#i think i drew dream a bit to small

[onesmalldreamaskblog]

Rules:

When sending an ask, address it to the character you want to ask. (i.e. “Dream, what do you . . .”)  Asks without a character specified will not be answered.

You can ask/talk to more than one character per ask! (i.e. “Hey Dream and Nightmare, what do  you . . .”)

You can ask pretty much anything, be it story/lore-wise or other. Just please be appropriette and respectful!

You can only ask/talk to those on the character list. (For example, you cannot ask Blue or Ink anything! at least for right now) 

You can “gift” any of the characters something either through ask or a submission!

All asks with be answered via text only. I will also try to answer questions at least once a week on this blog, if not more, depending on how much time and energy (or asks) I have. Please bear with me if it takes a while to get to your ask! 

Character List: Names are color coded so you will know who is speaking.

OSD!Nightmare

OSD!Little Dream 

OSD!Killer 

OSD!Cross

OSD!Horror

OSD!Dust

Mod!Cal

(These characters are from my fanfic One Small Dream, but the original characters and their canon belong to their respective creators!)

[yoshistory]

i would love to one day contribute a piece of art to a small community of something

[trulyumai]

soon to be heir

—pairing: emperor Geta / empress! reader

synopsis: word of your pregnancy spread fast. Geta had to act even quicker to ensure your safety.

warnings: talk of violence, short tempers, grabbing. geta tries to be soft.

a/n: this was very heavily requested, enjoy everyone!

The news spread like wildfire.

‘Empress with a soon to be heir!’ For the gods, your own servants whispered about it.

It was true, of course. How could it not be, for Geta would make sure to fill you almost every night. Inching his fingers to touch below and shove the remainder of his seed into your wet mound.

He had planned for this. Dreamed of it.

Of you swole with his child; all his own doing. You didn’t, or hadn’t, planned on becoming a mother this early into his reign. But life was funny that way. Life and a certain ginger haired emperor.

You sat now, swelled next to the man during dinner time. It was unfortunate on the servants really, to abide by all your silly cravings. grapes here, jackfruits there and oh! Don’t forget about the sweet bread. Did I mention the berry spread?

“Wife,” Geta’s voice drew you from your thoughts. A hand, warm and callous placed itself upon your tummy. “Would you be receiving anything else?” He was ever so doting on you now. His eyes even held a bit of love to them from time to time.

“Ahm,” thinking you tried to place the current craving at command. But with a newfound shyness and tinge of embarrassment, you decided against it. “It’s— it’s nothing, dear husband.”

Almost immediately, Geta sensed the lie. And oh, how he hated those.

For gods sake, half of the palace lay in waste for the rumor of there being a rat, so for the audacity you displayed? It was dangerous.

He squinted and with the same arm, draped it across your shoulders, pinning your shorter body to his. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, little wife, would you?” A fire sprung up inside your body. Automatically, fight or flight seemed to be kicking in.

“It’s just a small thing. Not even worth mentioning really,” spit had gathered in your mouth incessantly out of fear. Gulping it down, the emperor leaned in further, until his nose brushed against yours.

If it were any other man, you would have called him pretty.

If it were any other man, you would have danced kisses upon his cheeks, his eyelids.

But it was Geta.

So you just watched, holding back a whimper as he applied more pressure with his hand upon your back.

Wordlessly, you knew what he wanted. He had become so infatuated with your wanton needs lately.

Oh, a bath? He’ll start it.

Those rare flowers by the bay? He’ll send word for them.

What’s that, that man is staring little too long? Beheading it is!

The last one was on his account, Geta had the man seized while you woddled back to the chambers, unaware of the whole predicament until your faithful servants informed you.

Geta had lobbed his head off right in the middle of the throne room. Screaming on about loyalty, fealty. What was his.

Geta’s fingers slowly perched there way below your chin, mulling you out of the violent place you put yourself in.

“Well?” The man wasn’t known for his patience, and you were surprised he lasted this long already.

“It’s… honey bread.” The emperor had to stifle his laughter. To hear and worry over such a dumbfounded thing.

“Honey bread.” He repeated, already raising his palm to signal for the chef.

“It shall be done, my wife.”

“It’s not necessary—

“It shall be done.” That was the end of it, you supposed.

Slowly, cautiously you sat up, legs already shaking with the added pressure.

Geta’s hands lay tensed and ready, just in case he needed to grab or hold you.

Unfortunately for him, you noticed this. Wanting to grant the man his sought out intention of protection, you reached out and cradled his hand in your own.

“Walk me back to our room?” And with a look as pathetic as that, how could the man say no.

He stood with you, and automatically, the servants in the room bowed their heads.

Fearful to take a glimpse of you and it be mistaken for something else.

Fearful to lay eyes upon the gruesome emperor with the short temper.

Now, with his big palm splayed out on your lower back, you began your stroll. Leaning into his soft robes your eyes shut. Geta had no problem taking the lead, holding onto your body with desperation and dare he say, infatuation.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ woman of my dreams, don't betray me.

wife!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are wives, and your parents have come to visit the two of you. everything will be fine, or would've been if you mother hadn't brought up her desire for grandchildren.

cw: angst, angst with a happy ending, wife!ambessa, wife!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, sfw but suggestive content, emotional hurt/comfort, you're a little bit of a crybaby, anxiety attacks, discussions of children and pregnancy.

notes: i hate this so much, but ce la vie hmm? this is a drabble.

“Sweet girl, don't bite your nails. You'll be so upset later.”

“You'll just give me the money to get them done,” you mutter. 

Still, your hands lower from your mouth to tremble yet again over the dinner you've painstakingly made.

Ambessa moves behind you, her presence steady and warm against your back. Her hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs working small circles into the knots that have been building there all day. You lean into her touch despite yourself, despite the anxiety that makes you want to vibrate out of your skin.

“Will this occur before or after you protest against me giving you too much?”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and you turn to slide your arms around her neck. You take in the strong line of her jaw, the crooked set of her lips with it’s thin stripe of golden jewlery in the middle. You thumb at it, face flushing slightly as she nips at the tip of your finger.

“My nails have yet to cost five hundred dollars, Bessa.”

“I include the tip.”

“I must be incredibly generous.”

“You are,” she hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Besides, you never think of tax.”

“Tax?” You say in disbelief. “What tax would they be adding that costs that much? Honestly, Bessa.”

“You never know,” she says with a slow smile. “They could swindle you very easily. You have such a trusting nature.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her, cupping her face.

"Talk to me," she says, and her voice carries that gentle authority that first drew you to her. You turn away, your attempts at misleading her thwarted. "Is it your mother again?”

You stiffen under her hands. "Among other things." The roast in front of you blurs slightly. 

You can picture her expression without turning around - that careful neutrality she wears when she's processing something that angers her. It's the same look she gets in meetings when someone has said something particularly stupid.

"And what did you say to her?"

"Nothing. I deleted it. I’ve never been any good at convincing her to leave me alone." You pull away from her hands to adjust a perfectly arranged plate for the third time. "It's easier than explaining. Than having the same argument over and over about how I'll change my mind, how I just haven't met the right person yet." You pause, throat tight. "As if you're not..."

"As if I'm not what?" There's an edge to her voice now, not angry but intent. When you don't answer, she gently turns you to face her. "Look at me, little dove."

You do, though it hurts. She's beautiful in the warm kitchen light, silver hair gleaming, dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that still makes your heart skip even after all this time. You see the question in them and can't bear to answer it.

"The table still needs-"

"The table is perfect. You're being avoidant."

A laugh bubbles up, slightly hysterical. "Isn't that what I do best?"

"No." Her hand cups your cheek. You can smell her: blonde wood, vetiver, pink pepper, dry vanilla. "What you do best is love fiercely and completely. And we agreed that that meant being honest with one another.”

She titls your head up, presses a thumb against your pulse. The action makes you almost confess the words that crowd your throat, threatening to spill out:

I'm terrified you'll realize I can't give you the family you deserve. That one day you'll look at me and see all the things I'm not, all the things I can't be. That you'll regret choosing someone so much younger, so much less certain of their place in the world. That my mother is right and I'm being selfish, denying you something fundamental.

But before you can voice any of it, the doorbell rings. Your whole body goes rigid. Your hands come to your sides and you’re back to shaking, neck burning with sudden stress. 

“I’ll get the door,” you say.

Your voice is rasping, as if you’ve swallowed down endless snakes of smoke.

‧₊˚ ⋅  𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 

Dinner is excruciating. Your mother talks about your cousin's new baby, about how wonderful motherhood looks on her, about how she's "simply glowing." You push food around your plate and feel Ambessa's concerned glances, even as she masterfully deflects conversation toward politics, toward her work, toward anything else.

But with each deflection, you can feel her growing more tense beside you - the way she sets her wine glass down with just a fraction more force, how her knife scrapes against the china with military precision.

"But really," your mother says, wine glass tilting dangerously in her hand, "I just don't understand why you two haven't started trying yet. Ambessa, dear, you must want more children? And you're not getting any younger-"

The fork clatters from your hand. "Mother."

You can feel your body pulsing with that sick warmth that comes with the rush of tears. You’re boring a hole through the dining room table with your gaze, eyes growing large and wet. If you were a lamb, you’d be bleating except your mother is the wolf so who will be the one to save you? 

Beside you, Ambessa goes perfectly, terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm, that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. You can see her hand flat against the table, the metal of her rings catching the light, and you know without looking that her face has taken on that marble-smooth expression that makes junior officers quake in their boots.

"I'm only giving you something to think about, my love. I’ve been you before. You think you have so much time, you know? It’s just—you've always been so good with kids, sweetheart. Remember how you used to babysit for the Hendersons? And Ambessa's children turned out so well-"

"Stop." Your voice comes out strangled. "Please."

Ambessa's hand sneaks under the table to grasp your thigh. The touch is slightly grounding but you can feel the tremor in her fingers - not from fear, but from restraint. You know she wants you to look at her, but then you'll really begin to lose it.

You'll spill over, right into her lap, because she always could unlatch your body in ways you thought were only for other people.

You catch the slight movement of her jaw, the way she swallows whatever cutting remark she wants to make. Because this is your mother, and Ambessa—for all her power, all her authority, because of the love—is letting you handle this your way. But the tension in her body screams of fury, of a woman forced to watch her beloved take wounds she can't deflect.

"I don't see why you're being so sensitive about this. It's a natural progression-"

"Natural?" You're standing now, though you don't remember deciding to. "Natural is me not wanting to vomit every time someone mentions me being pregnant. Natural is not having a panic attack every time you send me another fertility clinic link or baby clothes or-" Your voice breaks. "I can't. I can't do this."

You flee, ignoring your mother's startled "Well!" and your father's awkward attempt to change the subject. You're halfway up the stairs before the tears start properly, and by the time you reach your bedroom, you can barely see. The door locks behind you with a satisfying click.

You stumble to the vanity, clutch blindingly at your hair to yank out the pins. You feel out of control, your hands sliding up your neck and over your face.

A sob slips out despite you clutching your fingers over your mouth, and you press at your stomach until you feel the urge to dispel the mixture of your decayed dinner and acid that sits within it.

The bed. You need to be under the bed. It's childish and ridiculous but it's where you used to hide when things got too much, and right now everything is too much. You curl up in the darkness there, pressed against the wall, and try to remember how to breathe.

Time passes. You hear murmured voices downstairs, the front door opening and closing. Footsteps on the stairs - Ambessa's, you'd know them anywhere.

"Little dove?" A gentle knock. "Let me in?"

"It's unlocked," you manage, voice thick.

The door opens. A pause.

"Are you under the bed?"

"...yeah."

Another pause. Then, to your utter astonishment, you hear grunting and turn to find Ambessa - your tall, dignified, warrior-queen wife - attempting to squeeze herself under the bed frame.

"What are you doing?" you ask, hiccuping between tears and startled laughter.

"Coming to get you," she says, voice strained as she wriggles forward. "Though I'm beginning to think this bed was not built for someone of my size."

"You're going to get stuck."

"Then we'll be stuck together." She finally manages to get next to you, though she has to lie completely flat to fit. "Hello, sweet girl."

A rush of gratitude floods you and you press forward, drawing her into a soft kiss. She deepens it, sliding a large hand underneath your thigh and holding you to her. You part with a soft, slick noise. 

“You’re always meeting me where I am, even when you don’t understand,” you tell her. “Literally.” 

You gesture weakly at the whole predicament. The absurdity of it - Ambessa Medarda, covered in dust bunnies, cramped under a bed - breaks something in you. 

"I have this terrible secret inside me, and it’s that I feel so—so sick when I think about being a mother," you blurt out. The words slide out of you, like maggots from a rotting body. "Not—not your children, I love them, but being one myself. Having them. I can't. I won't. And I know you must want- but I can't, I just can't, please don't leave me.” You begin to sob again. “Please, Bessa. Please don’t leave me. Please. Plea-”

"Shh." She pulls you closer, awkward in the confined space but no less tender for it. You tuck your head into her neck as she soothes you. "Shh, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

"But-"

"I have two children," she says firmly. "Two wonderful, grown children who I love dearly. I have never once thought about having more. What I want - all I want - is you. Happy. Whole. Exactly as you are."

You're crying again, but differently now. "Really?"

"Really." She strokes your hair, rocking you as best she can in the tight space. "Though I would very much like to have this conversation somewhere with fewer dust bunnies."

You laugh wetly into her shirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I would crawl under a thousand beds for you. Even into a grave." She kisses your forehead. "But perhaps we could move on top of this one? My back is not what it used to be."

"You’re really not getting any younger," you quip, the onslaught of relief making you giddy.

"Watch it, little dove." But she's smiling - you can hear it in her voice. "Now come out before we really do get stuck."

“What if we stayed here forever,” you whisper, “and you never let me go?”

She releases you, then shimmies out from the crawl space. Gently, she curls a hand around your ankle and pulls you out with a sharp yank. You gasp as you emerge from your hiding space, hair spilling around you and your dress rucked up just enough to display your panties.

Ambessa leans over, drags the dress further up until she can kiss the swell of your breasts. She looks up you, face ever-calculating.

“I will never release you,” she finally says. 

It should scare you, the clear promise, but it doesn’t. You lead her hand to your throat, just to hold it there, and smile instead.

© hcneymooners.

[soapcloth]

-> Gallery curator!reader x bitter artist!Soap

CW: 18+ MDNI, oral in a truck, pushy soap, touchy soap

Oneshot - 1.2k words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Johnny’s a bit disgruntled about not getting into a gallery show. There’s an easy way to remedy that.

“No.” You spoke curtly, gaze steady on the man across the table from you sporting a gnarled scar from his temple that drew all the way back behind his ear. “I’m really sorry Mr. MacTavish, there’s nothing I can do to get you in the show coming up-“

“Johnny.” He interrupted.

“P-pardon?” You asked

“None of tha’ Mr. MacTavish Bull. Been pissing me off since our first appointment.” He grumbled, hand lifting to rub at this neck; staying there to massage and pick at his skin as he tried a different angle. His brows drew upwards and he shot you sad eyes. “Ah’ve been dreaming of this show, truly.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. You were a high end gallery curator, not customer support. “Look, I’m sorry Mr-“ You were cut down by a sharp glare. “-Johnny.” You sighed. “I’m sorry, Johnny, I don’t have the final say in this, I’m only a small part of the process.” Your fingers fumbled with the espresso you had ordered. “Between us? Your work’s stunning, but you just don’t have enough of it and it didn’t quite fit this show’s theme. If you just work on growing your portfolio, I’m sure you’ll be a perfect candidate for one in the future and-“

“Can ye’ guarantee that?” He bit.

Your eye twitched. “I’m trying to help you here, Johnny.” You watched his eyes glaze over.

“Fine, wanted to get in the damn show just te’ fuck ye’ anyways.” You choked loudly, looking around to find some other cafe patrons sparing glances your way as he leaned back into his seat with an unfocused grin, the poor chair straining audibly under his bulk. “Been thinking about biting into yer’ plump ass since our first appointment. Dinnae give a fuck about the show.” He was lying to your face; partially at least, you could tell, and he could tell that you could tell.

His nose bridge twitched in the phantom of a flexing snarl as his hand ambled upwards to fuss with the deep ridges of his healed-over scar before flying down to encase your own. His hands were clammy with his skin’s residue and when you maneuvered to recoil, he turned your palm over in his; an excuse to hold on. “Fuck, ah’m messing this up royally, aren’t I?”

“There’s nothing to mess up, Mr. MacTavish.”

His eyes narrowed almost indiscernibly before closing. “Och- ah’ve messed up but ye’ve already broken my heart with the whole gallery thing, Dinnae stomp on it with this.” He swallowed. “One date?” He asked as if he hadn’t just been talking about wanting to fuck you.

You grimaced, were you ovulating? “No gallery talk?”

“None. Swear on it.” He promised, eyes dilated slightly.

He was your type if you really squinted, and clearly you were his. “Fine, you have my cell-“

He practically pulled you up, a blinding smile on his lips. “Fuck, yer’ so gorgeous, ye’ got here in a cab, right? Let me take ye’ back to the gallery.” You shot a warning glare. “Not for me, Bonnie, Oath.” His palm made contact with the base of your spine, blunt fingers dipping under your shirt hem and rubbing at the new found flesh idly. “Ye’ bring a coat, Bonnie? Cold as sin out there.”

You nodded, reaching for the garment. He was faster though- long, stupidly thick arm reaching behind you to grab the coat. “Arms out.” Johnny smiled, eager to get out of the coffee shop. You blushed, embarrassed with a sharp look on your face directed at the floor. You could do it yourself, and yet, you obliged, letting him slip the sleeves on.

Outside, you shivered in the biting cold, breath rising in a cloud before you. Johnny gripped your arms and rubbed. “Ach- fucking freezing out, let’s get ye warmed up in my truck. Had a friend put heated seats in cheap.” He boasted, guiding you into a parking garage while remaining glued to your side. He stuck to you even as you ascended a level despite your best efforts to slow down and let him go first.

His truck was exactly what you had pictured for a guy like him. Economic but well-loved; jewel tone teal with a few nicks here and there. Opening the door for you, he helped you in with a splayed palm firmly groping at your ass. “Ye’ want the heated seat on? It’s aftermarket so it’s a bit tough to figure out.” You nodded, rubbing your hands together to warm them up.

With one hand on your thigh, he reached the other over your lap to fiddle with the heat. “There.” He grinned, newly free hand patting your other thigh and staying put. “Bonnie.” He hummed.

You nodded.

His eyes flicked downwards, throat bobbing. “Can ah’ve a taste?” Your eyes widened. “Yer cunt.” He tacked on, in case you weren’t already more than aware. “Want ‘er so bad, been having wicked thoughts about this all morning.”

You let out the breath you had held in then nodded, cheeks flushed.

He wasted no time going for your buttons and yanking your underwear down literally just far enough to slot his jaw between your legs. Hot breath fanned your cunt with a shaky exhale before he was diving in. You wondered how he could breathe with his face pushed so far into your pussy- then again maybe he wasn’t with how he was so preoccupied mashing his mouth against it.

His nose nudged past your clit as his broad tongue laved unendingly across your folds sloppily, paying the designated attention to the bud before he zeroed back in on your hole. “Mmph-” he breathed out after sometime, hot air creating a small pocket before he practically inhaled it back in.

You weren’t even cognizant of the fact that your hands were firmly woven into his overgrown Mohawk until you were using it to hold him down against you as you came on his jaw. The sounds Johnny made had let you know he was grateful, happily continuing to lap at your slick like a starved animal. You swear he whined when you pulled his head back up too. Like a starved animal.

His pupils were blown and he was practically vibrating as he wiped at his jaw before proceeding to lick at his hand; all while making eye contact as you buttoned up your jeans, thighs clenched together. He pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his mouth before straightening up and walking to the driver’s side door.

He was oblivious to your bashful silence as he chatted your ear off over the old, staticky radio for the entire ride back to your workplace. “-Ye’ll have to come by my studio space sometime, help me in the right direction with my work.” He winked, one hand squeezing your thigh as he pulled into the gallery parking lot. His old truck stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the nice cars as he put the car in park. “Stay warm fer’ me, bonnie.” He beamed, patting your thigh before you hopped out, feeling uncomfortably sticky. You nodded and scurried off to the front door of the gallery, colleagues sending you curious glances. For a curator commonly perceived as high maintenance around the gallery, you looked awfully unkempt.

you froze, turning around in horror upon hearing Johnny lay on the horn to get your attention.

“Call ye’ tonight.” He hollered with a shit eating grin.

[januaryembrs]

Any fluffy sweet Drabble about the moon boys 🫡

SWEET MORNINGS | Marc Spector x reader

description: the boys wake up to their girlfriend making breakfast, too bad she has no clue which boy is fronting that morning

length: 1.1k

warnings: representation of DID, Marc's slight self loathing (it's Marc idk what to say). Writer has never experienced DID so I am going off the show

He woke up peacefully, which had once been a fleeting dream in itself for a man like him. He’d spent years jumping at the smallest sounds, flinching at voices and footsteps, ready to be up and out of bed within a moment’s notice. Yet, when his eyes slowly blinked out of the reverie of sleep, he heard her humming along to the radio, already half way through the song, heard her socks sliding against the kitchen floor as she whirled around the stove, and the smell of pancakes and coffee hit him with full force. 

His lips drew into a smile before he even knew it, and he was drawing the covers back, her side of the bed not entirely freezing which told him she’d been up about twenty minutes. Marc grabbed his shirt off the floor, the same one Steven used to sprinkle with sand when he had no idea about their coexistence, only two years later, it was scrubbed clean, even with a pretty, knit rug you’d bought from your apartment when you moved in. 

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder. 

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice. 

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?” 

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist. 

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre. 

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!” 

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine. 

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine. 

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly. 

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler. 

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself. 

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate. 

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold. 

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him. 

The two of you laughed, because he didn’t quite understand what had gotten him so lucky as to end up with you. He could get used to all this.

[lupinqs]

LOVE ACTUALLY ━━ wnba!paige bueckers x reader

𝜗𝜚 ━ summary: you and paige spend christmas together with your families.

𝜗𝜚 ━ word count: 5.5K

𝜗𝜚 ━ warnings: brief allusions to sex but really just pure fluff

𝜗𝜚 ━ links: my masterlist

𝜗𝜚 ━ author’s note: i wrote this when i was drunk out of my mind and i did not proofread so take that as you will. anyways merry christmas!

IT’S CHRISTMAS MORNING in Connecticut, the soft hush of snow outside only adding to the cozy warmth inside your childhood home. You and Paige flew in a couple days ago, grateful to spend the holiday surrounded by both of your families. Paige’s dad and her little brother, Drew, made the trip from Maryland, too, making it all the more homier.

The last year and a half has been a whirlwind. Moving across the country to Dallas was one of the hardest decisions you’ve ever made—graduating from UConn and then immediately leaving behind your friends, family, and everything familiar to follow Paige as she chased her WNBA dreams. At the time, you weren’t sure if it was the right choice. But now, as you think about the life you’ve built together, you know it was worth every bit of uncertainty. You’ve got a great job, a cozy little apartment in Dalls, and Paige has already had two incredible seasons in the W. She’s thriving, and so are you, and being here now, with your families under one roof, feels like the perfect reminder of how far you’ve both come.

The two of you are curled up in your childhood bedroom, the soft hints of morning light glinting against the light pink walls. Paige’s bare skin is against yours, her arm draped possessively over your waist, her hand resting firmly on your hip. Your cheek is pressed against her shoulder, and you can feel her slow, steady breaths as they rise and fall beneath you. Everything about this moment feels so peaceful, so perfect, that you can’t help but linger in it.

Paige shifts slightly beneath you, and her fingers tighten their hold, pulling you closer. You tilt your head up to find her already looking down at you, blue eyes still heavy with sleep but soft with that familiar adoration that always makes your chest tighten. Her lips curve into a small, sleepy smile.

“Merry Christmas,” she murmurs, her voice husky and warm, roughened by sleep in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You smile back at her, your lips brushing the skin of her shoulder as you reply, “Merry Christmas.”

She leans down to kiss you, and it’s slow and unhurried, a perfect reflection of the way the two of you are easing into the morning. Her lips are soft against yours, her hand moving from your hip to your ass, squeezing gently as she deepens the kiss. Your body reacts instinctively, shifting closer, and Paige takes the opportunity to guide you over her, her hands steady on your waist as she pulls you to straddle her.

Her hands roam lazily over you, mapping the familiar terrain of your body as if she’s memorizing it all over again. The feel of her palms on your bare skin sends warmth pooling in your stomach, and your breath bitches when her fingers trail power, brushing against your inner thigh.

It’s enough to send your mind flashing back to last night, when Paige had you biting into your pillow to keep quiet, fucking you in a way that was far from appropriate with both of your families in the house, in the rooms just next door. It was reckless, but neither of you cared much in the moment. And judging by the way her fingers swipe teasingly at your clit now, she’s not feeling particularly concerned this morning, either.

A gasp escapes your lips, and Paige smiles against your mouth, her tongue sweeping in to claim yours in a kiss that’s deeper and more demanding. Just as her fingers begin to circle your clit lightly, the door knob rattles sharply, accompanied by Drew’s unmistakable voice.

“Why is the door locked? Wake up! We’re opening presents!”

The two of you freeze, and then Paige groans in frustration, pulling away reluctantly. She tilts her head back against the pillows, her hand coming up to drag across her face as she yells back, “We’re comin’! Go downstairs, we’ll be down in a sec!”

There’s a pause, then the sound of Drew retreating down the hall. Paige drops her head back to look at you, her expression equal parts annoyed and amused. “Always interrupting,” she mutters, leaning in to steal another slow, languid kiss.

You smile against her lips, your hand coming up to brush her hair back from her face. “We gotta get up,” you say softly, though you make no effort to move just yet.

She sighs, her arms wrapping around you to pull you closer for a moment longer. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

Eventually, the two of you untangle yourselves, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed to retrieve the matching Christmas pajamas Paige insisted on buying. Hers are just slightly too big, the waistband of the red plaid pants hanging low on her hips as she pulls on the soft cotton shirt. She tosses you your pair, watching with a lazy grin as you shimmy into them.

By the time you’re both dressed, Paige wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close for one last kiss before heading downstairs. When you get down there, the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of Christmas music fills the air. Your families are gathered around the tree, Bob offering you both a warm smile, your parents calling you cheerful “Merry Christmases” from the couch.

Drew has taken his role as gift sorter very seriously, picking up each package, reading the tags with exaggerated importance, and then delivering them to their respective piles like he’s Santa himself. You and Paige sit side by side on the floor, leaning into each other, your thighs pressing together as you watch. Her hand rests on top of yours, brushing her thumb over your knuckles, and it makes your heart swell.

Your older brother lounges beside you, watching Drew in amusement. His grin slowly shifts into something cheeky, though, as his gaze lands on you and Paige. He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Late night?” he asks, eyes glinting with mischief as they flick to the faint circles under your eyes.

Your cheeks flame instantly, and you seat at him, whispering sharply, “Shut up!”

He laughs, lea no no away just in time to avoid your second hit. “Hey, just sayin’,” he teases, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You both look a little… tired.”

Paige smirks beside you, clearly trying not to laugh, but you nudge her with your elbow, giving her a pointed look. She quickly schools her expression, though the amusement in her eyes is impossible to miss.

Your head snaps toward the couch, where your parents and Bob are chatting, thankfully oblivious to the exchange. You exhale in relief, shooting your brother a glare that promises retribution later.

Eventually, Drew claps his hands together dramatically. “Done!” he declares, plopping down onto the floor next to his own gut pile.

Your mom beams. “Stockings first!” she says, already reaching for her phone to start taking pictures.

Everyone does as she says, reaching for their stockings. You sift through yours, pulling out chocolates, fuzzy socks, and a cute little keychain your mom must have picked out. Paige grins as she pulls out a gift card, showing it to you like it’s a trophy. Drew’s stocking is filled with candy, which he immediately starts eating, and your dad jokes about how he gets socks every year without fail.

Your mom takes picture after picture and you roll your eyes in amusement as she pointedly tells you to smile wider for the photos.

Once the stockings are emptied, it’s time for the real gifts. The family settles into a rhythm, taking turns opening gifts. You and your brother exchange gag gifts that leave you both laughing, shaking your heads. When it’s Drew’s turn, you can’t help but feel smug as he opens your gift—a limited-edition jersey—and immediately declares it his favorite, much to Paige’s offense. She pouts dramatically, muttering, “I tried so hard,” which only makes you grin wider at her.

Her moment of redemption comes soon enough, though. Paige’s gift to your mom—one of those electronic picture frames that flashes different photos of your family—earns a gasp of delight. Your mom’s eyes shine as she hugs it to her chest, turning to Paige with a heartfelt, “Oh my gosh, Paige, sweetie!” She leans down to kiss Paige’s head, and you catch the faint blush on Paige’s cheeks. Your heart swells as you watch her fit so seamlessly into your family.

When Paige opens your first gift to her, you watch nervously as she opens the shoes she’s been eyeing for weeks. “Babe,” she groans, clearly thrilled but half-scolding you for indulging her obsession. You roll your eyes, telling her she deserves them, even if they barely have room in your already shoe-filled apartment.

Her second present from you is a new pair of Airpods, which were more of a last minute thing since she lost her pair on the flight here. She thanks you, knowing she needed them.

The last gift is the one you were just excited to give: a framed collection of her college jersey behind a collage of photos from her UConn career, the biggest one being of her holding up the natty trophy. There’s a handwritten note in the back of it, telling you how proud you are of her. You can’t take all the credit for it, though, as Nika helped you with a lot of it when she was visiting you and Paige in Dallas a few weeks ago. Paige’s eyes mist over as she stares at it, and she leans over to press a firm kiss to your temple, whispering how much she loves you in your ear.

Paige’s gifts to you are just as thoughtful. She starts with handing you a small box. You open it and gasp—they’re a pair of diamond earrings—actually, the pair of diamond earrings—you’d fawned over at some event you attended with Paige, where there had been a ton of different jewelry displays. “Shit,” you murmur, fingers ghosting over the diamonds. You’d seen the price tag on it, you know how expensive they were. You lean your head on Paige’s shoulder, saying, “Thank you, P.”

She grins before handing you your next one—a weekend getaway to a cabin in the Pacific Northwest. You’ve talked about wanting to go so many times, jokingly telling her you want to live out your Twilight dreams, and now here you are.

“Paige,” you whisper, staring at the printout of the reservation.

“You’ve been stressed,” she says simply, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You deserve this.”

The room falls quiet as you hug Paige tightly, everyone sifting through their opened gifts, satisfied. You think all the gifs have been opened, so you settle back, too, but then Paige’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Wait,” she says, her smile lighting up her face. “You’ve got one more.”

You narrow your eyes at her, exasperated. “Paige,” you groan, knowing she’s already gone overboard.

“Chill,” she laughs, waving off your protest. She gestures toward your brother. “Come help me.”

Confused, you watch as your brother jumps up eagerly, everyone else around the room exchanging knowing, excited smiles. You start to stand, too, but Paige shakes her head, her grin widening. “Stay here,” she tells you. “Be patient, babe.”

You sit back down, bewildered, as Paige and your brother disappear into the basement. Everyone else seems to be in on whatever this is, and you try to piece together the surprise, but you’re left empty-handed.

A few minutes pass before your brother and Paige finally emerge back from the basement. You immediately notice Cooper, your family’s golden retriever, darting ahead of them. His nails click against the hardwood floor as he bursts into the living room, tail wagging so hard it looks like it might propel him into the air. He’s a whirlwind of energy, bounding straight for Drew, who’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper. Drew laughs, trying to push Cooper’s snout away as he eagerly licks at his face. The dog is clearly thrilled to finally be apart of the action after being booted to the basement during gifts because he was too hyper.

Your focus shifts back to Paige, who’s holding a large box in her arms. She’s being careful with it, her steps deliberate as she sets it down in the middle of the floor, a few feet away from you. The grin on her face is impossible to miss—it’s a mixture of pride, excitement, and something that feels almost mischievous.

Your eyes narrow immediately. “What is it?” you ask, suspicious.

“You see,” Paige replies, her tone teasing as she kneels beside the box. Her hands rest on the top of it, and she’s clearly holding back a laugh at the confusion on your face.

Your gaze darts to your brother, who’s leaning casually against the couch with a smirk. You turn back to your girlfriend, your suspicion growing. “Paige,” you say, dragging her name out. “If this is a prank…”

Paige gasps in mock offense, her blue eyes wide. “A prank? On Christmas? Would I do that to you?”

“Yes,” you deadpan, which earns a round of laughter from your family.

“Just open it,” Paige says, brushing off your sarcasm with a grin and a roll of your eyes.

You hesitate, shifting on the floor as you inch closer to the box. Something about it feels… odd. It’s big, but not heavy enough to be something truly large. And when you look closer, you think you see it move. Your breath catches, and you tilt your head, trying to hear.

You think you catch a noise.

Your heart starts to race as you reach for the kid, glancing at Paige one more time. “I swear to God,” you say, eyeing her.

“Just trust me!” she says, laughing now. Her eyes gleam, and her grin is so wide.

You lift off the lid, and for a second, you just stare.

Then, your entire face lights up.

“Wait, oh my God!” you exclaim, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Inside the box is a tiny golden retriever puppy, his fur soft and fluffy, his bright eyes blinking up at you curiously. He has a red bow tied snugly around his neck, and he’s pawing at the edge of the box, already eager to escape.

You don’t hesitate—you reach in and scoop him up, cradling him in your arms as he wriggles excitedly. He’s warm and small, his paws pressing against your chest as he stretches up to lick your face. His little tail wags furiously, and you can’t stop laughing as he covers you in emphatic kisses.

“Paige!” you gasp, still laughing as the puppy snuggles into your neck. “Oh my God! Are you serious?”

“Surprise,” she says, her grin impossibly wide. She looks proud, and there’s a soft warmth in her gaze as she watches you hold the puppy like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

“I can’t—I—” you stutter, voice cracking slightly. Tears well up in your eyes as you hold the puppy close, his little head resting against your shoulder. “You really got us a puppy?”

Paige nods, sitting back on her heels. “I know how much you been wantin’ one,” she says softly. “So… he’s ours now.”

You blink back tears, your heart full as you look down at the tiny ball of fur in your arms. He lets out a soft tip and nuzzles closer to you, and you can’t stop smiling. “What’s his name?” you ask.

“Maverick,” Paige replies. “But I’ve been calling him Mav.”

“Maverick,” you repeat, testing it. It feels perfect, like it was meant for him.

You look back at Paige, your eyes shining. “When did you have time to do this?”

“They helped me,” Paige explains, gesturing to your mom and brother. “The day we got here, we went to pick him out while you went last-minute shopping. He’s been in the basement ever since, hanging out with Cooper and our brothers.”

Your mom smiles warmly from her spot on the couch. “It was all P’s idea,” she says. “She was so excited about it—she couldn’t stop talking about how much you’d love him.”

Your heart swells as you look at Paige, who’s trying to act nonchalant but is clearly basking in the praise. You lean over, the puppy still nestled in your arms, and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I love you,” you whisper.

Paige smirks, though there’s a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I know,” she says playfully, earning a soft hit to her arm from you.

The rest of the morning is a blur of excitement. Maverick becomes the center of attention immediately, with everyone wanting to hold him or pet him. Even Cooper seems thrilled about the new addition, sniffling bum curiously and then wagging his tail like he’s just made a new best friend.

But no matter how much everyone else tries to steal Mav’s attention, he keeps coming back to you and Paige. Like he belongs there. Which, you suppose, he does now.

THE SNOW FALLS steadily, blanketing the night in a soft, shimmering layer of white. The world feels hushed, as though the snow has pressed pause on everything else, leaving just you, Paige, and Maverick in your one little bubble. Your boots crunch against the snow-covered sidewalk as you tuck yourself closer into Paige’s side, desperate for any warmth you can find against the freezing cold. The icy air nips at your nose and cheeks, and your breath puffs out in visible clouds.

“I cannot believe you dragged me out here,” you grumble, your teeth chattering as another gust of wind cuts through your coat. “It’s Christmas night. It’s freezing. Who does this?”

Paige just grins, looking entirely unbothered by the cold. “You’ve lived here your whole life,” she teases, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement as she gives you a gentle nudge with her elbow. “Suck it up. You’re supposed to be used to this.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve gotten used to the Dallas heat,” you retort, because you have. Grumbling again, you burrow yourself deeper into your scarf.

Paige just laughs, reaching down to adjust Maverick’s leash as he bounds happily ahead of you, his tiny paws kicking up little sprays of snow. His golden coat gleams under the soft glow of the streetlights, and his tail wags furiously as he sniffs at the snowbanks on either end of the sidewalk.

“Look at him,” Paige says, gesturing to the puppy with a grin. “Look how happy he is. How could you not wanna be out here with him?”

You glance down at Mav, who’s clearly having the time of his life. You sigh, conceding the point. “Fine,” you mumble, pulling your coat tighter around you as you watch him hop through the snow like it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced.

The three of you continue down the street, the cold biting at your exposed skin, until you reach the town square just a block down from your house. It’s quiet and empty, just as you’d expected, but it’s so beautiful and familiar that you can’t bring yourself to complain anymore.

The little shops lining the square are all decorating for the holidays, their windows glowing warmly against the night. Twinkling lights are strung from lamppost to lamppost, and garlands of evergreen and red ribbon add a festive touch to the storefronts. The snow falls steadily, coating everything in a pristine layer of white, and for a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a scene from a Hallmark movie.

You glance over at Paige, and the sight of her bundled up in her coat and beanie, snowflakes caught in her golden hair, makes your heart squeeze. She looks over at you and grins, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

“Worth it?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

You huff, but you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Maybe.”

She smirks, clearly pleased with herself, and gives Maverick’s leash a gentle tug to redirect him as he tries to nose his way into yet another snowbank. The three of you wander through the square until you reach the massive Christmas tree in the center. It’s a towering evergreen, wrapped in thousands of white and gold lights that cast a warm, inviting glow over the snow.

Paige slows to a stop near the tree, and you glance over at her, your breath catching slightly at the look on her face. She’s smiling softly, but there’s an unfamiliar nervousness—almost vulnerability—that overcasts her expression, making your heart stutter.

“What?” you ask softly as you tilt your head at her.

She steps closer, her gloved pinky brushing against yours before hooking around it gently. “This is where we first met,” she murmurs, her voice low, almost hesitant. “Remember?”

Of course you remember. How could you ever forget?

It had been five years ago, during one of those rare weekends when you’d been home from school in December. You’d been wandering the square with a fresh hot chocolate in hand, trying to find a Christmas gift for your mom. The snow had been falling just like it is now, and you’d been heading to the little jewelry shop on the corner when someone had barreled straight into your chest, spilling your drink all over you—and them.

That someone had been Paige.

You’d recognized her immediately, of course. Every student at UConn knew who she was—Paige Bueckers, the basketball sensation, the phenom. You were a freshman, she a sophomore, and you’d yet to see her on campus your entire first semester. But there you were then, seeing her in person for the first time, in—of all places—your coastal little hometown. It was the last thing you’d ever expected.

She’d been mortified, stumbling over herself as she apologizes and offered to buy you a new hot chocolate. You’d tried to brush it off, but she’d insisted, dragging you back to the little café to get a replacement. The two of you ended up talking while you waited for it, and when she found out you went to UConn, her eyes had lit up.

Somehow—still to this day, you’re not entirely sure how—she’d managed to get your number before you left. The next week, you’d hung out on campus for the first time. And from there, it had been history.

Now, five years later, you’re standing in the exact same spot, under the glow of the exact same Christmas tree, with the snow falling around you just like it had that day.

Your chest feels tight as you look at her, taking in the way the snowflakes catch in her hair, the way her blue eyes shine against the cold. She’s so beautiful it almost hurts.

“Of course I remember,” you whisper, your breath fogging up in the cold air.

You watch as Paige takes a little breath, her chest rising and falling as she glances down at the snow-covered ground. Her lips part, but no words come out right away. Her hands fidget slightly with Maverick’s leash, and the Paige Bueckers standing before you—this soft, nervous version of her—is such a stark contrast to the confident and often-times annoying girl you’re so used to seeing.

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “What’s wrong?” you ask gently, voice barely audible over the soft crunch of Mav’s paws in the snow.

But she shakes her head, glancing back at you with what might just be the softest smile you’ve ever seen. It’s disarming, and your breath catches in your throat a little at it. “I have another gift for you,” she murmurs.

You blink at her. “Paige, no,” you protest immediately, a small huff escaping your lips. She’s already gotten you more than enough—between the thoughtful, expensive presents she gave you earlier and the effort she’s put into making this Christmas perfect, you feel spoiled.

But Paige just shakes her head again, her smile widening just slightly as she takes a step closer, reaching for your gloved hands. You don’t resist as she pulls them out of your pockets and wraps her own around them, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric. Maverick’s leash rests between both of your palms, the two of you holding him together.

“Stop,” she says softly, her voice almost teasing but laced with something deeper. “It’s fine. It’s just—this one’s a little… different than the others, ‘kay?”

Your brows furrow a little, still confused. There’s something in her expression—something hesitant and vulnerable, almost like she’s unsure of herself—and it makes your chest stumble. Slowly, you step closer, your eyes boring into hers as you whisper, “P, I don’t know what more you can give me. You’ve already given me everything.”

She lets out a breath at that, exhaling slowly. “Not everything,” she murmurs, eyes downcast.

You tilt your head in question, half-lost. “What d’you mean?”

Paige takes another deep breath, her hands tightening around yours just slightly. For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, and you can see her trying to gather her thoughts, her blue eyes darting away from yours and then back again.

“Okay, um…” she starts, her voice faltering a little before she lets out a nervous laugh. “I—I don’t really know how to say this, because I’ve been thinkin’ about this for so long, had it all prepared, but now that we’re actually here, it’s—it’s all just kinda gone away…”

Your heart is pounding now, your stomach twisting in anticipation. Paige is rarely like this—stuttering, stumbling over her words—and the fact that she is has you hanging on her every syllable.

She shifts her weight, glancing down at the snow-covered ground for a moment before looking back up at you. Her cheeks are even more pink than before, whether that be from the cold or nerves, and the look in her gaze makes your throat tighten.

“I love you,” she says finally, her voice steady now despite the nervous energy radiating off of her. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I can’t—I can’t even imagine a version of my life where you’re not in it. You’re—you’re my best friend, my person, my everything. And every time I think about the future, it’s you, always you. Every single time.”

Your breath catches, and you think your eyes begin to swim, though you’re not even entirely sure why yet. You squeeze her hands lightly, trying to reassure her even though you’re the one suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“I want to do this forever with you,” Paige continues, her voice growing softer with each word. “I want every Christmas with you, every family gathering, every walk with Mav. I want you to be there for all my big moments, and I want to be there for all of yours. I just—I want you. Forever. And I don’t wanna wait anymore to tell you that.”

She lets go of one of your hands then, reaching into the pocket of her coat. For a second, you’re confused, your heart hammering in your chest as you watch her movements, and then—

Oh.

Oh.

Time seems to stop as Paige pulls a small, velvet box from her pocket and drops to one knee in the snow. Your eyes widen, your breath freezing in your chest as you stare down at her, completely locked in place.

She flips the box open, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. It’s simple yet stunning, a perfect match for you in every way, and the sight of it sends a rush of emotions flooding through you.

“Baby,” Paige says, her voice trembling slightly as she looks up at you with the most earnest expression you’ve ever seen. “Will you marry me?”

Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure she can hear it, and your eyes are completely flooded now.

Paige stays kneeling there, her gaze locked on yours, and she looks so hopeful, so full of love, that it takes your breath away. The world around you seems to blur, the snow falling softly around you and the glow of the Christmas tree lighting up the moment like something almost out of a dream.

You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything but stare at her as the weight of what’s happening finally settles over you. Paige Bueckers—the girl who spilled hot chocolate on you five years ago, who turned your entire world upside down without even trying—is asking you to spend the rest of your life with her.

The words catch in your throat, tangled between a sob and a laugh, as you finally come to your senses. Your lips tremble, your heart racing faster than ever, and then it all bursts out at once. “Yes,” you choke, voice breaking. “Fuck, yes. Of course, baby.”

Paige lets out something between a laugh and a sob of her own, her grin so wide it’s almost silly. Her eyes are glistening with tears, matching yours, and for a moment, you’re both just staring at each other like you can’t quite believe this is real.

And then you move.

Instead of waiting for her to stand, you drop down into the snow with her, no longer caring about the cold or the fact that your pants are already damp. Your hands find her face as you crash your lips into hers, kissing her so deeply, so passionately, that it feels like your chest might explode from everything you’re feeling.

Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as the snow falls softly around you, your noses brushes and your tears mingling between the kiss. It’s emotional and raw and maybe the most meaningful kiss you’ve ever shared, the kind that feels like a promise all on its own.

When you finally pull back, breathless and overwhelmed, Paige presses her forehead against yours. Her eyes shine cerulean, her cheeks streaked with tears, but she’s smiling like she’s never been happier in her life. She presses one, two, three quick pecks to your lips, her grin only widening with each one.

You laugh softly, your heart still racing, and then she’s reaching for your left hand, gently tugging your glove off. Her fingers tremble slightly as she takes the ring from its box, sliding it onto your finger with the utmost care.

It fits perfectly.

Paige leans down, brushing her lips against the ring on your finger like it’s the most sacred thing she’s ever touched. “Perfect,” she murmurs, her voice soft and full of awe.

And then, suddenly, Maverick bounds into the moment, pouncing between you and Paige with all the enthusiasm of a puppy who has no idea what’s just happened but is thrilled to be a part of it. His nose nudges your hand, and you both laugh as his tongue flicks out, licking the shiny new ring before jumping up to cover Paige’s face in kisses, too.

“Okay, okay!” Paige laughs, trying to fend him off but not really putting much effort into it. You giggle, reaching out to scratch behind his ears before pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Paige skips her arm around your neck, tugging you close again. Her voice is soft but teasing as she murmurs, “Now I can finally call you my wife, and no one can complain ‘bout it.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile betrays how giddy you feel. “Still not your wife,” you correct, holding up your hand to show off the ring. “Fiancée.”

Paige just shakes her head stubbornly, her nose brushing against yours as she whispers, “Nah. Wife.”

And then she’s kissing you again, her lips warm against yours despite the chill in the air. Mav paws at both of you, trying to squeeze himself into the moment like he doesn’t want to be let out, and you laugh against Paige’s lips, your heart so full it might burst.

Because there, in the snow, at the very spot where you first met five years ago, the world feels impossibly small and endlessly vast all at once. This is a new beginning—the two of you, Maverick, and the life you’re going to build together. It’s the start of your family, the start of everything that comes next, and as Paige kisses you again, with snowflakes catching in her lashes and Mav pawing at your side, you realize with a sneaky feeling that love actually is—all around.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

"god I'm supposed to hate you, why don't i hate you?" with barty and potter! reader? 👀 the recent fic got me thinking sjdjkdkf

I Might Still Hate You

Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Reader

AN: I couldn't sleep last night, I'm blaming this. ANY excuse to write Barty x Potter reader tbh

Summary: An unexpected guest shows up at your house late at night.

WC: ~3k

CW: Small bit of cussing, implied child abuse

You couldn’t remember a single time Bartemius Crouch Jr had ever said something kind to you.

It was likely because he never had.

From the very beginning, you and Barty had been locked in a mutual loathing. Whether it was academic rivalry, dueling matches, or sheer social standing, the two of you couldn’t seem to share a room without bristling at the other’s presence. Maybe it was the way you refused to bow under his threats, meeting his sharp words with sharper ones of your own. Or the way he matched your challenges like a game he was desperate to win, his smirk always daring you to push him further.

But really, it was probably your name.

"Potter."He never just said it- he delivered it, each syllable like a whip crack, leaving something raw behind. You hated the way he said it, how his voice dipped just slightly when he drew it out, like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to know but delighted in exposing anyway.

“You know, it suits you.” He had told you once, a wicked grin slashing across his face as you squared off in yet another argument. “All that self-righteousness. It clings to you, like perfume.”

Your glare had only made his grin widen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re exactly what everyone expects a Potter to be. And isn’t that exhausting for you? Always pretending you’re better than everyone else?”

“I don’t need to pretend, Crouch.” You had shot back, stepping closer, challenging him as you always did, smirking. “But maybe you should stop pretending you’re not desperate to prove yourself to me. ‘Clings to be like perfume’? Give me some room, maybe you wouldn't be so wrapped in it.”

That grin faltered just slightly, his eyes narrowing. For a moment- just a moment, you thought you saw something flicker behind his bravado. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual venom. Giving you an expression he saved just for you- unbridled hatred.

“You’re insufferable.” He glared down at you before slowly smirking himself. As if his lip didn't twitch into a frown at your remark.

“And you’re pathetic.” You drawled, running your quill along the bridge of your nose.

Barty had a way of getting under your skin. You told yourself it was just the rivalry. Just the mutual hatred that kept him in your thoughts, his voice echoing far too clearly in your head.

But you hated how sometimes, when he was close, your pulse raced for reasons you couldn’t quite name. How his cologne reminded you of your best days, because he was never far behind you.

Everything considered, everything he's done and said to you, there was nothing that prepared you for this.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet halls of Potter Manor, startling you from your thoughts. It was late, too late for visitors. The rain outside battered against the windows like an unwelcome intruder. You hesitated for a moment before making your way to the front door, curiosity piqued and wand subtly gripped just in case.

Pulling open the heavy oak door, you were met with a sight that made you question if you'd somehow drifted into a dream or perhaps a nightmare.

"Crouch?" You uttered, eyes widening as you took in his disheveled appearance. His usually pristine hair was plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping down his face and soaking his clothes. A dark bruise was forming around his left eye, the skin swollen and tender-looking. His nose was red, and whether from the cold or something else, it was clear he'd been through quite an ordeal.

He blinked at you, seeming just as surprised to find himself on your doorstep. "Potter.” He mumbled, but the usual sneer in his voice was absent. Instead, it sounded almost... defeated.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, a mix of concern and confusion lacing your tone.

He glanced away, jaw tightening. "Didn't realize where I was going," He shrugged. "Just walking."

"In the pouring rain? With a black eye?" You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident.

"Brilliant observation, as always," He shot back, but the retort lacked his typical bite.

You sighed, stepping aside. "Well, don't just stand there. Come inside before you catch pneumonia."

He hesitated, pride warring with practicality, but the chill of the rain seemed to make the decision for him. He stepped over the threshold, dripping water onto the polished wooden floor. You closed the door behind him, the sound of the storm muffled but the tension between you both as palpable as ever.

You closed the door softly, turning to face him with a sigh. Barty stood there, dripping rainwater onto the polished floor, his gaze avoiding yours. Your mother was going to kill you. There was something unnervingly quiet about him, something unspoken weighing heavily in the space between you.

"If my brother sees you, he’s going to lose his mind.” You muttered, already thinking through how to avoid that particular disaster.

Barty snorted, the sound bitter but faint. "Wouldn’t be the first time a Potter tried to hex me."

"Well, I’m not in the mood to hear James shouting at two in the morning, so we’re going to avoid that, alright?" Without waiting for his reply, you grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward the stairs.

He stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you.” You hissed. "Now, shut up and follow me."

He opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, instead allowing you to lead him up the staircase. The house creaked softly underfoot, the storm outside muffling your steps as you tiptoed toward your room. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting James to come barreling out of his room with Sirius in a righteous fury.

When you finally reached your door, you pushed it open and gestured him inside. Barty hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Your room?"

"Yes, my room.” You replied a bit snappily, exasperated. "Unless you’d prefer I dump you in the hall for James to find?"

He stepped inside without another word, though his posture was tense, his gaze darting around the space as though expecting a trap. You shut the door quietly behind you, casting a silencing charm for good measure.

"Sit.” You ordered, gesturing to the small chair near your desk.

Barty sat reluctantly, his wet clothes clinging to him and dripping onto the carpet. You grimaced. "You’re ruining my mum’s rug."

"Your concern is touching.” He drawled, though the usual venom was missing. He looked utterly miserable, and the bruise on his face seemed darker in the soft glow of the room’s light.

Ignoring his sarcasm, you rummaged through your wardrobe for a spare towel and tossed it at him. "Dry off. I’ll find something for you to wear so you’re not freezing to death."

He caught the towel with a raised brow. "I didn’t realize Potter hospitality came with wardrobe changes."

"Do you ever stop talking?" You shot back, digging through a drawer until you found an old jumper Sirius gave you and a pair of sweatpants James had ‘lost’. "Here. They're my brothers, but it’s better than sitting around in wet clothes."

He muttered something you didn’t quite catch, taking the clothes from you with a begrudging nod. You turned away, giving him privacy as he changed, though you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air grow thicker with every passing moment.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Why are you doing this?"

You glanced over your shoulder, finding him standing there in the oversized jumper, his wet hair pushed back from his face. Without the rain and the usual sneer to hide behind, he looked... different. Tired. Vulnerable, even.

"You showed up on my doorstep looking like you’d been through hell.” You shrugged. "I couldn’t just leave you out there."

He scoffed lightly, but there was no real bite to it. "You’re a strange one, Potter."

"And you’re still unbearable," You mumbled, crossing your arms. "But here we are."

Silence fell between you, the storm outside filling the quiet. Barty’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to you. "Your brother-”

"Will stay asleep if you keep your voice down.” You interrupted. "I’ll deal with James or Sirius if it comes to that. For now, just... sit down and rest. I’ll grab some ice for your eye."

He didn’t argue, which was strange enough in itself, sinking back into the chair and watching you as you slipped out of the room. When you returned with a cold cloth, he accepted it without a word, holding it gingerly to his swollen eye.

"Thanks.” He mused after a moment, the word sounding foreign in his mouth.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, studying him carefully. "Who hit you?"

"Does it matter?" His tone was dismissive, but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched.

"It does if you’re going to keep showing up like this.. was it your father, Junior?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. You sighed, leaning back on your hands. "You don’t have to tell me. But you’re not going anywhere until you’re steady on your feet, alright?"

"Afraid I’ll collapse in the rain?" He snarked, his usual smirk making a brief appearance.

"I’m afraid you’ll collapse on my doorstep and make me explain to my father why a random boy is here," You shot back.

The room settled into a fragile quiet, the storm outside providing a constant backdrop. Barty sat there, pressing the cold cloth to his eye, his face obscured by shadows and bruises. You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, watching him carefully. He was always so quick with a retort, so quick to lash out, and yet now he seemed... hollow, his usual sharp edges dulled by whatever had led him to your doorstep tonight.

"You’re staring.” He muttered, his voice breaking the silence.

"You’re in my room.” You countered, refusing to back down.

He huffed a faint laugh, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "Fair enough, Potter. I didn’t exactly plan this, you know."

"You don’t say?" You deadpanned, tilting your head. "Because you seem like the type to storm through rain-soaked nights and show up unannounced."

"Better than staying where I was." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his face darkened immediately, his jaw clenching as he turned his attention to the cloth in his hands.

You didn’t push him. Not yet. Instead, you sat back, letting the silence stretch just long enough to ease the tension in the air. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of malice in his gaze. Just exhaustion.

"I don’t understand you, Potter.” He scoffed softly, almost as if to himself. "Why are you doing this?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "You keep asking that. Do you really not get it?"

His brow furrowed. "We hate each other. Isn’t that the whole point of us? This... thing?"

"This thing? You mean our rivalry?" You huffed, raising an eyebrow. "It’s not like it’s my whole identity, Crouch. Believe it or not, I’m capable of basic human decency."

"Decency?" He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t owe me anything, Potter. Especially not that."

"No, I don’t.” You shrugged, leaning forward. "But you showed up here, soaked to the bone and bruised. I’m supposed to hate you, sure, but..." You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you forced them out. "I don’t hate you right now."

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to find the trap in your words. "Why not?"

"Merlin, Crouch.” You muttered, exasperated. "I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you look like a stray Kneazle someone kicked into a gutter."

His lips twitched at that, and for a brief moment, you thought he might smile. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his expression guarded but less harsh. "Don’t pity me, Potter. That’s worse than hate."

"I’m not pitying you.” You snapped back. "But I am trying to figure out why you’re so determined to make everyone hate you, including me."

"Maybe I deserve it." His voice was so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. His usual bravado cracked further as he glanced away, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the towel.

You softened at that, the sharp edge of your retort fading before it could form. "Maybe you don’t.” You coaxed gently. "You ever think of that?"

He didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t bring himself to let the words out. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting back to you.

"You’re annoying, you know that?" he finally muttered, shaking his head. "You’re supposed to be this... untouchable, perfect Potter. And yet here you are, making it impossible for me to hate you."

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

"You hate me just fine most of the time.” You rolled your eyes, your voice quieter now.

He laughed, but it was a hollow sound, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "Do I? Or is that just easier than... this?"

"This?" You echoed, your heart pounding as the word lingered in the air between you.

He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. Vulnerability mixed with defiance, like he hated himself for letting you see even a glimpse of what lay beneath his carefully crafted exterior. You opened your mouth to say something, anything but the words tangled on your tongue.

"I should go.” He said suddenly, standing up and tossing the towel onto the chair. "This was a mistake."

You were on your feet before you even realized it. "Don’t be an idiot, Crouch. You’re not going anywhere like this."

"I’m fine.” He snapped, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

"You’re not fine.” You shot back, stepping closer. "And you don’t have to be."

His jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You think you know me, Potter? You don’t. You can’t just... fix me with a towel and some kind words."

"I’m not trying to fix you.” You scoffed but your voice strained, soft but firm. "I’m just trying to remind you that you don’t have to do this alone."

For a moment, it looked like he might argue again, but then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath. "Why are you doing this?" He asked one last time, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t have an answer, not really. All you could do was reach out, resting a hand on his arm. "Because I don’t hate you.” You said finally. "And maybe I never did."

His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, the storm outside seemed to quiet.

“I hate you.” He whispered softly. Testing the words on his tongue.

“That's okay.”

“I hate you.” He spoke again, more determined as his brows furrowed at you in frustration.

“I can live with that, Junior.”

“I hate you.” He spoke in his normal tone, before his shoulders fell and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm supposed to hate you. Why don't I hate you?”

Your heart thudded painfully at his words. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and venom, was raw now, trembling with something unspoken. It wasn’t a question meant for you. It wasn’t even a question meant for him, not really. It hung in the air, heavy with everything he couldn’t say and everything you couldn’t answer.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his words carved into you, settling in places you didn’t want to acknowledge. "Maybe you’re not as good at hating as you think," you whispered softly, your voice barely cutting through the silence.

Barty let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Oh, I’m very good at hating, Potter. Comes naturally to a Crouch. You should know- you’ve been on the receiving end often enough."

"Then what’s stopping you now?" You challenged, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking to something almost unbearable. "What’s so different this time?"

His eyes flickered to yours, narrowing as though he was trying to figure you out, to dissect every word and find its weakness. "You’re insufferable," He muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. "Always so damn persistent."

"Stop deflecting, Crouch." You didn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down, standing your ground even as his walls threatened to rebuild. "Why don’t you hate me?"

"Because I-" He stopped himself, his jaw clenching, the frustration in his expression cracking further. He turned away from you, raking a hand through his damp hair. "I don’t know, alright? I don’t know. I’ve hated you since the first day I met you, but now-" He broke off again, his shoulders tense, his fists clenching at his sides.

"But now what?" You pressed gently, your tone softer this time.

"But now it’s harder.” He admitted finally, his voice so quiet you barely caught the words. He turned back to face you, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time, he looked completely, heartbreakingly vulnerable. "I don’t know what to do with that."

Your chest tightened, the weight of his admission settling heavily between you. "Maybe you don’t have to do anything.” You took another step closer. "Maybe it’s okay to just... stop fighting it."

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk but not a smile either. "And what exactly am I supposed to do instead?"

"You could start by letting yourself be honest.” You replied. "For once."

Barty studied you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours like he was looking for an answer he didn’t want to find. Then, almost imperceptibly, he took a step closer, the tension between you reaching a breaking point.

"Honest, huh?" He murmured, his voice low. "Alright, Potter. Here’s some honesty for you- I hate the way you do your hair. I hate the way you hold a room. I hate the way you can wipe me across the floor in a duel and still challenge me in a classroom. I hate how you never stop talking- I hate how you make me feel. I hate that you make it impossible to look at you without... without wanting something I’m not supposed to want."

Your breath hitched, his words sending a jolt through you. The room felt smaller, the storm outside nothing compared to the one brewing between you.

"Then stop pretending you hate me.” You slipped your hands into your cardigan pockets, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced. "Because we both know you don’t."

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression unreadable. Then, with a frustrated growl, he reached out, his hand cupping your jaw as he pulled you closer. His lips hovered just a breath away from yours, his gaze locked on yours.

"You’re infuriating," he murmured, his voice rough, almost broken. "And I don’t know if I hate you or if I-"

He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. The space between you disappeared, the storm outside fading into nothing as his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft or sweet- it was raw and desperate, filled with all the unspoken words and tangled emotions you’d both been avoiding for far too long.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I still might hate you.” He mused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"That’s fine.” Your voice was breathless but steady. "I might still hate you, too."

But the way your hand lingered on his, and the way his grip on you didn’t falter but tightened, told a different story entirely.

[moongreenlight]

141 gossiping about Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley for roughly 3,000 words idk titles are hard

Price was the first to notice. Priding himself on being incredibly observant, especially when it came to his boys.

He noticed that whenever they had a break from trainings or meetings, he’d somehow always find the two of you in a room together. Never close enough to give him reason to say anything. You scribbling notes on a patient report at one table, Ghost at another, his chair angled just enough so that he could watch you from the corner of his eye.

Noticed the way Ghost’s hand rested on the small of your back for a heartbeat when you entered a doorway before him. Just a brush of his massive hand on you, quick enough to be mistaken for an accidental touch.

Noticed how Ghost’s eyes seemed to always flick to you from across the mess hall. Not often, but enough for Price to casually turn his head and see that same nurse Ghost seemed to have a preference for.

At first, Price thought he could help by being a wingman of sorts. When Ghost took damage on a mission, Price would escort him to medbay and watch as he dismissed nurse after nurse until you were finally available to treat him. Price lingered as long as he could before you inevitably waved him away, cheekily reminding him you always took good care of his team and that you’d have ‘Lieutenant Riley’ back in no time. The only thing he could catch was the way Ghost’s shoulders relaxed by a hair’s breadth when you drew the curtain shut behind you.

He tried again during a meeting with his boys. Suggesting they bring a medic on a mission with them. Said something about how it would be better to have the option of a patch-up readily available. Keep his team fighting fit in real time instead of having to wait until they came back to base. Price saw the way Ghost tensed slightly in his seat, the muscles in his jaw twitching under his balaclava.

The notion was quickly vetoed. Ghost grumbling something about not wanting to babysit any more than he already does. How it’s ultimately more paperwork he doesn’t want to have to deal with.

He tried once more, going to Ghost’s office one evening. Almost turning tail once he realized how ridiculous it was to be this insistent on figuring out if his Lieutenant had some boyish crush on the sweet nurse he always seemed to be lingering around. But ultimately decided that it was good practice to know more about his team personally. Better bonding meant better interaction on the field, right?

He asked Ghost to redo some paperwork. Add a ‘next of kin’ to his file in the event that something happened and they needed to alert someone. Ghost looked a little suspicious, shrugging off the request.

“Left it off for a reason, Captain.”

He said gruffly, waving a hand. Barely looking up from his desk.

Price pursed his lips, shifting his weight slightly.

“You sure, Simon? Haven’t got anyone that’d be interested to know what happened to you?”

Ghost rubbed the bridge of his nose, like the conversation was more trouble than it was worth, before shrugging once more. Finally looking up from his desk and leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You planning on shipping me off somewhere and not picking me back up?”

A small chuckle from Price. A shake of his head.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Cheers, then. Leave it off.”

This quelled Price’s curiosity for a while, unable to dream up any other reason to try and force Ghost to indulge him. It no doubt hurt his ego a bit, thinking about how his Lieutenant and one of his closest friends was so dead set on keeping his personal life so closely guarded. He’d push the feelings aside, chalk it up to being jaded by his work. Over-involved in the lives of Soap and Gaz. It was probably good for Simon to have something sacred.

Soap wasn’t as easily deterred once he caught on. Not as immediately perceptive as the others, but he knew Ghost well enough to know his tells.

It was after a long mission. Months long. Grueling, shitty, exhausting work. They got back in the early evening, mercifully spared from a debrief until the following day. Soap somehow ended up dragging Ghost to a dive bar a few blocks from base. Trying to sound persuasive when he mentioned that it was a Friday night and they deserved a few drinks and some female attention after all this time going without.

And they did get attention. Two good looking military men sitting at the bar were bound to. Soap knew that Ghost wasn’t one to play the field, but this was a bit frigid even for him. Ignoring girls who came up and tried to strike conversation. Rolling his eyes, or huffing a sigh like it was a chore to even dismiss them, drumming his fingers on the wall of his glass like he’s bored. It was baffling.

What was even more baffling was the way that Ghost’s knee bounced slightly against the stool. An infinitesimally small movement, but the way it caught Johnny’s eye made it seem like Ghost was all but jumping up and down. He looked almost anxious. Itching to get up and leave.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

Ghost’s head jerked toward Johnny, cold eyes narrowing in a way that would have been terrifying years ago- before he’d gotten used to it.

“Come again?”

“Got somewhere to be, have you?”

He sounds almost indignant. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Ghost is stand-offish by nature, but this is a caliber he hasn’t yet encountered. Almost enough to be offensive. To make him question the quality of his company.

“Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

Ghost grumbled, killing the contents of his glass with a final mouthful. Setting it back on the counter and moving to drum his fingers on the bar.

“Been out of the country for months and you expect me to believe you’ve got plans tonight?”

This earned a sigh, low enough to pass as a growl.

“You keeping my social calendar now, then?”

He stood, digging through his wallet for a moment before slapping some cash down on the table next to his empty glass. Not giving Johnny an opportunity to lodge any further complaints against him. Before he nodded his goodnight and slipped out of the bar. Mumbling something about needing to get back to his flat and check on some things.

Soap couldn’t get his mind around it. Ghost was elusive, sure, but again; something seemed off. He was calm, cool, and collected. Wouldn’t be caught dead manifesting his impatience physically. The fidgeting and twitching in his seat. The first place Soap’s mind went was maybe Ghost was dying? That’d be the only reasonable explanation for his behavior. But even then, it seemed a bit extreme.

The next day after the debrief, which was nearly as brutal as the deployment itself, Soap was still so in his head about Ghost’s behavior he almost didn’t notice the pretty nurse who seemed to be waiting for someone at the end of the hall. In fact, he was so stuck in his own mind, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Ghost’s back rounding the corner with the nurse at his side. Hushed conversation disappearing with them. A softer, much more pleasant voice than Simon’s.

He debated whether or not to follow them, maybe answer the questions that’d been plaguing his mind. Ultimately, he decided in favor of it. Padding down the hall behind the duo who seemed to be headed back to Simon’s office. They weren’t walking closely enough to touch, but Soap immediately picked up on the tension between them. Like the distance was serving some sort of purpose.

Soap lingered in the hallway for a few minutes after the two disappeared into Ghost’s office, trying to sort the pieces of the puzzle he’d barely began collecting. He ultimately decided to go the route he was most comfortable with. Not one for sneaking about, he simply strode up to the office door and swung it open.

You were sat at one of the chairs in front of Simon’s desk, him standing with his arms folded over his chest next to you. Not compromising enough for Johnny’s taste, but he still put on a wide grin and nodded to you.

“Forget how to knock?”

Ghost’s voice was calm enough, but his eyes were shooting daggers straight through Johnny. You looked stiff as a board, chewing the inside of your lip through the tight smile you were giving him.

“Sorry, L.T. Needed to know if you’re still on for trainings this afternoon.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to Ghost, communicating something that he couldn’t quite decipher wordlessly before you began studying your nails in your lap.

Ghost cleared his throat, rolling his tongue in his cheek. Growling something obscene under his breath. The agitation rolling off of him in waves.

“No. Got another assignment.”

And with that, Soap was all but thrown from the office. Querying about this ‘new assignment’ the whole way. Simon crowding him to the door until he finally snapped it shut on his nose.

He heard later that day Ghost was seen in medbay with a toolkit swearing at an X-Ray machine that had been giving you trouble for a month. After that, Soap was on the two of you like a fly on shit. Never missing an opportunity to bring you up to Ghost or vise versa. Mock-innocently saying something to Ghost in passing at dinner about you. Asking if he fancied you. When he said no, Johnny shrugged and nodded. Saying he was glad because he had plans to ask you out the next time he was injured.

That comment landed Soap in the bay sooner than expected. Escorting him to a different nurse’s exam area and standing guard the entire time his black eye was being iced. Berating him for not being able to block a few punches when they had sparred after dinner.

And Gaz, sweet boy that he is, was always more emotionally in-tune. Observant about the little things. Able to pick up on queues Soap and Price may have missed over the years. He was keen as he was quiet, keeping all his little discoveries to himself. Over the years, he’d created a small arsenal of moments he wasn’t sure were significant enough to bring up. Things he could have talked himself into imagining if he thought about them hard enough. Not wanting to jump to conclusions about anything.

But he noticed the incredibly subtle tan line on Ghost’s left hand. Noticed the way he tapped his foot impatiently when the debrief after a long deployment ran long. Noticed the way you always seemed to be around the yard when they touched down after a mission. The way your shoulders dropped when you saw all four of them had returned home. Like you had just been relieved the duty of holding up the sky.

He didn’t immediately connect the dots. Initially thinking that you’d just taken a special liking to the task force. They were some of your most frequent visitors, after all. Price had all but claimed you as their own. Specially requesting that you were the only one to patch their wounds, claiming the other nurses couldn’t hold a flame to your skill.

He didn’t mind. Came to enjoy the little chats the two of you had when the curtains around the cot were drawn. The little kikis you had where you chatted about anything and everything. Complaining about your jobs, irritating patients, botched missions, the morsels of gossip from around base.

One day, after a particularly nasty skirmish on a mission, all four of the men had gnarly wounds. You looked a bit more tired than usual. A bit more on-edge. Your answers were a bit more flat than they usually were. So the first part of the assessment was left mostly silent spare for a few soft “thank you’s” on his part.

It was only when you were bandaging a wound on his thigh did he notice the shape of a ring on your left hand under your glove. A thin band that wrapped neatly around your finger.

“Didn’t know you were married, doc.”

It was a passing comment, more just to spare him the agony of trying to hide his soft groans of pain in the thick silence.

You hummed your acknowledgment, focused more on working sutures through his skin neatly than anything else.

“Lucky bloke. Hope he’s good to you.”

It wasn’t flirty or predatory, like so many of the soldiers could be. A genuine thought. He’d always thought you were sweet. Easy to chat with, always offering him a smile and a chirped greeting when the two of you passed in the hall. Thought you deserved someone to share in your kindness.

You smiled, brow still furrowed slightly in your focus while tying off the stitches.

“He does alright.”

You chuckled softly, straightening on your stool and rolling back just slightly so you could meet his eye.

“All these years and you never mentioned. I’m hurt.”

He words came with a practiced ease, slipping back into your usual playful chatter without missing a beat. Flashing a coy grin as he carefully flexed and relaxed his leg. Getting a feel for the newly patched wound.

You rolled the gloves off your hands and tossed them into the bin. Standing from your stool to scribble a few notes on his chart.

“Not something that ever came up.”

“Now it has. He have a name? How long you been together?”

You chuckled once more, looking over your shoulder at him with an arched brow. A little skeptical of his curiosity.

“A good while.”

He noticed the way you evaded his former question, like you’d done it before. It only fueled his curiosity.

“You worried I’ll know him? Or are you embarrassed? Not much of a looker?”

This earned an amused snort from you, turning away from the chart you’d been working on.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to keep my personal life personal, is there?”

You winked at him, pushing open the curtain that divided the small exam area from the rest of the bay.

He made a small sound of protest, making no move to stand from the cot just yet.

“Alright, forget it. Didn’t even want to know anyway.”

He sounded like a child being denied a sweet. Even playing up the act with a small pout on his mouth.

You tutted softly, conjuring up the best mock-sympathetic look you could before motioning for him to stand.

“We’ll talk later. Captain’ll have my hide if I keep you away a moment longer than is necessary.”

Another sound of protest, followed by a throaty groan as he finally pushed up off the bed. Unsure if he was being dramatic or if the aftermath of the mission had truly gotten to him that bad. Always a flare for the dramatics, him.

He muttered his thanks, cupping your shoulder in his hand as he trudged out. Making you promise to have a proper chat with him later.

He lingered in the bay, allowing himself a few moments peace before getting back to work. Just as he finally turned to leave, he saw Ghost moving stiffly- like he was trying to downplay a limp- toward your little exam area. Though for some reason, the scene looked a bit strange to him. He couldn’t help but peek in.

He caught the way you watched him lumber over with big, worried eyes. The way your nails dug into your palms until he was finally within arms reach. The way you quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the two of you any attention before your hands flew to his neck, fingers slipping expertly under the hem of his mask and yanking it up over his nose. Not rough or angry, but with the kind of urgency that suggested you may die if you didn’t see a sliver of his skin. Make absolutely certain he was truly there with you.

The most jarring part- Ghost actually allowing you to touch the mask. Allowing your little hands to breach his personal space. Hands that would have easily been dwarfed by his own, swallowed up and twisted or shoved away like he had seen happen so many times in sparring matches with prospect soldiers. But Ghost just let it happen.

It was a flurry of movement, so fast that Gaz was certain he could have blinked and missed it. Frozen watching the two of you from just behind another exam area. Feeling like he was intruding without even meaning to.

And then he saw the way Ghost’s big arms snaked around your waist, drawing you flush to his front. You leaning up onto your toes to bring your face closer to the Lieutenant’s. A fervid kiss. You flinging your arms around his neck. The way your shoulders shook. A small, choked sob that Gaz was all but certain he imagined. Drowned out for everyone else by the sounds of the bay.

He was almost shocked that the world continued to move after that. Shocked that something that seemed so monumental could happen tucked away into your barely private exam area. Shocked that your reunion hadn’t halted time and space for everyone else like it had for the two of you.

He felt dirty. Like he should go up and apologize for lingering and seeing what he saw. But he stayed rooted to the spot, finding it impossible to move.

Truly the most damning part was when he caught the quickest glimpse of your badge just before the curtain was tugged shut. The badge you kept carefully pinned to your uniform face-down for a reason he couldn’t fathom until now. Twisted free for just a moment and finally connecting the snippets of information he’d collected over the years.

(Y/N Riley)

[acid-ixx]

Ohhhhhhhmisggashoosghhh

I love everything about "before the bell rings"

Such masterpiece such peakness oh my goodkdasssdffrddf. Couldnt stop thinking abt it couldnt stop rereading it its ltrly currently 3:11 am rn i wasnt aware of the time all i know was that i was obsessively drawing this man with your story in my mind my god i couldnt stop giggling and blushing n i had to take few breaks n paces in my room to cool off

HOPE U ARENT TOO WEIRDED OUT

— related post ! (tw: a bit nsfw, non-con kissing)

OHMYGOD. OHMYGOD!!! user luffyadolover you are the gift that keeps on giving because WHAT THE HELL??? more than five sketches of this feral, horny man and HE'S SO HANDSOME ILYSM FOR THIS!!! i'm actually so down bad i had to stare at the last image for a few minutes because YOU DREW THE ENTIRE SCENE SO WELL.

i love the first image, you drew him so well, the slick-back hair and everything!?!? with him looking all so proud of himself when he chooses something for his spouse that they actually really like, as if he didn't just planned to ignore you or to simply hastily choose whichever looks the fanciest; that was the plan until his brain haywires just witnessing the absolute joy on your face every time he picks something right; imprinting the memory of your smile in his brain to the point he sees it every time he blinks— so now it's become his daily mission after falling for you to traverse each and every shopping site and malls in his batcave to ensure you only get the highest quality of gifts. mind you, he is a very dedicated man, bruce wayne doesn't give up so easily.

AND THE SECOND AND THIRD IMAGES TOO !!! with his mask on, you couldn't really tell just how obsessed he is, due to the blunt face he always has to wear, but the comparison of him without; with the stare that speaks of a million promises all dedicated to honoring and cherishing his beloved spouse. he doesn't need wedding vows when his eyes (always almost unexpressive, unable to fully show the full range of his emotions; vulnerable in the midst of worshipping his sleeping, little deity) already presents what your future life would like with him.

it doesn't matter if you're drooling, or butt-fuck naked. if i say he's remembering every small, incoherent detail about how you sleep, what position you sleep in, even the position you bury your head in the pillow, let that devotion cement in the very crevices of his mind and in every corner of his heart. it wouldn't matter anyways that you're sleeping alone, hugging a pillow (that should've been him) now, because soon, you'd be quickly migrated in his bed, in his arms, and you won't be getting out. he'd be too invested in the smell of your hair, the feel of the pudge in your stomach, and the seams of your clothing rubbing against his thighs to even allow you to let go.

AND GOD, THE SKETCH WHERE HE'S JUST LICKING THE SPIT AND ALL?!? my brain is malfunctioning, i'm going insane. this is my favorite fanart of yours so far, i'm so grateful for your existence because you've graced me 😭 i'm absolutely not going to deny the future accusations of me writing for debauched and absolutely feral and/or horny bruce wayne!!! trust me when i'm telling you that he's not only memorizing exterior parts of you, but bruce promises (it's actually just him justifying his actions) himself that he has to remember what the inside of your mouth feels like to fully and properly kiss you before your wedding date arrives, just to establish how much of an absolutely perfect husband he will be for you.

to make up for all his past mistakes of absolutely ignoring you, to ensure you that it's not you who's the problem— it's him and he has to fix it all. he has to guarantee that you won't even dare look at another man; even if it means watching you every night disguised as the bat, then coming home to the manor (your shared home, soon) by the time the sun breaks out of its sleepy stupor, just to dream about what it'd feel like pinning you willingly and taking you all for himself after your honeymoon— how could a man like him stop dreaming about his beloved spouse? how could he control his hands to stop lingering beneath his utility belt just to touch and pleasure his body the same way he wishes to worship yours?

the answer is: you don't. or rather, you couldn't.

so if you ever feel your lips becoming more and more sore every other night, and notice the trinkets from your desk and even undergarments from your closet now missing... well, you'll soon know who the culprit is...

a/n: no, i do not tolerate this behavior irl. once again, pls be aware guys that this is a yandere blog (and i've been writing content like this for years) and i'm bound to write more extreme concepts compared to this. the only element that never disappears from this is that i'm writing under the sub-"category" of soft yandere. that doesn't mean it doesn't stray away from the eventual dub-con/non-con.

once again, thank u so much for the dedication to send me so many good fanarts @luffyadolover 😭🥹, although i may not always reply quickly, i appreciate you and all the other fanartists who spend their time drawing inspired by my content. it's truly an honor, and in all my years of writing, you guys are one of the reason why i still continue to write <333

[gensideas]

LOVE IN THE SPOTLIGHT

summary Y/N Sánchez, daughter of Roselyn Sánchez, appeared on Jimmy Kimmel with her fiancé, Drew Starkey. While Y/N spoke confidently about her career, Drew couldn’t hide his admiration, often losing focus as he gazed at her. His lovestruck demeanor contrasted with Y/N’s composure, creating a sweet and memorable moment that left fans swooning over their undeniable chemistry.

features Fiancé!Drew Starkey x Fiancé!actress!reader

The bright lights of the studio shone down on me as I adjusted the hem of my flowing emerald-green dress. It hugged my figure perfectly, a piece from a designer who had insisted I wear it to highlight my poise and grace. But I wasn’t thinking about the dress or the cameras pointed at me. I was thinking about Drew Starkey, my fiancé, sitting just a few feet away. His piercing blue eyes followed my every movement, a soft smile playing at his lips.

Being the daughter of the legendary actress Roselyn Sánchez, I was a rising star in my own right. My breakout role in a critically acclaimed drama had catapulted me to the spotlight, and now I was the name on every producer’s lips. Despite my rapid ascent, I remained grounded, thanks in no small part to Drew, whose quiet confidence and unwavering support made him my anchor.

“We’re ready for you,” a producer’s voice called.

I gave Drew a quick glance. He gave me a reassuring nod, though his gaze lingered a bit too long. My beauty had always captivated him, but tonight, under the soft glow of studio lights, I felt otherworldly.

The interview set was elegant, with plush chairs and a backdrop of shimmering gold curtains. I took my seat beside Drew, the host across from us. The audience clapped enthusiastically, the excitement palpable.

“Good evening, everyone!” Jimmy began, flashing a practiced smile. “Tonight, we have two incredible guests: the stunning Y/N Sánchez and her fiancé, the talented Drew Starkey. Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

The applause swelled, and my cheeks flushed. I glanced at Drew, who was already looking at me, his expression soft and unguarded. He seemed utterly unaware of the cameras or the audience—his world had narrowed to just me.

“Y/N, your performance in Eclipsed Dreams has been called transformative. How does it feel to step out of your mother’s shadow and establish your own legacy?” Jimmy asked.

My smile widened. “It’s surreal. Growing up, I always admired my mother’s work, but she encouraged me to find my own path. It’s been a challenging journey, but I’m grateful for the opportunities and for the people who believe in me.”

Jimmy turned to Drew. “And Drew, you’ve been quite the supportive partner. What’s it like watching Y/N rise to stardom?”

Drew chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, it’s mesmerizing. She’s incredibly talented, hardworking, and… well, look at her.” He gestured toward me, his voice tinged with awe. “She’s breathtaking.”

The audience swooned, and my face turned a deeper shade of pink. “You’re too much,” I murmured, though the sparkle in my eyes revealed my delight.

“Drew, you’ve built an impressive career yourself,” Jimmy continued. “What’s the key to balancing your own busy schedule with supporting Y/N?”

“Communication and respect,” Drew said. “We both have demanding careers, but we make time for each other. It helps that we genuinely enjoy spending time together—she’s my favorite person.”

“That’s so sweet,” Jimmy said, turning back to me. “Y/N, do you find inspiration in Drew’s work?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Drew is so dedicated to his craft. Watching him immerse himself in his roles motivates me to give my all in my own performances. We’re constantly learning from each other.”

“It sounds like you have a wonderful partnership,” Jimmy said. “One last question: What’s next for both of you?”

I exchanged a glance with Drew before answering. “I’m working on a new project that’s still under wraps, but I’m really excited about it. It’s something completely different from anything I’ve done before.”

“And I’ve got a couple of films lined up,” Drew added. “But we’re also making sure to carve out some time for ourselves. Life is about balance, after all.”

The audience applauded as Jimmy wrapped up the interview. “Y/N and Drew, thank you so much for joining us tonight. We can’t wait to see what the future holds for you both.”

When the cameras stopped rolling, we lingered on the set, chatting with the host and producers. Drew’s hand never left mine, a quiet but constant reassurance.

“You were incredible,” Drew whispered as we walked toward our car. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“You’re biased,” I teased.

“Maybe,” he admitted, pulling me close. “But it’s the truth.”

We paused under the soft glow of the parking lot lights, the city’s hum around us. Drew cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You’re a star, and not just on screen.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I leaned into his touch. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

Our lips met in a tender kiss, sealing a moment that felt timeless.

The interview aired the following evening, and social media exploded with praise. Fans gushed over my grace and Drew’s evident adoration. A clip of Drew’s comment about my beauty went viral, earning us the nickname “Hollywood’s Sweethearts.”

As we sat together in our cozy living room, scrolling through the flood of messages, Drew wrapped an arm around me. “Looks like people are just as mesmerized by you as I am.”

“By us,” I corrected, resting my head on his shoulder. “We’re a team, Drew.”

He kissed the top of my head. “The best team.”

And as the night stretched on, filled with laughter and love, I knew that no matter how bright my star shone, it would always shine brightest with Drew by my side.

© gensideas 2024

[rafeskai]

Starstruck | Drew Starkey

Chapter One

Summary: In the bustling crowd of a premiere event for Outer Banks, you find yourself caught up in a chaotic moment, lost in the sea of fans. Desperate for a way out, you stumble into an alley where fate leads you to an unexpected—and painful—encounter with Drew Starkey. What starts as a simple misstep soon spirals into something far more complicated, and your life takes an unexpected turn.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: This will be another short fic!!

The city of Los Angeles had always seemed like a dream—one that was just out of reach, filled with palm trees, bright lights, and endless possibilities. You’d seen it in the movies, heard the stories, and scrolled through enough Instagram posts to feel like you knew the place by heart. But none of that had prepared you for the reality of it all—the hum of the traffic, the overwhelming buzz of constant movement, and the sheer size of everything.

It was your first trip to LA, and you had planned to move there. To experience a new beginning, a contrast from your life back in a small town in South Carolina. Your cousin, Ava had begged you to move in with her. She moved out here a few months ago to follow her dreams, chasing her career in fashion and the hustle of the city. And as much as you’d heard about her exciting life, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous. She was always the one to take the leap, to dive headfirst into new opportunities while you watched from the sidelines.

You stood at the gate of LAX, your suitcase rolling behind you, looking around at the sea of strangers and travelers. It felt like the city itself had swallowed you up already, even though you were still waiting for Ava to come pick you up. The air smelled like a mix of saltwater, car exhaust, and faint hints of perfume. Everything seemed bigger, louder, and brighter than anything you were used to.

Ava had promised to take you to some cool places—maybe even a celebrity sighting or two, if you were lucky. She’d been raving about how “amazing” LA was, how everyone was so “laid-back” but also so “serious about making things happen.” You weren’t sure what that meant exactly, but you were excited to see what her new life was all about.

Finally, your phone buzzed with a text. It was Ava.

Ava: “I’m here, babe! I’ll be by in a sec. Get ready for an adventure!”

You smiled to yourself, tucking your phone back in your pocket. Your cousin always had a way of making everything sound like it was going to be epic.

As you stepped outside the airport, you saw Ava leaning against her car, a mischievous grin on her face and sunglasses perched atop her head. She waved you over enthusiastically, her curly hair bouncing as she jumped up and down.

“There you are!” she said, pulling you into a hug. “Welcome to LA, sweetheart!”

You hugged her back, letting out a small laugh at her over-the-top enthusiasm. Despite the chaos around you, her energy was contagious. It was exactly what you needed to start your adventure in this strange, exciting city. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find yourself falling for LA the way everyone else did.

Ava tossed your suitcase into the trunk and hopped into the driver’s seat, motioning for you to get in. “Alright,” she said, turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s show you what this place is really about.”

As you slid into the passenger seat and buckled up, the city sprawled out in front of you. The buildings, the people, the cars—everything was moving so fast. You couldn’t help but feel like you were on the brink of something big. This trip was going to be more than just a visit; it was going to be an experience that might change everything.

Ava shot you a grin as she pulled onto the highway. “Ready for your first adventure in LA?”

You took a deep breath, a nervous excitement bubbling up inside of you. “I think so.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The ride to Ava’s apartment was a whirlwind of sights and sounds. Palm trees lined the streets, swaying lazily in the breeze, their silhouettes framed against the setting sun. The cars zipped by, each one seemingly flashier than the last, and the billboards advertised everything from the latest blockbuster films to obscure yoga studios. Ava, ever the LA native-in-the-making, narrated the trip like a tour guide, pointing out landmarks and offering unsolicited advice.

“That’s Runyon Canyon,” she said, gesturing to a hill dotted with hikers. “Great for photos, but only go early in the morning. Otherwise, it’s hotter than hell.”

You nodded, your eyes wide as you took everything in. “Noted.”

“Oh, and you’ll definitely need to get used to traffic. Like, it’s not if you’ll sit in it—it’s how many hours of your life you’ll lose to it.”

The apartment complex Ava lived in was nestled in a lively neighborhood just outside of downtown. It wasn’t the most glamorous building, but it had charm, with colorful murals painted along the walls and a small courtyard with string lights hanging from the trees. As you stepped inside, dragging your suitcase behind you, Ava gave you a grand tour of her one-bedroom unit, which she’d converted into a makeshift two-bedroom by sectioning off the living room with a curtain.

“Sorry it’s not huge,” she said, flopping onto her bed as you set your suitcase down near the futon that would serve as your new sleeping spot. “But the location is killer, and it’s LA—no one actually hangs out in their apartment. We’ll be too busy living it up.”

You laughed, appreciating her enthusiasm even if you weren’t entirely sure you’d adjust to this new pace. The space itself was cozy, with mismatched furniture, a tiny kitchen, and windows that let in just enough light to make it feel inviting. Ava’s personality was everywhere—her collection of vintage magazines, her mood board filled with fabric swatches and fashion sketches, and an eclectic mix of candles and trinkets scattered on every surface.

That night, you spent hours unpacking while Ava filled you in on her plans for your first week. From trendy coffee shops to a thrift store crawl, she had your itinerary packed. But what caught your attention most was her excitement over the Outer Banks premiere.

“You have to come with me tonight,” she said, flopping onto your futon dramatically. “It’s going to be amazing. Red carpet, celebrities, the works.”

You hesitated, folding a sweater and setting it aside. “I don’t know, Ava. I just got here. Don’t you think I need a little time to settle in?”

She shook her head emphatically. “Nope. The best way to settle in is to jump in headfirst. Trust me, babe. You’ll love it. Plus, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone famous.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, but her grin was infectious. Despite your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a little intrigued. The idea of attending a real Hollywood event was daunting, but also undeniably exciting. This was LA, after all—the city of endless possibilities.

“Okay,” you said finally, earning a squeal of delight from Ava. “But you owe me coffee for a week if this goes horribly wrong.”

“Deal,” she said, leaping to her feet. “Now, let’s find you something fabulous to wear.”

As Ava rummaged through her closet, tossing dresses and accessories your way, you couldn’t help but smile. Moving to LA was already proving to be as overwhelming as you’d feared, but with Ava by your side, you were starting to believe that maybe you could handle it.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You’d never been one for crowds, but when Ava forced convinced you to go the Outer Banks premiere in LA, you couldn’t turn it down. You weren’t a huge fan of the show, but you’d heard enough buzz to know it was a big deal. Plus, Ava had a knack for dragging you into her wild adventures, and when she’d said "Hollywood glamour," you couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement.

The red carpet was everything you imagined and more. Flashbulbs from cameras stung your eyes as celebrities in perfectly tailored suits and dresses posed for photos. You tried to focus on the stars walking by, but it felt like the entire city was crammed into this one street, and the noise—oh, the noise—was almost too much to bear. Ava had already spotted a few friends and pulled you along, her chatter almost drowned out by the sound of hundreds of voices and music blaring from speakers.

"I need to get a selfie with Drew Starkey!" Ava shouted over the noise, practically bouncing on her feet.

You blinked. Drew Starkey? The guy who played Rafe Cameron on Outer Banks?

"Wait, wait, wait," you protested, pulling back on her arm. "I’m not ready for that—"

But she was already off, threading her way through the crowd, her phone in hand, her eyes focused on the star she was aiming for. You sighed and tried to follow, but the crowd was thickening, and before you knew it, you were separated from Ava.

You glanced around, feeling your pulse quicken as the realization hit—you were lost. People were pushing past you, and the overwhelming mass of bodies made it hard to even catch your breath. Frantically, you glanced around for some way to escape the chaos, a backdoor, a quiet corner—anything.

That’s when you spotted a narrow alleyway just off the red carpet, tucked behind a line of sleek black cars. It was quiet. It was a chance to breathe.

You weaved through the crowd, trying to stay unnoticed, hoping to find an escape route or at least somewhere to collect yourself. But as you stepped into the alley, you felt a bit of relief—until a loud bang echoed from behind you.

Before you could react, the door to a building swung open, and you stumbled backward as the metal edge caught you square in the face.

The world tilted sideways.

Everything went black for a moment, and you stumbled backward into the wall of the alley, your hands instinctively reaching up to touch your face, feeling a sharp pain shoot across your forehead. What the hell just happened?

A voice—gruff and slightly panicked—came from the direction of the door. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

You groaned, blinking your eyes open, your vision swimming. Standing in front of you, looking at you with wide, apologetic eyes, was none other than Drew Starkey himself.

You didn’t recognize him at first. Your head was swimming, and your pulse was racing. But then his face registered, and you froze. Drew Starkey?

“I didn’t see you there,” he said, reaching out as if to help you, but then pulling back as though unsure. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to… hit you. I’m really sorry.”

You couldn’t find words right away. Your vision swam, and you felt lightheaded, your hand instinctively rising to your forehead to feel the throbbing pain.

“Do you need help? I can get someone…” His voice trailed off, a soft edge of concern in it now. “Please say you’re okay.”

Somehow, you found your voice, though it came out more like a pained whisper. “I think... I think I’m okay. Just... I need a second.”

His eyes were full of worry, but he took a step back, glancing around as if searching for someone to help. The alley was dimly lit, and you weren’t sure if anyone had even noticed the accident with how chaotic the premiere still was just beyond the alley.

“Look, um, I don’t know how to make this better. But can I help you?” Drew asked, his voice quieter now, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you.

You stared at him, trying to focus. This was Drew Starkey. The actor you’d just been thinking about. And you’d gotten hit in the face by a door he opened. You blinked again, still struggling with the fog in your head.

“I’m really not sure you can fix this,” you managed to say, but there was a hint of humor in your voice. The ridiculousness of the situation, how absurd it felt, wasn’t lost on you. Here you were, standing in a back alley with Drew Starkey, and you were definitely not looking your best.

Drew chuckled, though there was still concern in his eyes. “Okay, fair enough,” he said, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual. “But seriously, let me at least get you a drink or something. I feel awful.”

You hesitated, blinking away the dizziness. There was no denying you felt a little bit starstruck, standing face-to-face with him. But there was something else in his eyes now—something soft and genuine. He wasn’t acting like the celebrity you’d imagined, with all the flashy confidence. Instead, he seemed... human. Worried. And kind.

"Alright," you said slowly, trying to steady yourself.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

 You hadn’t realized how badly you were shaking until Drew gently guided you toward a nearby door. It looked like a back entrance to the venue, a simple wooden door with a security keypad next to it. He motioned for you to go first, his hand on the small of your back as though to steady you, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart rate spike for reasons entirely unrelated to the pain in your head.

“Okay, okay,” Drew said, pushing open the door with a soft creak. “We’re going inside where it’s a little quieter. We can sit for a second while you get your bearings. Deal?”

You nodded, your brain still struggling to catch up. This was really happening—you were with Drew Starkey right now. The man Ava has been obsessing over. But now, here he was, acting more like a guy who’d accidentally banged someone’s face with a door than some famous heartthrob.

Once inside, you realized it wasn’t some ritzy celebrity lounge or hidden VIP area, but rather a backstage hallway with a few chairs scattered around and crew members rushing by, deep in conversation or adjusting equipment. The lights were dim here too, but it was at least a bit more peaceful compared to the madness outside.

Drew led you to one of the chairs by the wall and sat down across from you, though not too far. He was careful not to invade your personal space, which you appreciated. He looked genuinely concerned, his brow furrowed as he examined your face.

“Does it hurt? I mean, does it feel like it’s swelling or anything? I’m no doctor, but...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

You winced, touching the side of your forehead again. It was definitely sore, a dull ache, but nothing that felt too serious. Yet.

“No, I think it’s just a bump. It’ll be fine,” you said, hoping you weren’t downplaying it too much. “It’s not the first time I’ve walked into a door, you know?”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s a new one for me. Usually, people walk into doors because they’re distracted or something, but... this feels a little more like a... targeted door.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound shaky at first but more genuine as it left your mouth. “Well, if I’d known the door was going to open right into my face, I would've steered clear.”

He chuckled along with you, but his eyes still carried a hint of concern.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I was just trying to get out of there before the paparazzi went wild. It’s been a long night.”

You could tell he was being sincere. There was no hint of ego in his voice, nothing that would make you feel like he was brushing it off because he was a celebrity—which, honestly, you might have expected in a situation like this. But Drew didn’t seem like the type.

“I’m just glad you’re not one of those celebrities who tries to act too cool to care,” you said, then realized how that might sound. “I mean, not that I thought you would be, but you know... it’s nice not to be treated like a random fan.”

He looked at you, tilting his head slightly, his expression softening. “I get it. I mean, I don’t think we’re all that different, you know? I’m just a guy with a weird job.”

“A weird job?” You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his humble tone.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “I mean, I get paid to pretend to be someone I’m not for a living. How weird is that?”

You smiled. “Well, you’re pretty good at it. Everyone seems to love Rafe Cameron.”

Drew laughed, but it sounded a little forced. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t know if ‘love’ is the right word though, considering the character I play...”

You nodded in understanding. It was clear he wasn’t as fond of Rafe as most fans were. “True, true,” you said. “I mean, Rafe’s not exactly the most... well, likeable guy. But he’s interesting. He’s got layers, you know? I feel like he’s the kind of character you love to hate.”

Drew’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah. It’s definitely a challenge. But I’ll take it. It’s more fun playing a character who’s got that edge.”

The conversation lingered in an unexpected place of comfort, with the two of you talking like you had known each other far longer than just a few minutes. As you talked, you started to feel the fogginess in your head subside a little, your thoughts a bit clearer. You shifted in your chair, feeling a bit more steady.

"So, uh," Drew spoke up again, breaking the comfortable silence. "I feel like we should properly introduce ourselves now. I’m Drew, obviously." He grinned, though there was a hint of awkwardness in his eyes.

You smiled, feeling a little silly that you hadn’t introduced yourself earlier, but you were still kind of in shock. “I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, I’m really sorry again for hitting you in the face,” he said, still a little sheepish. "Maybe I can make it up to you somehow? Like, take you out for a drink or... I don’t know... find a way to help?"

It took you a moment to register the question, your mind racing. Was he asking you out? Or just trying to be nice?

Before you could overthink it, Drew added quickly, “Not in a weird way! Just... you know... trying to make it right.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I get it. I mean, a drink sounds nice—just... no more doors, okay?”

Drew's grin widened, clearly relieved by your response. “Deal. No more doors. And I’ll make sure to keep it to something a little more... calm.”

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[my-castles-crumbling]

light - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 328

Regulus was still shaking as he sat on the cold metal bench, both of his hands gripping James's across from him as if for his very life. His eyes were squeezed firmly shut, and the freezing wind permeated the thin walls of their rocking compartment.

"I promise nothing will happen, love. A million Muggles go on these every day, and-" James's soothing voice began, but Regulus quickly cut him off.

"Muggles also fling themselves in giant metal deathtraps across the air at breakneck speeds instead of Apparating!" he snapped, not opening his eyes. "They wouldn't know safety if it bit them in the arse!"

"A Ferris Wheel is perfectly safe, baby," James answered calmly, even as the creaking machine hauled them into the air. "Do you truly think I'd dream of letting anything bad happen to you?"

Biting his lip so hard he almost drew blood, Regulus mumbled resentfully, "No."

"So d'you think you can maybe open your eyes for me, then?"

Still shaking, heart beating and stomach churning, Regulus slowly opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was James looking at him, calm and loving reassurance in his eyes. Squeezing the taller boy's hands tightly, Regulus looked around, trying not to look down.

It was beautiful. The lights of the small Muggle Holiday Festival near James's home were small on the ground and Regulus could see so many different lit-up Christmas decorations spread around the area. He felt a similar sensation to flying as he beamed at the trees and people below, feeling almost weightless as he observed them. And though he wished he had the support of something as trustworthy as a broom, James's hands in his made him relax a bit.

"It's...it's nice," he mumbled, a bit abashed at having reacted so terrified.

But James was too focused on him, reaching one gloved hand to trace over his cheek and jawline. "I love you."

Kissing on a Ferris Wheel was nice, too, Regulus found.

[initialchains]

teenage dirtbag, baby! | luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: there is nothing more exhausting than being known as the picture perfect daughter of aphrodite… luckily, camp half-blood’s resident teenage dirtbag luke castellan can’t relate at all. fake dating him to piss off your siblings and mother could never go wrong, right? (based on 18 by anarbor)

wc: 6.5k

warnings: smoking, mentions of drinking, mentions of drugs, mentions of sex, implied sexual content, drew tanaka being a bitch, and kinda ooc luke bcs hes meant to be well … a teenage dirtbag.

a/n: its still valentine’s day for me sooo happy valentines 💌💗 !! in mexico valentine’s day is also known as the day of friendship so this one is dedicated to my favorite people ever: @emiliehornby @love-that-we-were-in and @kestisvrse <3 !! hope you enjoy it mwah !!

The sounds of campers laughing and gossiping in the dining pavilion are drowned out by your siblings and their annoyingly loud whispers about the allegedly cute (you’d beg to differ) son of Ares who joined camp less than twelve hours ago. Sure, he seemed like a nice guy even though he's a child of the god of war, but you were certain the only reason they kept bringing him up was because they wanted to set you up with him.

“And his arms, oh my gods! Have you seen them?” one of your brothers chimed in, trying to get you to agree with him, but all you could come up with was a hum and a polite smile. 

It pissed you off a bit, the knowledge of you never being able to go against your siblings' wishes.. the fear of disappointing them and your mother being all-consuming and blinding you with fear.

There were times you’d think about it if you’re being honest. Times where you would let yourself dream of doing something so stupidly reckless for once. Something that would stop your siblings from walking all over you and treating you like their personal lapdog. 

Not only was it tiring but it was also humiliating to a certain point. You were older than most of them and you were pretty sure you were the only one that took being a demigod seriously, even taking your time to strategize for Capture The Flag with Clarisse, and yet… you rejected Chiron when he asked you to be a counselor and told him to ask Silena instead. 

And you loved your family—you really did, but it was getting exhausting. Always having to be perfect was draining you and you were afraid of the kind of person you’d become if you allowed this to keep going. 

“He totally wants to ask you out,” Silena’s voice snapped you out of the daze you were trapped in. You turned your head to the right, facing your half-sister with a small frown on your face.

“You really think so?” you replied, trying your best to sound excited. 

“Oh, I know so,” she answered before going on a whole rant about how cute you’d look with the newly claimed son of Ares. A son of Ares—that you badly wanted to remind her—had only been in camp for less than twelve hours and you knew nothing about. 

You stayed in the dining pavilion with your siblings until you found the strength to tell them you were tired and wanted to go to sleep (an incredibly blatant lie but it didn’t look like they cared) and stood up, brushing the dust off your jeans.

“Wait, I’ll go with you!” Silena said with a smile, standing up and moving closer to you. 

“You don’t have to. You can stay with them if you want to, really—“ you were cut off by your half-sister with an exasperated sigh.

“I want to go with you. Plus, I can walk back here once I drop you off at the cabin,” she stated with a playful roll of her eyes.

The two of you walked back to the Aphrodite cabin in a comfortable silence. You liked being with Silena, she was a few years younger than you but she carried herself with so much grace and love it was hard to feel uncomfortable or weird whenever you hung out with her.

You kept your gaze on the sky, noticing that the moon was out by now. “Hey,” Silena whispered, trying to get your attention.

“You okay?” you answered. Your mind was practically hardwired to always look after your siblings, so your brain was unwillingly making you think of the worst-case scenario.

“What? Yeah, I am okay,” Silena was quick to reassure you, “I just wanted to talk to you about—“

“I swear to all the gods, Silena. If this is about that camper..” you replied with a small sigh. The two of you stopped walking when you reached your cabin, deciding to continue the conversation outside.

“He’s not that bad! He is a nice guy and the two of you would look really cute together,” she insisted.

“You don’t even know him.”

“Ugh, fine. Good thing is there are other cute campers we can introduce you to. I met one of Charlie’s brothers a few weeks ago and I think he’d—“

“I can’t do this tonight,” you replied in an exhausted tone.

“Wow, okay. No need to be mean about it,” Silena muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been trying to help you find a boyfriend for months now and you always shut me down. It was fine at first but now you’re just being mean,” she explained.

“Mean? Silena, you said it yourself. I’ve always shut you down because I’m not interested in getting one.”

“Whatever,” she replied bitterly before turning around and walking back to the dining pavilion, leaving you alone outside of your cabin. 

You stared at her back as she walked away, going through the last few minutes over and over in your head. Were you being mean? All you did was stick up for yourself. You didn’t understand why you were feeling bad for standing up against your siblings just for once.

A snort made you realize you weren’t alone. You turned your head towards the noise just to be met with.. oh.

Luke Castellan was leaning against the side of your cabin, carefully hidden under the darkness of the night and the shadows of the trees, he had a cigarette in his right hand and an obnoxious smirk adorning his even more obnoxious face. 

“Hope you enjoyed the show, Castellan.”

Luke raised his hands as if he had been caught and blew the smoke away, “I’m on your side, she was being a fucking bitch.”

“Don’t call her that, she’s just a kid.”

Luke raised a brow before taking another drag of his cigarette, “Do not call your sister a bitch after seeing her.. be a bitch to you?” he shook his head. “Oh, princess, you need to work on getting rid of that altruism.”

“Do you even know what that word means?” you snapped, not being in the mood to indulge in whatever it was he wanted to talk about.

“Why? You want to teach me?” He said with a smirk.

“Don’t even start with your annoying stuff, Castellan,” you muttered, running a hand down your face, clearly overwhelmed with everything that had happened. 

“Because you know you won’t want me to stop?” he pressed, but after a moment of silence his smirk fell and a frown took over his features. 

“Uh.. you want to...” he trailed off and cleared his throat, “you want to talk about it or something?” 

You squinted at him before eventually letting out a sigh and walking over to Luke, standing next to him with your back pressed against the wooden walls of your cabin. Luke extended his arm away from you to keep the smoke far from your face. 

“So, um... Silena wants to set me up with that new camper,” you started.

“Fuck. The Ares one?” Luke interrupted.

“Castellan.”

“Right, sorry. Please continue, princess.”

You decided to ignore the insufferable pet name he gave you and continued, “The thing is I do want a boyfriend, just not… him.”

Luke hummed before bringing the cigarette to his lips again and inhaling the smoke in, he kept his mouth closed as he thought of something decent to say before slightly tilting his head away from you and blowing out the smoke upwards. 

“Alright, and have you tried telling her to stop?” he cut himself off and shook his head. “Nope that was shitty advice, have you tried maybe describing your type or whatever it is you Aphrodite people say to describe the people you’re attracted to.” 

“My type?” you replied, almost offended by the statement.

“Yeah?” Luke answered as if it was the most obvious thing to do, “Just describe the type of guys you’re into and I’m sure that cult of yours you like to call siblings will be happy to help…” he trailed off when he noticed your gaze set on his right hand and your bottom lip in between your teeth as he flicked the cigarette, causing the ashes to fall into the ground. 

He looked up from his hand and burst out into laughter, shaking his head before whispering an amused fuck. 

“Oh?” Luke said with a bright smile and raised brows, “You find this attractive, angel?” 

“That thing is going to kill you,” you explained, “I’m not attracted to people that like to slowly kill themselves.” 

“Fucking bummer. I wanted to see you take a drag, that would’ve been really hot,” he said, his smile not wavering. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you don’t drink, right?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Look at you, being such a good girl,” Luke teased before throwing the rest of his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. 

“Also, that thing you said about Silena being just a kid was really fucking stupid. She’s almost the same age as Annabeth and she doesn’t act like an asshole, I’m pretty sure your sweet little sister is just a bitch.” 

Annabeth. You forgot that even though Luke is an annoyance most of the time and prefers to stick to himself.. he still has a soft spot for the twelve year old daughter of Athena. It was kind of endearing. 

“Annabeth is a daughter of Athena, you can’t expect her to act—“

“You didn’t act like Silena when you were fourteen. You need to stop giving her excuses and allow yourself to get mad at her.” 

“I’d rather have my siblings get mad at me and just stop perceiving me as this perfect and weak person, maybe once that happens they’ll stop trying to mess with my life,” you explained, your gaze set towards the ground. 

Luke was about to open his mouth and try to come up with a funny one-liner to make you feel better, but he didn’t get to because you were quick to look up at him with a gasp and wide eyes.

“The fuck? Are you okay?” 

“I need you.”

“Shit, angel. Most girls say that after a few dates but I’m not against the idea,” he said with an amused look in his eyes. 

“Ew, no. I mean, I need to date you—fake date you.”

“I’m uh... not for sale?” Luke answered, clearly confused by the plan you were trying to explain.

“No, Castellan. Listen to me. My siblings despise you, I’m sure they’d set my bed on fire as a way of cleansing my soul from you if they find out we’re dating.”

Luke’s eyes got bright and his smile widened (if that was even possible), “Set your bed on fire? And what would we do in your bed for them to feel disgusted by its existence?”

“You’re disgusting. Anyway, if we fake date I’ll get to stop being perceived as their perfect sister and you’ll have bragging rights for dating an Aphrodite kid,” you said, moving your hands as you spoke. 

“I’m pretty sure Drew started the rumors about me having lice and smuggling coke into camp, are you sure you want to fake date me of all people?” Luke asked carefully, trying to make you think about what was at stake. He didn’t give a shit about staining his already nonexistent reputation, but he couldn’t have you ruin yours. 

“I am so sure, Castellan,” you reassured him. 

“You know, for a good girl I’m extremely surprised you never say please.”

“Please, Castellan. Could you please be my fake boyfriend so I can finally stop being seen as my siblings' personal toy?” you said with a fake smile while bringing your hands together as an exaggerated way of begging Luke to say yes. 

“You’re so cute when you beg. But you need to prove to me you’re serious about this fake dating thing. Meet me tomorrow at the bonfire, no bullshit.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

You had been on edge the entire day. Silena seemed to be past the argument, which made you feel better to an extent, but that didn’t seem to shake the uneasy feeling that settled in your gut because throughout the day you could feel someone staring at you. You could feel Luke staring at you.  

You were walking past the sword fighting arena with Katie Gardner from the Demeter Cabin the first time it happened. The feeling of a pair of eyes completely set on you. You turned your head to the right just to be met with Luke’s exhausted figure, he was sweating and panting, but that didn’t stop him from running his eyes up and down your figure and smiling at you. 

To say Katie was disgusted would be an understatement. A “Castellan is a dick, you should stay away from him,” was enough to stop you from staring at him and turning your head back to Katie. She went on to explain how Luke was a “real shitty person” and only hooked up with her as a way of getting her to grow weed in the back of the stables. 

It happened around eight times in the last two hours (not that you were counting) and it only got worse when the moon came up and everyone was making their way to the bonfire. You were walking next to Michael Yew when you felt a hand on your lower back. 

Luke’s hand on your lower back, to be exact. He left it there as he walked past you, only turning his head back to say “It’s adorable to see you together, are you two a couple?” 

You had to hold yourself back from strangling him when you heard his irritating laugh after he saw Michael’s reaction to his statement. Michael tried his best to be polite and tell him he was wrong, that there was nothing going on between the two of you. 

But his reply only seemed to fuel Luke’s actions even more because all he did was answer with a cocky “Oh, I know. Our princess here is only into... what was it? People that like to slowly kill themselves with cigarettes?” before walking away.

You were going to kill him.

Michael left your side as soon as you arrived, moving to sit with his siblings from the Apollo Cabin… leaving you with two choices: sitting with your siblings or sitting next to Luke (who for some reason always sat alone and spent the entire time listening to the music coming from the MP3 player he somehow managed to get into camp). 

So this is what Luke meant, you thought. This was the only way you could prove to him and everyone that you were serious about dating him—fake dating him—but it's not like they would ever know the truth.

You dragged your feet as you walked towards Luke, clearly having second thoughts about your plan, but there was no turning back now. You tried to ignore the confused look Drew was giving you and the gasps you could hear coming from your siblings. 

“I’m pretty sure Drew started the rumors about me having lice and smuggling coke into camp, are you sure you want to fake date me of all people?” You weren't so sure anymore but that didn’t stop you from taking a seat next to Luke Castellan, who took one of his earphones off and looked at you with a smile. 

“Happy now? I just proved how serious I am about this,” you whispered to him, trying your best to not let anyone hear you.

Luke nodded before saying, “You could’ve done better, but I’ll take it.”

“Done better? I just sat next to you in front of the entire camp, isn’t this good enough for you?” you asked, indignation evident in your tone. 

“Promise not to beat me up?” Luke said before pulling your arm and manhandling your body so you were on top of him, sitting on his lap. He placed his hands on your hips and looked up at you with stars in his eyes.

“Wow, Castellan. How scandalous, I’m sitting on your lap,” you deadpanned. 

He chuckled, bringing you closer to him and pressing his lips against yours. Luke’s hands felt like fire against your skin, all you could feel was a heat taking all over your body as he continued to kiss you, only pulling away to catch his breath before bringing you in for another one, this time he kissed you deeper and faster. 

Luke dragged you closer to him by pressing your hips against his and all you could do was melt into him and the feeling of his lips against yours. In the distance, you could hear gasps and people gagging, and you were pretty sure the campers from the Ares Cabin were cheering and whistling, but all your thoughts were on Luke Castellan and how good of a kisser he is.

You pulled away first this time, trying to steady your breathing as you looked into his eyes. He licked his lips before whispering “We should go.”

Your eyes widened as soon as he said that, the implications of what the sentence meant making you feel nervous. Luke was quick to reassure you, “If we leave, your siblings will be even more outraged. We don’t have to do anything, but they’ll think we are doing…some stuff. Just come to the woods with me for a little while.” 

You nodded and grabbed his hand as he guided you through the woods. You could hear Silena calling out your name and warning you about the consequences of your actions, but her voice was drowned out by the loud cheers coming from Clarisse.

Once the two of you were far enough from the rest of the campers, Luke let go of your hand and sat down by the lake, nodding his head as a way of asking you to join him.

You sat in silence for a few minutes until Luke spoke first. “How long do you think we should keep this thing up?”

“Valentina and Drew will want us to be over by tonight,” you said with a smile, a laugh escaping your lips. You didn’t notice how Luke’s eyes got brighter when he heard your laugh or how the melody that came out of your lips went straight through his heart and made him feel more alive.

“But I think a week should be enough. We can say we’ve been secretly dating for like... five months? That way it won’t be weird if we break up in a week,” you explained while your fingers played with your camp necklace. 

Luke nodded before going silent again, staring at the lake with a look you couldn’t quite comprehend. Your gaze was set on him, your eyes traveling from his toned arms, all the way to the scar that sat right below his right eye. 

“I know it’s awful, I can feel you staring at it,” he murmured. You could physically feel your heart sinking when he said it. You cleared your throat, “No, I… I think it’s beautiful. I think you’re—” Luke turned his head to face you, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “I think you’re really brave, Luke.” 

“Beautiful?” Luke asked, confusion written all over his face. “You should hear what your siblings say about it, then. I’m sure your opinion would change in a second.” 

“Being an Aphrodite kid means you see beauty everywhere,” you explained, “And I think your scar must be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Luke stared at you with an unreadable expression, making your heart almost beat out of your chest. 

“Are you flirting with me, angel?”

“Of course, you’d ruin the moment. Screw you, man.” You rolled your eyes. 

Luke threw his head back in a fit of laughter, it made you want to strangle him… again. “Did you just say screw you? Gods, princess, saying fuck won’t kill you.” 

“I don’t like to curse, thank you for pointing it out, Castellan,” you said, playfully shoving him, making him fake a gasp. 

“You went from trying to seduce me to trying to kill me, you’re so interesting, angel,” he said before letting out a sigh. “It, uh… It was really hard at first, getting used to the scar.”

“Having people call it all sorts of names, and looking at me with nothing but pity in their eyes was not easy to get used to. But after some time you just… stop caring. I mean, I’m not that big of an asshole to hold a grudge over a fucking scar, it even looks sick. But yeah, when it gets hard again all I can do is snort a line and move on.

“The coke smuggling was real?” you gasped, only focusing on the last sentence he said. Luke tried to keep a straight face but his facade fell the moment he noticed your wide eyes. Luke Castellan has the type of laugh that makes everything get fuzzy and makes you feel lightheaded, and all you wanted to do was to come up with bad jokes just for the sole reason of hearing him do it again. 

“Fuck, you really believe anything, huh?”

“Shut up, Castellan. I’ll literally stab you and let you slowly bleed to death,” you threatened, standing up from your place next to him. Luke followed you as you walked back to the cabins.

“You do know I’m the best swordsman in the last 300 years, right? Do you even know how to wield a sword?” he asked, matching your pace and walking next to you. 

“Low blow, just because I don’t like to indulge in violence it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to wield a sword,” you retorted. 

Luke snorted a laugh, “You don’t know, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Will you shut up now?”

“I only will if you accept to let me teach you how to fight tomorrow,” Luke said with a tilt to his head. He didn’t even give you a chance to answer because he walked away from you while saying a loud “Meet me tomorrow morning in the sword fighting arena.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

You were sure you were seconds away from passing out. It's been around two hours of sparring with Luke and your arms and legs were about to give out. The sun was starting to come out, which meant this torture was nearly over. At least that’s what Luke promised. “We’ll stop as soon as the other campers wake up, that way you won’t have to be embarrassed if they see your… skills.”

The two of you circled each other, your swords were raised and Luke’s blade was pointing straight at you. Luke took a second to study your stance before lunging forward, his sword meeting yours as you quickly blocked his attack. “Not too bad, huh?” Luke teased before trying to get another hit, his moves becoming more calculated the longer you kept blocking his advances. Proving he wasn’t called the best swordsman at camp for nothing. 

With a disarming maneuver you weren’t aware of, Luke was quick to throw your sword to the ground and have you stumbling back, not being able to regain your footing. Luke gave you a smirk when your body hit the ground with a small thud, “That was easy,” he said, “We should do this more often.” 

“Nope, this is a one-time thing, Castellan,” Luke rolled his eyes before bringing the blade of his sword closer to you, reaching for your chin with a glint in his eyes. The blade met your chin and Luke lifted it, making you meet his gaze as he slowly made you stand up by raising his sword even higher. 

The two of you stood still, staring intently into each other’s eyes until you heard it—the sound of the Ares Cabin making their way to the arena. Luke let out a surprised shit, dropped his sword to the ground, and walked closer to you, cupping your jaw with his right hand and kissing you. 

Your lips met in a hurried collision, causing the same fire from yesterday to set in your stomach. Your hands moved to Luke’s hair, softly pulling it as the kiss got heated. You knew this was fake, you knew this kiss meant nothing to him… but you didn’t want him to stop. “Holy fuck, are you two always sucking each other’s faces?” Clarisse’s voice cut through the moment, causing you to pull away from Luke, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Yeah, that’s what being in a relationship entails. I don’t think you’d know much about it, La Rue,” Luke breathes out.

“Don’t you have weed to sell or a cheap bottle of vodka to down, Castellan?” 

“Aw, you know me so well,” Luke answered before picking up both of your swords and grabbing your hand, walking away from the arena. 

The following days were (and you hated to admit it) filled with the most fun you’ve ever had. Luke would come up with some insane idea for a fake date and it would always end with one of you lying about seeing a camper or hearing Silena’s voice as an excuse to make out with each other. 

There was this one time the two of you were having a picnic by the strawberry fields and the day ended with the two of you hiding in the empty forge while making out, running your hands over each other’s bodies, and doing the normal stuff fake couples always do… it all happened because Luke swore he heard Valentina’s voice near the fields. (You were sure Valentina had been on the stables that entire day because she had cleaning duty, but why wouldn’t you play along with something you also wanted to do?)  

It was Sunday–the last day of your fake relationship–when Silena finally found the guts to talk to you about Luke. You even felt slightly bad for the girl because she was so nervous when she sat next to you in the dining pavilion. 

“I..um... I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” she began, “Well, there are lots of things for me to apologize for, but I think it’s pretty obvious what the main problem is.” 

“The way I’ve been treating you is not okay and I’m really ashamed of it. You shouldn’t have to feel pressured to be the person we want you to be, I used to see you as someone who couldn’t do things on her own and always needed someone to push her and help her handle everything… and now I see I was wrong,” Silena explained, running a hand through her hair. 

“It’s fine, Silena. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. You’re strong and more than capable of doing things on your own, and you don’t need me to try and help you or fix you.” She took a deep breath. “I didn't know you were dating Luke, and to be honest I didn’t even know he was your type. He is so… weird and I never would’ve guessed you were dating. I mean, Drew told me he does cocaine and—”

“He doesn’t,” you interrupted.

Silena raised a brow before continuing, “Anyway, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad for just... existing. And you always look so happy after hanging out with Luke, I truly hope the two of you stay together for a long time.” 

You didn’t even know how to explain the situation so you just blurted out “I broke up with him.” 

Silena looked shocked for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath, “Oh, thank the gods. Just because we trust you it doesn’t mean we trust him,” she spat the him with so much disgust it made you feel sick. “You deserve so much better.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

This is probably the first time you have ever felt ill at the thought of seeing Luke. Sure, you used to be annoyed by his presence before the whole fake dating situation even started, but at least you were a strange type of friends back then. Not really close but also not complete strangers. There were times you’d catch him hiding his secret stash of weed behind the stables and didn’t tell anyone, and he’d always pay you back by lying to Chiron about you practicing your sword skills with him. (You had only used a sword once and it was years ago when you were still a new camper, you had no idea why Chiron would ever believe him.)

Luke was sitting in his usual spot by the lake, a cigarette in his hand. It had become a tradition for the two of you to always meet up by the lake before curfew to talk about your day and practice your kissing so it wouldn’t look fake. 

“Hey,” you said, taking a seat next to him. Luke threw his cigarette to the ground, stepped on it, and almost instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing your temple. “Blink-182?” you asked, nodding at the MP3 he had on his lap. 

“The Smashing Pumpkins,” Luke answered, taking his earphones off. “Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness is one of the best albums ever made.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’ll take your word for it,” you said. Luke smiled and poked your side. 

“So, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” you began, but Luke held up his hand as a way to get you to stop.

“Can I say something first?” he asked, looking shy for probably the first time since the day you met him. 

You nodded and let him take the lead of the conversation. “Alright, so… I’m kind of shit with words so I’m sorry if this doesn’t make any sense but this past week has probably been the best week of my life. And I’m not even fucking around, I don’t have many friends–apart from Annabeth, and getting to be with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Being your friend is the greatest gift the gods have ever given me, and sometimes I feel like I don’t even deserve it. I’m a mess of a person, and you’re well… you’re you,” Luke stared deeply into your eyes, “And I just wanted to let you know that—”

Luke didn’t get to finish his sentence because this time it was you who cut him off with a kiss. You could taste the cigarette on his lips as he brought you closer to him, running a hand down your back and deepening the kiss before pulling away and moving to kiss your neck. 

Luke began to trail kisses down your throat and only stopped to whisper a low “Look at you, what would Aphrodite say? I’m sure she’d be proud.”

Aphrodite.

You pushed him away the moment you remembered your mother. “Silena apologized. We can stop pretending now.”

Luke was silent and just stared at you, his fingers moving to fidget with the wire of his earphones. “Oh, right,” he cleared his throat. “It’s Sunday, I forgot.”

You knew he didn’t.

“Yup, so we can go back to normal now,” you said, looking away from his eyes because you knew it would only take one look into them for you to kiss him again.

“Good,” Luke stood up, not daring to even shoot you a glance, and walked away. Leaving you alone by the lake with the lingering smell of his cheap stolen cologne mixed with the cigarette he was smoking. 

It didn’t help that you were welcomed into your cabin with hugs and your siblings congratulating you for breaking up with the son of Hermes. Sure, you weren’t the perfect sister anymore because you dated Luke Friendless-Freak Castellan, but knowing they liked you just because you were with him and then broke his heart made you want to set the cabin on fire. 

The main rule of the Aphrodite Cabin was something your siblings were extremely proud of, but the thought of its existence made you want to storm into Mount Olympus by yourself and yell at your mother for putting all these useless ideas into their heads. 

For a child of Aphrodite to prove themselves, they must make someone fall in love with them and then break that someone's heart. 

Is it possible for the rule to backfire? For the child of Aphrodite to accidentally fall in love with someone and then break their own heart because of it? You didn’t even know if that was an option, but you were sure that’s exactly what you were going through right now. 

It was hard for you to go to sleep that night because your mind kept replaying the past week on a loop. Your conversation with Luke by your cabin. The night of the bonfire. The conversation by the lake about his scar. Sparring with him. Going on a million fake dates. The night on the forge. Your last conversation with him. 

“Look at you, what would Aphrodite say? I’m sure she’d be proud.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

You could feel Luke staring at you. Again. 

You were helping Annabeth strategize for Capture The Flag, because she had the brilliant idea to have the Athena cabin team up with Hermes and Aphrodite. You didn’t know much about fighting and spent most of the time sitting with your sisters during the game, but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy helping them come up with new plans. 

Once the three of you were done, Annabeth excused herself with an awkward “I think Malcolm wanted me to help him go through some maps. You two have fun… chatting!” and left as fast as she could, leaving you alone with Luke. 

You watched her leave the amphitheater and turned around to face Luke, “I can see why you like her. She’s so much like you.”

“Yeah, she’s like my little sister.”

The silence was so uncomfortable you almost broke down crying. You nodded and turned around, not being strong enough to face him, and walked away. You could hear him behind you, following you.

“Can we talk?” he pleaded.

You were about to open your mouth when Drew’s voice made you turn your head. “Gods, Castellan. It’s so embarrassing to still be hung up on your ex.” 

Luke sighed, “Hello to you too, Tanaka.” 

“Can you leave her alone? She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Drew said through a fake smile. 

“Oh, really? Did she tell you that?” Luke answered, tilting his head as he spoke and making eye contact with you. Wordlessly begging you to please talk to him. 

You stayed silent and looked away from him. Luke let out an incredulous laugh before nodding his head. “Good to know you’re back to being their little pet.” 

Drew rolled her eyes and walked away, shoving Luke as she walked past him. “So? You’re just not going to say anything?” Luke said. 

“What do you want me to say, Castellan?” 

“Tell me that last week didn’t mean anything to you,” Luke answered, his voice trembling. 

“Why do you care? I thought I was nothing but Drew’s little pet,” you replied, trying your best to not look weak in front of him.

Luke ran a hand through his hair and stepped closer to you, “I’m sure you’re thinking the exact same thing about yourself.” 

You hated that he was right.

The truth made your blood boil. “I don’t want any of your shit,” Luke let out a genuine laugh this time, a mocking look in his eyes. “Oh, so now she can curse?” 

You hated him for seeing the real you. You hated him for knowing the truth. You hated yourself for loving him.

“Fuck you, Castellan,” Luke hummed before stepping even closer to you and placing a hand on your waist, leaning to whisper in your ear. “I’m sure you’d love to do that again, right?” Luke’s smell was taking all over your senses and making your knees go weak. He continued, “Because even if we do it in the darkness of the Forge… it is still two friends fake dating because your mother might be watching.” 

You found the strength to press your hands against his chest and push him away, “Don’t talk to me ever again.” 

You spent the rest of the day with your siblings and friends, too afraid to leave their side because you didn’t trust yourself. Because you knew that if you were left alone for a second—you’d run straight to him. 

You sat next to Silena in the dining pavilion. Helped Katie and the Dyonisus cabin grow more strawberries by keeping them company. Walked with Michael to the bonfire, and stayed with Drew throughout the entire singalong. 

As always, Luke was sitting by himself, his MP3 player in his hand and his eyes were set on you. 

You walked back to your cabin when the singalong was over and helped your siblings get ready for bed. You were about to go to sleep when Valentina whispered your name, saying she had something for you.

“We found it last night under your bed, Drew wanted to give it to the harpies but I managed to take it away from her,” a frown made its way to your face.”What do you mean?”

“We found this,” She pulled out a badly wrapped gift from under her pillows. You were confused until she told you to open it.

 It was a bright pink MP3 player. 

“Oh,” you whispered, your hands shook as you stared at it. “I’ve got to—”

“It’s okay,” Valentina whispered. “He’s probably by the lake.”

You gave your half-sister a hug before running out of your cabin, and making your way to the lake. You could see Luke’s silhouette in the distance, and the sight only made you run faster.

You took a moment to catch your breath before saying, “The Smashing Pumpkins?”

Luke turned around at the sound of your voice. “Blink-182” he answered with a small smirk.

“Uh, of course,” you said as you walked closer to him. “Alright, listen. You were right.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you continued with a smile. “So, it turns out I may or may not be in love with this certain guy, and he may or may not be my type or whatever it is my siblings say.”

Luke took a step closer to you. “There’s a chance this guy thinks I’m going through a phase and only fake dated him to piss off my siblings and mother but the truth is… I don’t even care about them whenever I’m with him.” 

His hand moved to caress your cheek, “That’s cute and all but how does this guy know you truly mean that?” 

“I’m not going to make out with him at the bonfire, so I guess all he needs to do is believe me,” you whispered, your eyes moving from Luke’s eyes to his lips.

Luke smiled before answering, “Believe you? That’s alright with me,” and pressing his lips to yours.

Luke was right. Aphrodite would be proud. 

[atzual]

what your ateez bias says about you

if you take this seriously, that's on you. i'm just doing this for fun.

tw: heavy topics, language, roasting

*****

hongjoong: right. how's the desire to impress people and overworking yourself doing? i feel like what draws you in is his resilience, and that he is very dependable. you probably had a lot of moments where you were left to your own devices to work on something major, and are no stranger to burnout. you might be the kind of person to talk about your achievements and your work and everything you do a lot, maybe to seek validation (and maybe to cement that you have something others don't). on a softer note, you probably have a wide range of skills in a field you are interested in, and experiment a lot. generally are not afraid to go outside of norms to figure something out. so to see the qualities of a leader and innovator in joong is both comforting and inspiring to you. (bonus: you probably have a thing for clips of joong in the studio, don't you?)

seonghwa: you feel like you don't have anyone who you can actually trust with your thoughts and feelings, huh? people talk at you, not to you. you are a natural care-giver, are quick to give advice (also to bottle up someone else's negativity), often ignoring yourself. you might have lost the feeling of 'home' or of 'small but certain happiness', and might have some unhealthy coping mechanisms. on a brighter note, you are someone who can process emotions a lot more deeply than others and if there is anyone who can actually put themselves in another's shoes, it's you. i think hwa is a safe space to you, precisely because it is not all sunshine and rainbows. you connect with his battles, growth, and how he is accepting change and trying to find balance. (bonus: him getting excited about something is legit your therapy isn't it)

yunho: many acquaintances, few friends? i think you legitimately stopped believing in love. at least the mushy 'at first sight' and 'meet cute' and 'soulmates' kind of love. might be because of family-related things, or because of romantic relationships, but trust is a problem for you. you probably think negatively about yourself quite a bit and/or have/had a more pessimistic mindset. on the positive, i think you're really loyal when you find your people, and want to see them happy. you connect with people beyond love, you make connections that are made on living life together and going through things together. i think this is also what drew you to yunho - his perseverance, resilience, ability to smile in the face of hardship, but also his ability to navigate a lot of emotions as they come and deal with them in a healthy way. (bonus: his small expressions of affection/acts of kindness make you melt, right?)

yeosang: you've been through quite a lot, haven't you? i think you try to laugh a lot of it off or treat it lightly, but the demons eat away at you sometimes. you might be someone who burned out in/after high school, and generally does not have a good experience with school. might feel lonely even when you are not alone, sometimes just choosing to float in your imagination for comfort. often act tough or not quite like yourself to appear more like the you you have in your head. i think in part you kind of want to learn how to love the world like yeosang, and are really touched by his sweetness and his humor. you are a fighter and despite it all, do stay true to yourself and your values, and this is something that you find and adore in yeosang. you are drawn in by his ability to follow his dream, and his heart of gold. maybe your scars will turn golden too. (bonus: you probably have a mild obsession with his one-liners)

san: how are your boundaries, broken like the wall? you probably have some trouble with setting and/or maintaining boundaries, and so sometimes have people treading over you. you might feel like a side character in your own life, and so turn bitter and internalize a lot of negative energy. honestly on a brighter note i think you really do try hard for others, and go out of your way to try and make dreams happen for others, because it makes them and you happy. you cheer, you support and you truly show that you are on a loved one's team. I feel that what draws you to san is how he transformed himself in a healthy manner, and how he maintains a very clear circle of those he trusts, and is no stranger to kindly setting rules in place while still remaining sweet and respectful. he is a safe space for you both because he makes you smile with his stories and jokes, but also because he is adamant on keeping things in order. (bonus: his reaction to the merch donation story lives rent free in your mind)

mingi: got some problems with regulating emotions, maybe? be it hiding them until you burst or not knowing how to express them, i think this might be a challenge for you. you might have been exposed to something that made you believe that it is a sign of weakness or a risk. at the same time, you are logical, damn good at what you do, and when you face hard times you bounce back, even if it takes some time. i think you and mingi share the introspectiveness, and you like how thoughtful he is. you probably find comfort in how he shares happiness with others, and how he seeks closeness with loved ones. at the same time, there is something about how he transforms on stages that resonates with you - the power and confidence is something you want to work on and find more of in yourself. (bonus: your will never stop thinking about mingi's creative process monologues + freestyle mingi)

wooyoung: do people tell you you have a big personality, or that you are 'a lot' sometimes? i feel like you have your way of working, your way of thinking, but might have a hard time actually communicating that or adapting to different social environments. it might be because you're headstrong, or because you are in constant fight or flight mode and so are more rigid. at the same time i think you are diligent and very detailed with what you do, and are in fact attentive to others and might notice things others don't. i feel like what you admire in wooyoung is his ability to connect with others, while not losing himself or his values. you feel for his hardships, and he helps you learn how to be more loving and more open with expressing and accepting love. he is very much your candle. (bonus: you cried because of his interview + dance in that one show, didn't you?)

jongho: how many thoughts are spinning in your head? you might be an overthinker, slightly misanthropic, and on bad days might sink to having a victim mindset and ask the universe 'why me?'. you might have had to grow up too fast, or were controlled a lot as a kid - either way, your understanding and experience of freedom and maturity might be warped. at the same time you are reliable and are able to call things out for what they are. you might have also put a positive spin on the negatives and either used them as inspiration, grew from them, or taken a skill from them that you then generalized. i think jongho's humor and innate warmth is your haven, and his continuous self-development grounds you and motivates you to also try your best and think of ways to find the good in situations. i feel you might also resonate with his occasional shyness. (bonus: you often think about his emotional strength even when he talks about his concerns, don't you?)

[plistommy]

Eddie likes to draw a lot.

He doodles on everything, his school books, magazines, his guitars or even his own hands.

He drew his tattoos for himself before getting them.

Steve thinks he’s really talented, and loves to stare at Eddie drawing for hours, but Eddie is still a bit shy about it, so Steve doesn’t sometimes get to see what he has drawn.

But one day when he was going to Eddie’s room to get his boyfriend's hoodie for himself - thanks to winter and its cold weather - he accidentally knocked Eddie’s sketchbook to the floor.

Couple of pages dropped out of it and as they were all spread out, Steve realized they were all drawings.

Drawings of him.

He crunched down to pick them up, but couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay and before he knew it, he was going through all of them.

Eddie made him look so… pretty.

He drew his face, his smile, his eyes so beautifully that Steve couldn’t even believe that the drawing’s were of him. Eddie even remembered all of his moles.

A dopey smile creeped up to his face as he went through them all, piling them back into a neat pile to put back inside the sketchbook. But when he picked up the last one, his eyes grew wide and he felt himself going red from head to toe.

There were several sketches of him, of his nude body with ringed hands, Eddie’s hands, touching him. One was of him laid on his stomach with a soft look on his face, but then the second one was more… intimate.

It was of him, legs spread wide and dick resting thick and hard on his stomach while a finger was pushing inside him. His face was scrunched up, mouth open in a ‘o’ shape and the knowledge that Steve probably looked like that when Eddie was doing it for him made him bite down onto his bottom lip.

He flipped the paper around and a whine got caught in his throat as he stared down to a drawing of him riding Eddie.

They had never done that before. But now, he really, really wanted to do it.

”Steve?”

Steve’s head snapped up to stare at Eddie, who was staring down back at him with a worried look.

He was leaning against the door frame, hair up in a ponytail and old band shirt on, looking like a dream, but when he saw what was going on, his eyes grew wide.

”Shit, sorry!” he panicked, crunching down next to Steve. He snatched the drawings and his sketchbook away from him and hid them under his mixtapes, acting like Steve hadn’t already seen all of them.

He was letting out these small apologies and Steve had no idea what he had to even apologize for, but when he saw Eddie blushing and not being able to catch his eyes, Steve understood that he was embarrassed.

”I didn’t, um - you didn’t mean to see those… sorry.”

Steve just stared at him dumbfoundedly before letting out a soft laugh and getting up. He moved his hands to Eddie’s face and held them there.

”I dropped it accidentally and I was the one snooping around, Eddie. I’m the one who should be apologizing, not you.”

Eddie sighed. He still couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes and it made him frown.

”You’re not creeped out?”

That question surprised Steve.

”Of the drawings? No, Eds. I think they’re cool.”

Then, Eddie finally looked at him with the biggest puppy eyes ever and Steve wanted to kiss him.

”You sure? I didn’t know what you’d think about them. I know they're a bit—”

”Amazing? Incredible?” Steve smiled softly and pushed Eddie’s bangs back, ”You’re so talented, babe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself like the way you draw me. I like it.”

Eddie looked like he was offended and pinched Steve’s hip, ”You are really pretty, sweetheart” he reassured Steve with a smile.

”Yeah, yeah. Says you.” Steve smiled and Eddie snorted a little before leaning in to kiss him.

When they pulled apart, both out of breath, a small grin grew to Steve’s face as he tugged Eddie’s hair, letting it fall out from it’s lazy ponytail.

”I have an idea…”

”And what’s that?”

Steve grinned more.

”Can I ride you?”

Eddie’s breath hitched and Steve laughed loudly as his boyfriend looked at him like he’d grown another head.

He loved to rile his boyfriend up, and this was the perfect time for that.

”You… really?” Eddie sounded so out of breath, more than he was before.

”I think it would look pretty great, right?” Steve purred, glancing towards the hidden pile of drawings, Eddie’s gaze following his.

All Eddie could do was answer a breathy ’Fuck yeah’ before Steve was pushing him down to the bed and straddling his hips.

Eddie didn’t hide his drawings anymore after that.