#i even kind of like. god i can’t even say it.

[drgnflyteabox]

daddy cool ⋆˙⟡

john price x fem!reader summary: “I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.” ↪or the one in which hairy muscle daddy john price asks you to show him your skills disco style tags/warnings: 70s clubbing, body hair is a central theme, scent kink, daddy kink, deepthroating, rough oral (m), cigars, some alcohol, manipulation if you squint,vaginal fingering + sex, a bit of exhibition kink but not really at all (one line), 'little' not used as a size indicator, dom/sub, oral (f), tiny gape mention

“I think he’s interested in you,” Debbie whisper-screams in your ear. It’s hard to hear her over the boom of the drums, over the four on the floor beat and soaring voices. 

“Really?”

“Girl,” she laughs, incredulous. You look over your shoulder and sure enough he’s fixing you with a stare hot enough to burn through steel.

He’s flanked by two others, but you hardly notice them. You’re staring right into the deep V of his open shirt, at the fur peeking out of it, at the pink of his tongue as it swipes his bottom lip under his mustache. Sinful.

The booth he’s sitting in is draped with orange translucent curtains, creating some illusion of privacy. No overhead lights, either, just a soft cave and dark burgundy leather. Perfect for a bear like him.

“Should I go over there?” you whisper-scream back, curling closer to Debbie, “he’s a bonafide stud.”

She laughs, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, “yeah he is, and he’s looking at you, girl.”

You peek again. He’s smiling this time, like someone who knew you’d look twice. Beyond his shirt, his pants are so goddamn tight you can see almost everything. Christ, who let him out of the house looking like that?

“I’m gonna go over,” you say before you can stop yourself.

A saxophone disco beat booms through the club, thrumming right through you down to your toes, which you move to dance your way to him. Debbie laughs behind you, disappearing into the crowd.

Your hips go side to side, your teeth bite your bottom lip, and you fix him with what you hope is a clear message; you’re hot.

He stays exactly where he is. There’s a smugness about him now, the same smugness you saw when you looked twice.

You can’t really blame him for it. Someone that looks like that is bound to expect attention, desire.

God, he’s just your type. A quiet kind of arrogance, one arm slung over the back of the booth as he lifts a cigar up to his mouth and puffs. Lazily, like a big lion that knows he doesn’t have to hunt to get his food.

“Hello, love,” he says slowly when you get close enough. You’re still bouncing to the music, but you lean forward to hear him better.

“Interested in me, are you?” you’re going for a coy, simpering kind of approach. Something about him makes you want to lay it on thick, want to seduce. To preen a little.

His knuckles are dark in the lighting, hairy and tough like he works with his hands, which you catch as he pats the booth beside him. 

You hadn’t even noticed his companions leaving.

“Saw you dancing,” he lifts a glass from the table, dark liquid, his mustache getting wet, “thought you might be interested, too.”

“You thought right,” you slide in beside him, the leather seat cool even through your tight bootcut pants. You tilt your knees towards him, lifting an elbow to match his on the back of the booth.

Reds, yellows, oranges dance on his skin. The occasional sparkle of the disco ball peeks through, but mostly it filters through the orange booth curtains and spreads into an archipelago of little bright spots. This lighting agrees with him, accentuates the best parts, makes them look darker and more defined. You’d feel like a pervert looking down his shirt if he wasn’t also doing the same to you.

“Name’s John, love,” and when you tell him yours he says, “that’s fitting.”

“So, what do you do?” boring, typical– but it’s all you’ve got. You’re surprised you can get words out at all with the drool pooling in your mouth. This close, you can see how his shirt strains where his shoulders move. A little too small, but it’s probably on purpose.

Should be illegal, honestly.

His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s the kind of guy whose entire face changes when he smiles, who looks disarmingly more approachable that way.

“I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.”

“Talent?” you cross one leg over the other, trilling internally with satisfaction when you see his eyes fall to your thighs.

You know you aren’t being subtle in the least– and you aren’t trying to be. But you won’t say anything outright, not yet, not while the anticipation feels this tasty.

The booth isn’t private, but it is insulated. The music is loud, but not too loud, just enough that it thrums through you, that you can hear him. Anita Ward croons in your ear, encouraging you. He can ring your bell, that’s for sure.

“That’s right,” he puffs again. The smell makes you lightheaded.

“Moviestars, you mean?” you roll your ankle around, watching him watch you, wondering if he likes the polish colour you picked. 

You like that he’s visibly affected; licking his lips, that meaty hand climbing higher up his thigh.

“Something like that, love,” he smiles again, leans back in the booth and launches a counter attack to your leggy flirtations – he spreads those legs, feet pointed out, hunched just so that his belly starts poking out of those sinfully tight pants.

Motherfucker.

Looking back up at him, his eyes are crinkled at you, head tilted forward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Which movies have you produced?” you lean your head on your hand, looking at him through your lashes, “anything I’ve seen?”

“I hope so,” he hums. His eyes flit down to your feet again, up to your midriff, then back to your eyes– it’s hot, but it’s also not just a flirtation. He’s assessing, “have you seen Swan Lady? The Nun and the Two Vikings?”

You frown, “no, I haven’t heard of either.”

“How about Call of Duty: Servicing the Captain?”

Ah, it clicks. Your eyebrows go up, into your hairline, “you make pornos?”

“Aye, smart girl,” he gruffs.

Pornos, huh. You could laugh– he looks the part. A little sleazy, unabashed. Masculine not to the point of parody but it’s close. The ‘stache is in style, but in combination with everything else is just the cherry on top.

You only have one question, “you don’t star in any?”

“I prefer working behind the scenes,” something about the way he says behind feels filthy.

John tells all. He does scout, finds girls who want to have a good time (like you), and gently (or so he says) nudges them in front of the camera. I can always sniff ‘em out, he says. The ones that’ll do well on film, that have star quality.

“How can you tell?” you ask, lips pulling on your straw. John has ordered you a tequila sunrise.

You can’t help but trace the skin of his neck with your eyes, roving at the bob of his Adam's apple as he explains. Girls who can take the gloves off, so to speak. Says he can tell by the way they move, how free they are with their bodies.

A little dubious, but it’s honestly doing it for you. You wonder what he saw when you danced up to him, if the sway of your body was free, liberated.

Doesn’t take long at all for him to invite you out either way. John puts his hand on your knee and squeezes, gets real close, gruffs that his place is nearby.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” and of course the only answer is yes, please.

Boney M. soars around you as you follow him out, your hand holding his, your fingers stroking the hairs on his knuckles. 

She’s crazy for her daddy!

On the drive over, he keeps that big paw on your thigh, squeezing almost subconsciously. Just the flex of his fingers.

You widen your knees, hoping for that rough palm to slide upwards, glancing at John as he drives one-handed. Not your first rodeo going home with a man from the disco, but it sure is the first time you’ve felt so keyed up about it.

He’s huge, takes up an absurd amount of room in the car, knee knocking into yours. He even drives sexy, so sure and in control.

“You think I could be in one of your movies?” you say, impish, looking to provoke.

John glances at you for just a second too long, too intense. You can tell he’s picturing you in front of the cameras.

“That what you want?”

“Just picturing it,” you simper, shifting your knee to deliberately touch him again. His fingers flex against your thigh again, jaw moving.

The air is warm, breezy, lights passing by like twinkling firebugs. You roll your window down, smiling at the feeling.

“Picturing it, aye? Is that making you wet, sweetheart?”

Fuck. It certainly is now.

“Only if you can be my co-star.”

“Is that right?” he laughs, low and deep. His hand climbs higher, “‘fraid I’m just the recruiter, but I’ll have to do a quality test.”

“Quality test?”

“Mm,” he hums, “need to make sure you’re ready for the camera, don’t I? You think you’ve got star quality, then prove it.”

Your panties are sticky.

“I can do that,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Can you prove you can be a good girl for me, sweetheart?” his fingers slide, achingly slow, to the gusset of your pants, “that you can look into that camera and show the world you’re a good girl?”

They press against you, right up against your clit through the fabric. You fight to stay still, to not come across like you’re desperate, but god it’s hard. You ache.

“Mhm,” you breathe, subtly tilting your hips forward as he idly pets your pussy.

“Not an answer,” he says firmly. Butterflies dance in your stomach, the air slowly being siphoned out, leaving you hot and bothered. John is barely affected, it seems, driving still, gliding through the night.

“Sorry,” you swallow, “I can do that, daddy.”

“Much better.”

“Still want to prove it to me, love?” he moves to a glass cabinet, pulling out a little box. It opens with a click, revealing a neat row of thick cigars.

“Yes,” you stand in the middle of his living room, appreciating the atmosphere he’s made; low lighting, oranges, reds everywhere. Brown leather and the heady smell of cigar smoke, of leather polish and an incense-y kind of musk.

He walks back towards you, brand new cigar between his fingers, steps heavy on the carpet. You’re made aware of the height difference when he stands right in front of you, looking down not unkindly.

Your skin prickles at his gaze, the same one from the club; that assessment. Like he’s measuring you, testing you, scanning you.

John leans forward, breath puffing lightly across your face. He smells like his house does, only there’s a bit of whiskey mixed in.

You can’t help but squirm just a little, thighs rubbing together, both to relieve the pulsing ache of your pussy and that it’s impossible to stay composed under that gaze.

“Drop down,” he says finally, “to your knees, sweetheart.”

From your knees, you get a good fucking look at those tight pants– at the bulge in them. The hair on his chest sticks out a little, too, peeking at you from above. Hot. So hot.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, daddy,” you bite your lip again.

“Keep those hands down, alright?” he leans to the side and picks up a cigar lighter, watching you as he lights up.

John stands over you, new cigar lit, plumes of smoke drifting from his fingers. His expression is neutral, though he hums in a pleased way as he strokes the softness of your cheek.

“Take me out,” he commands.

You lean forward with your mouth, unable to resist giving him a good long sniff before you pull at his zipper with your teeth. He smells good, musky and strong, a little cologne there but mostly it’s natural.

When your teeth gently take his briefs, pulling, he cups the back of your head with a big hand and strokes your hair.

“Are you going to take it all, sweetheart? Right down your throat?”

You let his cock flop out of his underwear, heavy. The bush surrounding it makes your mouth water. It looks so good, long and a little curved, bouncing as if it’s teasing you.

You nod finally, hands squeezed into fists in your lap just the way he asked, “yes, daddy.”

“That’s my girl, aye? Are you going to give daddy’s cock a little kiss first?”

You lean forward, lips pursed, planting a little kiss on the mushroom head of his cock. Though you ache to lick your lips, to taste him, you wait.

“That’s a good little girl,” he murmurs, “open your mouth.”

You do, holding your tongue out.

He grips the base, holding his cock up, tapping your tongue with the head. You almost whine, before he grips your head firmer and holds you still so he can slide the entire length of that monster right to the back of your throat.

Your nose hits his pubic bone, buried in the coarse hairs there, overwhelmed, hands balling into fists.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “hold it right there, sweetheart, show me you’ve got what it takes.”

God, he’s all the way in, a perfect fit. You try to stay still, anchoring yourself to him, to his palm, to the possibility of hearing good girl.

You gag a little, coughing around him, tears burning at your eyes as drool plip plops onto your chest.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking your hair, “good girl, such a good girl. Ready?”

“Yes,” you garble around the heady of his cock, clit swollen and needy, hands pressing hard into your thighs, “please fuck my face, daddy.”

He does, his pistoning, fucking your mouth like it’s a cunt. His hand cradles the back of your head, pushing you, hips moving, grunting when he’s not taking the occasional puff of his cigar.

You throb in your panties, body scorching hot, gagging every so often around the thick meat of John’s cock. Drool falls in viscous strings, tears following, the world dropping away. 

Nothing else but the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth exists, matters.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he pants raggedly.

You have no idea how long he lasts, only that when he’s finished you're an absolute mess. Wet faced and panting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs. You look up at him through your clumped lashes, mouth open, “did so well for me, hm?”

“Thank you, daddy,” your voice is a little gravelly, but not painful.

John pulls you up with a hand at your bicep, walking you down a hallway off his living room and towards an open door. 

It’s his bedroom– and it’s decorated exactly as you’d imagined it.

The bed is huge, kingsized with a radio inlay and a thick, padded headboard that extends all around the mattress in a kind of cradle. His sheets are silk, dark, and dark orange.

“Nice digs,” you laugh, “you sure you aren’t a pornstar?”

He laughs behind you, setting his lit cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. He slowly strips out of his clothes, getting totally naked. Then he slides in, and leans back.

“Give me a show, sweetheart.”

You hum, swaying again. You aren’t a pro at this kind of stuff, but it’s fun regardless to pull your shirt up and over your head like you’re a dirty dancer.

“Like this, daddy?”

John hums.

You slowly slide your pants down, turning so he can watch your ass move, kicking them away. You hear the slick sounds of him jerking his cock as you do.

“Should I take my panties off?” you ask, thumbs slipping into the elastic.

“Yes, take them off,” he grunts, “turn around.”

You do, then slowly slip your panties off. He licks his bottom lip again, quick.

“Come here.”

You slide onto the bed, on your knees, then crawl forward until you’re beside him, where he pushes you to lay on your side.

His heavy palm finds the naked skin of your hip, squeezing, “still want to show me your star power, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you’re back in it, eyes half lidded. Your pussy is making a wet spot on your thighs, “I wanna show you.”

He pushes you to your back, slaps your thighs until you open your legs and hold them out. Then he pauses, hand at the junction of your thigh and hip, thumb inching towards your pussy.

“Look how wet you are, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You clench, tilting your hips up. Your clit throbs.

“Ah ah, get back down,” he tuts.

Your ass touches the bed again, hips forced down by sheer willpower. His thumb finally reaches you, pulling aside your pussylip to gaze at your wetness.

It gushes out of you, and you’re sure he can see the way your hole clenches.

“Desperate little cunt, aye?” he uses his other hand, two two fingers coming to pull the hood of your clit up and just watch as it jumps needily, “awe, poor thing.”

“Please, daddy,” you could cry, “please, touch me.”

“Touch where, love? Touch this needy little clit?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he abandons holding you open to bring his thumb to your exposed clit, rubbing in circles. You shout, a tremor immediately beginning. It’s too much and not enough at once, electric and icy-hot.

Then he slips those fingers inside you, slow and testing at first, but when he realizes just how wet and soft you are he curls them inside you deeply and oh, fuck, your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s the spot, that’s it,” he grunts, shaking you, taking you apart.

John only fingers you long enough to let your wetness spill out of you, wetting your thighs, soaking his fingers– until you’re ready for his cock.

“You’re ready,” he lays the length of it against your pussy for a moment, letting your swollen lips hug his length, before he shifts back and nudges the head at your hole, “yeah, you’re ready for it.”

He stuffs you fucking full. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life, thankful for his diligent attention earlier or you might be really feeling the weight of him.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nipples rubbing against his chest hair. It sparks pleasure from your tits right down your cunt, body aflame, hands scratching through the hair at his back.

It’s like fucking a bear, or a werewolf. He’s relentless, too, without mercy. Plows into you hard and long, thrusts measured, never faltering.

John fucks like a pornstar, there’s no doubt about it. He takes up so much space on top of you that without his arms holding him up you worry about being crushed– you crave it, too.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, lip curling, mustache going with it, “want to be on camera, do ya? Let me hear you.”

You let loose, mouth open in one long drawn out sound, interposed only by the gasps you let out each time he hits you deep.

You tilt your head back, bearing your throat, taking each heavy thrust and crying out with them, squeezing around him.

“I’m gonna give it all to you, sweetheart, fuck,” he snaps his hips faster now, “and you’re gonna take it all like a star.”

You nod desperately, feeling his pubes each time he thrusts to the hilt, wet with your juices. You’re so fucking close, one breath to your clit and you’d lose your mind.

He straightens, hands going to your hips, tightening, as he snaps one, two, three times and tenses–

His head snaps back, neck bulging with veins as he comes, teeth bared in a growl as he curses, “fuck, good girl, that’s right– good fucking pussy–”

Hot come shoots inside, heating you up further, making you whine with frustration and satisfaction both.

When the taut line of his body relaxes and he pulls out, a flood of come following him, he slides to his stomach and spreads you open with his thumbs.

“Let daddy make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your pussy, “he’s not usually so selfish.”

John looks down first. Your pussy is swollen, well-fucked, and you can feel a slight gape.

“Poor little pussy,” he murmurs, then seals his mouth over your clit until you fall apart.

“You sure you aren’t a pornstar?” your cheek is pressed to his chest, basking in the furriness, arm and leg thrown over his body.

He laughs, “I’m sure, sweetheart. But I will say–” he pauses to lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth, mustache still damp, “you’ve definitely got star quality.”

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 2

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 4.9k

warnings: cuss words

The fun and relaxed vibe the islanders had been building quickly shifts when the new arrival walks in.

“Woah! A girl!” Topper calls out from the kitchen, prompting a giggle from the newcomer as she approaches and greets him with a hug. Y/N, Sarah and Maddy exchange glances while Rafe, JJ and John B get off the daybed to meet the new girl. Rafe turns back to the girls with a teasing grin.

“Not coming?” He jokes, prompting them to get up. Y/N adjusts her dress, taking Maddy’s hand as they join the group.

“Why do I feel like she’s going to stir up some drama?” Y/N whispers, earning a snicker from Maddy.

“You’re probably right. My intuition’s saying the same thing.” Maddy replies as they follow the others. The islanders greet her warmly, introducing themselves with hugs.

“I’m Alyssa!” She announces with a bright smile. “Shall we head to the firepit? I’d love to get to know all of you!” She leads the way enthusiastically, the boys trailing after her while the girls hesitate before following.

As they all settle in, the boys begin asking Alyssa questions. It isn’t long before she glances around the group.

“Okay, so who’s coupled up with who?” She asks. Topper quickly wraps an arm around Sarah’s shoulders.

“I’m with Sarah.” He declares, as if staking his claim. Alyssa nods, her gaze shifting to Rafe, who is sitting beside Y/N.

“What about you? Rafe, right?” She asks. Rafe blinks, caught off guard.

“Uh, yeah. I’m, uh…I’m coupled up with Y/N,” He stammers making Y/N’s brows furrow slightly as Alyssa smirks.

“And how are things going between you two?” Alyssa presses, leaning forward slightly. Rafe glances at Y/N, seemingly searching for the right words.

“It’s still early days, but things are good.” Y/N answers when his silence lingers. The rest of the couples share their pairings as Alyssa nods thoughtfully. Later, the boys excuse themselves to let the girls chat with Alyssa.

“What’s your type?” Cleo asks curiously, making Alyssa pretend to think.

“Hmm…someone fit, with light eyes, that always gets me. Someone who’s fun but can have deep conversations too.” She pauses. “Rafe seems like that kind of guy.” She adds, causing the girls to exchange pointed looks. “Honestly, Rafe and Y/N seem like the it-couple here. They’re so close already and it’s only day two.” Maddy speaks up, making Y/N roll her eyes jokingly. Alyssa shruggs, undeterred.

“Well, like you said, it’s early days. His head could still turn.” She reveals, making the girls widen their eyes as they look at Y/N who turns to Maddie.

“Told you. Drama starter.” Y/N mutters to Maddy, who giggles, before turning back into conversation.

“Look, I’m not here to make seasonal girlfriends. I’m here to find love. If that means stepping on toes, so be it. You can’t expect to stay coupled up with the same person for weeks on end.” Alyssa leans back, addressing the group.

The girls exchange tense glances as Alyssa stands up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to chat with the boys. See you around.” She walks away, her hips swaying exaggeratedly as she approaches the guys in the kitchen.

“Oh my god.” Sarah mutters.

“I was this close to punching her.” Kiara says through gritted teeth.

“She’s got some nerve.” Cleo adds. They all turn to Y/N, expecting a reaction.

“Aren’t you going to say something? She basically said she’s coming for Rafe.” Kiara presses, but Y/N only shrugs.

“Guys, it's still the second day. I…yeah, I have fun with Rafe already and there’s definitely something building there, but if his head is gonna turn, I can't help it.” She says, her voice casual, though there’s an underlying tension in her words.

“He’s not going to go for her.” Maddy says confidently and the others nod in agreement.

“Early days, Mads.” She tries to remind Maddy, but mostly says it as a reminder to herself.

The rest of the evening unfolds with Alyssa effortlessly mingling with the guys, laughing and chatting as she tries to make connections. When it’s finally time to wind down, the girls retreat to the makeup room, giggling and talking as they remove their makeup and change for bed. Alyssa, however, is in the bathroom, mid-skincare routine, when Rafe walks in wearing nothing but his boxers, ready to brush his teeth.

“Oh, hey.” He says casually, grabbing and wetting the bristles of his toothbrush. Alyssa smirks, letting her hair tumble free from her ponytail and running her fingers through it.

“Hey, Rafe.” She replies, her tone light and flirtatious. She leans against the counter, her gaze roaming over his defined chest and abs.

“You good? Having fun?” He asks, voice slightly muffled from toothpaste as he starts brushing his teeth.

“Yeah.” She answers, her smirk widening. “You guys are fun. Nice. And very good-looking.” Rafe chuckles, spitting into the sink before wiping his mouth with a towel. She steps closer, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

“So, what is it you said you do?”

“My family owns a construction and development company.” Rafe replies, his tone polite but detached. Alyssa nods thoughtfully.

“Do you have a type?” She asks, her bluntness catching him off guard.

“Uh…not really.” He says after a pause. “I guess I like someone I can have fun with, adventures, good banter, that sort of thing.” As he speaks, his thoughts drift to Y/N. If they could go far enough to explore whatever this chemistry between them has to offer.

“Oh my god, that’s exactly what I look for too!” Alyssa exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “So…would you say I’m your type?” Rafe glances at her briefly before shrugging.

“Uh, sure.” He replies nonchalantly, his tone devoid of enthusiasm, but Alyssa smirks.

“Good to know.” She murmurs.

Just then, the bathroom door opens and Y/N steps inside. She’s wearing a pink pajama set with delicate lace trim, her tank top and shorts hugging her frame perfectly. Her wide eyes flicker between them.

“Am I interrupting?” She asks quietly, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. Rafe straightens immediately, relief washing over him at the sight of her.

“No, no, not at all.” He assures her, stepping aside so she can reach the sink. Alyssa gives Y/N a slow, appraising look before humming softly.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Nice talking to you, Rafe.” Without waiting for a response, she saunters out of the room. Y/N ties her hair back and begins washing her face. Rafe leans against the counter, watching her through the mirror.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice softer now and she nods, glancing at him with a small smile. Rafe’s chest tightens at her smile. He waits patiently as she finishes rinsing her face and grabs her toothbrush.

“What do you think of Alyssa?” She asks suddenly, catching him off guard. Rafe’s brows shoot up.

“Uh…she’s…okay?” He says hesitantly and Y/N raises an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue.

“She’s pretty.” He admits, shifting uncomfortably. “But there’s something missing. I just…I don’t think I could ever be attracted to her. Not in the same way as…” He trails off, his gaze locking with hers through the mirror. He closes his eyes, scratching the back of his neck, before finishing his sentence. “…you.”

Y/N’s eyes widen as she nearly chokes on her toothpaste. She turns away, coughing violently. Rafe immediately steps forward, gently rubbing her back.

“You okay? Want me to grab you some water?” He asks, concerned but she shakes her head, still coughing.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just…swallowed wrong.” She manages, her cheeks flushing as she spits into the sink. Rafe chuckles, leaning against the counter again as she wipes her mouth. His eyes drift over her, taking in her loose ponytail and her now-glowing, makeup-free face.

“What’s that?” He asks when she grabs a small jar from the counter.

“My moisturizer.” She explains, with a hoarse voice. “Do you want some?” Rafe nods, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Only if you do it.” He murmurs making Y/N laugh softly as she gestures for him to lean down. He crouches slightly, closing his eyes as her fingers gently glide over his face. Her touch is featherlight and Rafe exhales a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“That feels…really good.” He whispers. Y/N smiles, carefully working the cream into his skin.

“It’ll feel sticky at first, but it’s great for hydration. With all the sun we’re exposed to, it helps a lot.” She explains. When she finishes, Rafe glances in the mirror, noting the glow on his face.

“Looks good.” He says, turning back to her. His eyes linger as she adjusts her tank top strap and his jaw tightens at the sight of her effortless beauty.

“Ready to head downstairs?” He asks, clearing his throat and Y/N nods, leading the way to the bedroom. They settle into their respective sides of the bed, adjusting the covers. Y/N shifts slightly, her leg brushing against his and Rafe’s breath hitches.

As the rest of the islanders head to bed and the lights dim, Rafe props himself on one elbow, watching Y/N as she faces him. He brushes a strand of hair away from her face.

“You don’t have to worry about her, you know.” He whispers, making Y/N hum softly in question, her eyes meeting his.

“Alyssa.” He clarifies. “I like what we have and I want to see where it goes. However long or short that is.” His fingers twist a strand of her hair as he speaks, his voice barely audible. Y/N smiles, her arm draping over his torso in response. Rafe mirrors her smile, pulling her closer. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, the warmth of her body lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

The next day moves at a slower pace compared to the earlier ones. The girls lounge by the pool, gossiping about the boys as they work out and relax around the villa. Rafe and Y/N find a quiet moment together, stretched out on the couch under the terrace, getting to know each other better.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Rafe asks, his eyes closed as Y/N’s nails lightly trace along his arm, the touch comforting them both.

“Uh…I dance. I paint. And I read a lot too.” She reveals, her voice soft but genuine.

“Creative, aren’t you?” He teases, a smirk tugging at his lips, making her chuckle lightly.

“What can I say?” She teases, making him laugh along.

“What kind of dancing do you do?” His curiosity is evident and her touch doesn’t falter as she answers.

“I do some hip-hop, some contemporary too but mostly heels dancing.” She admits casually, catching him by surprise.

“Heels dancing? How does that even work?” He asks, raising a brow in disbelief.

“It’s this really sexy, technical style of dance in stilettos. It can be very challenging, but it’s so beautiful.” She explains, her face lighting up with enthusiasm as she talks about it. Rafe can’t help but admire the way she glows when she speaks about the things she loves.

“That sounds…I mean, I’ve got to see that.” He teases, grinning at her reaction.

“We’ll see about that.” She murmurs, looking away bashfully.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” He prods. “I bet you’re incredible at it. Especially that kind of dance.” Her nails pause briefly as she looks at him.

“You really think so?”

“I do.” He says earnestly. “And I’d love to see you dance. Anytime.” Her lips curl into a smile.

“Okay.” She whispers, agreeing softly.

Their quiet moment is interrupted by the sharp ping of a phone notification. Gasps ripple through the villa and Y/N sits up quickly, exchanging wide-eyed glances with Rafe as he follows her lead.

“Yeah? You’ll actually let me?” He presses, slightly surprised, but her soft laugh and nod are all the confirmation he needs. He grins, satisfied, before pulling his sunglasses back on and laying back down on the couch.

“I got a text!” Alyssa’s voice rings out, full of excitement. Y/N rises from the couch and glances toward the pool, where some of the girls chill in, Rafe instinctively placing a hand on her shoulder as he trails behind her.

“Alyssa, tonight you get to couple up with a boy of your choice, leaving a girl single and vulnerable. #maketherightchoice #steppingontoes.” Alyssa grins, reading the message aloud. Her excitement is palpable, while the rest of the girls exchange uneasy looks. The boys huddle nearby, their murmurs growing louder. Y/N glances at Rafe, the pit in her stomach tightening.

“I’m…I’m gonna go talk to the girls.” She mutters, her voice low. Rafe nods slowly.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you later.” He says, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting her go. His eyes follow her as she walks toward Maddy and Sarah, her bikini accentuating every curve.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” Sarah groans as Y/N sits down beside her.

“Did you see how thrilled she was to read that? She doesn’t care about any of us.” Maddy snaps, glaring toward Alyssa.

“Y/N, what’s on your mind?” Sarah asks, noticing the tension on her face.

“I…I don’t know. It’s just…I can’t control who she’s going to pick. And if it’s Rafe…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll be pretty bummed.” Maddy shakes her head firmly.

“He won’t give her a reason to pick him. He likes you, Y/N. It's obvious.” Before Y/N can respond, Alyssa’s high-pitched voice cuts through the villa.

“Rafey! Can I chat with you?”

Y/N stiffens, glancing over as Alyssa grabs Rafe’s arm. He looks confused but doesn’t protest. He turns back briefly, as if to gauge Y/N’s reaction, but she’s already averting her gaze. With a sigh, he lets Alyssa lead him to a secluded couch far from the others.

“Spoke too soon.” Y/N mutters under her breath, her fingers fidgeting with her ring as she tries to suppress the unease bubbling in her chest.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Maddy insists. “Rafe likes you. A chat doesn’t mean anything.”

Meanwhile, Alyssa is pouring on the charm as she talks to Rafe, her fingers twirling a strand of hair.

“When was your last relationship?” She asks, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. Rafe shifts uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.

“Over a year ago.” He says flatly.

“Was it a bad breakup?” She presses, leaning in closer and Rafe’s jaw tightens.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Relax, it’s just a question.” Alyssa replies with a low chuckle, her eyes shamelessly scanning him. “You work out, don’t you?” He nods curtly, barely holding back his irritation. Alyssa laughs softly at her own comment, but Rafe is already tuning her out. His thoughts drift back to Y/N. He can’t wait to walk away from this pointless conversation and return to her.

In the kitchen, Y/N is slicing fruit for a smoothie when Pope joins her, sliding onto a nearby stool. His eyes flick toward where Rafe and Alyssa are seated.

“They’ve been talking for a while.” He notes casually. Y/N glances in their direction briefly before returning her attention to the fruit. Her hands move quickly, but her grip on the knife is noticeably tense.

“Are you okay?” Pope asks gently. “Maybe…put the knife down for a second?” Startled, Y/N looks at her trembling hand and sets the knife aside with a sigh.

“I’m fine. Just…you know.” She struggles to explain, but Pope nods knowingly.

“I get it. My ex, she was gorgeous.”

“She’s not dead, Pope.” Y/N quips, cracking a small smile despite herself and he laughs.

“Fair. But yeah, she always got a lot of attention. And I’m not the jealous type, well, I try not to be, but it got to me sometimes.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just…worried.” Y/N admits.

“That’s fair.” Pope says thoughtfully. “But even if things don’t go as planned, you’ll find someone who’s perfect for you.” He pauses, smirking. “Maybe he’s closer than you think.” Y/N chuckles, shaking her head as Pope blushes.

“Thanks, Pope. I appreciate it.” She says warmly before turning back to her smoothie.

“Hey.” Rafe says casually, drawing both of their gazes. Cleo smirks, rising from her seat.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the villa comes alive once again, music and laughter weaving through the air. Islanders mingle, drinks in hand, their conversations buzzing with energy. Y/N sits with Cleo on the daybed, both of them laughing loudly as they chat, until he approaches.

“I’ll leave you two to do your little Bluetooth thing.” She teases, waving a hand between them. Y/N rolls her eyes, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement.

“See you later, boo.” Y/N murmurs as Cleo leans down to kiss her cheek, then walks away with a knowing grin. Rafe takes her place, kneeling on the daybed before sitting down beside Y/N.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice soft as his eyes fall to her hands, which are busy twisting the rings on her fingers.

“Yeah.” She whispers, but her tone betrays her. Rafe frowns slightly and reaches for her hand, his touch gentle.

“Be honest. Did I do something? You’ve been...distant. Earlier, we were good. Did I say something stupid?” Y/N lifts her head, her eyes meeting his briefly before she shakes her head.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything. It’s just...I...” She trails off, struggling to find the words.

“You can tell me. Whatever it is, I want to know.” He squeezes her hand, his voice steady and comforting. Y/N exhales deeply.

“Alyssa.” She finally murmurs. “She...I’m worried.” Rafe shakes his head immediately.

“You shouldn't be.” He says.

“I mean, I get it…it's pretty early to close things off or anything and of course I'm not gonna ask you to do something like that. It's just…I like…how we are. The vibes, the talks, everything. And…I wanna explore this. But I can't help and worry. You know?” She explains and he nods understandingly.

“Yeah, I get it. And for the record, I do like how things are going too. But…I'm not interested in her.” He assures her, his voice firm. She exhales softly, the tension in her shoulders easing.

“Okay.” She whispers. “But…what if-”

“She's not gonna pick me. I made it pretty clear that I'm not interested in her. Okay? Can you trust me on this?” He asks, grabbing her hand to reassure her. Her fingers tighten around his as she nods, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, everything else fades away. Her breath hitches when his gaze drops to her lips, but the moment is broken by the sharp ping of a phone. Y/N pulls back slightly, her eyes darting to the kitchen where Topper is staring at his screen.

“I got a text!” He announces. “Can all islanders gather at the firepit? #shitisabouttogodown #stealingtime.”

The group buzzes with chatter as they move toward the firepit. Rafe helps Y/N to her feet, keeping her hand in his as they walk. Just before they arrive, he gently tugs her closer.

“We’re going to be okay.” He murmurs, his arm slipping around her waist as he leads her to sit down beside him.

The tension in the air is thick as everyone waits, nerves on edge. Another phone ping sounds and all eyes turn to Alyssa, who smirks as she stands, her phone in hand.

“Alyssa, it’s time for you to choose which boy you want to couple up with.” She reads aloud, stepping forward. The girls exchange uneasy glances, but Y/N keeps her focus on the fire.

“This wasn’t an easy decision.” Alyssa begins, her tone practiced. “I didn’t have much time to think and I’m not sure if it’s the right choice. But this boy made me feel welcome and I really enjoyed the banter we shared. And I think there's more to explore with him.”

“The boy I want to couple up with is...” She pauses, the silence stretching. Sarah glances nervously at Y/N, Kiara’s leg bounces restlessly and Cleo suppresses a yawn.

“Rafe.”

Y/N feels her chest tighten at the reveal, her heart sinking.

“Oh my god.” Maddy whispers. Rafe looks at Alyssa, stunned, before turning to Y/N, whose face is unreadable as she stares into the flames. Alyssa steps closer, extending her hand to Rafe. He rises reluctantly, not touching her, his gaze fixed on Y/N.

Another ping breaks the silence. Y/N picks up her phone with trembling hands.

“Y/N, you are now single.” She reads quietly. “But don’t worry, the best is yet to come. #itsokayboo #troubleinparadise.” Sarah and Maddy immediately move to her side, guiding her away from the firepit. Rafe steps forward, trying to follow, but Cleo blocks him.

“Give her some time, pretty boy.” She says firmly, following the group with Kiara.

“What the fuck just happened?” JJ mutters, staring into the firepit as the others look on in stunned silence.

In the kitchen, the girls gather around Y/N on the couch, their faces etched with concern.

“How are you feeling?” Sarah asks cautiously and Cleo elbows her.

“What kind of question is that? Obviously, she feels like shit.”

“Cleo!” Maddy snaps, before turning back to Y/N. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I’m fine.” Y/N lies, twisting her ring anxiously.

“Don’t do that.” Kiara says softly, kneeling in front of her. “It’s okay to be upset.” Y/N exhales shakily.

“He told me not to worry. That he made it clear to her he wasn’t interested. He said she wouldn’t pick him. And yet...here we are.” The girls all stare at her with sympathy, wanting to comfort her. Before the girls can respond, Rafe’s voice cuts in.

“Can we talk?” He asks.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Kiara snaps, her tone icy.

“Fuck off.” Sarah adds sharply.

“All men do is lie.” Cleo mutters, shoving him back. Rafe stumbles and sighs, his eyes glued on Y/N who looks at Maddy on the other side. Maddy rubs her back as she stares back at her.

“Please.” Rafe says desperately, his eyes fixed on Y/N. “I didn’t know she’d do this. Y/N, come on.” Y/N finally looks up at him, her voice steady but cold.

“She wouldn’t have chosen you if you hadn’t given her a reason to.”

“I didn’t!” Rafe exclaims, frustration coloring his voice. “I told her I wasn’t interested!”

“Yeah, right.” Y/N retorts. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe. You made me trust you and now you’ve ruined it.”

“She didn’t misunderstand.” Alyssa interjects smugly, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t mean to betray your trust…upset you. I meant it when I said that I'm not into her. Okay? I don't know, she…she must have misunderstood.” He exclaims, Alyssa and the boys following her.

Rafe turns to her, frustration evident in his furrowed brows, but before he can say anything, Y/N stands abruptly from the couch and heads inside the villa. The group shifts their attention to Rafe and Alyssa.

“Alyssa, what do you mean?” Sarah asks, adjusting her dress.

“I mean, Rafe was being nice to me, flirting, even. He never said he was closed off or that he wasn’t interested.” Alyssa claims, her voice laced with confidence. Rafe exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Alyssa, I’m not interested in you. And I wasn’t flirting. I was just being polite. That’s it.” His tone is firm, and Alyssa stiffens at his words. “I like Y/N.” He continues, his voice unwavering.

“I like how things are with her. Yeah, it’s early and she said we should keep our options open, but I’m not keeping them open for you.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving everyone stunned, including Alyssa.

Upstairs, Y/N sits on the terrace, absentmindedly twisting a ring on her finger as her eyes glimmer. The soft click of the door closing behind Rafe makes her glance up.

“Can we please talk?” He asks, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. She nods and he steps closer, settling beside her.

“Don’t shut me out.” He pleads. “Yell at me if you have to. Just…don’t shut me out.” Y/N sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“I shouldn’t be upset. We never said we were exclusive and it’s still early. But…when she said you made her feel welcome, that she wanted to explore something with you, it frustrated me. Because you told me you weren’t interested. That you made it clear to her.”

“I did make it clear.” Rafe insists. “I swear, I never meant to give her the wrong idea.” She exhales shakily.

“Trust is a big thing for me, Rafe. And it’s not easy for me to just-” She stops, her voice trailing off. Rafe reaches out, resting a reassuring hand on her thigh.

“I know I messed up. I should have been more direct with her.” His thumb brushes against her skin in a soothing motion. “I get it if you’re upset. You have every right to. But I want to make this up to you, to prove to you that I like you, Y/N. That I’m in this.” His voice softens. “I can’t promise I won’t screw up again, because, honestly? I can be kind of an idiot.” A small laugh escapes her lips and Rafe grins.

“But I can promise to try for you.” He finishes, the sincerity in his eyes catching her off guard. She leans in slightly and he takes the hint, cupping her face gently. Her eyes flicker to his lips.

“I don’t want you to feel obliged to choose me.” She murmurs. “I love spending time with you, but I don’t want you turning people down just because of me or because you think you have to.”

“Just…let's see where this takes us? Okay?” She asks and Rafe doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to hers. She stiffens for half a second before melting into him, the kiss soft yet charged. When they finally pull apart, Rafe’s lips curl into a small smile.

“Promise me you won’t shut me out.” He whispers. “I need to hear you. Even if it’s just to tell me I’m being a dumbass.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

“Okay, Rafey.” The moment the nickname leaves her lips, Rafe tenses. He swallows hard.

“Wh-what?” His voice comes out rougher than expected. She smirks.

“It’s not ridiculous.” He mutters under his breath, making her brows lift in confusion.

“Oh, that ridiculous nickname Alyssa called you earlier.” She rolls her eyes, grinning.

“Oh? My bad, I didn’t realize you actually liked it-”

“No, no.” He interrupts quickly. “I don’t mean that. I just-” He hesitates, then exhales. “I don’t like it when she says it. But…when you say it? I don’t mind.” Y/N tilts her head, amused.

“Oh? Good to know.” A knowing smile tugs at her lips as she leans back and Rafe watches her, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Under the night sky, they sit together in comfortable silence, the tension between them slowly fading into something lighter, something undeniable.

Later that night, as the islanders get ready for bed, Y/N heads downstairs and immediately notices the newly added bed in the room, her name plaque resting on top. She sighs softly, slipping under the covers and getting comfortable. Maddy walks past, pausing just long enough to press a quick kiss to her forehead before heading to her own bed. Moments later, JJ strolls by and stops beside her, smirking.

“You know, Maddy wouldn’t mind me joining you.” He teases. Y/N rolls her eyes, fighting back a smile.

“Go to bed, J.” She says and JJ shrugs.

“Well, I offered.” He exclaims before wandering off. Soon after, Rafe makes his way to his own bed, only to pause when he notices the name plaque on it has changed. His gaze sweeps the room until he spots her. Without hesitation, he walks over, leans down and presses a kiss to her lips before she can react.

“I’m gonna miss you tonight.” He murmurs, his lips still grazing hers. From across the room, Topper and Sarah holler in amusement, making Y/N giggle. She playfully pecks Rafe’s lips once more.

“You mean you’re gonna miss me hogging the blanket?” She teases.

“Oh, 100%.” He deadpans. “I love waking up in the middle of the night freezing while you’re wrapped up like a human burrito.” She laughs, giving him a gentle push.

“Go to your bed.” She murmurs. Rafe smirks, backing away slowly before finally climbing into his bed, conveniently positioned across from hers. He doesn’t take his eyes off her, watching as she shakes her head and turns to chat with Cleo.

Then, Alyssa enters the room. The energy shifts as everyone’s attention flickers toward her. Without saying a word, she moves to her bed and lies down, keeping to the very edge. She doesn’t look at Rafe. Doesn’t speak to anyone.

“Goodnight, everyone!” Kiara calls from across the room, sparking a chorus of sleepy goodnights as the lights dim. Just as the room falls into silence, Rafe’s voice cuts through the darkness.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” She furrows her brows, cheeks instantly warming, nervous for what to come out of his mouth.

“W-what?”

The entire room seems to hold its breath, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“For the love of God and for my sake, please don’t dream of Captain America tonight.” He jokes. Laughter erupts, filling the space. Y/N grins, grabbing her pillow and launching it across the room. It hits Rafe with a muffled thud, making him groan. As the laughter fades and the room settles, Y/N exhales softly, sinking into her bed.

Maybe Rafe was right. They’re going to be okay.

to be continued...

A/N: a little late valentine's day gift for you guys, hehe

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[neferaskingdom]

Valentine Hotline | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Running a Valentine’s hotline was supposed to be fun—until she accidentally helps Bob plan the perfect date… for herself.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

The last thing she expected to be doing this Valentine’s Day was running an anonymous emergency hotline for lovesick fools, but here she was—headset on, taking call after call, all in the name of charity. Her best friend had roped her into this, promising it would be “fun,” but so far, all she had done was talk panicked men out of buying last-minute gas station flowers.

Her latest call came in with a hesitant, almost nervous greeting. “Uh… hi. Is this Cupid?”

“That’s me,” she said, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous alias she’d been assigned. “How can I help you, caller?”

There was a pause before he mumbled, “I need help asking out my crush.”

She smiled, already endeared. “Of course! What’s your name?”

A beat of silence, then—“Bob.”

She snorted. “Bob, huh? Okay, Bob, tell me about your crush.”

Bob sighed dreamily, and when he spoke again, it was with a kind of reverence that made her heart melt. “She’s amazing. Like, so cute, but not in a way that she even realizes. And she’s really smart—like, she remembers the smallest details about people, and she’s kind, too. Like, the kind of kind where she doesn’t even think twice about it, she just does things that make life easier for everyone around her. And she’s so funny, sometimes without even trying. I mean, she makes me laugh over the dumbest things. And—God, she’s way out of my league, but I really, really like her. It’s ridiculous how much I like her.”

Her heart melted. “That’s adorable. Have you spoken to her before?”

“Sort of,” he admitted. “We work together, but I don’t talk to her a lot because… well, I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid. I get irrationally shy around her.”

That piqued her curiosity. “Coworker, huh? What do you guys do?”

“I can’t say too much, or it’ll be obvious who I am,” Bob said quickly.

She nodded, intrigued but respecting his anonymity. “Alright, Bob. First things first, you need to start interacting with her more—test the waters, see how she reacts to you. Start flirting a little.”

“Oh God.”

She laughed. “Relax! I’ll help you. We’ll come up with a plan.”

And so, over the next few days, she helped Bob craft the perfect approach. They planned small conversations, little ways for him to test the waters—compliments, inside jokes, light teasing. He seemed enthusiastic yet nervous, but she assured him he was doing great.

Strangely, around the same time, Lando Norris—someone who had never gone out of his way to talk to her before—started showing up more often. He’d stop by her desk with a cheeky grin, making flirty comments that left her flushed. At first, she chalked it up to him just being friendly, but it kept happening.

“Looking good today,” Lando said one afternoon, leaning casually against her desk.

She rolled her eyes but felt her face warm. “Are you just going around giving out compliments to everyone?”

“Only to the pretty ones.” He winked, and she nearly choked on her coffee.

It was weird. But she couldn’t say she hated it.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, she was finishing up some work when Lando hovered nearby, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He shifted from foot to foot before finally clearing his throat.

“Hey, um… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

She turned in her chair, surprised by his serious tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He exhaled, looking at the floor before meeting her eyes. “I… uh, was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. Like, on a date. For Valentine’s Day.”

Her brain short-circuited for a moment. “Wait. You’re asking me out?”

Lando winced. “I mean, yeah? But you don’t have to say yes, obviously, I just thought—”

She cut him off with a grin. “Lando, I’d love to.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The relief on his face was almost comical. “Oh. Oh, cool! That’s great. Okay, um, yeah, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He left looking a little dazed but incredibly happy, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

That night, Bob called her one last time.

“She said yes!” he practically shouted through the phone. “I asked her out, and she said yes!”

She grinned, heart swelling with pride. “Bob! That’s amazing! I told you she’d like you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, if—no, when—we get married, you’re getting an invite.”

She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Have fun on your date, Bob.”

“Thanks, Cupid. You’re the best.”

And with that, her hotline duties were done.

The next evening, she met Lando for their date, dressed in a pretty outfit and buzzing with anticipation. He looked a little nervous, which was unusual for him, but she found it endearing. The restaurant was charming, the table setup romantic—candles, her favorite flowers, the works.

She took one look at it all and hesitated. The setup felt oddly familiar. Too familiar.

The restaurant. The flowers. The exact order of events.

Her stomach flipped as a ridiculous but nagging thought entered her mind. She looked at Lando, who was focused on cutting his steak, completely unaware of her staring.

“This is going to sound weird,” she began slowly, watching his reaction, “but do you know someone named Bob?”

Lando’s knife froze mid-slice. His head snapped up so fast she thought he might get whiplash. “W-what?”

She gaped at him. “Oh my God. You’re Bob, aren’t you??”

Lando opened and closed his mouth like a fish, looking utterly horrified. “H-how do you—how do you know that?”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Because I’m Cupid.”

Lando choked on his water, coughing as his eyes widened in horror. “No. No way.”

“Yes way,” she said, grinning at his absolute mortification. “I can’t believe I spent days coaching you on how to flirt with me.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m never living this down.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Lando.”

He peeked at her between his fingers. “Yeah?”

She smiled softly. “So… all those sweet things you said about your crush… they were actually about me?”

Lando groaned again, face going bright red. “I—uh—maybe?”

She felt her heart flutter, warmth spreading through her chest. “That’s honestly the sweetest thing ever.”

Lando let out a breath, rubbing his temples. “You must think I’m such a loser. Calling a hotline of all things just to figure out how to ask you out.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No. I think it’s endearing. You went out of your way to make sure you got it right. You wanted it to be perfect. That’s really, really sweet.”

He looked at her, expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their dinner was filled with laughter and easy conversation, and by the time he walked her to her door, she felt lighter than ever. He hesitated on her porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, uh… goodnight?”

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “Goodnight, Bob.”

Before he could groan again, she kissed him, soft and sweet, smiling against his lips as he melted into it. When she pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

She laughed. “Yeah. I think so too.”

[maskedbyghost]

When Angels Fall

Hello, my lovely people! Ready for some soul-crushing angst? No? Too bad—send your tears via mail. Love you! Also, all blame should be directed to the anon who requested this. Okay, thanks, bye!

Simon never believed in angels.

The world was too cruel, too ugly for something as pure as that. Wings were clipped, halos were tarnished, and heaven felt like a myth told to children who hadn't yet seen the things he had. He knew better than to believe in fairytales.

And then he met you.

You were 141’s guardian in the sky, an airman with a reputation that preceded you. Your callsign was Halo. It fit, he supposed, given how you watched over them, weaving through the air with a precision that impessed him since the very beginning he met you.

Your voice, crackled through his comms during every mission, would guide them out of hell and back home. You kept them safe, and God, if you weren’t the calmest person he’d ever known.

But it wasn’t just the security you brought that got under his skin. It was you—your voice, your laugh, the way you could turn a routine check-in into something that made him feel less like a ghost and more like a man.

“Wheels up in ten, boys,” you’d say, and Simon would find himself smiling under his mask, comforted by just the sound of you.

He didn’t know how it happened—how you managed to slip past the walls he had spent years building. Maybe it was the way you read him like an open book, saw through his hard exterior, or how you never once pushed him for more than he could give. Maybe it was because you still spoke to him like he was worth saving despite all the blood on his hands.

He didn’t know how, but he fell. Hard.

And the most terrifying part? You caught him.

It started small. You’d read off mission briefings in that smooth, calm voice of yours, and he’d listen like it was scripture. Then, you’d tease him about his accent and call him ‘big guy’ over the radio just to hear his exasperated huff. He didn’t even mind—not really. He’d never admit it, but he liked it. He liked you.

And at some point, it wasn’t enough to hear you only on missions.

One night, after a brutal mission, he found himself restless, the heavy burden of the battlefield clinging to him. He didn’t think—just grabbed his radio and switched to your private frequency.

“You up?” His voice was rough, and you immediately knew that he wasn’t okay.

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle could be heard coming from your side. “Simon Riley, calling me just to talk? I must be dreaming.”

He should’ve played it off and made some excuse about mission reports or logistics, but instead, he said, “Can’t sleep.”

A moment of silence passed, and then you said, “Want me to read to you?”

He frowned. “What, like a bedtime story?”

“Exactly like a bedtime story.”

He should’ve said no. Should’ve shut off his radio and suffered through another sleepless night like he always did. But he didn’t.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, alright.”

And so you did. Some book you had lying around, something about stars and the vast, endless sky. He barely remembered the words—just the sound of your voice, soft and lulling—until sleep finally took him.

After that, it became a habit. Whenever the weight of the world became too much, he’d reach for his radio, and you’d be there, voice soft in his ear, pulling him back from the darkness in a way nothing else could.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

But, he should’ve known happiness like this wouldn’t last.

The mission was supposed to be routine. Get in, retrieve intel, and get out. Simple. Clean.

It wasn’t.

Everything went to hell fast. Some kind of ambush, a miscalculation on their part, and the enemy waiting for them like they knew they were coming. The ground team was pinned and cut off from their extraction point, and Ghost could hear the tension in your voice as you called for support.

“Hang tight, I’m coming in,” you promised, your aircraft screaming through the sky.

He had no doubt you would. You always did.

You swooped in, raining fire from above, giving them enough cover to push forward. For a moment, it worked. For a moment, he thought they might actually make it.

Then the missile hit.

The explosion was deafening—a violent burst of flame and metal as your aircraft took a direct hit. Ghost felt it like a punch to the gut, his heart lurching into his throat as your voice crackled through his comms.

“Mayday, mayday! I’m hit—controls are—fuck—”

The world slowed.

He could hear Gaz yelling, could see Soap moving, but all he could focus on was your voice, filled with panic and your breathing ragged as you tried—tried so hard—to stabilize.

“Ghost—”

And he knew. He fucking knew.

“Eject,” he ordered, his voice steady despite his whole body shaking from the shock. “Now.”

“I—”

A choked sound. Static.

And then—

Silence.

They found the wreckage hours later.

What was left of it actually.

The ground was scorched, metal twisted and blackened, and the smell of burning fuel filled the air around them. There was no body, just fragments of what had once been your aircraft, pieces of you scattered like shattered glass.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. Just stared at the wreckage, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.

Price placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured something meant to comfort. He barely heard it.

All he could hear was your last transmission, looping in his mind like a broken record. Your voice—his anchor, his safe place—reduced to a desperate cry for help he couldn’t answer.

That night, for the first time in years, he reached for his radio and switched to your private frequency.

Static.

He closed his eyes, gripping the radio so tightly it trembled in his hands. He waited, hoping—praying—that somehow, against all logic, you’d answer.

But you didn’t.

You never would again.

And Simon never believed in angels.

Not until he lost one.

-------------------------------------------

gonna go hide now.

@daydreamerwoah

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

summary: harry sings your praises in a recent interview, and you’re back with new music; leading to a surprising dm.

pairing: harry styles x reader

vicious speaks: happy valentine’s day!! 💞 mr. styles has officially entered the story!! i hope you enjoy chapter 2 <3 i took creative liberty with one of the lyrics, just so they fit the plot!!

series masterlist

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux and others

hsupdates harry gushed about yourusername in an interview today!

“i just think she’s great. she’s an incredible songwriter and seems like a really down to earth person. she’s dealt with a lot recently and handled it with such grace. i can’t wait to see what she does next.” he said. when asked his favorite song by the singer, he said “hope ur okay. it’s so beautiful!” he also got really bashful when the interviewer asked if she’s his celebrity crush and he giggled and said “yeah…yeah, i’d say she is.” what do you think, harries? is a collab in the future?

view all comments

fan1 omgggg i know yn’s off social media but i hope she’s seen this!!

fan2 i hope it’s killing that man knowing one of his favorite artists took yns side in the break up

fan3 omg alexandra in the likes!!

⤷ fan4 alexandrasaintmleux please show our girl this interview!!

fan5 fuck a collab, is a RELATIONSHIP in the future???

fan6 he needs to stay far away from yn before she tries to ruin his reputation too

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux you sound ridiculous

⤷ fan7 alex said keep her wife’s name out your fucking mouth

fan8 i just know ynharrysthird is gonna lose it when she sees this 😭 she’s shipped them for ages

fan9 a ynharry collab would be so powerful

ynharrysthird oh. my. God.

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liked by harrystyles, lilymhe and others

yourusername *taps mic* this thing on? been a minute since you’ve heard from me i know. i had to take a break to focus on healing but i’m back and ready for the next chapter!! you all have been so, so patient and you’ve sent many kind words that have helped me more than you know. as a thank you, i’ve decided to release a lil somethin’…my ep wendy is available everywhere now! 🧚🏼‍♀️

view all comments

fan1 MOTHER IS BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER

yourbff i love you and i’m so proud of you 🥹

⤷ yourusername i love you 🫶🏼

oscarpiastri hey! so this is insane!

⤷ fan2 omg does this mean no one knew about the ep until now???

⤷ yourusername it was top secret 🤫

⤷ yourbff i knew 😌

⤷ oscarpiastri of course you did

⤷ yourbff you hate me cause you ain’t me

⤷ fan3 icon 😭

carlossainz55 do you want me to kill that guy for you, queen?

⤷ yourusername LMFAO

⤷ fan4 CARLOSDKFJGKS

fan5 this ep ruined my entire day but i wouldn’t have it any other way

mclaren 🧡 ♥︎ by author

harrystyles it’s been on repeat all day ❤️ congratulations on a fantastic ep!

⤷ yourusername thank you, harry 🥹

⤷ fan6 HARRY STYLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

⤷ fan7 he said he’s a fan in a recent interview! he even admitted that she’s his celebrity crush

⤷ fan8 harry please shoot your shot and show her how a REAL man is supposed to treat a woman

⤷ fan9 do we think she knows about him gushing about her?

⤷ fan11 congrats yourusername on being one of the few people to get harry to comment more than an emoji

alexandrasaintmleux in this house we eat, breathe, and sleep new yn music

⤷ charles_leclerc real

⤷ oscarpiastri real

⤷ lilymhe real

⤷ alex_albon real

⤷ maxverstappen1 real

⤷ danielricciardo real

⤷ logansargeant real

⤷ mclaren real

⤷ francolapinto real

⤷ pierregasly real

⤷ francisca.cgomes real

⤷ lewishamilton real

⤷ f1 real

⤷ fan11 well between carlos’ earlier comment and now this thread, we know who got yn in the breakup 😭

itsaria so. good. 💞

⤷ yourusername 💗

⤷ fan12 what the hell sure

⤷ fan13 dump lando and date each other

⤷ fan14 what in world is going on

fan15 not you making an ep all about lando after saying you’d never talk about what happened again 🙄 keep his name out your mouth!

⤷ yourusername i never said i wouldn’t sing about it. and just so we’re clear, his name doesn’t leave my mouth in a single song, which you’ll know when you secretly stream them later.

⤷ fan16 yn 😭

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yourusername has added to their stories

replies

fan1 omg we’re being fed so well

oscarpiastri running to yt as we speak 🏃

⤷ yourusername my #1 fan

⤷ oscarpiastri think that title belongs to mr harry styles if we’re being real

⤷ yourusername pls 😭

alexandrasaintmleux love seeing my wifey everywhere lately 💕

⤷ yourusername 💞

fan2 it’s been so long since we’ve consistently gotten content that i almost don’t know how to act fkgjfjd

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harrystyles has added to their stories

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fan1 so pretty 💕

fan2 this pic is very you

yourusername 🌸🌸🌸

fan3 don’t be shy, show us your face

fan4 enjoy your day, king 💞

fan5 came back to this after yns story…you two are totally hanging out today omg

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yourusername has added to their stories

replies

lilymhe can’t wait to hear how it’s going!! ♥︎ by author

fan1 pause……harry just posted a similar pic

fan2 omg sad i missed you ☹️ i was at that cafe yesterday!!

fan3 ARE YOU WITH HARRY STYLES RIGHT NOW FKGNVKS

fan4 you and harry linking up was everything i wanted but didn’t think i’d get

carlossainz55 🍿

⤷ yourusername ?

⤷ carlossainz55 don’t mind me, just sitting back with some popcorn to enjoy the show

⤷ yourusername 😭

harrystyles 🌸🌸🌸🌸

fan5 MY PARENTS ARE TOGETHER

fan6 pretty flowers 🥰

oscarpiastri interesting…very interesting 🧐

⤷ yourusername hehehehe

yourbff i would kill to see your dms rn 😭

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taglist: @pansexualdarling @mx13sworld @willowpains @nebarious @daemyratwst @angelluv16 @ggaslyp1 @hi26loveie @kikiki81 @eugene-emt-roe @nichmeddar @callsignwidow @harryssunflower17

[elodieunderglass]

I hope your evening is better than your day was. ✨💫

In reference to me haggardly saying in the tags that after the day I’d had, everything (horrible things with legs) that my loved ones (you guys) were doing to heal me (send me horrible things with legs) was a help. And it was. And you are.

It was a tough old month already. But it’s all swings-and-roundabouts, snakes-and-ladders, win-some-lose-some, 🫴🫳.

I sleep about 9 hours in 48 at the moment, which is not especially great, owing to the Wretchedness of Mouse (2), a largely nocturnal animal. But then when Mouse is awake at Mouse o’Clock and quietly pottering around on Mouse Business, there isn’t much I can usefully do, so I’m just curled up with Dr Glass’s tablet, peacefully drawing Killie the jockey OC. As a result I’ve realised something massive for me, that my creativity is THERE, but fuelled by self-indulgence! Like, with stuff like fanfic projects and Killie, there was always a lot of “mental braking” on before, with me anticipating (based on evidence experience of posting my writing online for mumblety-many years) how much people would dislike it - put the brakes on, Elodie, we can’t let the haters know that we yearn. But hey, I started rambling on about fics and my own OCs, and YES it’s probably startling and annoying for some people and I do apologise, but ALSO you’ve all been very kind, and I think that it’s better for me to have the brakes off. 4 am takes notwithstanding, it’s better to have the brakes off. So what if I’m cringe and occasionally annoying - I have paid my dues and done my duties.

The new shed at the allotment blew down, but we have been forgiven for our carelessness in allowing it to happen, and two people on the committee have approached me with kindness - one committee member even stopping me in a shop to tell me, “people want to help you, Elodie, we’re your friends, you know.” Citation needed, but there you go.

Saturdays are always made especially for me dreadful by taking children to swimming lessons, on foot both ways, but usually we walk on to meet friends for coffee after. I go out with my friends and play board games with our neighbours and have learned how to play Wingspan.

Dr Glass received an official diagnosis of ME, but I bought a robot vacuum in the strength of that - saying, well, why assume things will ever get easier? Let’s get easy now! - and actually I really like having a robot vacuum!!

There have been more causes than I could help with, but my promotion has strengthened the coffers, so this month I’ve been able to donate to a few!

Due to childcare falling through, I had to take all three kids to an antifash protest in the cold and was dreading it - the walking, the whining, is it going to be awkward, i trust the organisers but HE’S not bringing his kids, GOD. But then my neighbour and her giant puppy came with us! on purpose! And we knew a lot of people there and the kids played.

I had to buy some clothes for work, and I never buy anything new (never having money) and was scared I’d get it wrong (stupid and weird) but I buckled up and bought these: https://www.disturbia.co.uk/products/rosamoth-button-up-midi-skirt https://www.disturbia.co.uk/products/swamplife-frog-embroidered-linen-blend-high-waist-midaxi-skirt

And it sounds bonkers, but the amount of people at work, etc, who have come up and instantly allied themselves with me on the strength of Frog Skirt / Moth Skirt has strengthened my convictions. Strongly recommend Frog Skirt / Moth Skirt and their emotional equivalents if you hit a stage of career where you need to suddenly level up.

I am thinking about counterweights. And kindness. And the balance of the turning world. And the light in the sky coming back. And, unfortunately, Killie, but he’s a counterweight too; sure, he’s awful, but we already know he contains the seeds of becoming okay.

As evidence suggests that many things do.

Thank you for your shining kindness, and my love back to you 💫

[funnyjb]

We Live In Time

…………………………………………………………………………….

“The treatment plan is this, you are to start chemotherapy followed by surgery to remove the rest of the tumor, then chemotherapy again for the final stage of treatment.”- doctors Adams

Joe and yourself sat in the two blue chairs in front of Doctor Adams. His voice sincere and mellow.

“So, chemotherapy then do the surgery and after surgery chemotherapy again?”- Joe

“Yes, correct.”- Doctor Adams

Joe looked at you.

You were still and quiet, picking at your fingers. Do you even want to go through all of this again? Should you? You knew you had to fight, but didn’t know how much strength you could give.

“How…how long would the treatment be?”- you

“Probably around 5 months.”- Doctor Adams

You nod.

“What times would she need to come in? Does she-”- Joe

“What happens if I don’t do the treatment?”- you

Joe looked at you confused.

“Then you will enjoy time with your family and friends. You still can while in treatment.”- Doctor Adams

“Right.”- you nod

——————————-

You guys were walking to the car hand in hand. The weight of the conversation weighed on both of you.

“Joe, I don’t know if I can do it.”-you

Joe stopped.

“I don’t know if I have enough strength to give. I went through this before. I don’t want to go through it again.”- you

“Y/n, it’s your choice, but at least try. You are the strongest person I know. You can do whatever you set your mind and heart to”- joe

“I just…I will do it. I just don’t want to have my last moments on this world having to be inside a hospital room filled with ill people. I want to be able to watch you at games and cheer you on with Bella. Not be in some hospital room.”- you

“Y/n don’t talk like that. You’re not going to die. You can’t.”- Joe

“Joe! Wake up. This is real. I know it sucks and it’s sucks to think about but it needs to be said.”- you

“I know. Let’s talk about this later, but I hear you and I see you. Whatever you decide I will stand by you..”- Joe

Joe kisses your forehead.

“I love you.”- Joe

“I love you too, let’s go home.”- you

Joe opens the car door for you to get in.

————————————————-

7 years ago

The room was filled with sweaty kids and the lingering smell of cigarettes and weird alcohol beverages.

“Y/n! Come here!”- Lily called you over

You nod.

Wearing your black Jean skirt with white tank top and obviously paired with your black converse.

“Y/n, meet Joe and Sam.”- Lily smiles

Sam reached out his hand for you to shake.

“Hi, I’m Sam.”- Sam

“Y/n,Nice to meet you!”- you

Joe then reached his hand.

“Joe.”- Joe

“Nice to meet you, Joe.”- you

You noticed he was kind of quiet.

“They play football. They are pretty good. I was telling them we are going to next week’s game.”- Lily

“Oh! Cool. I’m excited for the game, heard it’s a big one.”- you

“Yeah, against Michigan. Hate those guys.”- Sam

You laugh

“Oh, Sam, let’s go play beer pong!”- Lily

Lily pulls Sam away.

Now it’s just you and Joe.

“So, you play football. What position?”- you smile

“QB2.”- joe

“Wow! Not bad, Joe.”- you

Joe laughs

“I’m a back up. Nobody cares about me.”- Joe

“Don’t say that! I haven’t seen you play, but I’m positive you are a great player.”- you

“Thanks.”- joe smiles

You nod

The music is loud and the sounds of plastic cups falling keep filling the room.

“Where are you from?”- joe

“California. Born and raised in Huntington Beach.”- you

“Wow! That’s nice. I was born and raised in Athens, Ohio.”- Joe

“Oh! Ohio native, that’s nice.”- you

God, why did I say that. “Ohio native”

“Yeah, very different from cali.”- Joe

“Yeah, very different.”- you nod

“Want to go somewhere more quiet? I honestly can’t deal with all of this right now.”- joe laughs

“Sure, it’s a bit Loud for me too.”- you

Joe leads you to his room. The only quiet place where there isn’t shouting and speakers in your ears.

“I like your room. Surprisingly clean.”- you chuckle

“Thanks, I try.”- joe laughs

You then sat on the edge of his bed. Red solo cup in hand and legs crossed.

“Do you have any siblings?”- joe

“A sister. Her name is Spencer.”- you

“Nice.”- joe plays with the pen on his desk

“What about you?”- you

“I have two half brothers. Both way older than me. Jamie and Daniel.”- joe

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you close?”- you

“Yeah, when I was born they were In college, but I try to talk to them everyday even when they give me shit.”- Joe

You laugh.

Joe kept talking. The more you listened to him the more you felt more intrigued by him. His confidence, his demeanor, his humor, and his features. The way the corners of his eyes when he smiles crinkles up. The way he is really passionate about something he will start to get a spark in his eyes and get more excited about the topic.

After that night you guys kept talking more and more. After a while both of you developed feelings. Strong feelings. You guys became each other’s best friends. You guys would always be dying laughing on the floor about something, holding each other’s hands in public, watching the office every night, and holding each other in your sleep and never wanting to let go.

———————————————

Fast forward to present

“Bella, daddy and I want to talk to you about something.”- you pull Bella onto your lap.

You guys were sitting on the couch. Joe next you.

Bella sat up eager to figure out what you wanted to tell her.

You felt tears pricking in your eyes, but you knew you had to stay strong and not scare Bella.

“Mommy is sick. It’s going to be hard for her these next couple months. She will be very tired, but I know we will take care of her and give her the biggest cuddles, right?”- joe

“Yes!”- Bella

You chuckle

“Do you have the flu, mommy?”- Bella

“Um, no sweetie. I have something on my ovaries which is making me sick. I have to get treatment to make it go away.”- You

“But you will be ok, right?”- Bella

You take a deep breath.

“Yeah…yeah I will be ok.”- you

You giver her a kiss on the head.

“Go play with your dolls, baby. Dinner will be ready soon”- Joe

Bella gets off your lap and runs to her room.

A tear drops down your face. You wipe it away hoping Joe doesn’t see.

But obviously he did.

“Y/n-”- Joe

You get up from the couch.

“I��m going to make dinner. pasta and ground turkey sound ok?”- You

Joe doesn’t respond. You’re already gone into the kitchen.

—————————————-

The next couple months was spent going to game and cheering on Joe. The atmosphere was electric. The fans. The lights. The feeling of hope. Of course there were some loses but you stood by Joe and helped him in ways that he couldn’t.

You did your chemo. Going in and out of the hospital.

One day you were sitting on the couch reading a book. A romance novel from one of your favorite authors when Joe sits next to you.

“We should get a dog.”- you

“What?”- Joe

“Or a cat. I heard it’s great for dealing with grief and life adjustments. Especially for kids.”- you

“Y/n, stop. You aren’t going to die. I can’t let you do that.”- Joe

“Joe! You stop. You have to think realistically. It could happen. And if it does I want you and Bella to be able to have an animal that will help you deal with all of it. Like a dog or cat.”- You

Joe stands up

“I CANT LOSE YOU, Y/N! I cant physically be away from you. I just can’t lose you. I wont let that happen. You need to fight.”- Joe

You didn’t know what to say.

“Joe…I’m sorry. Im sorry this is happening. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”- you stand up

“You and Bella are my world. I fight every day. On good and bad days to be able to be with both of you. To see you laugh about a SpongeBob joke, to see you hug after a long game, to see you read bedtime stories until Bella’s eyes are tired, I want to be with you and her.”- you

At this point you were full on crying.

“I want to grow old with you. I want to see you win a superbowl and MVP. I want to see you laugh and cry. I want to see your smile the second I wake up and the second I go to bed. I love you even when we fight or argue. I love you when you come home from a loss and don’t even want to say anything. I love you so much it hurts. I’m sorry this is happening. It sucks. But it’s real and I need to realize that.”- you

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry this is happening. I love you with all my heart.”- Joe

Joe holds you.

You wish you were in a bad dream hoping to wake up.

—————————————

12 months later

“Mommy!”- Bella

“Hey.”- you smile

Bella climbs onto your hospital bed.

“Look what I made you!”- Bella

Bella holds up a card. It you and her with flowers covering the page. It’s also filled with wonky hearts and a “get well soon!”

“Aw, baby, I love it. Thank you so much.”- you pull her in for a hug and a kiss

“You’re welcome!”- Bella

Joe walks around to the other side of the bed.

“Hi.”- Joe smiles

“Hi.”- you smile back

He gives you a kiss

“How are you feeling?”- Joe

“Tired and everything aches.”- you

Joe nods.

“How about we watch something?”- Joe

“Yeah!”- Bella

Bella cuddles in next to you.

Joe moves over the big chair to be seated next to you.

“Alright! Let’s watch Moana? How does that sound?”- Joe

“Perfect.”- you

“Yes!”- Bella

Joe hits play.

As the movie goes on Joe turns to look at you.

Bella was cuddled into your side. She was sleeping and so were you.

He took a mental picture. He held on to that moment.

———————————-

The door opens to the house.

“Teddy!”- Bella

The dog comes running over to her.

“Hi!”- Bella

Bella laughs

“Alright, let’s put your book bag down and let’s make a snack.”- Joe

“Ok, daddy!”- Bella

Bella follows Joe into the kitchen.

“Want some apples and peanut butter?”- joe

“Yes, please!”- Bella

“Coming right up.”- joe picks out the apples from the fridge.

He closes it. He stands there for a second. Looking at the picture hung up from a magnet on the fridge. A picture of you. A picture of all of you.

He smiles.

It’s been a year since you’ve been gone. A year without his wife. A year without Bella having her mom around. A year since both of there life’s been changed forever.

Joe remembered a thing you said to him before you passed.

“I want you to stay strong. I want you to move on, when you are ready. I want you to know I will always be here. In your heart. I will always love you Joe burrow. I will love you forever. I’m sorry we didn’t get to grow old together. But I’m hoping you will grow old with someone else. Someone who loves you just as much as I do. Someone who will make you happy. Someone who makes Bella happy. You are such a wonderful dad. She loves you. She looks up to you. Don’t ever forget that. I love you. I know you will go on and do great things. Stay focused and be the kind loving boy that you are. I love you with all my heart.”

————————————————————

The end.

Authors note: hi!! Hope you enjoyed! I tried to make it as realistic as I could. I don’t know if anyone of you has watched the move “we live I time” but it’s a great one! Definitely recommend!🤍

[necromancerbunny]

I’ve got a secret, can you keep it? || #1

summary: Aaron corners you at your parents’ anniversary party to tell you what he wants.

warnings: age gap, dbf!Hotch

If your parents knew what thoughts are plaguing your mind every time you look at Aaron at their anniversary party, they would lose their marbles. But how could you not think about him? How could you not think about the way he looks at you from across the room, how much his expression softens when he’s talking to you? The signs are there, you’re just unsure if you’re decoding them right.

It’s probably the age difference that makes you so uncertain, prompting you to wonder if he would even want something from you. Aren’t you too young? Aren’t you too naive? Why would he want you? Still, the way he looks at you always pulls a dreamy sigh from your lips. Just one chance. All you need is one chance to find out what if.

There’s something about him that keeps pulling you in, that gravitational field forged from his quiet confidence, from the way he acts so nice and polite despite being the unit chief of one of the FBI’s most prestigious teams. And those eyes? And that rare smile? They haunt you in your dreams. Oh, those dreams…

“I need your help. It’s an emergency,” you hear your cousin’s voice a mere second before his fingers clasp around your wrist to pull you away from the terrace door.

You love Liam, he’s only sixteen, but he’s dating his first proper girlfriend now, so he can be pretty lost sometimes, and he doesn’t feel like asking for his parents’ advice. So, you became the person he turns to for a few wise words, which is kind of funny considering you haven’t dated anyone properly in a while.

Despite your love for this kid, your attention often slips away during the conversation, because you know Aaron’s eyes are watching you closely, putting a sweet pressure on you by making it hard to focus on your relative. When you dare to throw a casual glance in his direction, as if you were just scanning the room without looking for anyone or anything, you see that damn smug smirk on his face.

Suddenly, your cousin’s phone starts playing his favorite song, his girlfriend’s name flashing on the screen. He looks uncertain, but you want to take this chance to get rid of him. With a kind, supportive smile, you tell him to be a man and talk to her, tell her why exactly he doesn’t feel like introducing her to his parents just yet.

With a sigh, you head to the backyard, following the path that leads you to your parents. Not because you want to have a chat with them, but because Aaron’s there. He’s busy explaining someone to a woman you don’t know, but you can see that look in her eyes, that smitten look with those sparkling eyes that tell you what she wants from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or rather he’s just good at hiding his emotions.

It’s jealousy that’s clawing at your heart, leaving an ache behind you don’t want to feel, so you flash a smile at your mother who’s watching you with curious eyes, then take a step back to leave the group. But your body freezes before you could walk away, because you suddenly feel his hand on the small of your back. When you look at him, you see the way the corner of his lips curl into a barely visible smile.

No one seems to notice, not even that woman who’s still watching him with those wide, doe eyes. You can’t help but wonder how long that might last, because you instinctively bite your lower lip when his fingers spread on your back. He’s gonna be the death of you, but god, wouldn’t it be the sweetest possible death?

“I’m sorry, do you happen to have some painkillers? I can feel a headache coming,” he suddenly says, giving your parents an almost awkward smile. Your mother tells him they have some in the master bathroom, but when she puts her champagne flute on a table behind her, he’s quick to speak up. “No, it’s your night, I’m sure your daughter knows her way around.”

It takes a second to register what he just said. He wants you to go with him, he wants you to join him on this trip into the house. A part of the house that is usually off-limits to the guests. Panic fills you, but you manage to take a deep breath to calm your nerves. It’s just an innocent request, he surely doesn’t have some ulterior motive. And if he did, then what? That’s what you want, after all, isn’t it?

Before you know it, Aaron leads you toward the house, passing through the crowd in silence. There aren’t any curious looks, no one seems to wonder what you’re doing there together, because you’re an adult, and he’s just a family friend. A recently divorced and stupidly handsome family friend, someone you have very, very indecent dreams about.

God dammit.

When you reach the master bedroom, he closes the door behind you and stops. You turn back with a questioning look, but he’s just standing there, brown eyes observing you curiously. Gulping, you decide it would be for the best if you just moved on to the bathroom to get what he asked for, so you don’t have to face him. The way he’s watching you? That’s pure torture. It’s like he wants to say something, but he’s hesitating, as if something was holding him back.

You find some Advil in the bathroom, but when you take the box from the shelf, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. “I don’t really need that,” you hear him say, so you turn around to see what he wants then.

Aaron’s smile reaches his eyes, making you melt on the spot. No wonder that woman was all over him, who in their right mind wouldn’t be? Sometimes you can’t help but think about what he must be like behind the scenes, because there has to be something, a reason why Haley left him. You heard the story from your parents, but you never dared to ask him about that.

“But you said–”

“I know what I said, but that was a lie,” he informs you casually. When you give him a questioning look, he flashes a smile at you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

At first, you just stare at him, mouth agape. But then your brows furrow as you take a deep breath, preparing to ask the stupidest question you can think of. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” you wonder out loud.

There’s a beat of silence before he steps closer to you. “Dinner. I have a reservation for eight, so I’ll pick you up half an hour earlier, okay? Wear something nice.” When he sees that you froze from the suggestion, he lets out a quiet chuckle. “You’re so beautiful when you’re confused,” he says as he reaches out to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

A secret relationship with Aaron Hotchner is like a rabbit hole. You dive in, following the flow, and only hope things would work out in the end. But damn, isn’t it the best thing ever? He’s nice, handsome, confident, and did you mention handsome?

Yes, you’re screwed.

[antonsbf]

The Scandal- jake x male reader

chapter 002

summary: Jake is caught in a scandal, and the group’s manager suggests a fake relationship with a mysterious boy to fix it

(previous chapter) (next chapter)

Jake was lost in his thoughts. Who is this boy? Why is he so okay with all this? I need to talk to him.

Jake was still lost in thought, and the manager spoke up again.

"Your guys' first public appearance will be at The MAMA Awards."

The room erupted.

“WHAT?!” “Oh my god, Boss, is that really okay?” “MAMA?! That’s huge!”

"Yes. I understand everyone's concerns and how this might break stereotypical Korean norms, but this might be our chance to recover from the damage Jake's scandal made to the group and company."

Ni-ki spoke up. "How will this help us recover? This all seems like a bigger disaster just waiting to create more of a mess."

"No, for real. Ni-ki is correct," Jay added. "We're going against everything the fans and Korean people will perceive as good."

The other members also agreed.

"This is why we have to do it! This will help divert attention from the scandal to our newfound relationship," the manager said, looking and pointing to Jake and Y/N.

"I guess if you say so, Sir," Niki said, still unsure of the manager's plan.

Y/N spoke up, his voice calm, almost carefree. "This seems like a great plan! Acting like a couple can’t be that hard, right, Jake?"

Jake had been so caught up trying to figure Y/N out that he hadn't been paying attention to the MAMA Awards talk.

"Wait… What?!" Jake said, snapping back to reality.

Y/N removed his mask, revealing his pretty plump lips. As he spoke, his sharp jawline became more apparent.

"I said, 'Acting as a couple can't be that hard!" Y/N said with a small smile creeping on his face.

"WHAT? WE’RE GOING TO MAMA AS... AS A— COUPLE?!" Jake exclaimed.

"Wow, Jake, you really are dumb!" Sunoo said, making everyone burst into laughter.

"W-Why is everyone so calm about this?" Jake stumbled over his words as the weight of his reality began to creep in.

The room went quiet when they realized Jake was serious.

"Bro, are you okay?" Sunghoon asked.

"Yeah, are you okay, Jake?" Heeseung added.

The members began to grow concerned. Y/N, however, just froze, looking at how his members truly cared for him.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm okay. Just caught me off guard. I wasn’t really paying attention to the manager," Jake spoke up, his voice calmer.

"Please pay more attention, Jake," the manager said with a sigh, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, Sir," Jake said quickly, bowing toward him.

The manager sighed again, a little frustrated. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, let’s review the next steps carefully." His gaze flickered between Jake and Y/N. "You two need to start spending time together publicly and privately. The chemistry has to feel real."

Jake tensed. "Privately?"

"Yes," the manager said firmly. "The MAMA Awards are in two weeks. If you two show up together and look awkward, no one’s going to believe it. The public needs to see some interactions before then small things like social media posts, casual hangouts, maybe even a ‘leaked’ sighting."

Jake felt his stomach drop. This was moving way too fast. He glanced at Y/N, expecting some kind of reaction, but nothing. No surprise, no frustration. Just that unreadable expression.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair. "So basically, you guys need to start ‘dating’ now."

Jake groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is insane."

Y/N finally spoke, his voice calm, almost amused. "You’re overthinking it. Just act natural." He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on Jake. "Unless pretending to like me is gonna be a problem?"

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms. "I just don’t like lying, that’s all."

Y/N let out a quiet chuckle. "Then don’t lie. Just pretend."

Jake clenched his jaw. The way Y/N said it, so effortlessly, made it seem easy. Like this wasn’t completely messing with his life.

The manager clapped his hands together, bringing the room’s focus back. "We’ll start simple. You two are going out tomorrow somewhere casual, somewhere public. Just get used to each other."

Jake opened his mouth to argue, but the look on the manager’s face shut him down immediately. This was happening.

Y/N adjusted his hoodie, finally showing the smallest hint of a smirk. "Cool. Hope you’re a fun date, Jake."

Jake wanted to rip his hair out.

This was going to be a nightmare.

Once the meeting ends, Jake is left alone with his thoughts, processing everything that just happened.

That boy is so odd, Jake thinks, pacing around the quiet meeting room. Why is he so calm about everything? Why does he never go against the manager's word?

"THIS IS ALL SO FRUSTRATING!" Jake shouts, the sound echoing off the walls of the empty room.

Just as the shout bounces off the walls, Jake hears the door creak open behind him. He spins around, startled.

Y/N steps in, his expression still unreadable. He doesn't seem phased by Jake's outburst at all.

"Y/N?" Jake’s voice is almost demanding as he confronts him. "Why are you so okay with all of this? Don't you care about any of this?"

Y/N stands in the doorway for a moment, quiet. "I have my reasons," he says calmly, as if Jake’s frustration doesn’t faze him.

Jake clenches his jaw, frustrated. "What kind of reason is that? You're just going to go along with everything, no questions asked?"

Y/N shrugs. "It’s just business."

Jake feels a twinge of irritation. "This isn't just business," he mutters. "This is my life."

"It’s mine too," Y/N rebuttals.

"Huh..." Jake blinks, caught off guard by his response.

"Forget it," Y/N says, dismisses it

There’s a brief pause before Y/N suddenly shifts the conversation. "So, where are you taking me out tomorrow?" He quickly adds, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Jake stares at him for a moment. "You are so strange. You know that?"

Y/N just rolls his eyes. "Oh, who cares? Everyone’s a bit strange." He leans in, still grinning. "So, where are you taking me, hm?"

Jake groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Ugh, I don’t know," he mutters, still trying to process everything that's been thrown at him.

Y/N smirks, leaning casually against the wall. "Not very good at this, are you?" His voice is light, teasing, as if everything was just another joke to him.

Jake glares at him, his patience thinning. "Look, I didn’t sign up for any of this, okay? I didn’t expect... well, you." He gestures toward Y/N, his hands throwing up in exasperation.

Y/N just shrugs, unfazed. "Well, you got me. You’re stuck with me, so might as well make the best of it." He pauses for a beat, eyes glinting with amusement. "But seriously, not even a little coffee shop? You can’t do better than that?"

Jake grumbles, pacing back and forth, clearly irritated. "Fine. Coffee shop it is, but don’t get your hopes up. It’s just for the act. I don’t get why you’re making this such a big deal."

Y/N’s smile only widens as he crosses his arms, clearly loving every second of Jake’s frustration. "I’m not making a big deal. You are. But hey, I’ll take the coffee. Just don’t make it awkward."

Jake stops dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing. "Wait, you’re saying I’m the one making it awkward? You’ve been acting like it’s nothing this whole time!" He snaps, his tone sharper than intended.

Y/N chuckles, that mischievous spark in his eyes. "Well, it’s easy for me. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not."

Jake’s jaw tightens, frustration boiling over. "Great. So you're all calm about this because you don't care."

Y/N's smile flickers, just for a moment, before he masks it with a grin. "I care. Just not the way you think I should." His tone softens for an instant, but the grin quickly returns. "Now, let’s see if you can actually get this date right. Coffee’s on you, right?"

Jake stares at him, trying to make sense of everything, but all he manages is a sigh. "This is gonna be a nightmare."

Y/N laughs, leaving out the door and shaking his head. "You’re not the first to say that."

Jake slightly chuckles, but doubt creeps up on him again as he is left alone once more.

well i hope you enjoyed it and thank you for all the support. writing dialogue for multiple people is so challenging, but i hope you truly did enjoy this longer chapter and please give it a heart and leave your comments (i love them). stay tuned for the next chapter!!!- eli

[fishiefishieluvr]

🍎🐶 caleb relationship headcanons🍎🐶

my heart is now shared by both rafayel and caleb so i had to succumb to my desires and write headcanons for our favorite colonel… forgive me these are a bit rushed i wrote it in like 20 minutes i’ve been thinking about him waaaayyy too much!

a/n: i tried to make it gender neutral as possible. warnings for nsfw content, implied obsessive / yandere tendencies, alcohol mention, that’s all i can think… enjoy!!

———

♡ — literally will drop almost anything he’s doing when he gets a text from you, whether it’s just simply chatting about your day or a new interest, or — better yet, inviting him over — he always responds and makes time for you.

♡ — even after graduating and heading off to the DAA, he still felt… intertwined, to say the least with you. as mentioned before, even in the brief absences between texts and phone calls, i feel like caleb definitely is the type to somewhat feel or understand what you’re feeling even while away. oh? you’re sad and depressed? that explains why caleb has been having kind of a shitty day without even knowing.

♡ — constantly fiddles with the necklace you had gifted him. it’s a habit, practically second nature to him. it especially helps him when his nerves are in overdrive.

♡ — this isn’t even a headcanon but gooood god did it piss him off somewhat when girls fawned over him. it wasn’t the girl's faults and he can’t really blame them it's just….. his heart has been dead set on you since the beginning. the only attention he thrives on is yours, whatever sort of attention even.

♡ — snuck one of your plushies away with him when he went off to pilots academy. he stashes it away whenever one of his guy friends (cause caleb never allows any girls in his dorm who aren’t you lol) stops by. he’s even freakier too, practically bathing it secretly in your perfume or body spray before he sneaks off to pack. it’s safe to say he sleeps with it almost every night.

♡ — when you do finally meet again whether during holidays or after he graduates, he sticks by your side almost constantly. regardless! he is respectful of your boundaries and will immediately retreat away if you seem even the slightest bit uncomfortable by it (that’s not to say he won’t sulk a bit. but he’ll do it in the comfort of privacy).

♡ — loves to cuddle and embrace you, fucking thrives on that shit. pre-relationship and growing up wise he snuck what he could from long and warm embraces, nights spooning you on the couch or in his bed, and little forehead kisses… even holding your hand causes his pulse to quicken and his cheeks to turn a rosy hue.

♡ — you thought he was clingy pre relationship? ohhhhh boy it’s increased tenfold when you both finally confess feelings. he feels physically and emotionally unwell when without you for a certain period of time. he only feels the slightest bit better when he goes on week to month(s) long missions as colonel once you finally relent and move in with him. coming back to you, his anchor, his home, his heart… his everything. it makes it all so worth it.

♡ — speaking of this man definitely spoils you in every aspect. i just know he gets paid so damn well so he spends all his earnings on you. don’t mention something that caught your eye even in passing because next thing you know it’s in your hands either the next day or a week later.

♡ — i believe without a doubt that caleb is the type to have planned on getting married to you the second he realized his feelings for you. why else would he chase off anyone who sought your heart if he wasn’t planning on a future entirely with just you and him (and some little ones. but not relevant rn!)? whatever sort of wedding you wanted, he’d give you in a heartbeat. proposes to you for sure pretty early on, which isn’t all that surprising seeing as you spent your entire lives together.

♡ — the bane of his existence is the nights you decide to go out with friends. regardless if drinks are involved, caleb insists on picking you up at the end of the night. and if a sleepover is in the works? oh he’s so pouty about it… i think there are a select few people who he trusts with your safety (even though you insist you’re grown enough to defend yourself), one of them is definitely tara. so yaaay! every now and then you can have a peaceful girls night ^^

now onto the nsfw part :o

♡ — i’m the biggest virgin caleb supporter ever. i agree that he’d read up and study on how to perfect his first time (and potentially yours if you’re losing it too). he definitely is pathetic though in my eyes and doesn’t last very long at all despite his long studying, cums under a minute whether it’s from oral or inside of you. prepare to comfort him because he will feel slightly pathetic about it…

♡ — finds comfort in rutting against your thigh, your ass, you name it! puppy caleb is so real… he’d whimper in your ear, breath hot against your skin, practically drooling as he warns you of his impending orgasm.

♡ — on the nights where his duty as colonel is far too exhausting, he definitely thoroughly enjoys cockwarming. after being apart from you for soooo long and even after work duties, he just needs to be connected and intertwined with you. there’s no work to be done so long as he has you in his arms and he’s inside of you in some shape or form.

♡ — gets fucked-out and drunk off of you way too easily. again with the first headcanon, he cums in his pants just from witnessing your pleasure. anything with you will get him off.

♡ — caleb definitely is the type to experiment with you. his only no-no’s are stuff that could risk seriously rendering you injured. choking? absolutely, that’s fine! just nothing too extreme. gun play? gets off sooo much watching the barrel of his gun in your mouth, no bullets inside, of course! he’s not picky, your pleasure is his pleasure, after all.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize—Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended. Warnings: Frat House Buffoonery™ Characters Being Absolutely Oblivious Until It's Too Late Unexplained Boners (Yes, It Needs a Warning)

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the empty bottle spin. It twirled and twirled, catching the dim glow of fairy lights as it whirred against the wood. The room smelled of cheap liquor, stale perfume, and the faint, acrid trace of someone’s recently smoked cigarette. Laughter and hushed whispers filled the air, but your world had narrowed to this single moment.

You wished it would slow down.

You wished it would stop.

And then—it did.

Pointing directly at him.

Your stomach dropped.

Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes seemed to bore into your soul, the dim light of the room amplifying the intensity of their sparkle. You felt like a small, insignificant thing, lost in the vastness of his attention.

The cheers that erupted around you felt distant, like you were hearing them through water. Someone clapped you on the back, and before you could fully process what was happening, hands were shoving you forward. Your heels skidded against the floor. The closet door swung open.

Then—darkness.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in a space so small it felt like the walls were pressing against your back. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and forgotten dust, and somewhere in the darkness, he shifted.

You strained to hear the sounds of the room, but it was as if the world had narrowed to a single, fragile thread—the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until his voice—gentle, smooth, husky and entirely too amused—broke through it. "So... only seven minutes?"

A shiver ran down your spine.

You swallowed hard, pressing your back against the wall, desperate for something solid. "Oh God," you whispered.

His low chuckle was warm, rich—dangerous in a way you couldn’t quite place. “Oh God...? That’s the first thing you say to me? Not gonna lie, kinda hurts my feelings.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You forced a laugh—nervous, brittle, barely a sound. "I should leave," you stammered, the words rushing out too fast.

He tilted his head, smirk evident even in the dim light. "Leave? Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?"

Your hand shot out, scrambling for the doorknob.

It rattled.

Didn’t turn.

Locked.

You barely held back a whimper. "God, nooo."

He let out a sharp, genuine laugh, the kind that made his shoulders shake. “Hey… relax. Why’re you panicking so damn much?” His voice was softer now, teasing but not unkind.

You opened your mouth, but your brain short-circuited and your tongue betrayed you. "Why are you so cute and tall?"

Silence.

Then, his laughter deepened—low, honey-warm, curling around you like smoke. You felt it more than heard it, the way it filled the tiny space, and seeped under your skin. He took a slow step forward, his presence swallowing the remaining inches between you. The scent of his cologne—clean, a little sharp, like cedar and something fresh—hit you like a second wave of intoxication.

"You think I’m cute?" His voice was laced with amusement, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Oh my… and you’re the one panicking right now."

“I’m not,” you blurted out, even as your pulse betrayed you.

He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “Not panicking? You tried to run, like, three seconds ago. Plus—” his gaze flicked down “—look how shaky your hands are.”

You looked down, and they were.

“Because…” Your voice came out barely above a whisper. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

His smirk faltered.

Just for a second.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he schooled his expression back into that effortless confidence. But you saw it. The pause. The way his breath hitched, the way he went completely still.

He knew he was handsome. Knew people stared when he walked into a room. But beautiful? No one ever called him that.

“…You sure you aren’t blind?” he murmured, voice quieter than before.

You shook your head. “No. It’s true.”

His throat bobbed, and for a second, you thought he might look away. Instead, he took another step closer—so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the barely-there brush of his sleeve against yours.

“…That’s an exaggeration,” he muttered.

But the pink dusting his ears said otherwise.

You nervously started cracking your knuckles.

Your fingers twitched, nerves unraveling one by one.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

The soft pop of your knuckles breaking the silence made you wince, but before you could shove your hands behind your back, his fingers wrapped gently around yours.

Warm. Steady. Confident.

He lifted your hand between the two of you, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "You a little nervous, huh?"

“Yes...” You kept your gaze anywhere but on him.

That was a mistake.

Because the next thing you knew, his fingers ghosted over your chin, tilting your face up—effortless, like he had all the time in the world to make you look at him.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“Noo.” Your breath hitched. He was too close.

Your first instinct was to wriggle away, but his touch—light yet firm—kept you in place.

Not trapping. Not forcing.

Just holding you there, as if he knew you were already melting under his attention.

“Now you’re trying to get away from me?” His smirk deepened, amused. He was already enjoying this way too much. “Don’t like me having a hold on you?”

The way he said it sent something sharp and warm through your spine.

“Come on, look at me.”

The words weren’t a command. But they slithered into your veins like one.

So you did.

And immediately regretted it.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared into his eyes—striking, consuming, too much. Your brain fully short-circuited, leaving you scrambling for words. Any words.

“…Ahhh, your eyes are like… hypnotizing, bro.” Your voice cracked. “Like biblically accurate angels saying ‘be not afraid.’”

For a moment, there was a pause.

Then he threw his head back, laughing. A real laugh, rich and easy, like you’d just said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

You dropped your gaze, mortified. “Well, it wasn’t supposed to be one, but sure.”

His laughter softened, settling into something quieter, something heavier. The tiny space between you shrank, and you felt yourself retreating—only to realize there was nowhere left to go.

His fingers slid away from your chin, trailing down, featherlight, until they rested on your waist.

Testing.

The touch barely there.

You sucked in a breath.

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered.” His voice dipped lower, sending a shiver through you. “Am I making you nervous, princess?”

Your stomach flipped. “Princess?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

His smirk deepened. “Yeah… you’re all cute and shy, like a little princess.” His fingers flexed slightly, pulling you closer.

You were losing to him. And you were losing badly.

He chuckled at your reaction, watching as your cheeks continued to flush a deep shade of red. “Yeah… you’re all cute and flustered. Like a little princess.” He smirked, his hand on your waist slowly pulling you closer.

A warmth spread up your neck, filling your face.

Before you could think—before you could second-guess yourself—you acted on impulse.

You leaned up, fast, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

And then immediately tried to flee.

Big mistake.

His arm was tighter around your waist before you could so much as turn, pulling you flush against him in one smooth, effortless motion. The sudden heat of his body against yours sent your brain into a full-blown shutdown.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” His voice purred against your ear.

You stiffened. “Home.”

He chuckled, the sound curling around you, sinking into your skin. “Now, now… you can’t just steal my first kiss and run away.” His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. “Besides… what do we have left?” He looked at his expensive watch. “Five minutes?”

“Oh…” You swallowed hard, heartbeat pounding in your ears. “…So now what?”

He tilted his head, feigning deep thought before his smirk curled into something lazier. Something dangerous.

“Now? Well…” His hand on your waist barely moved, but you felt the shift—how deliberate, how controlled every inch of his touch was. “Since you’re stuck here with me, how about we have a little fun?”

You were done for.

“Wh—” You cleared your throat. “I mean, like, what?”

His grip didn’t change, but his presence alone felt suffocating.

Too much heat. Too much confidence.

He leaned in closer, lips hovering just above your temple. “Oh, nothing too crazy... but I have a few ideas.”

Your hands flew up, landing on his chest in a desperate attempt to do something—only for your fingers to betray you by gripping his shirt, balling the fabric into your fists like it was the only thing keeping you from combusting on the spot.

He noticed.

Oh, he noticed.

“Someone’s holding on pretty tight, huh, princess?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Yes, because you are like a beautiful eldritch horror. I can’t look away.”

His chuckle was deep, vibrating against your skin. “A beautiful eldritch horror?” He hummed, tilting his head. “And you say you can’t look away… I’m surprised you’re not terrified of me, then.”

“I am.”

That made him pause.

His hand lifted once more, fingers tilting your chin up again—gentler this time, slower, as if savoring the motion. His gaze burned into you.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t run, princess.” His voice was softer, lower. “I quite like having you in my arms like this.”

Your breath was uneven. Your pulse was a mess. And before you could let yourself think, before you could stop yourself—

You wrapped your arms around his neck, cutting him off with a kiss.

For a split second, he stilled.

Your lips against his.

His breath caught.

Then, like a wave crashing against the shore, he melted into you.

A slow, devastating surrender.

His hands slid to your hips, fingers pressing with something dangerously close to possession. He pulled you in—closer, closer—until there was no space left between you, until you could feel every inch of him against you. His lips moved against yours, slow and teasing, yet demanding all at once. Spearmint. Heat. A smirk ghosting against your mouth, like he was already savoring the way you trembled under his touch.

His left hand moved and he tilted your head—his fingers slipping into your hair, guiding you like he had all the time in the world to kiss you exactly the way he wanted.

The way he needed.

The heat of him was everywhere—his chest pressing into yours, his thigh slotted between your legs, the faint tremor of his breath against your skin.

You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading into his snowy-white hair—too soft, too unfair—and he let out the smallest, pleased hum in response. The sound vibrated against your lips, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

His touch was a paradox—gentle yet commanding, teasing yet desperate. He kissed you like he was trying to memorize you, like he could drown in the heat of your body pressed against his. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, sent another rush of warmth pooling in your stomach. You could feel the intensity of him in the way his hands explored you, in the way his breath hitched when you tugged lightly at the strands of his hair.

That did something to him.

Because the second your fingers threaded through his hair again, he kissed you harder, deeper—like he was losing control. Like he wanted to lose control.

His grip on your hip slid lower, fingers grazing the curve of your thigh before hooking under it and hitching it around his waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement sent a dizzying shockwave through you—the friction, the pressure, the overwhelming heat of his body pushing you against the door, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you.

And god, you were more than willing to let him.

You smiled against his lips, dazed and breathless.

That was his undoing.

A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest. His fingers curled tighter, his arm locking around you, his grip at your waist firm yet careful—like he wanted to devour you but still didn’t want to break you.

Your warmth. Your scent. The way you melted into him.

It was intoxicating. Maddening.

His heartbeat pounded in sync with yours, the weight of his desire pressing against you, sending another pulse of heat straight to your core.

And still, he didn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go.

Wouldn’t let go.

And then—

You did.

Vanished.

Like you were never there.

He stumbled forward, arms suddenly empty. His breath hitched, chest still heaving.

“What the f—” His voice died in his throat as he whipped around. Had you run away in the dark? That was impossible. The door had been locked.

The closet door slammed open, harsh overhead light flooding in.

And that’s when they saw it.

Gojo Satoru. Standing alone in a musty closet. Flushed. Panting. Sporting a full-on, undeniable, raging fucking boner.

Suguru was the first to react, stepping into the doorway with the kind of deadpan horror reserved for witnessing a catastrophic natural disaster. His gaze flickered from Satoru’s messy hair to his swollen lips, then down to the obvious problem pressing against his jeans.

"Jesus Christ, man." Suguru's face twisted in disgust. "Tell me you were at least jerking off and not—"

"NO! What the fuck?!" Satoru nearly tripped over his own feet as he scrambled out of the closet, hands thrown up defensively.

Behind Suguru, the rest of the frat house was in disarray. Red Solo cups were strewn across the floor, someone was passed out mid-handstand on the couch, and Kashimo was crouched over a half-eaten pizza like a feral raccoon.

Suguru’s brows furrowed. "Dude, I told you not to party with Fine Arts hippies. They always slip you something weird."

“I took nothing.” Satoru semi-yelled.

"Kento, how much did Satoru drink?” Suguru asked aloud, not trusting him.

Kento came up behind Suguru, looking already done with this conversation. "He didn’t drink anything when he was with me, then I left for five minutes to put Haibara’s lightweight ass to sleep, and he ran off."

"You were taking forever," Satoru shot back, still breathless.

"Haibara threw up on me," Kento deadpanned. "I’d rather not walk around campus smelling like his five-day-old burger lunch."

"That’s valid," Toji affirmed, lazily leaning against the hallway door, tossing a peanut into his mouth. "Pukeboy's been living on McDonald’s and spite."

Kento approached closer, rubbing his temples with the exasperation of a man who had seen far too much in his short life. "How much did he drink?" he asked, already regretting it.

Suguru dragged a still-stunned Satoru forward. "He claims he didn't drink at all."

Kento stared at Satoru, then at the situation going on in his pants. Then back at his face. Then back down. Then back up.

Finally, he cracked open a fresh beer from his hoodie pocket and started chugging it while turning the fuck back around.

"Okay, hold on—" Suguru cut in before the inevitable drunk fighting started. "Satoru. Who the hell were you kissing?"

Satoru blinked, still half-dazed. "What? What do you mean? Her." He turned, gesturing back toward the closet.

Silence.

A long, loaded silence.

The group collectively paled.

"Satoru," Shoko said, suddenly way too serious as she stepped forward and pulled the closet door open wider. "There was no one in there. And no one left besides you."

His stomach dropped.

His skin still tingled where your hands had been. His shirt still smelled of your vintage perfume. His lips were still warm from your kiss.

“What did you smoke, man? Better yet, tell me your plug,” Sukuna called from the couch, not even looking up as he flicked his lighter absentmindedly.

"Nothing! I haven’t even had a sip of beer!" Satoru snapped.

“It’s okay, dude. We won’t snitch.” Kashimo snickered, passing the blunt to Sukuna.

"Stop messing with me," Satoru scoffed, but his voice wavered.

Suguru and Kento exchanged a look.

A very specific look.

It was Choso who finally broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck as he reached for the blunt. "...You do know the story about that closet, right?"

Satoru deadpanned. "What story?"

Yuki let out a slow breath, passing the whiskey to Shoko, uncharacteristically serious. "The girl. The one who got locked in there."

A strange, ancient wrongness settled in his gut.

Hiromi sighed, exhaling smoke from the blunt he had taken from Choso. "No one found her in time."

The air shifted.

The music from the other room seemed quieter now, the hum of the house pressing down on them like a weight.

Satoru’s breath hitched.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

"It’s just a lame story to scare freshmen," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“This is giving me a bad trip; let’s go somewhere else,” Sukuna muttered, getting up from the couch.

Sukuna wasn’t the type to get spooked—not even when he was piss drunk.

He didn’t seem scared now, but if he was avoiding this place, then maybe... just maybe... the stories were true.

"It’s just a story," Satoru muttered again.

"It's not," Haibara called weakly from the couch, still half-conscious but somehow invested. "She’s been seen before. But never like this."

Shiu grabbed a beer. "Man, I hate this place."

Suguru hesitated. "...Satoru, she’s not—"

Satoru’s throat closed.

He turned back toward the closet.

At the empty space where you had been.

Where your warmth had been.

Where your hands had trembled in his.

It seemed impossible—your touch, your breath, your mouth on his—it all felt too real.

And yet…

A deep, aching sadness settled in his bones.

And then—

He smiled.

Soft. Almost wistful.

"Well," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

"At least she thought I was beautiful."

The rest of them were too scared to grimace as they dragged his stupid ass out of the house.

A/N: Well. That happened. Got the idea when my mom told me to clean my own closet. Like I'm an adult mom, chill it's just PTSD ruining my life. Not me!

This story is already written & will be 3 chapters total and I'll post the next part tomorrow.

All Works Masterlist

[missgryffin]

from the vault

This was supposed to be a one-shot in 2023, but the outline ballooned into something looking like a multi chap or a very, very long one-shot, so it's just been hanging out in my WIP folder, getting opened every so often 🥲 It's a no-Voldemort, friends-to-lovers, Quidditch!Jily AU, and I love this first part I've had written, so I figured I might as well share it! ☺️ Especially since it's on theme 💘

February, 1980

“Remind me again,” Mary says idly, flipping the page on the latest Witch Weekly, “why you haven’t asked him out.”

Lily leans against the doorframe and briefly pulls her toothbrush from her mouth just long enough to ask a thick, frowning, “’Oo?”

Mary, dear friend of over a decade that she is, has no issues with interpretation. 

“James,” she answers simply. 

Lily splutters, cupping a hand below her mouth to catch her dripping toothpaste, and manages to choke out a feeble protest of, “Ee’s m’ fwen—”

“You kissed,” Mary counters, as plainly as if she were stating what was for dinner, as if those words are no different than other words, as if the sheer combination of them, what they meant, didn’t still shift the floor beneath her feet.

They had kissed, once, in May of their seventh year. Gryffindor had won the Quidditch House Cup, and in the aftermath of celebrations, the common room had turned into a communal fever dream. Confetti, raining from the sky. Kegs, overfilling the cups being passed around. Hearth, blazing and welcome after playing the championship match through a late spring gale that would have rivaled a small hurricane. Bodies, pressing in on all sides, buffeting her through crowds, hugging her, congratulating her. Everything was hazy, warm, ecstatic. And somewhere in the haziness, she’d ended up in the alcove behind the staircases with James.

Much of it is still fuzzy. She doesn’t know who was there first, or who initiated it, or even how it ended, though she had woken up in her own bed the next morning, head throbbing and body still fully dressed in the prior night’s clothes. But she does remember the good bits: his front pressed against hers, his mouth hot and wanting, his sweaty, grimy hair thick and messy in her fingers. It was sloppy and desperate—probably pathetically so, to any unfortunate souls who may have witnessed it—and somehow it was still the hottest snog she’s ever had. (Owing, no doubt, to the fact that she’d harbored a secret crush on him that whole year.)

Her cheeks heat at the memory, and Lily ducks back into the loo, where she can hide her face in the sink and try to get a handle on herself as she rinses her mouth. 

Unfortunately, one can’t brush their teeth forever, and Lily eventually resigns herself to patting her mouth dry with a towel as she musters the courage (and some sanity) to face her closest girlfriend and tell her, in no uncertain terms, all the reasons Lily’s accumulated over the years (and catalogued, rather masochistically, into some kind of depressing mental encyclopedia) for why she and James Potter are only, and will ever only be, friends.

But when she reenters her bedroom, arms crossed over her chest, Mary, who’s been lounging atop Lily’s bed, simply flips around the magazine she’s holding so that Lily’s forced to see an internal spread. 

Her heart lurches ominously, a stupid swooning sensation trickling down her spine. For fuck’s sake. 

She forces herself to hold Mary’s gaze and not stare at the spread Mary’s taunting her with. (Which, frankly, she’s already burned into her brain from how much she’s stared at it in private.) 

“What?” God, her voice sounds pinched even to her. 

A sly smile creeps over Mary’s face, and she tilts the magazine for a closer look at a block of text. “Says right here he doesn’t have a Valentine yet.” (Mary waggles her eyebrows briefly.) “And his favorite kind of date is something low-key. Hmm, sounds like someone else I know.”

“Mare—”

Her friend ignores her and instead reads, “‘I’m not really into fancy for the sake of fancy,’ Potter says. ‘I find dates more fun when we can both relax and just be ourselves.’” 

Lily, who’s been on the receiving end of Rita Skeeter’s Quick Quotes Quill more than once, has been wondering how much of this interview James actually said. He’s always been more private where his dating life’s concerned, so she can’t really see him talking this openly about qualities he looks for in a witch, but then, he agreed to be featured in Witch Weekly’s round-up of Britain’s Most Eligible Wizards for its Valentine's issue, so he had to have known what he was getting himself into. 

“Potter’s no stranger to clamoring attention, and it’s clear from his (some would say overly) confident demeanor that he knows exactly how in-demand he is—especially with the ladies. Yet when I ask him who, if he could pick anyone, he’d like to take on a Valentine’s date, the Quidditch heartthrob breaks into a charmingly shy blush—” 

Lily’s gaze sticks on the open spread—on the moving, grinning image of James Potter—as Mary reads. He has a new pair of glasses that make him look older than he has in recent years, though the shadow filling in more fully around his jaw no doubt contributes to that, too. Hazel eyes, coming across more as the color of dripping caramel under the photoshoot’s light, wink at the camera; an easy, almost flirty grin dimples one cheek.

“—‘I’m going to keep that answer to myself,’ he deflects.” 

Her insides lurch, already knowing what comes next. 

“Could it be Lily Evans, the Holyhead Harpies’ break-out star Seeker with whom he played for years at Hogwarts and has been photographed on numerous occasions? ‘She’s an old friend,’ he says.” 

Mary pauses to give her a signature arched-brow Look.

“Loyal readers will know this author believes there is far more to that story than he’s saying. After all, it was just a couple short months ago that they were photographed slow dancing at the British and Irish Quidditch League’s annual Yuletide Gala, convincing this author they were back on yet again before he subsequently confirmed his bachelorhood by agreeing to be in this very issue.”

Lily rolls her eyes, familiar anger starting to boil in her chest over Rita’s blatant obsession with making her and James an item for tabloid fodder.

“Despite the heartbreak he’s endured of late,” Mary continues reading dramatically, “it’s clear that James Potter is ready to put romantic woes behind him and find romance with one of you lovely witches instead. ‘I’m single,’ he confirms to me.” 

“Are you done?” Lily sasses her, hand on her hip. 

“Prying about you and James?” Mary sasses back. “Never.” 

She sighs in exasperation. “I’ve told you a million times: there’s really nothing—” 

“And I hate to say it, Lil, but I’m kind of with Rita on this one—”

“Wha—” she splutters on air. “But you know nothing’s happened! All the lies she’s published—”

“Yes, yes.” Mary bats her hand, waving off Lily’s protest. “She’s made up loads of stuff, I know. But the whole ‘I’m going to keep that one to myself’ thing? She’s onto something. I’d bet my Galleons he was thinking about you when he said that.” 

Lily gapes, both out of genuine shock and because she’s torn between protesting even harder and prying for more information on that. 

“But—” she starts feebly, no actual sentence in sight. 

“But what?”

Her brain switches on, and she rummages around her desk for the letter she’s looking for so she can shove it in Mary’s face. 

“But this.” 

Mary takes the parchment curiously, muttering the words that Lily’s practically memorized by this point. 

Hey, Lily. Skeeter’s at it again, I’m afraid. Caradoc told her when they were negotiating the Witch Weekly bit that I wouldn’t be talking about any exes by name (of which she’s convinced you are one, apparently) and they also agreed that no woman’s name would be included at all, like speculatively. It was supposed to be one of those cut-and-dry “first date on the beach or in the mountains” type of things. Obviously she didn’t hold to that.  Doc’s livid. I’m annoyed I let him talk me into doing it at all, but he insisted it’s a rite of passage for high-profile players to be featured. I’m really sorry. I know this affects you worse than me because of how she spins it, and I fucking hate that. We really did think we preempted her bullshit. If you get any more hate mail, have Emma work with Doc to keep legal on her arse.  I would say play lights-out Quidditch to shut her and her fellow haters up, but you’re too close to us in the standings for my liking ;) If you could stop fucking killing it this season so we could get more of a buffer on points, I’d be much obliged. — xx James 

“See?” Lily says, triumphant but also oddly disappointed about being so. “Completely platonic.” 

“’S’not what I would call it,” Mary grumbles. 

Lily ignores this. “He’s one of my best friends.” 

“Well, so am I, but I didn’t send you a basket of your favorite Honeydukes sweets that was so big three owls had to carry it all the way to fucking Wales.”

Her mouth opens, closes, opens again. “He lives in Hogsmeade,” she rationalizes. “He probably gifts Honeydukes baskets to everybody.” 

“Unbelievable,” Mary mutters.

“Besides,” Lily rambles, hoping she sounds casual even though she feels anything but about this particular piece of gossip, “I heard he’s started talking to some girl Sirius knows. From London.” 

Mary’s eyes soften with something atrociously like sympathy. “Well,” her friend says evenly, “that doesn’t mean he can’t still hold a torch for you, because I’m convinced he does.” 

Lily flops atop her bed. “So you’ve said. Many times.” 

“Do you believe me yet?” 

She ignores this too. “We’re just friends, Mare. That’s all we’ve ever been, and all we’ll ever be.”  

After all, their past is more than enough proof of that.

----

A/N: the cut in my draft is literally the heading, "A Brief History of the Past in Question" followed by scene cards for 10 scenes help 😭😭

[homiesexuallaj]

“Jackass.” “..Dumbass kid.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Genre/Warnings: fluff, both live in the compound, enemies??/frienemies?? to lovers, name calling (nothing like hateful though), blood, wounds, stitches, thorns, food sharing, sick! reader, grumpy but caring! bucky, kinda proofread

Summary: You and Bucky hate each other's guts, or so you thought. Over the years of your rivalry/friendship, you two seem to soften up ever so slightly. And just in time for Valentine’s Day!

prompts:

one // two // three

———

Bucky Barnes. Local resident jackass.

You two had been at each other’s throats since you first ever met. Both of you were stubborn and had “my way or the highway” attitudes. It was horrible since you two lived in the compound with a few others, and even worse when you two had missions together.

Steve was always placing a large palm on Bucky’s shoulder. Sam always had a hand rubbing at the stress lines on his face as he begged you two to “take a break.” Natasha was always working to keep you two separate, dragging you away to the city, her apartment, or your room.

But living in the same place, in the same building. It was always like a ticking time bomb if you two spotted each other across the room. It was always a staring contest, checked shoulders, and snarky comments.

“You look like shit.” “What’d you do? Fall in the middle of a bull run?” “Oh god, you’re coming?” “Old man.” “Fucking kid.” “You’re a dumbass.” “Fuck off.” “Would you get?!” “Quit that!”

But there was an… oddness to your dynamic.

With watchful eyes when the other wasn’t paying attention. Or a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the middle of the night. An oddly placed book that was bound to catch attention. Held doors. And allowed first dibs on the bed of the assigned safe house. Or looming over your shoulder if some random guy tried to talk to you either out in public or on a mission.

Hell, you could barely talk to any guys at the bar before they were throwing fleeting glances over your shoulder before they scampered off. You turned around only to meet Bucky’s irritating blue gaze staring you down over the edge of his glass of whiskey. You’d always turn around, sit down at the bar, and order something stronger.

It’s even worse if you try to bring a guy home. It’s always, “Who's this?” “Where’d you met him?” “How long have you known him?” “One night!?” “..Well, where does he work?” “What kind of car does he drive?” “What’s the license plate number?” “What’s his mom’s maiden name?” “What high school did he go to?” “Where did he go to college?” “What bank does he bank with?” “You know his social security number?”

“Bucky-!”

“What?!” . . . “Get out.”

And off goes the guy.

“You’re a jackass.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you stopped bringing weird guys home.”

And then you’re storming off to your room and slamming the door shut. You throw yourself down on your bed and make grumbly noises into your pillow as you rant to yourself. Then, you’re reaching into your nightstand drawer to fish out something that could help you with your personal problem that you were originally going to deal with- with another human person, not an electronic vibrator.

And good god. Don’t even get started on the fact that you can’t even get stood up on a date alone.

You had made a reservation for one of the nicer restaurants down in Brooklyn. You were supposed to meet a guy here you met online. But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. The guy’s a no show.

So, there you are in a nice, crimson colored dress and all alone with a meal for one. You’re not even hungry anymore. Picking at your food as you sip at a bottle of beer you traded for a glass of champagne. When to your right, someone goes,

“Beer? Really?”

You look up.

There’s Bucky. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt and slacks, of course with his famous leather gloves. His hair is brushed back, but a singular strand falls over his forehead. If you two didn’t hate each other so much, you might even say he’s handsome. But he’s totally, definitely not handsome at all, nuh uh.

"You've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" He says with a bemused expression. Clearly, Bucky is entertained by your suffering.

You don’t say anything. You send him a glare instead before you’re looking back down at your food, which is room temperature now. And then you’re jostled to the side as a bulky body shoves you down the booth.

"Move over,” Bucky demands, shoving his way into the booth to sit beside you. “You're lucky I'm hungry."

“There’s a whole other booth, Barnes,” You point to the empty booth.

“This one looks comfier,” Bucky shrugs, picking up your fork so he can start munching down on your pasta.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way Bucky is practically pressed into you. Your thighs touch and your shoulders are pressed together. The fabric of his dress shirt is soft against your exposed arm. You ignore the way that neither of you two make a move to separate from each other or the way Bucky tosses an arm across the back of the booth while you wait to pay. Except, Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to pay. He slaps your hand away, throwing down his credit card that you weren’t even sure he understood how it worked.

He does understand how it works, he argues. You don’t believe him one bit.

“Thank you,” You say as Bucky and you walk out into the parking lot.

“Don’t mention it,” He replied with a hand on your lower back.

And you don’t. You never do. Even if it’s something you think about every night with your thoughts running wild and second guessing every emotion you have.

Though, you don’t even notice your dynamic changing bit by bit after that ruined date. You’re too busy having aggressive staring contests and spitting out snarky comments to notice a change.

You’re oblivious to the way Bucky’s eyes are a little softer when they look your way or how his shoulder always brushes against yours when he’s near you. Or that he starts joining team movie nights, replacing Sam’s spot beside you after the first night he joined because he didn’t like you and Sam all cuddled up on the couch. And he hated the way you two whispered and giggled with each other during the movie. Or how you two shared a blanket. Bucky hated it.

So, the next movie night when he stole Sam’s spot and Sam protested, Bucky only told him to “go find another spot” and that “it won’t kill you if you don’t sit besides her.”

So, Sam has to relent. And he prays to whatever god above that you two don’t bite each other’s heads off during the movie. And he’s presently surprised you two don’t.

You don’t notice either that Bucky always has a spare mug sat beside the coffee machine if you have another one of your restless nights. Or the way he starts reaching for your hand if you cross a street or if you have to temporary separate from a mission. Nor that Bucky seems to “absentmindedly” interlock your pinkies on the way back from a mission if you two sit beside each other. Cause you two are always sat beside each other now.

You don’t notice until Natasha is bringing it up.

“So when did you and Bucky get all buddy-buddy?” Natasha asked you over the music of the bar the team has congregated in for the night.

You cock and eyebrow her way, sipping on your season edition of Strawberry Blonde Shiner beer.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swallowing the cool liquid down.

“Well.. y’know..,” She trails off, swirling around her own beer.

“No,” You look at Natasha seriously. “I don’t know.”

“Well, how you two are around each other all the time now,” Natasha tries, giving you an expectant look. When you’re still looking confused, she continues. “Like during movie nights, he took Sam’s spot. Or how he never shoulder checks you anymore and his smartass comments your way have lessened. Even his tone has less bite to it than it used to. Or how he’s always gotta be touching you now, like a hand on your back or a pinkie interlocked with yours.”

The red-head lists off example after example. Though, she gives up when you don’t seem to come to an enlightenment or when you don’t agree that maybe Bucky is softer with you now. That he’s been getting softer since your ruined date, or even since before then. You don’t know. You don’t know cause you don’t notice. Just like you don't notice the watchful blue eyes from across the bar.

Though, a little light shines through the crack of your mental walls in the dim kitchen of a safe house off in Germany.

There’s blood in the sink, smeared across your shoulder and hands, splattered across your face, and dripping down your side.

You did your best to clean up, but the tear in your side limited your movements. And with too much of shaky hands, you had to let someone else stitch you up. That someone else was Bucky, who’d knelt down at your side before you could even say “no.”

You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth as you suffered through the pain of being stitched up without any painkillers expect the decent bottle of vodka. Your fingers twitched with every stab of the needle and your lip curled into a grimace as you felt the thread being pulled through your skin. You had the fight back the queasiness that you weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the blood loss.

Bucky knelt beside you on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. He was face to face with your side as he wove the needle and thread in and out of your torn skin. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes concentrated. And he was silent for once. No smartass comments or words of encouragement, not that you would expect any from him. Bucky’s hands were deft and rough. The callouses felt like sandpaper against the sensitive skin of your ribcage.

Soon enough, Bucky was done. He stood up, threw out trash and cleaned up his bloody hands. He scrubbed all the way up to his elbows, getting rid of any blood and grime that may have lingered still. He hadn’t even tossed your slightly undressed form a glance over as he wrapped up your abdomen with gauze.

“Lost a lot of blood,” Bucky commented.

He’d brought a cold, wet washcloth up to your face as he began to wipe away at the blood there. The man still had that stupid concentrated look in his eyes.

“No shit,” You say with a tone that’s a little harsher than intended. Blame it on the pain and the lightheadedness you feel.

You watched as Bucky wiped your face off, wiped down your right shoulder and bicep, and wiped the exposed skin of your torso. You looked Bucky over, taking note of his own wounds and scrapes that he had yet to tend to.

Once done, Bucky looked back up at your face and stared. Just stared right into your eyes. He wasn’t looking around and he didn’t seem to be searching for anything. He was silent.

You ignored the way your heart seemed to pick up in your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was from nervousness or another emotion. Your brain was too foggy with pain still to decipher your feelings.

“What?” You asked with a normal volume of voice, not bothering to keep your voice down. Hopefully it would scare Bucky out of this weird, up close staring contest.

“Go get something sweet to eat. Keeps your blood sugar up,” Is all Bucky says as he breaks away and mills about, wiping down any affected area in the kitchen from the impromptu stitching.

You don’t protest or even argue. You go over to dig in your jacket and fish out a couple heart shaped suckers you snagged from in town.

It was February. Why not indulge a little in the heart-shaped candy that lined the shelves of almost any store around this time of year?

You gotten through about two and a half suckers before you began to doze off on the couch. The stick of the third sucker still hung from your mouth, still with your lack of movement. You’d didn’t have time to protest or process when the candy was yanked from between your teeth, pulling you from your dozing state.

“Hey!” You sat up straight but instantly regretted it with the painful pull in your side. “I was eating that!!”

“I’m not stitching you up just to have you choke and die on some stupid ass sucker,” Bucky pointed at you with the sucker, looking down at you with a harsh glare.

“I was not going to choke and die,” You protest, settling back down into the couch.

“Uh huh,” Bucky muttered as he made his way around the couch to sit down beside you. “And my first name isn’t James.”

Bucky popped the sucker into his mouth, taking no regard for that fact that it was just in yours. He was completely unbothered by the fact, toeing off his boots before propping his feet up on the wooden coffee table.

You grumbled, sinking back into the couch and pulling your own feet up to yourself. It took you a minute, but eventually you dozed right off again. Your brain was exhausted and your body was doing its job on tiring you out so you could get some well-needed rest.

Never mind that when Sam and Natasha came in from outside, Bucky still had the heart-shaped sucker in his mouth and your legs across his lap. The tv was off, holding the room in an almost comfortable silence. Or, it was silent to Sam and Natasha.

You start to come to terms with the fact that Bucky seems to care for you, for some odd reason, when you get sick. Not just sniffly, sneezing, stay in your pajamas all day sick. More of sweaty, feverish, sleep all day, barely eat or drink anything kind of sick. For three days, no less.

Your fever was so high, you could barely keep a shirt on. But you did as Natasha kept coming in to check on you and keep you stocked up on gatorade and pedialyte. You were between kicking your blankets off or snuggling up under at least five. You switched between laying on your side, huddled under your blankets, on your stomach with arms around your pillow, or on your back with your t-shirt pulled up to expose your stomach in order to try and keep cool.

You currently laid in the latter position, on your back with an arm tossed over your eyes to shield the light shining in through your cracked bedroom door. You could hear the muffled voices of two people bickering from somewhere out in the common area of the living floor. But they were too quiet and you were too exhausted to try and listen in.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky and Natasha were arguing which food to try and feed you for dinner. You haven’t eaten for three days now and your fever, while dwindling, was ever persistent.

“She needs to eat something spicy! Something to sweat out the fever and clear her sinuses!” Natasha protested, holding a packet of spicy ramen.

“No, she needs something that she’ll actually eat and that’ll keep her hydrated,” Bucky countered, already holding two cans of chicken noodle soup in his hands.

“And how do you know what she likes?” Natasha asked, holding an accusatory tone. “You hated her guts only just a year ago!”

“I didn’t hate her guts!” Bucky defended himself. “She hated mine! And she’s so fucking stubborn, and she never listens to me!” He then gives a little shake to one of the cans. “Plus, I pay attention to what she likes.”

Natasha sputters for a moment, “I know what she likes! She’s my best friend!”

“Obviously not, since you’re trying to feed her something spicy while she’s in there sick and practically withering away,” Bucky protested.

You didn’t even hear the continued argument, or when it finally dwindled away to silence. When you heard your bedroom door squeak open, you sighed.

“ ‘Tasha, I’m not hungry-” You lifted your arm to who you thought was Natasha trying to feed you again. “Oh-.” It was Bucky.

Bucky held two mug-soup bowls in his hands as he made his way into your room. He sat the bowls on your nightstand table. As well as a washcloth you hadn’t notice he was holding at first.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, pulling your t-shirt down to cover your stomach back up.

“Getting there,” You mumbled, laying your arm back over your eyes.

“You need to eat-” Bucky started as he sat on the edge of your bed.

“Not hungry,” You mumbled.

“I don’t care,” Bucky grumbled, picking up one of the bowls. It made a clinking sound as the spoon moved around. “Now sit up.”

You gave a groan as a sort of weak protest, but you sat up anyway. You moved yourself up with shaky arms and sat back against the headboard of your bed. You took the mug-bowl from his hands, only Bucky didn’t let go until you had a solid grip on the slightly heavy eat-ware. Then, he picked up his own bowl when you picked your spoon up.

“Chicken noodle,” You commented, taking a sip.

“You should be lucky I’m feeding you,” Bucky took a spoonful of his own chicken middle soup. “Natasha wanted to feed you spicy ramen.”

You give a weak chuckle, which forms into a few even weaker coughs, “Sounds like her.”

“Yeah,” Bucky scoffed, still bewildered that Natasha wanted to feed you something spicy at one of your weakest moments.

You two ate the soup in silence. The only sound between you two was the clinking of spoons against the ceramic soup-mugs. And ever so slowly, you finished your soup. You set the mug to the side before laying back down on your bed.

“Thank you,” You said with a low, quiet voice.

“It’s no problem,” Bucky had finished his own soup a few minutes before you and his own mug was sat beside yours now. “I’ll make you more if you want.”

“Not now,” You shook your head. “Maybe later.”

You noticed that, now that you two were done eating, Bucky made no move to get up or leave your room. He only stared down at you from his seated position, and even went as far to brush a few strands of hair away from your sticky forehead. But he also stopped to press the back of his hand against your forehead, feeling for your fever.

“Your fever should go down now that you’ve eaten,” Bucky noted, then brought the folded washcloth to your forehead. The fabric was damp and cold against your skin. “This should help keep you cool.”

“Wow, Buck, keep treating me like this and I might think you like me,” You joked, a little smile on your face.

“Whatever,” He mumbled, though he kept a hand pressed against the washcloth on your forehead.

Bucky never left you as you laid there on your back, relishing in the cold of the washcloth against your heated skin. He even got comfy in the spot beside you, laying his legs up on your bed and sitting back against your headboard. And when Natasha came in to check on you, and to see where Bucky disappeared to, he didn’t even blink an eye when Natasha saw how you two were positioned.

You moved to lay back on your stomach, hugging your pillow with the damp wash cloth over your eyes to try and keep cool. And Bucky still sat up beside you, with a hand rubbing at your back.

“You’re a simp,” Natasha whispered, leaning against the doorway to your room.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Bucky whispered back.

“Then Urban-Dictionary it,” Natasha shot back.

“That’s not a real dictionary,” Bucky cocked an eyebrow her way.

“Online, old man,” Natasha muttered, pulling your door closed until it was just a crack open before she left.

And he did “Urban-Dictionary it” later than night. Bucky only rolled his eyes at the definition. This wasn’t a real dictionary anyway, so “simp” wasn’t even a real word in Bucky’s mind.

Nevertheless, over the next few days, you got better. Better enough to feed and shower yourself. Better enough to wander down to the gym to work on building your muscle and endurance back up.

Better enough just in time for Valentine’s Day. A year now since Bucky stitched your side up in Germany.

But, at the moment you were second guessing if you were really better or not. Or if you were in a sickness-induced comma or you were having some sort of twisted fever dream. Because you were sure this wouldn’t have happened in a million years, no matter what.

Bucky stood in front of you, looming over your form as he shoved a bouquet of very nice roses in your face. Literally. The petals literally slapped you in the face when you turned the corner.

“What the hell?!” You sputtered, backing away from the face-full of roses you just got. “What are these for?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Bucky answered flatly, jerking the roses in your direction.

“And?” You asked, gaze flickering between Bucky’s and the flowers.

“And these are for you,” Bucky replied, still holding out the roses. When you didn’t take them right away Bucky got sassy, “Just take them! My arm’s getting tired.”

You finally did take them. You were almost about to tease Bucky about him being a sap and being romantic, until you felt a sting of pain take over the tip of your pointer finger. You jumped and pulled back, almost dropping the flowers. You looked down at your affected finger to find blood already seeping from the pinprick on the pad of your pointer finger.

“What the hell, man?!” You asked, more offended than previously.

"I thought bringing you roses would be romantic! You know!?" Bucky matched your tone, offended by your reaction. “Since it’s Valentine’s Day?!”

"Not when they still have the thorns on them, dumbass!" You countered, taking your bleeding finger into your mouth to soothe the pain. “And since when do you give a damn about being romantic?”

“Since I saw this on sale,” Bucky pulled a heart-shaped box of chocolates under his arm and handed them your way.

You glared down at the box suspiciously, still soothing your finger. You glanced up at Bucky before finally taking the box. You looked it over, seeing if it had been opened or tampered with at all. Then you remembered,

“Chocolates go on sale tomorrow, old man,” You point out, still glaring at Bucky suspiciously.

“Well- I- uh,” He was caught, almost backed into a corner. “I got these on the bottom shelf then.”

You cocked an eyebrow his way, not fully convinced. You still twisted and turned the box, not letting your guard down just yet.

“They’re not poisoned,” Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You fought off the urge to look down at the way his chest puffed up underneath the t-shirt he wore, or the way his biceps flexed as they were squished against his abdomen. Damn him and that stupid ass compression shirt he wore.

“Really?” You turned your gaze from the box to Bucky once again. “Then share them with me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and grumbled out a “fine” before following you to the living room.

You set the thorny roses down on the coffee table before you sat down. You opened the box in your lap, setting the lid and the paper covering aside to get a good look at the chocolates.

As soon as you had the lid off, Bucky picked out one of the assorted chocolates and popped it in his mouth. He looked at you expectedly as he settled into the cushions beside you, setting an ankle across the top of his knee in a masculine way of crossing his legs.

You scoffed, picking up the chocolate of your choice.

“To definitely not poisoned chocolate,” You toasted, holding up the little square.

“To regular, run of the mill, chocolates,” Bucky responded, picking up another chocolate and tapping it against yours.

You two make your way through the box, commenting on the flavors and ones you liked or dislikes. It was a rather civil interaction, with a few snarky comments here and there, of course.

It was when you bit into one of the more gooey, liquidy chocolates and a little bit of the fluid filling slipped past the corner of your lip did Bucky do another thing that had you second guessing your conscienceness again.

Bucky, with the gentlest hand he’s ever touched you with in all your years of knowing him, cradled your jaw and swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth. His stormy blue eyes watched the motion, making sure to wipe up the mess and not looking at your lips at all.

“Always so messy,” Bucky commented, amusement shining in his eyes. “Dumbass kid.”

You stared up at Bucky, cheeks coloring with heat and heart pounding behind your ribcage so hard you were afraid your sternum might break. You could feel your hands grow clammy and your mouth go dry, maybe you were gaping like a fish. You weren’t sure. You didn’t get a chance to respond when the voice of Steve interrupted you two from the doorway.

Due to the positioning of the couch in the living room, he had a full few of your current position.

“Oh good, you finally picked out a box,” Steve sighed, practically calling Bucky out on his bullshit. “He spent like forever in the candy isle trying to remembered what you liked.”

“Steve-!” Bucky protested, voice raising a few octaves. His own cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Right! Right! Sorry!” And with that, Steve disappeared into the kitchen.

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up, “Bottom shelf chocolates, yeah?” You were teasing, cocking an eyebrow Bucky’s way.

Bucky met your eyes quickly, “Shut up.”

Amusement danced in your eyes.

Bucky finally pulled his hand away from your face, swiping his thumb at the corner of your lips once more to clear away the light pink sticky filling of your previously chosen chocolate. He turned away from you, back resting against the cushions of the couch. Throwing an arm over the back, he sucked on the pad of his thumb to clear the liquid. Never mind that it came from you, pretty much.

You turned away too, chocolates still in your lap. You tossed your feet up on the coffee table, crossing your legs at the ankles. You stared ahead, chewing on your little treat.

“You’re a jackass,” Is all you said.

“Dumbass kid,” Is all Bucky muttered back.

Never mind the way both of yours and Bucky’s thighs pressed together as you sat on the couch, or that he practically crowded into your space for the rest of your sharing the totally normal box of chocolates between friends.

Cause that’s what you two were, right? Friends?

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

•°. *࿐ mingyu

◦ words: pavement, thirsty, and seem (>600 words)

tw: i use italics like it's free and it is playlist: four (deluxe) album by one direction thank you for betaing, ally bear <3 @lovetaroandtaemin

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

“The pavement isn’t as thirsty as you make it seem.”

The sound of pouring liquid continued even more aggressively.

“Okay, so you are not going to explain this insanity?” A boy rocking on his feet lazily drawled. His slightly questioning face, tinted with hints of disgust and curiosity, would have looked like constipation on anyone else's face. But, as the boy kept on reminding people, he was Kim Mingyu, and there was only one of him.

“Oh, you would know everything about insanity, wouldn't you?” You spat out.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. In his, admittedly, short life, you were the most difficult thing he ever had to deal with. If he tried to talk with you formally, you asked him who he was trying to impress. If he talked with you normally, you would roll your eyes and say that you guys were not that close. If he tried to be rude, you would announce to the world that the class monitor and soccer captain and science club president was a bully. If he tried to be nice, like he was now by giving you a sports drink because you almost fainted during PE, you acted like he was planning on murdering you. God, he could never win with you.

Between the two of you, he always gave in first. He had to. There was no one more stubborn than you in the whole wide world. And everytime he said it, you always replied, it’s because I am an aries. As if that counts for anything. When Mingyu protested that he was too, you gave the same reply as the previous thousand times: my birthday is on March 26. I am a March Aries, and that’s better. Suffice to say, he never won that particular argument.

“Okay, that’s it.” Mingyu’s hand darted out and caught your wrist that was going to chuck the empty bottle at his head. “Why can’t you accept one nice thing from me? Or better yet, just tell me why you hate me so much? Is it the science club thing? Cause I will resign if it is.”

“Science club thing?” Your voice is shriller with each word you utter. “You know what you did. Don’t try to play innocent with me. It’s not gonna work. I am not a part of your little posse.”

“Oh, you so wish you were.” Mingyu pulls you closer so that you are almost nose to nose with him. Your brown eyes blazed in indignation and he had to stop himself from getting even more closer if that was even possible. Closing his eyes for a second to reorient himself, Mingyu breathed out, “I am not playing innocent. Please, just please tell me where I messed up?”

You searched his eyes as if to see if he was speaking the truth. He could see you resisting the urge to just scream at him and leave. But, maybe, you could feel his sincerity. In a calm and tight voice, you said, “You straight up told my best friend to her face that she had no chance with you. How could you be so cruel?”

“I didn’t realize I hurt her so much.” Mingyu admitted. “But, I wanted to make it clear that I would never like her.” 

“Why not? She is so nice and kind and all things lovely.” You implored. “Maybe if you gave her a chance….”

“No.”

“But-”

“Sorry, not possible.”

“If you would just liste-”

“Nope.”

“Why are you being like this!” You yell out in a half-scream.

With more of a resemblance to a statue than a man, Mingyu replied, “Did you ever consider that I rejected her because I liked you instead?”

“Oh.”

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

if anyone wants me to write about a specific member, please send me an ask with the member name + three words from this word generator)

[gyllenhaalstuff]

haii :33

idk if u do mlm or not, but I think mlm Donnie D. or Pilot K. fics would be awesome :33 (sorry this is so awkward I've never asked sum1 sumthing b4

I got you. Never written mlm before tho, so I’m in unknown territory.

Helping out

- Donnie Darko x M Reader ᡣ𐭩

Summary: Your best friend Donnie wonders if he likes buys and you agree to let him explore it with you

Warnings: Internalised homophobia, oral, handjobs, masturbation, bottom!reader, top!Donnie, unprotected sex, anal sex.

Word count: 1670~

Notes: I can’t write 20+ minutes of prep so no, this isn’t realistic.

────୨ৎ────

Another Friday night spent at your best friend’s house. Perhaps a bit sad that this is what 18 was for you. All your classmates were probably out drinking, fucking, and God knows what else.

At least you had Donnie, so you didn’t have to be lonely by yourself. Instead of sulking, you two would play video games, stuff your faces with sugar and Red 40, and sneak out of Donnie’s window to smoke on the roof.

Playing Street Fighter with Donnie was basically a death wish. That boy was not only the most obnoxious winner but also the worst loser. You didn’t mind taking a few nudges and/or hits from him.

“Ouch! What was that for?” you hissed at Donnie’s hit on your arm. “For beating me,” he stated, but didn’t press rematch. “I can’t play anymore; my eyes are gonna pop out of my head.” You chuckled and almost choked on your Twizzler. “What else should we do?”

You expected Donnie to suggest getting high or playing another game, but he had other plans. “Have you ever had sex?” Well, this was unexpected, but he seemed serious. “Uh, yeah, once,” you hesitantly responded, “with Jasmine.” Jasmine, or Jas as her nickname had been, was your ex-girlfriend. It didn’t last long, but you got some experience points from it. “No, I know about Jas,” Donnie swallowed. “I mean with a guy.” You were a bit startled by his question, but most of all confused. “I’m not gay?” Was all you could muster. Sure, sometimes you saw a man and thought, ‘he could have me any day’ but everyone had thoughts like that. You had never acted on them anyway.

“Cause I’ve been thinking,” Donnie continued, “maybe I don’t like girls.” You were surprised by his confession, not cause you thought he was straight; you just never thought he’d say it out loud. “Well, that’s cool with me, you know,” you stammered unsurely, but Donnie looked lost in his thoughts. “I just wish I could see what it’s like.” You didn’t fully know how to respond. The silence lingered for a bit. 

Your mind was spinning with questions. Was he asking you to sleep with him? Was he just thinking out loud? Would you sleep with Donnie as a kind, friendly gesture? Where would you even draw the line?

“If this is what you’re asking for, you can try some things with me, but I’m not having sex with you,” you huffed. It felt like you had to push each word out of your mouth. But your heart lightened when Donnie’s eyes lit up. “You would?” He began fidgeting, playing with the seam of his jeans. “Dude, you’re my best friend. My only friend, in fact. I wanna help out,” you stated. It was important for you to underline that this was an act of friendship, not attraction.

Donnie shifted uncomfortably on the rug beneath him. “Okay, uh,” he stumbled over his words, “what can I do?” You thought for a moment, didn’t figure anything out, and just decided to draw a random line anyway. “As long as our clothes stay on.” Donnie looked pleased with it.

His lips pressed against yours, and you prayed to God the feeling that washed over you was a stroke and not a sexual awakening. Donnie parted his lips, and for some reason, you did the same. This was a time for helping out, not self-interrogation. He deepened the kiss and snaked one of his hands to your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks. A light pull of your hair sent shivers down your spine, and you hated that it did. You hated it even more when a weak, whimpering noise slipped from your lips. Though Donnie didn’t seem to mind; instead, it seemed to spur him on. 

He scooted to sit in front of you, not breaking the kiss. You felt a hand on your shoulder, pushing you down onto the rug. You didn’t resist. Later you would wonder why you didn’t, but your mind had checked out for the time being. All that existed was Donnie’s tongue in your mouth, his legs straddling your hips and his hands fumbling and touching your clothed torso.

You tried to ignore your blood rushing to your crotch, how you were actually getting into this. But Donnie didn’t. He pulled away from the kiss and smiled, “You’re hard.” He seemed thrilled and proud. You were the opposite, but he was right; you were getting really turned on. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” you mumbled, as an attempt to save yourself from the situation. “I do,” Donnie smiled before ending the conversation by bringing his lips to yours.

It didn’t help how Donnie was beginning to grind against your straining cock. You were getting unsure of how you were going to end this. You didn’t want to have sex with a guy, but right now sex with Donnie didn’t seem like such a bad option. You let go of some of your apprehensions and slipped a hand under Donnie’s shirt. His breath hitched, probably from surprise. His skin felt warm and soft. Grappling his waist made you want to take his shirt off. You decided not to fight it.

You began pulling it off of him. “Isn’t this against your rule?” he grinned, as if his plan all along was to prove something to you instead of himself. “Forget about the rule,” you shook your head and finally smiled. Once his shirt was off, he seemed keen on doing the same to you. And you weren’t a hypocrite, so you let him.

You were both turning into a mess, grinding against each other, before Donnie sat up. “Can’t we just fuck?” He looked so good like that, hair all tousled and lips red and swollen. You had no choice.

The bed was a much nicer surface to be on, though Donnie decided to stay on the floor, sitting on his knees. His hands began unbuckling your belt. Your head repeated how this was wrong and how you shouldn’t be doing this over and over, but it only seemed to turn you on more. 

His pale hands wrapped around your cock and pulled it out of your underwear. Your face flushed in embarrassment, but Donnie didn’t waste any time before putting his mouth on you. His tongue swirled around your tip, and you hated how this felt better than any blowjob Jas had ever given you. Your knuckles were turning white as you held onto Donnie’s sheets, your hair falling in your face as you looked down on your friend. 

He released you, saliva ran down his chin, and he took out his own cock. You hated how hot it looked, Donnie jerking himself off in front of you. He then climbed onto the bed with you and ordered you to lie down. You didn’t know what to expect. But suddenly it dawned on you what gay sex meant: getting fucked in the ass.

“Won’t this hurt?” You asked, growing nervous. Donnie spit on your cock before stroking it along with his own, earning a muffled moan from you. “We’ll find out,” he smiled, “I’ll try my best to be patient.”

Donnie released you from his grasp and stuck two fingers in his mouth, coating them in saliva. He then lowered them to your ass, swirling them around your hole. You didn’t know how many nerve endings existed there before he touched you. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” he said earnestly before inserting one of his fingers into you. It felt weird, but not baffling necessarily. He went a bit further in before curling his finger, hitting a spot that made your cock twitch. He grinned at the sight.

He slipped in another finger and set a pace of thrusting them into you and curling them up towards your pelvis. This new feeling had moans spilling out of you, which had never happened before in this quantity. It felt like you were constantly on the brink of an orgasm; maybe you just needed more to get there.

“I’m ready,” you stated eagerly. Donnie raised an eyebrow at you in return, “You sure?” You nodded insistently, just wanting to cum. 

Donnie didn’t argue with you on that. Instead, he lined up against you before slowly pushing himself into you. His mouth hung open as you swallowed his cock. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t painful. In fact, it hurt a lot. You gritted your teeth and clenched your fist to get through it, and you did. Once he began moving and hitting your spot, the pain slowly started disappearing, pleasure taking its place.

Donnie mumbled all the names for God he knew and all the swear words he could think of. There was no doubt in his mind now about which way he swayed. There was also no doubt about who he liked. His heart had grown its own boner (I’m sorry I had to).

His hand went to stroke you again, making a drop of pre-cum drip down on your stomach. Who cares if this locked you out of heaven? You were already there. 

Your thighs clenched, and your moans grew whiny as you neared your climax. Donnie spat on your cock, making his hand move quicker. You let out an embarrassingly high-pitched moan as you came. Donnie stilled his hand and watched your cum paint your skin. 

He finished not long after, cumming inside of you with a whimper. He stayed in you for a bit as you both tried to get your heart rates down and breath back. You hissed as he pulled out. Donnie laid next to you; you both stared at the ceiling, wondering what just happened, post-nut clarity setting in. 

“Did this clear things up for you?” you asked, hoping this wasn’t all for nothing. “Yeah,” he mumbled back, “I liked it.” You tried your best not to smile.

“I didn’t hate it either.”

[charliedaltonswife]

could we maybe get a part two to “an education in loathing….?” the sizzling tension, the hatred, the quippy remarks OOOO i loved it. maybe the two get assigned as partners for a project (or something??? idk??) and a late night argument finally boils over into something smutty…if you feel comfortable writing that….

An Education in Loathing - Pt 2

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

soooo, went overboard with this one, high word count, um gets heated....

Summary: read the request

Warnings: far from none. S.M.U.T. do with that what you will

master list found here

You begged, as in got down on your knees and hands clutching together in prayer type begged, for anyone in the group to switch with you in this stupid project. But to no avail. 

You should have seen it coming. The way the universe seemed to take particular delight in your suffering, in orchestrating your life like a Greek tragedy, the fates snipping their shears with barely concealed amusement. Of course it had to be Henry.

Julian had announced the project with a kind of airy indifference, as if he weren’t about to ruin your entire semester. A “joint exploration of classical interpretations,” he had called it, pairing each of you off with someone to work through the assignment together. A “reward,” he had added, as if being shackled to Henry Winter for the foreseeable future was anything short of divine punishment.

Now, here you were, sitting across from him in the library’s dim back corner, trying not to succumb to the overwhelming urge to either strangle him or fling yourself dramatically out of the nearest window.

Henry, of course, looked perfectly unbothered. His long fingers turned a page of De Anima with excruciating slowness, his expression unreadable. The lamplight cast deep shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his cheekbones, his jaw. He looked like some archaic statue came to life, some smug, superior deity sent to torment you.

“I suppose we should begin,” you said, barely keeping the venom from your voice.

Henry didn’t even glance up. “By all means.”

Your nails dug into the paper in front of you. “Well, seeing as you have no original thoughts of your own, why don’t you start by parroting whatever Julian has spoon-fed you on the subject?”

He made a quiet, amused sound, finally lifting his gaze. “Charming,” he murmured, setting the book down. “I see you’ve elected to be insufferable tonight.”

“You bring out the best in me.”

“I’ve noticed.”

You gritted your teeth, trying not to let him see the way he got under your skin. If you let him have that, you’d already lost.

“We could always divide the work,” you said, feigning a pleasant tone. “That way, I don’t have to suffer through your droning monologues, and you don’t have to endure my… how did you put it last time? ‘Exhausting need to contradict everything you say’?”

Henry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, utterly at ease. “No,” he said simply.

You blinked. “No?”

“I don’t trust you to do it properly.”

You let out a sharp breath of laughter. “Oh, I’m the one who can’t do it properly?”

“Yes.”

You wanted to throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. “And why, exactly, is that?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “You’re impulsive.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you’re a condescending bastard, but we all have our flaws, don’t we?”

His mouth twitched. “The difference is that I’m right.”

“Oh, you are so-” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply through your nose. You refused to let him rile you up this early. You had to pace yourself. If you let the irritation take over now, you’d never survive the night.

Instead, you took a slow sip of your coffee, schooling your expression into one of disinterest. “Fine,” you said at last. “Since you’re clearly too much of a control freak to work separately, we’ll suffer through this together. But I swear to God, Henry, if you correct me one more time on things I already know-”

“You’ll what?” His voice was almost amused.

You leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something slow and deliberate. “I’ll smother you in your sleep and burn all of your books.”

Henry regarded you for a moment, gaze flickering over your face, before he exhaled a quiet laugh. “It’s adorable that you think you could.”

You stared at him, and there was something taut in the air between you, something sharp and charged. You could feel it, a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge but both of you were utterly ensnared by.

Finally, you forced yourself to look away, reaching for your pen with more force than necessary. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Henry smirked, but he, too, returned to the task at hand.

-

The problem with Henry Winter, you had learned, was not simply that he was insufferable. It was that he was insufferable with such careful precision, such cruel artistry, that you sometimes suspected he did it on purpose, the way a cat will toy with a half-dead bird. That he liked needling you, watching the slow build of frustration, the way you burned under his gaze.

However, you found yourself in his apartment, not exactly what you’d expected; cold, austere, and far too tidy. Books lined the walls in obsessive, precise order, not a single one askew. A small fireplace, unlit, and the smell of something faintly metallic in the air, like old paper and ink.

You had known from the start this was a mistake.

“You could at least pretend to be a gracious host,” you muttered, dropping your bag onto the armchair nearest to the desk. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

Henry didn’t glance up from where he was pouring over a text, one hand idly at his temple. “I didn’t invite you here for pleasantries.”

You scoffed, taking a seat opposite him. “No, you invited me here because Julian gave us this absurd assignment, and unfortunately, you are stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t say it's unfortunate.” His voice was mild, but there was something in it, something you didn’t trust.

You ignored it. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He hummed, leaning back slightly. “You’re in a mood.”

“You put me in a mood,” you retorted, flipping open your notes. “Now, are we discussing the comparative mythology of Orpheus, or are we going to sit here and psychoanalyze my temperament?”

Henry exhaled sharply through his nose, his version of a laugh. “The former, obviously.” He turned a page. “Though your temperament is certainly interesting.”

You gave him a sharp look. “Don’t.”

He smirked, and you hated how he did it, so subtle, so knowing. Like he had already won. “As you wish.”

For a while, you managed to focus. Or at least, you tried to. But Henry had a way of getting under your skin, his presence coiling around your thoughts like smoke, making it impossible to concentrate. And of course, he was unbearable, correcting your phrasing, sighing pointedly whenever you said something he found lacking.

Eventually, the digs began. As they always did. Thank the lords the group wasn't present, although they found your banter amusing, often when it got too far they were the ones having to break you two up and sometimes being caught in the crossfire.  

“That’s not the primary interpretation of the myth,” Henry murmured, flipping a page, barely looking at you.

You grit your teeth. “It’s an interpretation.”

“A weak one.”

“Oh, I see. And you’re the sole arbiter of intellectual strength, is that it?”

Henry glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.” You set your pen down with a sharp tap. “You think so.”

There was a pause. “You always assume the worst of me.”

You scoffed. “Because the worst is usually true.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think it, Henry. I know it.” You leaned forward. “You like feeling superior. It’s why you go after people the way you do, why you can’t just have a discussion, you have to dismantle. I’d almost admire it, if it weren’t so-” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Pathetic.”

For the first time that evening, his expression shifted.

And then, to your horror, he smiled.

Slowly, purposefully, he shut the book in front of him, his fingers resting lightly against the worn cover. “That’s an awfully emotional response for someone who claims not to care what I think.”

Your pulse quickened. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t have to,” he said, voice low. “You do it for me.”

There was something wrong with the air in the room. It had thickened, become charged. You suddenly felt too warm.

Henry stood, moving past you toward the bookshelf, running his fingers idly over the spines of the texts, the firelight casting sharp shadows along his jaw. “You hate me,” he mused, his back still turned. “And yet here you are.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s an assignment.”

He turned.

It was something in his posture, the slow way he leaned back against the shelf, arms crossed, head tilting slightly. The smirk that wasn’t quite a smirk.

“Of course,” he murmured. Something about the way he was watching you made your stomach tighten.

“Stop that,” you said, voice coming out sharper than you intended.

“Stop what?”

“Whatever this is. The-” You gestured vaguely. “You’re being weird.”

“You’re imagining things again, we’ve talked about this darling, you must stop doing that” Henry said smoothly, pushing off from the shelf. You looked forward, only hearing his steps approach you as he rounded the table to stand behind you. 

You meant to say something cutting, to brush him off, but then, his hand. Light. Barely touching the inside of your wrist as he moved to lean over you.

The contrast was startling. His words, his voice, the sharp precision of his arguments, and then, this.

It was like a game.

And worse, you were losing.

“Careful,” you murmured, echoing the warning you had given him before.

Henry, leaning so his lips were ever so close to your ear. “Am I making you nervous?”

You inhaled sharply, your eyes blinked a few times before you turned your head slightly to be eye to eye with him. You were so close it felt suffocating. “You wish.”

You suddenly pulled the chair out from under you, the back of it forcing Henry to step back. You quickly move to the middle of the room, facing him and strangely out of breath. You didn’t want the distance for a reason unbeknownst to you, but if you were that close to him anymore you were going to combust. 

He hummed, as he moved closer, boxing you in. Slowly, so you barely noticed it was happening. Until your back was nearly to the bookshelf, and Henry was in front of you, his presence filling every inch of space between you.

It wasn’t quite touching. But it was close.

“You like to think you know me,” he said, his voice lower now, almost conversational, like he was considering something carefully. His fingers skimmed the edge of your sleeve, so light you almost didn’t feel it. “But you don’t.”

You swallowed. “And you like to think you’re unknowable.”

Henry’s lips twitched, but his eyes darkened. “Maybe.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something electric, a live wire strung too tightly. Your pulse was an insistent, frantic thing against your ribs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

Henry leaned in just slightly, the heat of him inches from your skin, his breath warm against your jaw.

“So are you.”

You should have left the moment you realized what he was doing. Should have made some scathing remark, put him in his place, turned on your heel and walked out. But instead, you stayed. And Henry knew it.

You could see it in the way his eyes gleamed, dark and knowing, in the small curve of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smirk but something worse, something more dangerous.

"You always run your mouth, don’t you?" His voice was quiet, almost amused, but there was something sharper beneath it, a blade hidden in silk. “So much conviction. So much certainty.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to push past him, but he didn’t move. He only shifted, subtly, deliberately, blocking your escape with the sort of ease that made you realize he’d been planning this, had anticipated every move, every reaction. Your back pressed against the bookshelf, the sharp corners of the wood digging into your shoulder blades. Henry leaned in.

"Tell me, do you ever stop talking long enough to listen?" he murmured, and his breath was warm against your ear, a stark contrast to the razor edge of his words.

You breathed hard, threw your nose, letting your chest rise and fall. "Get out of my way, Henry."

His hand lifted, light, barely there, trailing just along the side of your throat, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw.

"You don’t want that," he whispered.

You did.

You did.

But he was so close now, his body a careful, practiced cage around yours. His cologne, something dark and expensive, filled your lungs.

“I think you like this.” His voice was a murmur now, a secret only for you. "I think you like fighting with me. Like how I make you feel.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re delusional.”

Henry exhaled a quiet laugh, tipping his head slightly, close enough that you could feel his lips brush the shell of your ear.

“You know what I think?” he whispered.

You refused to answer.

“I think,” he continued, voice silken, “that you like the way I get under your skin. I think you wake up in the middle of the night replaying our arguments, rehearsing all the things you should have said." His fingers drifted lower, a ghost of a touch along the inside of your wrist. "I think it keeps you up.”

Your heart was hammering against your ribs, your breath uneven. You didn’t answer, but Henry wasn’t expecting you to. He tilted his head, considering you.

“I wonder,” he mused, his fingers slipping down to the curve of your waist, tracing over the fabric of your sweater, "if you even hate me as much as you pretend to."

Your skin burned under his touch, and you gritted your teeth, furious, at him, at yourself, at the way your body betrayed you.

“Henry,” you said, a very empty warning, hating how unsteady your voice was.

He only leaned in closer, his lips barely an inch from yours now, his breath warm, steady, unrushed.

"Why?" he murmured, his fingers tightening ever so slightly at your hip. “Afraid you’ll like it?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “You,”

Henry lifted a single brow, waiting.

You wanted to slap him or maybe you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kick yourself for wanting both. 

His fingers trailed up your spine, slow, deliberate. He pressed in closer, his body a whisper against yours, the heat of him making your knees weak.

And then, just as you thought he might close the distance, might press his lips to yours, might finally shatter whatever had been simmering between you for months, he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, let his mouth hover just beside yours, and whispered,

“Say please.”

It was so condescending. You refused. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, wouldn’t feed his ego with whatever twisted game he was playing. You shook your head, not saying a word. 

But Henry was patient.

His lips hovered just beside yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, the maddening proximity of him. His fingers traced slow, idle patterns along your waist, barely touching, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness.

"Nothing to say?" he murmured, voice low, teasing. "For once?"

You turned your head away, jaw tight, but he only laughed, a quiet, amused sound that made something coil hot and electric in your stomach.

Then, his hand caught your chin, turning your face back toward him. Not forceful. Not rough. But firm.

His thumb traced lightly over your bottom lip, the touch so featherlight it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I could make you beg,” he said, thoughtful, almost to himself. "If I wanted to."

Your breath caught. “Go to hell.”

Henry just hummed, nodding his head as to agree with your statement. "Ladies first."

And then, he dipped his head, his lips grazing along the line of your jaw. It wasn’t a kiss. Not really. Just a brush of warmth, a suggestion, as though he was testing you. As though he wanted to see how long you could last before you cracked.

“You hate me,” he mused, his mouth ghosting over your skin. “You hate this.”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping the soft, expensive fabric of his sweater like you weren’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away. His lips moved lower, the curve of your throat, the sharp line of your collarbone, never quite touching, just enough to make you want to chase the feeling. And god, you hated that.

His hand slid lower, past your waist, tracing slow, teasing lines over your hip.

"Say please," he whispered again.

You swallowed hard. “Go fuck yourself.”

Henry sighed, like you were being particularly difficult, and then, he pressed his lips just beneath your ear, the faintest scrape of teeth against sensitive skin. Your breath hitched. His hands curled against your hips, pulling you just slightly, just barely, against him. And oh, you felt it then, how hard he was, how much he was enjoying this.

The realization sent something sharp and hot spiraling through you, a dangerous kind of thrill, a rush of power tangled with frustration and something else you weren’t ready to name. Henry leaned in, pressing his body flush against yours, caging you against the bookshelf.

And then, with a voice so low it was almost a growl, he murmured,

"I think you like being told what to do."

Your breath left you in a sharp exhale. Henry tilted his head, studying you, like he was savoring your reaction.

Slowly, maddeningly, he dragged his lips down the side of your throat, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above your pulse. And before you know it, you let your desire overcome your body, you let it consume your movements and your thoughts. Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his shirt desperately to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it. 

You hated him. You thought you had. He thought you had too but he could feel how much you loved this in your own sick and twisted way, your hips pressing against his. 

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he guides you to the desk with all of your work scattered on it. He moves to stand behind you, and slowly trails down your spine with his finger tips before pushing you down to lean against the desk. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself

“Henry,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him. He smiled down at you while sliding up your skirt.

“Say please.” He already knew what your answer would be. He knew you couldn’t do it. Not yet.

You shook your head side to side, pressing yourself back into his hands. “You’re insufferable,” you managed, voice breathless, unsteady.

Henry exhaled a quiet laugh.

"You’re trembling."

You hated that he was right.

Hated the way your body betrayed you, the way his voice sent a pulse of heat straight through you.

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “Oh darling, let’s see where this hatred will take us.” 

He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties. You gritted your teeth, not wanting him to be awarded the pleasure of your moans, gripping the wood of the table to keep yourself shut when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle. 

“Such a shame,” he said, pausing his movement. “Letting your pride get in the way of your own pleasure. It’s not as noble as you want to believe.”

“You’re a pretentious, self righteous, piece of sh-” you cut yourself off with a whine as his hand came down onto your flesh again. 

“There we are,” he murmured, and in quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fabric pool around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest flush against the table. “So good for me now huh,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs. 

“Fuck you,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly. He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, curling gently as you bit your lip, nearly drawing blood. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out. You let an annoyed whine escape your lips, feeling pathetic to let it slip. 

“Say it,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back.

“No.” You replied through gritted teeth, and before you knew it you felt him pushing into you. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your hips as he pounded into you. 

You screamed, your whole body locking up and then losing all control of itself, collapsing harder onto the shaking table. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook.

He was panting, the heat from the fire in the study made sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. You felt as if your soul had ascended, you were reaching for the sublime. You let out loud noises from your lips, letting the pleasure drip like honey, letting him grip your hips. You didn’t want to, but you needed to. 

“Please, Henry, please.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis. 

“I knew you could do it. Just had to fuck that attitude out of you, didn’t I.” Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled.

“Yes,” You moaned out, tears beginning to prick your eyes and threaten to fall onto your cheeks.

“How much do you want it?” Henry asked, almost politely, which almost made you laugh. If you didn’t feel like your body was being taken over, like pleasure was swimming through the veins of your body, making your heart pulse at a rate you didn't know was possible, you would have laughed. 

“So much, please Henry.” You were both so close, holding on to the brink of this worldly feeling. Then, it happened.

“Yes, yes, fuck!” It hit you, your whole body convulsing as it ripped through, and he was done for too. It flooded through you like golden light through cracked stained glass, something vast, something unbearable, an ecstasy so sharp it teetered on pain, leaving you trembling, hollowed out, and whole all at once. You were nothing but a vessel for it, a body undone by beauty, by longing, by the sheer ruinous joy of surrender.

Bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, again, were trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “All you needed to do was say please,” he murmured, throat tight with affection. 

“Such a jerk,” you muttered, amusement ringing through your tone so he could catch it. You chuckled before he moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

The only sounds were the ragged edge of your breathing, the ticking of the antique clock on the far wall, and the faint rustle of Henry adjusting his sweater sleeves and you fixing your own clothes up.

You were slumped against the desk, fingers curled against the polished wood as if it might anchor you, keep you from unraveling entirely. Your skin was feverish, your body still humming with the aftershocks of everything that had just happened.

Henry, infuriatingly composed, leaned back against the bookshelf, watching you. His lips were pink, his hair mussed in a way that betrayed his otherwise careful exterior. 

You tilted your head and smiled slightly, biting back its full capacity. “Don’t look so smug.”

“Why not?” His voice was languid, smug, so utterly him you could’ve throttled him. “I think I’ve earned it.”

You had to force yourself not to laugh. “You-”

Shifting closer, voice a murmur. “Would you rather I pretend it didn’t happen? That you didn’t enjoy it?”

You bristled, standing so abruptly your knees nearly buckled. Henry caught your wrist before you could move away, his fingers light but firm.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head. "I wouldn’t want you to fall."

Your pulse leapt.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, still breathless.

“So are you.”

You scowled, pushing yourself up, reaching for your coat draped over the chair. “Well, I’m leaving.”

Henry hummed. “Why?”

You hesitated, fingers curling in the fabric. And then, just as you turned toward the door, Henry caught your wrist, not forcefully, not teasingly, just… gently. A stark contrast to everything that had just transpired between you.

“Stay.” His voice was quieter now, none of the sharp edges from earlier, none of the arrogance. Just the simple weight of the word. You swallowed, suddenly unsure.

“We hate each other,” you reminded him, but your voice lacked its usual bite.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Do we?”

Your heart pounded. He was still holding your wrist, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your pulse. It wasn’t calculated, wasn’t another move in whatever game the two of you had been playing for years.

It was just him, just you.

“I won’t ask again,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “If you want to go, go.”

For a second, you thought about it, thought about leaving, pretending none of this had happened, continuing as if you still couldn’t stand the sight of him.

But then, instead of pulling away, your fingers curled around his.

You exhaled, shoulders sinking. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to walk back in the cold.”

Henry’s lips twitched. “Of course.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he laced your fingers together, you didn’t let go.