to make sure you didn't buckle on the ice. sure, you know how skate logistically, but your muscles didn't.

you smile back and nod. for the first time zayne could see a shy expression painting your face and he thought there was nothing more perfect than you looking like that while he invited you to his world. he tightens his hand around yours and glides with you smoothly across the ice.

"i guess it's not too bad when i have someone literally holding my hand throughout this," you chuckle softly while tilting your body to make a slight turn around the rink. chill air ran through your hair and cooled down your skin even through your clothes. ice was freedom.

"atta girl," zayne praises softly, causing your eyes to widen slightly. he liked that look in your eye, it soothed something in him. call it his inexperience with romance, but he believed a beautiful woman like you deserved to be cared for by someone who could ensure perfection for you. someone who lived and died for perfection would live and die being perfect for his woman.

"zayne, why have me skate now?" you ask with a slight lilt of concern in your voice and knitted brows accompanying it. "you have training early in the morning and you know how i feel about you cutting hours on your sleep."

zayne blows air out of his nose and shrugs. "i wanted to see you skate before you left. it would keep me up all night if i was left with the inconceivable notion that my coach couldn't skate. i had to see for myself."

you quirk a brow and gently wriggle your hand out of zayne's grasp. your body glides away from him as you could no longer keep up with his pace. you stick your arms out like a scarecrow, trying to maintain balance on the ice without help, and slowly, you attempt to glide up to zayne's drifting body. he watches you with a curious but amused expression lighting up his face. he felt like he was watching his other half, the half who didn't know how to skate but knew everything about skating. the exact, perfect, opposite of him.

he doesn't keep admiring you for long, though, as your body soon came tumbling down from a lack of balance. with quickness and ease, dexterity in every push of his skates, zayne catches you under your arms before you could fully fall onto the ice. your arms dangled up in the air and corked to the side and your legs went a bit limp as they dragged around on the rink. you tilt your head up to zayne and see his hazel eyes blown wide down at you. you grin and soon that grin turns into a hearty laugh.

perfection. perfection. perfection. you were perfection.

zayne feels a laugh of his own bubble in his chest and erupt gently from his lips. he releases you and lets you sit on the ice before joining right next to you. while his mind spoke against it, he let his heart win and decided to pull you closer to him until your back was flushed against his front. he felt like everything he'd done in hopes of winning your approval was uncharacteristic of him, and that this embrace was much more so. but when you tilted your head back to look at him with those gentle, yet confused eyes of yours - he realized that you made him made feel more whole and in-character than ever before.

he chuckles soflty and rests his chin on your shoulder before glancing to the side at you. "it would also keep me up all night if i let you go home right now. let me take you out to dinner, coach." ⭐︎

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x Variants!reader imagine

As requested <33333

It had been a few months since the Invincible War, and Mark was finally starting to feel like things were settling down. The nightmares had lessened, the world was slowly recovering, and for once, he felt like he could breathe. That peace, however, was short-lived.

Because now, he had a whole new problem. You. Well, multiple yous.

The first one had shown up out of nowhere, confused and disoriented but seemingly harmless. The second had arrived only a few hours later. Then the third. By the time the GDA realized what was happening, there were six variants of you, all from different dimensions, all equally shocked to be here. And, worst of all? They only wanted to stay with Mark.

It wasn’t even up for discussion. The GDA had tried separating them, offering different accommodations, but every single one had the same response:

“No thanks, I’ll stay with Mark.”

Mark was losing his mind.

“Are you serious?” he groaned, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the multiple versions of his girlfriend sitting comfortably in the GDA containment facility.

One of them grinned. “Aw, babe, don’t sound so upset.”

“I—I’m not your babe!” Mark spluttered, pointing an accusing finger at her. He turned to you, his actual girlfriend, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, watching this unfold with barely contained amusement. “Can you say something here?”

You shrugged, smiling. “They’re me, Mark. I think it’s sweet that they like you so much.”

One of the variants—the one wearing a slightly different outfit than yours—sighed dramatically. “Like? Like is an understatement, sweetheart.” She turned to Mark, propping her chin in her hands. “Have you seen yourself? If I was thrown into a different universe and you were here, I’d stick to you like glue too.”

Another variant nodded. “Same. No way I’m letting this prime piece of Viltrumite ass out of my sight.”

Mark choked.

You bit your lip, hard, trying to suppress a laugh.

“You—you can’t just say things like that!” Mark spluttered, his face turning a deep shade of red.

One of the variants smirked. “Why not? I mean, it’s true. Have you looked in a mirror?”

“I—That’s not the point!”

From that moment on, Mark knew he was doomed.

The GDA eventually gave up on trying to separate them. Until they found a way to send them back to their respective dimensions, they were on lockdown, and Mark—along with you—had been assigned to keep an eye on them.

Which was easier said than done.

Because Mark couldn’t catch a break.

Everywhere he went, they followed. And worse? They flirted relentlessly.

“Mark, honey, you look so tense.” One of them leaned against his shoulder, tracing a finger down his arm. “I could give you a massage if you want~.”

He jumped away like he’d been burned. “NO.”

Another giggled. “You don’t have to be so shy. We’re all technically the same person—so really, it’s not that weird.”

“It is absolutely that weird!”

You? Oh, you were having the time of your life watching him suffer.

Sitting on the couch, you rested your chin in your palm, eyes twinkling as Mark shot you a helpless look.

“You could help me, you know,” he grumbled, arms crossed as he tried to keep some distance between him and his rapidly growing harem of you.

You shrugged, barely holding in your laughter. “And miss this? No way.”

The variants giggled, and Mark swore he could feel his soul leaving his body.

Things only got worse as the days passed.

The variants knew he was flustered by their attention, and they leaned into it hard.

One whispered in his ear, voice dripping with mischief, “You know, if you ever wanted to see what it’s like to have two of me at once—”

Mark walked out of the room immediately.

You cried laughing.

Every day was like this. Every day, Mark suffered through compliments, teasing, and not-so-subtle attempts at seduction, all while you sat back and watched the chaos unfold.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he was kind of getting used to it.

The variants, despite their relentless flirting, were still you. They were kind, funny, and weirdly protective over him—if anyone so much as looked at Mark wrong, they’d be ready to throw hands, much to his horror.

But they never stopped teasing him.

And honestly? You weren’t sure if Mark would survive until the GDA found a way to send them home.

[ficsbylexi]

Kindly Calm Me Down — Blurb

Aitana Bonmatí x OFC

Shot warnings: crying, swearing

Author’s note: My first request, hope you enjoy it and I’m sorry it took me so long. I swear I wanted to make it longer. Vaguely inspired by Meghan Trainor’s song. Also I think there’s a sentence at the beginning that, grammatically, it only makes sense in my head? idk. I wrote most of this in the middle of a mental breakdown💀

Word count: 849

Summary: Losing against Levante affects Aitana more than expected, but nothing some cuddles and kisses and a warm dinner can’t fix

Mireia had not been able to attend the match. She wasn’t even in Barcelona until after it started.

Having been chosen between the five siblings by her dad to be the one to eventually inherit the company had her traveling between her hometown and where her heart lived now quite a few times a year. She wouldn’t trade it for anything though.

By the time Mireia arrived home from the airport, the match had ended, she had watched it on the way home on her phone.

“Fuck”.

Saying that her girlfriend was competitive would be the understatement of the century. Two times Ballon d’or winner, three times Champions League winner, World Cup winner and a very long etcetera corroborate just how hardworking Aitana Bonmatí is.

Mireia ran to the supermarket just under the apartment she shared with her girlfriend. She picked just about any and every snack she knew Tana liked, and ingredients to make something comforting for dinner. Something warm and filling. “Vegan meatballs and mashed potatoes could be nice”. She mumbled while checking the vegetables.

Mireia set the snacks on the coffee table and got started on dinner without even playing any music on her speaker.

The clinking of the keys behind the door gave away the footballer’s arrival. Mireia turned off the stove and wiped her hands on a towel before turning to the door just when Aitana opened it.

Aitana slammed the door behind her, letting out a long breath as she dropped her bag to the floor. The match against Levante had been a disaster—one of those nights where nothing worked, where the team felt disconnected, where she felt like she was dragging the whole damn squad by herself. It wasn’t just the loss. It was the frustration, the exhaustion, the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders.

She blinked, confused for a moment, before stepping into the kitchen.

Mire was there, standing at the stove, her cherry red hair tied up messily, looking at her with her arms open, dinner halfway done behind her, and something in Aitana snapped.

The exhaustion. The frustration. The anger. The relief.

A strangled sound left her throat before she could stop it, and Mireia engulfed her in her arms.

Aitana didn’t answer. She just buried herself into Mire’s arms, pressing her face against her shoulder, shaking.

Mireia wasted no time. She picked Aitana up effortlessly, lifting her like she weighed nothing, and carried her to the couch. She sat down with Tana still curled up against her, wrapping her arms tightly around her, one hand stroking her back.

“Talk to me,” Mireia murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Tell me what’s going on in that brilliant head of yours.”

Aitana sniffled, her fingers clutching Mire’s hoodie. “It was awful,” she whispered. “We were all over the place. No structure. No fight. And he—” She let out a frustrated huff. “He doesn’t get us. He doesn’t understand how we play. How we work. He doesn’t rotate, not properly. His tactics, everything feels like it’s not right for us. And I—” She hesitated, voice cracking. “And I needed you.”

Mireia exhaled softly, tightening her hold. “I’m here, mi amor.”

“I know.” Aitana’s voice was small. “That’s why I’m crying.”

Mireia chuckled softly, rubbing circles on her back. “You never have to hold it in with me, okay? Whatever you feel, let it out. I’ve got you.”

“I know it wasn’t your fault, I know you had to be away. But I couldn’t help it, I needed you. I wanted you to hold me after the match ended. Right then and there, while Olga was hugging Alexia and Mapi was hugging Ingrid and Marta was hugging Caro. I know it’s not fair for me to ask you to be on every match and that you couldn’t have known we were gonna lose but I needed you and you weren’t there and I got angry at you for a moment and then at myself because I wasn’t being fair nor rational”.

The frustrated ramble only made Mireia tighten her hold around her girlfriend. “Amor, it’s okay. It’s normal that you felt like that. Everyone was getting some sort of comfort from their partner and I wasn’t there. You needed me there and I get it. You don’t have to be angry at yourself for feeling something completely normal.”

They sat like that for a while—Tana melting into Mire’s warmth, the weight of the night slowly slipping off her shoulders. Mireia kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her lips, until Tana finally let out a small, tired giggle.

“There she is,” Mireia whispered, smiling against her skin. “There’s my girl.” Aitana’s stomach grumbled loudly, making her blush in embarrassment. “Dinner.” Mireia tucked a loose strand of hair behind Aitana’s ear. “You’re starving and I just have to make the sauce and the mashed potatoes”.

Aitana whined, pressing her face back into Mireia’s neck. “Just stay like this a little longer.”

“As long as you need, baby,” Mireia whispered. “As long as you need.”

[empressdede]

Meant to be

" you deserve someone who will love you right mama, to love you wholly and completely. Let me love on you mama all I wanna do is love you."

From @isabella-2025

Zariah’s fingers trembled as she gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white as she forced herself to focus on the road. The night air was thick, the weight of her disappointment pressing heavy on her chest. The restaurant had been dimly lit, the air perfumed with expensive colognes and soft candlelight, yet she had sat alone.

Alone.

Waiting for Matthew.

She had checked her phone repeatedly, rereading their messages from earlier in the day. Can’t wait to see you tonight, baby. Those words had felt real. They had felt like a promise. But she had sat there, watching other couples enjoy their meals, listening to the low murmur of conversation around her, while her own reflection in the restaurant window looked back at her—exposed, humiliated.

He hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted.

And she couldn’t take it anymore.

She wasn’t going home. She wasn’t going to curl up in bed and cry herself to sleep, questioning what she had done wrong this time. No, she was driving straight to the one person who had always been there. The one person who had never made her feel small or insignificant.

Jonathan Fatu.

The glow from his porch light was the only warmth she felt when she pulled into his driveway. She didn’t even cut the engine before she was stepping out, her heels clicking against the pavement as she made her way to the door. She didn’t have to knock twice.

Jon stood there, a hoodie hanging loose over his broad shoulders, sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair was slightly messy, his eyes heavy with exhaustion—probably from training—but the second he saw her face, everything about him shifted.

“Z, what’s wrong?” His voice was deep, gentle, but laced with something else. Concern.

She didn’t answer immediately. She couldn’t. Because the second she opened her mouth, she knew she would break.

Instead, she stepped inside, and Jon closed the door behind her.

She barely made it into the living room before she let out a sharp breath, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around herself. “He didn’t show up, Jon. I waited, and he just… never came.” Her voice cracked, and she hated it, hated how small she sounded.

Jon’s jaw tightened. “Of course he didn’t, with his bitch ass.” The words were quiet, but the anger behind them was palpable.

Zariah let out a hollow laugh, running a hand down her face. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I should be used to this by now.”

Jon exhaled sharply and moved closer. He wasn’t the kind of man to tiptoe around the truth, not with her. “Nah, Z. You shouldn’t have to be used to this. That ain’t love. That ain’t what you deserve.”

Her eyes flashed, emotions tumbling out before she could stop them. “Then what do I deserve, Jon? Because clearly, I keep getting it wrong.” Her voice was sharp, but underneath it was hurt, raw and aching. “I give him everything, and he still treats me like an afterthought. And the worst part? I keep making excuses for him. Every damn time.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Maybe he got caught up with work. Maybe his phone died. Maybe—”

“Maybe he don’t give a fuck, Zariah.” Jon’s voice cut through hers, deep and low, but firm. “Maybe he just don’t care enough to put you first. You ever think about that?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, her chest rising and falling with frustration. “Why would I want to think about that, Jon? Why would I want to accept that the man I love doesn’t care about me the way I care about him?”

Jon’s expression darkened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Because it’s the truth.”

Zariah clenched her jaw, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Then why does he keep me around? If he doesn’t care, why not just let me go?”

Jon ran a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to keep himself calm. “Because men like him? They know what they got. They just don’t give a damn until it’s gone. And you—” he gestured at her, his voice thick with frustration, “you keep waiting around, hoping he’ll wake up one day and realize your worth.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. “And what if I’m not worth anything, Jon?” she whispered.

His whole body went still.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing, heavy with emotion.

And then Jon moved. Slowly, deliberately. He closed the distance between them, his hands coming up to cup her face, his fingers brushing away the tears before they could fall. His touch was so gentle, so reverent, like she was something fragile—something precious.

“Don’t ever say that shit again,” he murmured. His voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it, a warning. “Don’t.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“You deserve someone who will love you right, mama.” His thumb traced slow, lazy circles on her cheek. “To love you wholly and completely.” He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against hers. “Let me love on you, mama. All I wanna do is love you.”

Her breath hitched.

Jon’s hands slid down to her waist, his grip firm but not forceful. His body was warm, solid, grounding her.

“You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured. “How I look at you? How it kills me to see you cry over some man who don’t even realize what he’s got? Z, I been right here, wanting you. Waiting for you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and Jon caught it with his thumb.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

Jon huffed a low, humorless laugh. “I don’t mean that?” His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “Then tell me why I ain’t been able to look at another woman since the day I met you. Tell me why every time you call, I drop everything. Tell me why I been holding back for so long just so I wouldn’t cross a line you weren’t ready for.”

Her heart pounded so hard she swore he could hear it.

“Tell me you don’t feel this, too,” he whispered. “Look me in my eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

She couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

She had felt it for months—maybe even longer. The way her body reacted to him, the way she searched for him in every room, the way she felt safe with him in a way she never had with Matthew.

Jon didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned in, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to. But she didn’t.

And when his lips met hers, it wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was everything.

Raw.

Desperate.

It was years of unsaid words, of longing, of wanting but never taking.

Jon kissed her like he needed her to know—like he was pouring every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every sleepless night spent wishing she was his into that moment.

His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss. Zariah whimpered against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hoodie, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in her world.

Because maybe he was.

And maybe… just maybe, love had been standing right in front of her this entire time.

The heat between them was undeniable, years of suppressed emotions unraveling all at once. His lips moved against hers with a slow, deliberate hunger, each kiss telling her things he had never said out loud. I see you. I’ve always seen you.

Her fingers curled into his hoodie, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her upright. And maybe it was. Her knees felt weak, her body tingling with awareness as his warmth enveloped her.

Jon’s breath was ragged when he finally pulled away, but he didn’t let her go. His forehead rested against hers, his hands still firm on her waist as he tried to steady himself.

“Damn, Z,” he whispered, his voice thick, uneven. “You feel that?”

She swallowed hard, her lips still tingling from his kiss. “Yeah.”

Jon exhaled sharply, almost like he was frustrated. “Then why you still holdin’ back?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” His fingers slid up her sides, brushing over her ribs, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “You scared.”

Her breath hitched. “Jon—”

“Nah, tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged softly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because again, he was right.

She was terrified. Terrified of how deep this went, how it had always been him. Jon had been her safe space, her rock, the one person she could always count on. If she admitted this—admitted them—everything changed.

Jon sighed, running a hand down his face like he was trying to hold himself back. “Fuck, Z. You don’t get it, do you?”

“Jon—”

“I love you.”

His second confession and her breath caught in her throat.

His voice was raw, desperate, like the words had been clawing their way out of him for years.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you,” he confessed, his dark eyes burning into hers. “And I tried to be patient, I tried to respect your choices, but you sittin’ here tellin’ me you don’t know what you want when I know you feel this.” He shook his head, stepping even closer. “You know I’d never treat you like he does. You know I’d put you first every damn time. So why, Z? Why you still fightin’ this?”

Her heart was pounding so loud she swore he could hear it.

“Because if I let myself have you,” she whispered, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

Jon stilled, his jaw clenching. “Then don’t.”

“Jon—”

“Stop sayin’ my name like it’s some excuse,” he muttered, his hands gripping her hips. “You came here tonight. To me. Not to him. You drove straight to my house when he broke your heart. You let me kiss you. So tell me, why you still tryna run from this?”

Tears welled in her eyes, the weight of her emotions pressing against her chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” His fingers flexed against her waist, his voice low and rough. “Unless you walk away right now.”

Zariah stared at him, her heart lodged in her throat.

Was she really going to keep pretending? Keep lying to herself?

Or was she finally going to let herself have him?

Slowly, she reached for him, her hands sliding up his chest before curling around the back of his neck. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, his pulse steady, strong.

Jon sucked in a breath as she leaned in, her lips barely brushing his. “Say it again,” she whispered.

His hands tightened on her hips. “I love you.”

She kissed him.

And this time, she didn’t hold back.

Jon groaned low in his throat, like he had been waiting for this for too damn long. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against his body as he deepened the kiss.

She whimpered as he walked her back toward the couch, his hands sliding up her sides, tracing the curves of her body with reverence. “You sure?” he murmured against her lips.

“Jon, if you stop, I swear to God—”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough as he pulled her down with him. “I got you, mama.”

And this time, she believed him.

I really liked this one🥺🫶🏾 hope you guys do as well.

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[infinetlyforgotten]

How It All Began: The Tonight Era II

Happy Friday babes!

Another mini chapter of HIAB has arrived.

Please let me know what I should write out next; I’m torn between some angst featuring Seunghyun & Y/N’s farewell before his departure to the military service OR some fluff showcasing Seunghyun & Y/N time in Texas for the Dear Moon Project.

Or if you have any other thing you wanna see these two in, please let me know!

Pairing: Seunghyun x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Trigger Warning: the usual fluff with these two, and some very mild spicy stuff in the bonus content at the end

This was inspired by an ask by the lovely @loveesiren

Hope you all enjoy!!

When Y/N and Seunghyun finally made it downstairs to meet with the rest of the gang for dinner, no one seemed to notice the change between them. The fact that they were holding hands when they stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby felt like a bigger deal to Seunghyun than it did to everyone else. Y/N was sure everyone could feel the 16 years of built-up and pent-up tension crackling between them. But no one seemed to bat an eyelash.

Or, that’s what they thought.

The first person to notice something was different was Daesung. He knew how his hyung was, how gentle-hearted and sensitive he was. He knew that sometimes Seunghyun carried all the burdens on his shoulders, even when he didn’t have to.

“Don’t worry, even if Hyung is sad, I’ll always make sure the rest of you are laughing and happy.” Seunghyun reassured his younger brother once after a few glasses of wine. Daesung went to interject, to tell his hyung he didn’t need to be sad, when the source of any happiness Seunghyun felt came into the room.

Y/N had walked over to where Seunghyun and Daesung were seated at the time, reaching over the table to grab her phone. As she looked through her notifications, she gently ruffled Seunghyun’s hair before heading back to where she had come from.

Daesung remembered the look on his hyung’s eyes as they followed Y/N; it was the look of longing.

But now, something was different. Seunghyun walked with a bit more confidence in his step, gliding towards them. As if he was floating on air. He was holding Y/N’s hand, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but Daesung did notice their fingers were intertwined instead of the usual hand-holding they were accustomed to. He smiled to himself.

“Finally! Let’s go, I’m starving.” Jiyong exclaimed, already moving towards the hotel exit.

——————————————-

The next person to notice was Youngbae. Sweet, romantic Youngbae. He noticed the change in Y/N’s and Seunghyun’s dynamic the second everyone got into the car to head to their first stop of the evening.

It was a tight fit; the six of them fitting in the back of the town car required some maneuvering. The guys let Y/N and Chloe enter first; each girl took a seat by the car window, facing each other before the guys began filing in. Seunghyun got in after Y/N, squeezing into the spot next to her almost immediately. Once again, nothing new there. Seunghyun always sat next to Y/N if/when he could. Youngbae sat across from them, next to Chloe as Daesung and Jiyong took their seats and closed the door.

As the car began to move, easy conversations continued amongst the group. Chloe was showing Y/N the menu of the restaurant they were headed to on her phone. As Y/N leaned closer to see, she placed her hand on Seunghyun’s thigh to steady herself as she scooted forward. Youngbae quirked his brow at how Seunghyun leaned back in his seat as he spoke with Jiyong, his arm reaching behind Y/N to grip onto the car’s grab handle.

When Y/N was done looking at the menu, she leaned back into her seat, and that’s when Youngbae smirked to himself. Because when Y/N leaned back into her seat, Seunghyun casually let go of the grab handle, resting his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, all while her hand remained on his thigh.

Seunghyun continued the conversation he was having, his arm draped around Y/N like it was the most normal thing in the world. His fingers casually began to twirl a bit of her hair as he spoke, Y/N looking content.

Finally! Youngbae thought, as the scene before him told him everything he needed to know about his two best friends.

Lovesick idiots.

——————————————-

Chloe didn’t need to know the two people in front of her long to see the obvious chemistry between them.

The group was currently at a lounge, having finished up dinner and wanting to go somewhere with a nicer vibe to relax and have a few drinks. The music was smoother than what would be in your average club, but the energy was the same: dimly lit, crowded, and fun.

Youngbae had stepped away to take a phone call while Daesung, JiYong, and Seunghyun went to the bar to grab drinks and snacks for the table. Chloe and Y/N were seated in a booth, bopping along to the music. Y/N pulled her camera out, taking a few selfies of herself and Chloe to kill some time.

The guys came back, each one of them carrying food and drinks for the table. Chloe accepted her margarita and thanked Daesung when she noticed Seunghyun handing Y/N her drink. The girl smiled at him, accepting her drink with a sweet “thank you”. Seunghyun smirked and nodded, adding an “anything for you, baby,” before winking and walking back to the bar to grab his own drink.

Chloe’s eyes darted between Y/N’s smiling face and Seunghyun’s relaxed posture at the bar.

“Uhhhmmmm, what was that?” Chloe asked, smirking at Y/N.

Y/N smiled at Chloe, shaking her head innocently.

“What was what?” She asked jokingly, knowing what the girl was alluding to.

Chloe laughed and nudged Y/N gently, as to not spill her drink.

“Oh my gosh! Finally! I’ve only known you for like 2 days and even I could feel all that sexual tension,” teased, wiggling her eyebrows. Y/N laughed, not having a rebuttal.

“What can I say? He is kinda cute, isn’t he?” She sassed at her friend, looking back at her boyfriend as he made his way back to the table. He sat down in the booth in front of Y/N, who looked at Chloe, before the both of them started giggling, clinking their drinks together in cheers.

Seunghyun, confused, gave a small smile and looked between both girls.

“What?” He asked. But the girls just started giggling all over again.

———————————————

The last person to put the pieces together was none other than the band gossip, G-Dragon himself.

After the lounge, the group found themselves at a casino inside one of the larger hotels on the strip. The casino was full of lights and sounds, and even connected to an arcade.

Everyone split up once they got their coins and tokens, going to whatever called to them. Jiyong roamed around after losing one too many tokens at the slot machines. He looked around to find what he should do next when he spotted Seunghyun and Y/N at the arcade side of the casino. They were currently playing a round of air hockey, Y/N’s laughter loud as she jumped in joy after scoring a goal. Seunghyun gave her one of his playful deadpan looks as he picked up the puck and placed it on the table before launching it at her side of the table. Y/N blocked it easily and shot it right back, scoring once more and successfully ending the game.

Y/N’s giggles were infectious and Jiyong found himself smiling along with Seunghyun who pouted as Y/N made her way over to his side of the table. She said something to him, and he lit up, grinning as he reached out to her and pulled her to him. Jiyong stared, his jaw slack when he saw Seunghyun lean down and give Y/N a kiss.

When the fuck had this happened?

He watched them break apart, smiling at each other, before Y/N pulled him towards the motorcycle arcade game. Instead of competing against one another, Y/N had Seunghyun sit on the bike, while she climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She leaned her head on his shoulder, pecking his cheek as he smirked at her, before revving the engine.

Jiyong was at a loss for words. He had been rooting for his two friends to get together for YEARS. When on earth did that happen and why did he not know about it?!

“Ahh, so you found out tonight too, huh?”

Jiyong turned to find Youngbae behind him, smiling as he looked on at the couple.

“You knew about this? And didn’t tell me?” Jiyong whined, off-put that he was the last to know.

“I figured it out earlier tonight. I think it just happened while here in Vegas,” Youngbae rationalized, still smiling at his friend mischievously.

“But…you do know what that means, right? Pay up. I found out first.”

Jiyong rolled his eyes and huffed, pulling out his wallet and handing over $100. Youngbae began to pocket the money when they heard someone clear their throat behind them.

“Technically, I found out when they got out of the elevator in the hotel, holding hands with intertwined fingers…” Daesung said, his face smug and he held his palms out. Jiyong and Youngbae both groaned, sad that they had lost out to the youngest member.

Daesung smiled happily as he took the cash, turning his gaze back at their eldest brother and his now girlfriend, watching them finally get what they both deserve: happiness.

———————————————

BONUS:

“You sure you wanna plant air hockey? I’m really good at it,” Y/N teased as Seunghyun gave her a disbelieving look.

“Y/N, I’ve known you my entire life and I’ve never once seen you play air hockey. I think you’re bluffing,”

Y/N bit her lip, not willing to argue.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she singsonged, getting into position at her end of the table.

Within the first 2 minutes of the game, Y/N had scored 5 out of 7 of the winning goals. Seunghyun’s face went from surprised to playfully stoic, shocked that he was as bad as he was. Y/N couldn’t stop giggling at him, as he picked the puck out of his goal once again.

“We don’t have to finish Seunghyun, it’s okay,” she soothed, but Seunghyun glared, which made her laugh even more. After another 2 minutes, Y/N has successfully scored all 7 goals, and Seunghyun pouted playfully.

“Awww, I’m sorry,” Y/N cooed, walking over to where he stood. “To be fair, I did warn you,” she giggled as he pouted even more.

“Okay, what can I do to make it up to you?”

Seunghyun pretended to think about it, looking at her from underneath his eyelashes playfully.

“I have two requests,” he began, as Y/N nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“One: No more “Seunghyun”. Call me baby from now on” he smiled at her, watching her smile back at him sweetly.

“And two: I want a kiss, right here,” he tapped his lips, pouting them into a kissy face playfully as he reached for her, pulling her in close. Y/N immediately granted his wish, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips pressed against hers again. The kiss was sweet, and soft, and Y/N melted into Seunghyun’s arms.

They broke the kiss gently, smiling at each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, his dimples prominent.

“I love you too, baby,” she reciprocated, using his new nickname. Seunghyun shivered at the way of the term of adoration sounded in her voice.

“Oh look! Let’s go do that,” Y/N exclaimed excitedly as she spotted the motorcycle game. She pulled Seunghyun over and had him sit on the bike before she placed a few coins into the slot.

“Are you gonna try to beat me at this too?” He teased.

“Nope,” she said playfully as she straddled the bike from behind him, leaning forward and pressing herself against his back as she settled comfortably. Y/N reached forward, wrapping her arms around Seunghyun’s waist. She felt his warmth, her fingers splayed across his abdomen, feeling the soft material of his shirt and the hard planes of his abs underneath. Seunghyun tensed, doing his best to suppress a shiver at her touch.

Y/N rested her chin against his shoulder, smiling as she squeezed him slightly.

“This is much better,” she sighed, her lips very close to Seunghyun’s left ear. She felt him tense up, almost like he twitched in her hold. He chuckled deeply and began to select the parameter for the game. The motorcycle underneath them came to life, roaring as Seunghyun playfully revved the engine.

“You better hold on tight, I know a thing or two about motorcycles,” he boasted in a silly voice, making Y/N giggle in his ear. He leaned his head towards hers, almost as if he were ticklish from the way she laughed softly by his ear.

Y/N had a wicked thought and decided to let out a gentle breath against Seunghyun’s neck as he began the race. She immediately felt him tense in her arms, a slight shiver reverberating through him. Y/N then began to slowly kiss Seunghyun’s shoulder, letting her lips trail from his shoulder to his neck.

“Baby…what are you doing,” Seunghyun questioned, his voice shaky.

“Nothing…” Y/N whispered innocently as she trailed her lips further up, gently nipping on his earlobe while her hands roamed his chest. When she accidentally flicked his nipple through his shirt as she dragged her nails down his chest, Seunghyun lurched forward.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, losing balance on the motorcycle and dropping one of his legs down to stop them both from toppling over.

Y/N chuckled again.

“Keep driving baby,” she commanded softly in his ear, waiting until he obliged before slowly dipping her hands under his shirt. She slid her hands up, feeling the muscles ripple underneath her touch.

“Shit,” Seunghyun breathed, loving the feel of her hands on his body. He could feel the familiar tightening in his pants and knew he had to end this before he was forced to walk out of the casino with a raging hard on.

“Baby, wait,” he gasped with a slight hiss as she bit at his earlobe before soothing the assault with her tongue. Y/N loved the sounds of his breathy voice, waiting nothing more than to continue.

“Aww, you don’t want me to kiss you anymore?” She teased, trailing her fingers up his chest.

Seunghyun bit his lip as he let go of the throttle with both hand, reaching up to grip onto Y/N’s hands under his shirt. When he spoke, his voice was deep, almost gravelly.

“If you don’t stop, I’m gonna throw you over my shoulder and book a room at this fucking casino and show you just how much I want you to kiss me,” he looked at Y/N over his shoulder, a wicked smirk on his lips. Y/N chuckled in his ear again and Seunghyun felt his pants tighten even more at the sound.

“Fiiiiiine, I’ll stop,” she whined playfully, but not before leaning forward just a bit to capture his lips with hers. Seunghyun groaned lightly into the kiss, leaning towards her when she pulled back, as if chasing her lips.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered with a smile on his face, eyebrows raised. Y/N winked at him.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Taglist:

@ldydeath @loveesiren @petersasteria @pinkpunkdynamite @sherrayyyyy @wcnderlnds @jackielouuu @lariem-blog2

[meadowfics]

sea trip

hwang jun-ho x preteen!daughter x brief mentions of reader

based off of this request here

for @jalicecookie

the air is crisp, the salty scent of the sea hanging thick as jun-ho adjusts his grip on the railing of the docked boat.

it’s another long night ahead...another desperate attempt to locate the island. the island that has brother. the island that is holding gi-hun hostage. the island that turned men into monsters.

jun-ho exhales sharply, lost in his thoughts, when he hears something behind him.

a scuffle of movement, too light to belong to any of the crew. the police officer's body tenses immediately, instincts kicking in as he spins around...only to freeze.

there, huddled in the shadows of the boat, is his daughter.

jun-ho's twelve-year-old daughter.

she’s out of breath, eyes shining with excitement, dressed in a hoodie far too big for her, the sleeves covering her hands. the daughter's hair is messy from the wind, and her cheeks are flushed from the night air.

“appa!” she grins, completely unaware of the sheer horror settling in his chest.

“i made it!”

jun-ho doesn’t react for a moment. he’s too busy processing. he is too busy staring at her in disbelief, eyes darting between her face and the school uniform peeking out from under the hoodie.

the man's voice is low, tight with tension.

“what did you just say?”

she rocks back on her heels, beaming.

“i made it onto the boat! you didn’t even notice me, huh?” she giggles, clearly so proud of herself.

“i told you i was getting really good at sneaking around—”

“what are you doing here?!” his voice is sharp now, cutting through the night like a blade.

the girl's smile falters.

the daughter's brows furrow in confusion.

“i—i came to help! i always hear you talking about taking boats to find an island, so i thought—”

he takes a step forward, and she immediately stops talking.

“you thought what?” his tone is cold, demanding.

she hesitates before looking up at him with unwavering determination.

“that i could help you.”

jun-ho lets out a long, slow breath, pressing a hand to his temple as if trying to will away a growing headache. the man's heart is pounding. no, not really. it is from fear, overwhelming fear.

she snuck out.

she snuck away from school, away from safety, and onto this boat.

she shouldn’t be here. she can’t be here.

he crouches in front of her, gripping her shoulders firmly.

“do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

she bites her lip, eyes darting away.

“i just—”

“do you understand what you just put yourself in, 딸?” his voice is low now, strained, as if he’s trying to contain something far bigger than just frustration.

she swallows hard.

“i just wanted to be with you,” she mumbles, suddenly looking so small in front of him.

jun-ho shuts his eyes for a second, collecting himself. when he looks at her again, the frustration hasn’t left, but neither has the fear.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he says, voice rough.

“this isn’t some adventure. this isn’t a game. its apart of my police work... you have no idea what you’re walking into.”

she frowns, defensive now.

“but i want to help! i hear you talking about it all the time...you’re always searching for the island, always leaving—”

“because i have to,” he cuts in sharply.

“not because i want to.”

she looks down, fingers gripping the hem of her hoodie.

jun-ho exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before kneeling again. his voice is softer this time, but still firm.

“you don’t belong in this, sweetheart. you should be at home with your mom. safe.”

she clenches her jaw.

“but you’re never home.”

jun-ho's breath catches in his throat.

“you’re always gone, appa,” she whispers.

“and even when you’re home, you’re not really there. you’re always thinking about this.”

jun-ho looks at her, really looks at her, and sees what he’s been too blind to notice. the longing. the loneliness. the way she just wants to be close to him, to understand him.

he curses himself silently. he thought he was doing the right thing by keeping her away from all of this, by staying distant, by locking away every terrible thing he’s seen and done.

in doing that, he’s made her feel like she has to fight for his attention. that she has to go to extreme lengths just to be by his side.

his shoulders sag.

“your mother thinks you’re at a sleepover,” he says quietly.

she nods.

he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“okay. here’s what’s going to happen. we’re turning this boat around, and i’m taking you home.”

the daughter's eyes widen.

“but—”

“no buts.” his voice is final.

“you scared the hell out of me, do you understand? i don’t care how much you want to help me. this is not for you.”

she looks away, clearly upset, but doesn’t argue.

jun-ho reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“i’m sorry i made you feel like you had to do this,” he murmurs.

“i should’ve been better. i should’ve been there for you more.”

the girl's eyes flicker with something unreadable.

“you still can be,” she whispers.

jun-ho exhales, guilt pressing heavy against his chest.

“I'll try, and i know y/n misses me too.”

"yeah, mom does." she nods.

for the first time, some of the tension in the air lifts.

he stands, grabbing his phone.

“i need to text your mom.”

her eyes widen in alarm.

“don’t tell her—”

“oh, she’s definitely going to know.”

she groans, slumping against the railing.

“i’m so grounded.”

jun-ho almost laughs. almost.

“yeah,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“you are.”

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