#like okay so if they DID like him you'd vote for him

[queenerdloser]

whiplash conversation with my mom where she told me of her own volition that she plans to vote harris in november (she's republican) bc "no one likes trump" and she also admitted he was basically incoherent and untrustworthy (in the past she's admired him). which then turned into her saying that she didn't see the big deal about harris being the first female president was and that led into. full on big blowout fight about whether or not the patriarchy exists and if we live in one. i was full on yelling. so enraged i was near tears. all while fucking DRIVING. jesus christ.

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

dbf!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

cr: divider by @kodaswrld / gif @tomshiddles

[gothicfied]

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 Headcanons

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff

જ⁀➴ Considering the nature of this environment and the people you're surrounded by, you didn't speak up or made yourself noticeable at all. You kept your thoughts and worries to yourself, pretending like it didn't bother you that the players around you were being killed off left and right. And, it worked: no one seemed to bother you or notice you in the first place. Except for one guy.

જ⁀➴ Your bed was directly under Dae-ho's. After being so rattled up by Red-Light-Green-Light, you just sat there on the thin mattress, staring down at your food. The commotion next to you about Gi-hun, a previous winner of these games, didn't interest you at all. Your attention was drawn to Dae-ho though, when he dropped down from his bed with a loud thud.

"Oh," he looked at you with a concerned look, "hey there. Are you okay?"

જ⁀➴ Kickstarting your 'friendship', if a friendship is even possible in this place, you were kindly accepted into Gi-hun's little group, alongside In-ho, Dae-ho and Jung-bae. From the beginning, it seemed like Dae-ho was more concerned with your wellbeing than his own. He'd often share his meals with you, as a general act of kindness. And, it warmed your heart, considering he kept nagging Jung-bae for his milk or water or whatever it was.

જ⁀➴ He'd always keep you an arms length away from him at most, feeling responsible for your survival during the games. He was a marine after all, he needed to protect you, no matter what was to come. You'd show your appreciation with hugs and endless thank-you's when saved from literal death. Dae-ho would just laugh it off, claiming that you'd do the same for him. And you definitely would.

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho's a sweet guy with a good heart, refusing to continue the games in the next voting, even if it meant he couldn't pay off his debt completely. Not only did he hate to see other players die (obviously), but he was genuinely scared to lose one of his friends. Especially you. He developed an undeniable adoration for you and he was determined to get you out of here, so that he actually has a chance of living a normal life with you.

જ⁀➴ Your presence alone made him nervous, in the good way, of course. While the others started to notice, you seemed to be oblivious. You'd accept every little compliment with a smile, say something nice back and then go on with your task, completely missing the fact that Dae-ho's cheeks were turning a bright pink. And, to be honest, he was really glad you didn't seem to notice at first.

જ⁀➴ Before lights out, he'd lean down and whisper a quiet "Good night." and after you wake up, you'd be greeted by a fairly cheery "Good morning!". Dae-ho just needed to reassure himself that you were safe and alive, wanting to be the last thing you see when you go to sleep and the first thing you see in the morning, too.

જ⁀➴ When it was your turn to guard the makeshift safety spot that Gi-hun made you guys set up, Dae-ho would stay up alongside you. He'd tell you to go back to sleep and that he could handle doing a double shift, but you refused, wanting to have some alone time with him. His voice was soothing in a stressful time like this and he, somehow, always found the right words to say to calm you down.

"Look, I know we didn't meet under the right circumstances by any means," he started, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, "but I'm still glad we did. You're really brave, you know?" You just chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I'm really glad we met, too."

જ⁀➴ Whenever Dae-ho was showing signs of distress or discomfort, you'd try to distract him or comfort him by side-hugging him and speaking reassuring words. You noticed that, while he did his best to protect everyone, he definitely needed that as well from time to time.

જ⁀➴ When not being able to sleep at night, you'd sit up and look if Dae-ho was awake as well. For some reason, as if he had developed a sixth sense for you, he'd wake up, feeling your eyes on him. If you try to apologize he'd wave it off, inviting you up to his bed to talk.

જ⁀➴ Even if these beds were small for two people, you'd manage to lay down comfortably, his one arm wrapped around your waist, to keep you from falling off. Your head rests against his chest while you talked his ears off about something Dae-ho couldn't focus on. His mind was just filled with you and the feeling of your body against his.

જ⁀➴ You guys definitely fell asleep like that.

જ⁀➴ And Jung-bae definitely made everyone look before waking you up.

[bambisnc]

(   ➴ ) 𝒮𝖮 𝖧𝖨𝖦𝖧 𝖲𝖢𝖧𝖮𝖮𝖫 ♡ i find you in every crowd

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ headcanons + 0.5k // swearing + unedited ˖ ✧

𝓍𝗈𝗑𝗈 ─── chuu >3< + [FILE.ZIP]

ㅤㅤ౨ৎㅤㅤclassmate ni-ki who definitely has a cool kid aura. you know what i mean. even though he's slightly reserved and keeps to himself or his group of friends, he's known by basically the entire school population, inviting adoring gazes every corridor he saunters through. would probably even be voted #1 hallway crush and win in a landslide ..

starting off specific as hell, but i just KNOWW classmate ni-ki would be the typa guy to spin pens on his fingers and be annoyingly good at it. might offer to teach you if you stare a little too hard, though.

classmate ni-ki who would be super willing to do anything he could to make longer periods a little more interesting. for example, he'd help make you a little cringe button! except y'all would probably add more options on the button (such as "type shit", "LMFAO", "slay", "boring"). yes this is based on smth i did irl heart eyes.png

classmate ni-ki who would nawt at all be above bribing you to help him w/ his work. there's just so much work okay !!! it's better if you do it together anyway !!! and oh ... what's that? oh, silly him, he didn't mean to buy that extra strawberry milk ... sigh, and he doesn't even like it that much ... you might as well take it honestly. or would you rather it be wasted? :/

classmate ni-ki who whenever there's randomly assigned seating Will totally manipulate the results to get to sit w/ you by casually swapping his piece of paper w/ whoever has the seat next to you. who else is gonna make math class fun for him, after all?

classmate ni-ki who has a penchant for playing with your hair if he's in your vicinity. twirling strands of it if your hair is on the longer side or Ruffling it every second he can if it's shorter, are his go to moves. but to be fair he'd let you play with his too. if you ask really REALLY nicely. and maybe also lend him your biology notes.

super specific thing #2, but if you drop something and bend to get it back, classmate ni-ki would do that thing where he'd cover your head with his hand so it doesn't hit the edge of the table (</3)

classmate ni-ki who would for sure let you draw on his hands. not even just a doodle or 2 bro would be chill with a whole ahh piece of artwork covering his entire arm. plus, he'd be super proud of it too; like "show it off to whoever's around" type shit :P

classmate ni-ki who might sometimes persuade you to play hooky and skip classes w/ him occasionally. just the unimportant periods though (or maybe an assembly or two shhh). you'd be kinda intimidated at first, worried about what his plans might involve but then he'd pull out a packet of cat food and go, "i'd like you to meet my cat, Cheese." ><

ㅤㅤoverall, an 11/10 experience. you wouldn't mind taking the same subjects as him to be classmates w/ him again ^-^

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[daylighted]

dean winchester x angel!reader — it's okay, it's okay.

or, dean breaks everything he touches, including himself. or, the first time dove has to use her grace.

cw, angst, injured!dean, he walks you through it kind of, dean whimpers but at what cost

word count: 2k

notes, this doesn't count toward my vote. if dean x angel wins u WILL get another i am loyal to my word!! i just got this idea n needed to get it out before i forget < 3 sorry ahead of time if it is 1) sad or 2) sucks it's late ok </3

★ ˚⋆

everyone always says the same thing when the worst comes true, but it reigns true every time - this was never meant to happen.

sure, dean could have been more careful. sure, he could have spent more time worrying about his mortal, breakable body, and not the ageless angel who'd attached to his hip. he'd gotten... used to it, more than anything, because accepting it wasn't the right word.

no, he did not want you at his side at every turn. that gave him another body to fuss over, to make sure didn't get hurt, no matter the cost. even if it was irrational. but dammit, it was you.

you were resilient. he was certain you could take care of yourself, but he panicked when he saw the claw emerging from the pitch black, heading right for your direction. dean knew, logically, that you sensed it coming, that you could have protected yourself-

he took the swipe of gashes to the shoulder anyways. a long swipe. shoulder to sternum - couldn't feel it through the daze of adrenaline, but he could feel the blood. so much blood, and so close to his heart-

"dean!"

your voice pulses in his ears like its own heartbeat. is he losing consciousness? fuck.

your footsteps pound on the dusty dirt trail in the forest, running up to where he was slumped against the nearest tree. dean coughed, blood staining his bottom lip, metal and copper clashing violently on his tongue.

"hi, dove," he whispers, trying to breath life back into his voice, falling just short. "little worse for wear, aren't i?"

"now is not the time for jokes." you kneel next to him, your eyes flitting quickly over his body until they land on the wet crimson slashes across his chest. "you bleed."

his lips quirk, even as the adrenaline is wearing and he's starting to feel the stark pain of the extent of his injuries, because he can't help it. "i do bleed," he says, wincing as the huff of laughter falls out of his mouth rips at his already ripped skin. "s'what happens when you get hurt."

"why did you get hurt?" you demand, fierce and defiant even when he's facing death. good god, he adored you. "i will live. i heal. you..."

dean knew. he knew this. how did he explain this to you, when you didn't even understand what his feelings meant?

"i've heard i look pretty good covered in blood," he says instead. "that true?"

your nimble fingers clamp hard on dean's jaw, forcing him to turn and look at you. so much feist in one ageless body. "now. is not. the time."

"you're so pretty," he breathes, his eyes melting in and out of focus. "so damn pretty when you're mad at me."

your face contorts in a mix of confusion and outrage. this, he thought, is why he doesn't tell you the other things he's been dying for in his mind. as much as dean loves your furious pout, as much as he loves the way you take that damn lip between your teeth again as you think how to stop his dying, it's better to keep you at a distance.

"the bag," dean nods to the duffel he'd dropped in his haste, a couple of feet from you, "get the bag for me, sweet girl."

he can sense the why? on your lips, and smiles, just slightly, when it doesn't come. too detrimental of circumstances for you to question is every ask and call, it seems. how bittersweet it is to be a priority only when he's dying.

you clamber back over with the bag, all but dropping it on his knee in your hurry. dean didn't even tell you what to look for before you'd unzipped it and started digging. "there's bandage wrap in there, somewhere," he rasps out, nodding his head toward you, even though you're not looking at him, "need it. to stop the bleeding."

your hands are shaking. he has nothing else to look at but you - wouldn't look anywhere else regardless - but it's the first thing his eyes lock on. "hey," he says, a little more firmly, even as it makes him wince, "s'okay. it's okay."

"you are dying, and i am useless." you snatch up a small square of shiny wrapping, and he has an explanation for why, exactly, he carries condoms everywhere, but you don't even question it. he forgot that you were too focused on him to be your usual, curious self. "this? will it protect you?"

dean pauses. now is not the time, your words echo in his head, and still, he can't help it. "protects a part of me."

you scoff, and he's upset, for a second, that the joke goes over your head. another thing he should have taught you about. upset again when you the condom also goes over your head and into the dirt with your dismissive toss.

should have. how dramatic was that? already thinking in past tense, because the pain has ebbed again, and that's never good. he was relatively calm before when he could feel it, knowing that, at the very least, it meant he could feel, but-

your hands pluck out the little roll of bandage, shaking fingers tugging at the loose end and starting to unravel it. "yeah, you've got it. not useless, dove," he mumbles, shaking his head like he vehemently denies that bogus claim. "never useless."

"what do i do with it?"

dean lifts his shirt up and over again, wincing again with a deep rumbling whimper as he feels the tear again of his skin, his muscles. a wave of nausea renders him dizzy and speechless. his arms stay raised, his vision swimming.

your irritation is so evident on your face that he's certain, right then, he's never seen you so frustrated. dean wanted to ask why, especially after all of the times you've asked him that. he didn't understand your irritation with yourself. all he needed from you was to cover up the wounds so that you could heal him without risk of him bleeding out.

"you want picked up?" you ask, tilting your head in front of dean's to force his eyes to focus on you again. "now is not the time, again."

"no-" he says, lips twitching in the corners. at the very least, you were keeping him present and conscious, what with all of your adorable attitude. he licks his dry, cracked lips and tries to ignore the copper taste on his tongue. "take that end and wrap it around. like..."

dean doesn't know if you know what a vest is, or a sash, because you don't seem to know half as much as castiel does. maybe what cas meant when he brought you into the winchesters' lives was that your naivety ran so deep because you were a new angel, a fawn trying to catch its footing and stumbling along the way.

he watches as it clicks in your mind, what he means. you are so much smarter than he gives you credit for. he leans forward, mouth falling open in a shuddery, whimpering gasp. luckily, you don't stop what you're doing and ask if he's okay. your care, it seems, either doesn't extend that far, or extends farther due to the gravity of the situation.

you straddle him as you wrap the gauze around and around, and it's damn distracting, having you this close to him again. "do it until you don't see any more of the claw marks, yeah?"

your head moves in a nod but your eyes never once leave him, focused on the task at hand. winding and winding, the gauze tightening and tightening, until his chest feels stiff with it.

"s'good," he says, raising his hand to rest his fingers on your wrist. "great job, sweet girl. here-"

his fingers walk their way down your hand until he takes the roll of gauze between them, moving the strip to his teeth and tearing until it ripped free from the roll. "there we go."

again, you stare at him expectantly, only this time, he's staring right back at you with the same anticipation in his eyes. "go on, dove. do your divine thing."

a blink. a second blink. "i don't know how."

his heart, he thinks, falls down to his ass. bypasses the gaping wound in his sternum and drops.

"that would have been great to know before i took the fucking-" he can't even be mad at you. he's dizzy, starting to shiver, and yet the idea of hurting you made him feel worse than all of those things combined.

"i did not ask you to!" no, you didn't, but what was a man who was used to jumping in front of the bullets to do? "i did not ask, and you were not supposed to be stupid."

dean forces a strained smile. "sweetheart, s'kind of my thing."

you bend down, still straddling, close enough that your nose brushes his. fuck. he was going to die without knowing what it was like to close that gap. "not the time-"

"for jokes, yeah, i- i get that," he grumbles, throat thick, spluttering on a cough. blood splatters in a hapless pattern on his shirt, on yours. "think i'm- allowed t'joke when i'm dyin'."

"you are not." your eyes stay locked onto his. there's so much passion in them that they glimmer and glitter even now, in the dead of night. "not, to either of those things. i will..."

dean hates your expression. the defeated, helpless panic in it a stark contrast to your resilient eyes. he wants to comfort you. wants to smooth the pinched skin between your brows with his thumb, but everything's starting to feel a little heavy. "cas-" his head thumps back against the wall. "uses his hands. touch."

your expression softens. there it is again, that determined gleam overtaking every other emotion on your face. there's my girl, he thinks, even though it's a thought he's never allowed himself to think before, about you. his inhibitions are lessened now, though, and who is he to hide a thing from you?

slowly, your hands lift to his cheeks, cupping his face between your palms. your skin is so warm, and his is so cold, and he can't look away from your eyes. dean's never believed in someone as much as he does you, right now.

your eyes close, and he's still looking. his head leans forward and knocks against yours, like he can't get close enough. he'd do anything to know what your lips tasted like. if they were as sweet as you were, or as furious as you tended to get.

"it's not-" you growl, and he opens his mouth to say something to counteract the rush of heat your gravelly voice shoots through his icy veins, when- "fuck it."

two beats of shock wrack through him, and he has no time, not a split second at all, to prepare for the way your mouth crashes into his. his eyes blink wide in shock before a wave of warmth starts in his chest and spreads like roots through his blood and deep in his veins. he sees the blue-white flash of your grace as it spreads around the both of you.

you pull back so suddenly that your lips pop, staring at him expectantly. no, not dean, his red soaked bandages on the outside of his torn shirt. you give him no time to process it before you're clawing at it, tearing it down the center. "jesus, dove-" his eyes drop down to follow your gaze.

the only remnants of his injury were the dried streaks of blood running down his chest, pale red and shiny in the areas still drying in the cold night air.

you laugh, soft and hesitant, and it's the prettiest noise dean has ever heard. "if i'd known i just had t'almost die t'get you to kiss me," he says slowly, "i'd have done it a lot sooner."

even if it was hardly a kiss - more of a collision. he'd just have to teach you how he liked it, later.

tags,

@figthoughts, @jasvtsc, @titsout4nicholas, @deanswidow, @whyyouegg,

@bombarda-babe, @whisperingwillowxox, @underground-secret,

@bitchykittenconnoisseur, @jensenacklesantidote,

@keira-kaz2y5, @ostaramoon, @depressionbarbie2023, @ultravi0lence14, @loverslantern,

@bleuatlas, @minettacreekk, @sthefferrete

[jezebelblues]

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 | 𝐇.𝐒 ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

summary: it isn’t about fruit

cw: smut18+, oral (f!receiving) unedited, idk that’s it. there’s like brief mentions of cigarettes/alcohol if that’s an issue

word count: approx 3.7k

| LMFAO okay so here’s something i’ve had in the drafts for a bit. on the lil poll thing the majority of yall voted for smut so here’s a crumb i guess love u

yes it’s 70s!harry. i love u 70rry

masterlist

july 1972

harry knew of YN—a friend of mitch’s, the cousin of a girl he could still taste on his tongue.

she was always in the periphery of his world—not a groupie, not a colleague. she was the girl who held the bubblegum pink lighter to his lips if he couldn’t find his own, the girl who’d offer her red glitter pen if harry lost his black one.

so far, three songs in his notebook were written in sparkly cherry ink.

they met four months ago at a bar in california— his first night on the north american leg of the tour, she'd stood on her tiptoes to hug mitch, congratulating him over and over with a laugh like the fizz of soda on a hot day. harry remembers the scent of her hair when the breeze caught it—peach bubbly and honey. he remembers the crimson lipstick stains on the cigarette she passed him, the faint taste of her fruity cocktail on the filter.

since then, she'd been around. not a fixture, exactly, but something close to it. she didn't sing, didn't play, didn't take up too much space, but she had a knack for fitting into the cracks no one else noticed. sometimes, before a show, she'd twist his hair back just the way he liked it, or she'd swipe a bottle of polish to paint his nails in a shade that matched his shirt.

it was easy, the way she lingered. easy enough that harry never really questioned it.

now, the sucker in her mouth stained her tongue blue. her heart-shaped sunglasses, pink and a little scratched, sat low on the bridge of her nose as the sun painted the roof of the tour bus in a syrupy summer gold. she was stretched out on a towel beside him, humming a tune harry instantly recognized as his own.

he sat cross-legged next to her, the glitter pen—her glitter pen—rolling between his fingers. his notebook balanced on his knee as he scrawled down lyrics, but the words felt sluggish, stuck, like the heavy heat pressing down on them.

YN's hums drifted lazily in the air, quiet enough that the buzz of the bus engine nearly swallowed them up. her eyes were shut tight against the sun's glow, but harry couldn't help stealing glances at her. she looked serene, almost untouched by the heat that had him melting into his jeans.

the cherry-red ink glimmered faintly as he scratched another uneven line into his notebook.

with a sudden pop! she pulled the sucker from her lips and smiled without opening her eyes. "you're staring."

harry didn't flinch. he leaned back slightly and smiled—bunny teeth and dimples. "maybe you're my muse."

her laugh was soft and sharp all at once, the sound of a soda can cracking open. she propped herself up on her elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. "hardly. if i were, you'd have more than that down by now," she teased, nodding toward the page.

harry smirked, his gaze skimming the floral pattern on her bikini bottoms, the curve of her hip. "or maybe you're just a really bad muse."

she kissed her teeth and let herself flop back down against her towel, the movement making her breasts bounce slightly in her top. harry's eyes lingered, just for a beat. she didn't seem to notice-or maybe she did, but didn't care. instead, she nudged his thigh with her toes, the sucker swirling back between her blued lips.

after a moment, she pulled it free and held it out toward him, her pink-painted nails glinting in the sunlight. "want the rest?" she grinned, tilting her head against her shoulder. "it's bubblegum in the middle. your favorite."

harry sighed theatrically, but he leaned in anyway, his butterfly creasing slightly as he plucked the sticky stick from her fingers. he turned it slowly, the blue sugar catching the light, slick with her saliva as he slid it onto his tongue. it was sweet, bright, with the faintest taste of her still lingering underneath.

she watched him with a raised brow, her grin spreading. “will you tell me who kiwis about yet?”

his lips quirked up around the candy. "no."

this was the third time she'd asked in the span of four months. it was her favorite song, or so she claimed.

it was a month prior in chicago. the aragon ballroom. he'd gone early, hours before soundcheck, to roam the venue, let his nerves settle. but that day the stage hadn't been empty. YN had been there, sitting cross-legged on the polished wood, his guitar resting in her lap. her fingers plucked at the strings hesitantly, her brows furrowed in concentration.

she wore a bright yellow bikini top that day, a pair of denim shorts slung low on her hips. the sunlight streaming through the high windows made her skin glow.

he'd stayed quiet as he approached, leaning his arms on the edge of the stage to watch. she jumped slightly when she noticed him, her cheeks flushing.

"move your hand up a bit more," his voice was soft, nodding toward her grip on the neck of the guitar.

she bit her lip, looking down to adjust her fingers. "like this?"

harry nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "press your index finger there. now try."

her cheeks darkened further, but she nodded, her focus snapping back to the strings as she strummed again-hesitant, but closer this time.

her fingers moved carefully along the frets, still hesitant, but with a quiet determination that made harry smile. the melody of kiwi—rough and unpolished—drifted softly through the empty venue, the rawness of it striking something in him. she wasn't bad, not really, but she played like someone who was just beginning to learn—calculated, deliberate, all concentration and no flow.

"it's better," he said after a moment, straightening up to rest his chin on his arms. "but you're still a little off."

she paused, sighing, her lips pressing into a line. "it doesn't sound right."

"you're playing it too clean," he laughed, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "y’have to let it be messy, loosen up a bit."

her brows furrowed, and she glanced at him, her cheeks still pink. "messy," she repeated skeptically.

"messy," he confirmed, nodding toward the guitar. "you're trying t’control it too much. let it get away from you a little."

her lips quirked up in a soft laugh as she adjusted her grip on the neck. "easy for you to say, you've been playing since you were, what, twelve?"

"eleven," he corrected, grinning wider. "but who's counting?"

she rolled her eyes but didn't argue, her gaze dropping back to the strings as she tried again. her fingers stumbled at first, the sound of a muted note ringing out across the empty hall, but she pushed through it, letting the rhythm guide her this time. harry watched as her shoulders relaxed, the line of tension in her jaw easing slightly.

"better," he praised after a moment, and her head snapped up, her face lighting up with a cautious kind of pride.

"really?"

he nodded, standing to his full height and dusting his hands against his jeans. "you'll have it down by next week at this rate, sunshine.”

she snorted, shaking her head as she set the guitar carefully to the side. "next week," she repeated, her tone dry. "sure."

"what, no faith in yourself?"

her eyes sparkled as she hopped down from the stage, brushing past him with a grin. "none at all."

harry chuckled, turning to watch her as she headed toward the venue's exit, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. her yellow bikini top gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and the sound of her soft humming lingered in the air long after she disappeared from view.

the song wasn’t about her, no, written long before they’d even met—but it stayed hers in a way he couldn't quite explain. hers like the red glitter pen that sat loosely between his fingers, like the memory of the bubblegum sucker on his tongue, like the faint scent of peach and honey still imprinted in his mind.

he let the notebook fall shut and leaned back against the roof of the bus, the sun beating down on his face. beside him, YN shifted lazily, her hand reaching out to tug the sunglasses from her nose and push them up into her hair.

“you’ll tell me one of these days, harry styles.”

he didn't answer, just let his eyes drift shut, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips.

YN huffed dramatically, flopping onto her side to face him. The towel beneath her crinkled, and the faint scent of sunscreen mixed with the lingering sugar on her breath. “you can’t just smile at me, harry. it’s not fair.”

he peeked one eye open, his grin widening. “fair’s got nothing to do with it.”

“don’t be annoying.” she poked his chest, her nail grazing the inked swallow on his skin. “you can’t write a song like that and then act all mysterious. it’s cruel. is it about someone you dated? someone you wanted to date? tell me something.”

he pushed himself up onto one elbow, the glitter pen rolling off his notebook and landing in the crease of the towel. “and ruin the fun of you guessing every chance you get?”

she groaned, rolling onto her back again and flinging an arm over her face. her sunglasses slipped slightly in her hair, catching the sunlight. “you’re the worst,” she mumbled.

he laughed, soft and low, and let his gaze wander over her—the curve of her shoulder, the way the waistband of her bottoms dug into her hips just enough to make him wonder how her skin might feel under his thumb. “but you keep coming back,” he teased.

“not by choice,” she shot back, her voice muffled by her arm.

he leaned closer, the pendant around his neck glinting as it swung forward. “is that so?”

her arm fell away from her face, and she squinted up at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “mitch dragged me along,” she said breezily. “i just wanted to see california. maybe get a tan. didn’t realize i’d be stuck with a rock star who thinks he’s god’s gift to songwriting.”

“a rock star, huh?” he echoed, smirking. “that what i am to you?”

her brows arched, her lips quirking into something smug. “what else would you be?”

harry didn’t answer right away. the silence stretched between them, thick and warm, broken only by the hum of the bus and the distant buzz of cicadas. YN held his gaze, unflinching, and for a moment, harry felt a pull in his chest—something slow, something sharp.

finally, he reached for her abandoned sucker, still sticky and shining faintly blue. he popped it into his mouth, smirking around it as he settled back onto the towel.

“god’s gift to songwriting,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

her laugh rang out, bright and unrestrained, and harry closed his eyes, letting the sound soak into him like sunlight.

YN’s laugh faded into a hum as she sat up, legs tucked beneath her, her knees brushing against harry’s thigh. her hand hovered over his notebook, tapping the edge lightly with her fingernail.

“what’s this one about?” she asked, her tone softer now, less teasing.

harry cracked one eye open, the sucker shifting lazily against his cheek. “why d’you always ask questions you know i won’t answer?”

“maybe because i know you’ll give me something, eventually.” she tilted her head, her fingers trailing along the notebook’s cover. “or maybe i just like annoying you.”

“you’re good at it.”

“thank you,” she said sweetly, ignoring his smirk. she flipped the notebook open, her eyes skimming over the half-finished lines written in that unmistakable cherry-red ink. “you’ve been stuck on this one for a while, huh?”

harry sat up, propping himself on one elbow and leaning close enough that her hair brushed his arm. “what makes you say that?”

“the way you’re chewing that sucker like it owes you money,” she teased, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “plus, there’s about three crossed-out lines on every page.”

he sighed, plucking the sucker from his mouth and tossing it into a paper cup near his feet. “some songs take longer than others.”

“and some songs,” she said, grinning as she tapped the glitter pen against the page, “are about a certain someone you refuse to talk about.”

harry laughed, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “you’re obsessed, you know that?”

“just curious.” she rested her chin in her hand, her pink sunglasses slipping down her nose again. “what’s the line you’re stuck on?”

he hesitated for a moment, then reached out to turn the page. “this one.” he pointed to a scribbled-out verse near the bottom, the ink thick and smudged where he’d pressed too hard.

YN’s eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, the scent of her sunscreen warm and sweet. “hmm. it’s… cryptic. you’re trying too hard.”

“oh, am i?” harry raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

she nodded, pulling the pen from his hand and spinning it between her fingers. “you need to stop thinking so much. write what you actually want to say, not what you think you’re supposed to.”

“and what do i want to say?”

she smiled, tilting her head at him. “how would i know? it’s your song.”

he held her gaze for a long moment, the teasing edge in her voice softening. his eyes flicked down to the pen in her hand, then back up to her face. “what if you’re the one i’m writing about?”

her breath hitched—just for a second, just barely enough for harry to notice. then she laughed, light and easy, her fingers tapping the notebook again. “then i guess i’m an even worse muse than i thought.”

“terrible,” harry agreed, his voice warm with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure he wanted her to catch.

YN didn’t move away, still perched close enough that her knee brushed against his. She let her fingers trail along the edges of the notebook again. She flipped a page, then another, her curiosity pulling her deeper into the sprawl of his unfinished songs and fragmented verses.

“you really don’t use normal pens anymore, do you?” she said, watching the way the glittery ink shimmered against the light.

“don’t need to,” he muttered without looking up. “not when you keep leaving these everywhere.”

“it’s a service, really,” she teased, flipping another page. “you’re welcome.”

her tone was light, but her fingers slowed as she scanned the next page. the handwriting was messier, more hurried, as if the words had come all at once and left no time for polish.

YN’s fingers hovered over the page, her eyes catching on the title underlined twice in red—watermelon sugar.

“what’s this one?” she asked, tilting the notebook toward herself as she scanned the uneven handwriting.

harry froze, “it’s nothing,” he said quickly, but the tension in his voice was hard to miss.

she arched an eyebrow, flipping the notebook to face her fully. “doesn’t look like nothing.” she read the first line aloud, her tone curious. “tastes like strawberries on a summer evening.”

harry leaned over, his fingers brushing hers as he tried to tug the notebook away. “YN, seriously—”

“hold on,” she interrupted, pulling it back toward her chest, her grin widening as she flipped to the next line. “and it sounds just like a song,” she read, her voice lilting in amusement. “you’re getting poetic on me, harry.”

“it’s not finished,” he muttered, sitting back against the towel, his jaw tight as he ran a hand through his curls.

“yeah, i can see that,” she said, tapping the page with her fingernail. “but what’s it about? strawberries? watermelon? a fruit salad?”

harry let out a sharp laugh, but there was something uneasy in the way his eyes flicked to hers. “something like that.”

YN squinted at him, her smile softening as she studied the lyrics again. “it’s… sweet,” she murmured, her tone thoughtful now. “like—” she paused, glancing up at him. “like a crush. isn’t it?”

his mouth opened, then closed again. for a moment, he looked almost caught—like she’d stumbled onto something he hadn’t meant to share. finally, he shrugged, his fingers fidgeting with the cross between his swallows. “it’s about… a feeling,” he said carefully.

“what kind of feeling?” she pressed, tilting her head.

he hesitated, his gaze darting between the notebook and her face. “just… something good. something warm.”

YN rolled her eyes, her teasing smile back in place. “you’re being annoyingly vague. is it about someone? or are you just really passionate about fruit now?”

harry exhaled a laugh, but he didn’t answer right away. instead, his gaze lingered on her, quiet and unreadable, before he finally shrugged again. “do y’want me t’show you?”

her teasing smile faded, curiosity dancing across her features. “show me?” she echoed, her voice gentler now, uncertain.

he nodded, shifting closer. the notebook was forgotten as his fingers brushed along its spine, pushing it aside. his eyes swept over her face slowly, studying the way her cheeks were flushed from the sun, the way her lips parted as if she wanted to ask something but had forgotten how.

his hands rested near her hips, the towel wrinkling under his palms. he leaned in, close enough that his breath was cool against her lips. "it's not about fruit," he breathed, his voice barely more than a rasp.

she blinked, her pulse skittering in her chest as her eyes flicked between his. "i... kinda figured," she whispered, her tone shaky, but her gaze steady.

his lips twitched, a soft breath of laughter escaping through his nose. "do you trust me?"

her eyes dipped, lingering on the curve of his strawberry-red lips. the weight of the moment pressed against her, electric and unyielding. "just show me, harry."

he didn't hesitate after that. his hands settled on her hips, warm and firm, as he guided her flat onto the towel. the sun hung heavy in the sky, draping them in a creamsicle haze, but all she could focus on was him—his weight, his touch, the way his curls fell forward as he hovered over her.

his ring clad fingers drifted to her thighs, palms flat along the insides as he spread her apart. the tip of his nose grazed the gusset of her bikini bottoms over to the flesh of her thigh right against his thumb. he pressed soft kisses into the skin, nipping at it gently to watch her chest rise from a gasp.

his lips trailed like the sticky sweetness of honey dripping down her skin, closer to her center, each kiss slow and warm.

he paused, his nose brushing against her clit still covered by fabric, but he could still feel her heat radiating through it. “still with me?”

she nodded, her heartbeat everywhere but her chest. “please, harry.”

he smirked, his fingers hooking underneath the bottoms, his touch feather-light as he slid them down. the movement felt slow, intentional, every second stretching out as the anticipation buzzed through her like electricity.

her arousal glistened in the sunlight—a bright peach dripping with water in the georgia heat. he laid flat on his stomach, arms looping behind her knees and pulling her thighs apart. he breathed her in, lips grazing alongside her folds before he pressed soft kisses into her.

she was sunshine, she was rock and roll, she seeped nectar and smelt like champagne—he wanted to take his time.

he kissed right into her heat, his lips slick with the remnants of her, causing her tummy to flip. he drank her in, sliding his tongue up until he could make slow swirls around her clit. it sent a jolt through her, a sensation so vivid it left her gasping.

she clutched the towel beneath her, head tipping back as the sounds of summer—cicadas in the distance, trees shaking in warm breeze, the hum of the engine—faded into the background.

he took her bud between his lips greedily, suckling gently and flicking the tip of his tongue against her. his grip on her thighs tightened as he pushed himself father into her, drawing soft, breathy moans from her throat.

he tilted his head, cheek flat against the space between where her thigh and cunt met. he lapped at her pussy, slow and languid strokes as he gazed up at her through his eyelashes.

“like sugar.” he mumbled against her, the reverberation causing her fingers to tangle themselves in his curls, her hips bucking against his face.

he smiled, pulling her down flat against the towel, burying himself deeper into her. she would tug on his curls every time he moaned against her folds. she’d push up against his hands every time he’d shake his head between her thighs, coaxing whimpers to fall from her lips.

he pulled her thighs over his shoulders, his nose brushing against her clit as he buried his tongue into her hole, tasting every drop, drinking in the way she’d clench around his tongue.

her cheeks flushed, words caught in her throat as he found his rhythm, his large hands holding her steady. his tongue moved like he was writing lyrics, every motion a verse, every pause a chorus.

she felt herself unraveling, her body tensing as she drew her higher and higher, the knot in her core overwhelming and intoxicating. she was an unrelenting sea, pressure, thrashing and trembles until the wave finally broke—gasping his name, her thighs trembling against his shoulders as her back arched.

he didn’t stop, relishing in the way she slid across his tongue, easing her though the aftershocks. his hands trailed from her thighs to her waist as she sagged back down against the towel, her chest heaving, fingers still threaded through his hair.

he pulled back slowly, a string of her release and his saliva snapping from the departure. he kissed up her naval, lips glistening in the sunlight, his chin soaked.

he smiled, resting onto his forearms as he hovered over her. “showed you, just like y’wanted. right, needy girl?”

YN blinked, her breath still catching as her body buzzed with the lingering warmth of him. she hummed, nodding.

his dimples deepened as he brushed his thumb along her bottom lip. “good,” he mumbled, pulling her lips apart as he leaned in. she could taste herself on him, sweet and heady, fruit and warmed by the sun.

he leaned his forehead against hers, their noses barely touching. “but if you need me to explain it again,” he hummed, kissing her once more. “i’ve got time, sunshine.”

[justauthoring]

Sleepless Nights Aided by You.

Summary: It's hard to sleep when surrounded by the threat of death. But Dae-ho makes it bearable, even if only a little.

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,529

A/N: LOL, hey guys, I did not think I'd be posting this but I've been obsessed with Squid Game and specifically Dae-ho. I thought I'd break my own writing haitus to give you guys this little fluff piece. I'll post a little update about the status of my Tumblr soon, but for now, enjoy this :P

(Also, to everyone who sent me a message after my update post, thank you <3 Know that I did see them and read them and I appreciate all of you!)

It's been nights of this and the sleeping never gets easier.

You'd have thought that despite everything, the exhaustion would override the racing thoughts. Surely, forced to participate in gruelling and sometimes physically challenging games with the constant threat of death weighing over you and being underfed that the sleep would come naturally.

But you've always been a lousy sleeper; before all this, before the games, you'd spend nights staring up at the ceiling of your worn down, small apartment stuck in your thoughts. Even as a little girl with the carelessness and naivety that came with being young, sleep wasn't something that came easy to you.

So, really, you shouldn't be surprised that in that suffocating and prison-like room, you wouldn't be able to sleep now either. It was beyond just the games itself - with each passing day, it became abundantly clear that there were more people you couldn't trust than those you could.

The blue 'X' patch on your sweater was enough of a reason to make you a target to some. Being a woman was another. The large piggy bank that carried the sum of those already dead was of course probably the biggest reason. Among the many other things you'd come to learn about the people you'd been trapped with.

You were lucky enough to have found yourself a group of people that took you in and it wasn't that you necessarily didn't trust him. Befriending a previous winner of the games had been something you'd been unsure of before, but Gi-hun had really only shown the best intentions of trying to help as many people survive as he could.

It wasn't just him. Seeing a group of men so willingly take in a pregnant woman and doing the utmost to protect her had been enough of a reason for you to trust them.

Everything else that had ocurred was beyond what you could've imagined in a place like this. In the midst of the games and the constant disappointment of voting, they'd made you realize that there was still reason to fight and most importantly, smile when you could.

(And most of all, a certain someone had made all of this just that bit more bearable.)

You did trust them. Gi-hun's plan to set up a barrier around where you all slept was smart and having people take turns watching had proven to only be further effective.

It still didn't mean that it made it any easier to sleep.

Letting out a huff, you rub at your eyes, frustrated with your inability to even sleep for a little bit. You were getting to your wits-end with exhaustion and it was certainly going to start impacting how you performed in the games. Being sloppy and tired wouldn't just mean losing, it would mean death.

You roll over to your side, facing towards your group and the direction that allowed you to see who was keeping watch currently.

When you saw the familiar numbers of '388', your decision was made.

Figuring that tossing and turning in bed wasn't doing you any good regardless, you crawled out of bed. Careful of Jun-hee who was beside you and tip-toeing your way around Young-il, you step in behind Dae-ho. Alert as he is, he jumps faintly at the sound of you, easing the second he realizes it's just you.

His lips curve into a soft smile but the confusion is plain in his eyes as you take a seat next to him.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice soft so as not to wake up the others.

You nod with a tired smile. "Yes," you assure with a light bow. "I couldn't sleep. I saw it was you keeping watch so I thought I'd come and keep you company."

Dae-ho's face falls with understanding. "Oh," he mumbles, "I heard you tossing and turning."

Flushing faintly, you bite your lip. You hadn't realized you'd been so obvious in your struggle. "I'm sorry if it was distracting... Hopefully I didn't wake anyone up." You glance back the sleeping bodies of your friends, frowning.

"No, no," Dae-ho shakes his head, waving his hands at you. "I was more worried. It doesn't seem like you've been sleeping well since we got here."

Blinking, you turn to him. You didn't realize he'd been paying attention enough to notice. But really, you shouldn't be surprised - over the course of the games, Dae-ho had proven time and time again that he was at the very least paying attention. From reassuring you with jokes and smiles to encouraging you during the games, it was clear Dae-ho cared enough to pay attention.

"A little," you admit with a small shrug. "I know I should sleep but I can't get rid of this... nervous feeling. It's something about this place. I never feel safe."

Shoulders falling, you glance down at your lap, fiddling with your fingers. It was impossible to deny how terrified you were. It wasn't hard to see everyone was terrified, but you couldn't shake the constant nagging weight on your shoulders that every breath might be your last.

It was driving you crazy.

A hand falls on your shoulder, soft and gentle, and you turn to Dae-ho in surprise.

"I won't let anything happen to you."

It's such a simple thing, really. The words themselves hold little weight, but the way Dae-ho looks at you tells you he really means it. There's a determined glint to his eyes and though his face remains warm, the usual goofy smile he keeps on for the sake of trying to stay positive is replaced with certainty.

In a place like this, you didn't make a promise like that without meaning it.

Not to mention, over the few short days you've gotten to know Dae-ho, you know he isn't the type of person to lie about something like this. The concern on his face is genuine and it warms your heart in a way you thought impossible in a place like this.

The you who had thought it foolish to trust people at the beginning was long gone and you could no longer ignore the way something like that coming from Dae-ho made you feel.

"Thank you," you whisper, biting your lip as you look up at him. As he lets his face ease into a warm smile, you shake your head. "I have no idea how you do it, Dae-ho."

Raising a brow, he pauses; "hm?"

"Stay so positive," you explain. "I feel like I'm falling apart at the seams but you still seem so strong. I know you're scared, how could you not be... But you don't let it bring you down."

This time it's his turn to be shocked. Lips parting, he meets your eyes. "I am scared," he admits, nodding. "But I want to be strong... for-for everyone. For... you."

You're struck once again by his words, finding his words endearing and heart-warming all the same. You trusted all your friends, but it was foolish to say that Dae-ho wasn't the one you'd felt most safe around. From the first moment you'd met him, he'd made sure to help you survive. From simple encouragement to physically making sure no one bothered you.

It's why you chose to sit with him when you saw he was keeping watch. You find yourself naturally gravitating towards his presence and warmth and maybe it's selfish, but he doesn't seem to mind you relying on him all that much.

Swallowing thickly, you shift closer to him, moving so you're pressed against his side. His face shifts at the action, surprised, cheeks warming lightly as he moves to make space for you. The arm that had been pressed against his side moves to rest behind you, tucking you into his side.

"I do feel safe with you," you assure, nodding at him. "You make it easier to be here, even if only a little. When I'm with you... I feel like I can breathe."

A moment of silence passes, the two of you enamoured with one another before Dae-ho speaks up. "You... You can sleep here; if-if you want. I have watch until morning, I won't go anywhere."

Meeting his eyes, you notice then the way your eyelids have grown heavy. You'd been exhuasted before but in that moment it does feel as if you'd actually be able to close your eyes and fall asleep.

The nagging feeling eating away at your chest with the overwhelming threat of death wasn't gone, but it had... subdued since sitting with Dae-ho.

"You don't mind?" You ask him.

He shakes his head. "Of course not."

"Okay," you agree, turning so you're facing forward. With only the briefest moment of hesitancy, you let your head fall against his shoulder, leaning into him and letting some of your weight fall onto him. Dae-ho's arm moves to wrap around your waist instead of resting behind you, helping keeping you supported.

"Wake me if you get uncomfortable," you whisper, already feeling the sleep set in.

Dae-ho nods, but you both know he'd never do that. Not if it meant you could get some rest and stay by his side.

[parfaitblogs]

present enough for me ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you're decorating your apartment with your boyfriend, you're all too clumsy, and really, who makes glass baubles these days? 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. decorating a christmas tree. mentions of blood. joking about murder and prison (it makes sense i promise). puts up with your shit!spencer reid.  word count: >1k a/n: short n sweet little thingy to keep us going this holiday season ♡

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

Everything had happened so fast. 

One minute, you were hanging a bauble on the tree, Spencer's ever so familiar voice reverberating around the room as he recites information you had to applaud him for knowing. 

Facts like, "Did you know Germans celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve? Because technically, Jesus was born on the night of the 24th. It's like this for a lot of European countries, actually." And, "Orthodox Christmas is on January 7, because Orthodox centric countries like Serbia, Belarus and Russia follow the Julian calendar, instead of the Gregorian one we do."

And, unfortunately, Spencer Reid's info-dumping is not annoying, but attractive to you. You oftentimes find yourself keenly listening in as he rattles off facts about things you'll probably never understand to the extent he does. Though, he does love over explaining just so you can comprehend some part of it. 

It had, evidently, led to you becoming a bit too distracted by your boyfriend halfway across the living room, adorning the television with tinsel, and resulted in your hand slipping as it slid a bauble onto the faux snow tree branch. It had fallen, and shattered, shards of it exploding across the wooden floor. 

You curse aloud, taking an instinctual step back, eyebrows furrowing. 

"Are you okay, angel?" Spencer calls, and you cringe at the sight of the pieces of bauble on the floor, though nod your head regardless.

"Yeah. You should see the other guy," you mumble, crouching down to the floor to pick up shards of the bauble. 

"No, don't touch—" he's cut off by your hiss as the sharp edge of the bauble slices your skin, your other hand that was already nursing some pieces, closing into a fist around them.

"Fuck," you seethe again, all the shards dropping to the floor at your — arguably stupid — mistake.

"The first health and safety rule when you drop glass is don't pick it up with your hands," Spencer scolds, his slippers padding against the floor as he heads over to you. His hand wraps around your forearm and he picks you up, shaking his head. 

"Okay, well, what idiot makes glass baubles?" you retort. 

"What clumsy idiot buys them?" he shoots back, and you huff because, well, he's got you there. 

"You're supposed to be supportive and nurturing," you mumble, though you're sure if Spencer overbearingly attempted to console your injured hand immediately, you'd question if he's sick.

"I can multitask," he answers, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Up."

You jump off the ground as he picks you up, carrying your body over to the kitchen stool, where he sets you down, away from the crime scene that is a shattered, bloodied bauble.

"It looks like that bauble tried to murder me," you say, staring at the scene. 

"I'll put some caution tape around the tree until it goes to trial."

"I vote two consecutive life sentences."

"Two? What's the second one for?"

"Conning me," you grumble.

He laughs as he disappears into the guest bathroom, just to reappear with the bright red First Aid kit, placing it on the kitchen counter next to you.

"Hand, please," he says, standing in front of you, and you hold out your palm. "Oh yeah, this is pretty bad, huh?"

"I can handle it," you huff, puffing your chest up. "A soldier never shows fear."

"My brave girl," he says, using baby wipes to clean up the blood, gently. "Did it get you anywhere else?"

You shake your head, wincing at the pressure — however slight — over the cuts on your skin. "Just my hands."

He nods his head, and once the blood is cleaned, he's soothing them with some antiseptic cream, trying to keep his touch as featherlike as possible. 

"I liked that bauble too," you mumble as he begins wrapping a bandage around your hand. 

"It's the same as the thirteen other one's of its design in the pack."

"No. It was special," you reply, shooting a glare at Spencer, who surrenders almost immediately. 

"Okay," he slowly nods his head, only really indulging in your antics to humour you. And maybe himself. 

Once your hand was wrapped up, and Spencer had given you a kiss for your undeniable bravery, you were bounding back over to the tree to finish adorning it with trinkets and other decor. 

"Please be careful," he warns, though abandons his post on the other side of the living room to help you with the three. 

Just in case. 

"I'm super careful."

He shoots you a look, that you match with a shit-eating grin, and then you're delving back into decorating the tree. 

By the time you're done, you are not any more injured, and the tree is lit up with an assortment of colours and glitter, and you're smiling, leaning against the television cabinet to admire it. 

The television cabinet dressed with a collection of candles, candle holders, tinsel, and a festive table runner you forgot you even owned. 

A table runner your hand was resting on.

And Spencer was too late in warning you, and your hand swings forwards, before you trip and land flat on your ass.

He doesn't help you up this time.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[mandoalorian]

if this is war, i surrender — prologue

Revenge had a price. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis: You wanted revenge. He became the reason you hesitated. He was the ghost from your past—the one who took everything. But getting close to him meant playing a dangerous game. And somewhere between hating him and pretending not to care, you forgot the one rule you swore you'd follow: don't fall for the enemy.

Word Count: 2,700

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for eventual smut - and there will be a lot of it, mentions and descriptions of abuse (both physical and emotional), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, death of a family member, Sam/Bucky aren't friends.

Author’s Note: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (and is tagged accordingly) — as promised, a brand new fic series for our beloved New Avenger!Bucky. And it's an Avengers Tower fic! I am so excited for this. If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Masterlist | next chapter

You’d lived your whole life feeling what others couldn’t hide.

Anger that simmered beneath polite smiles. Grief was tucked behind practised charm. Lust, hatred, envy—emotions wrapped in flesh and bone and lies. Most people were predictable once you knew what they’d do before they did it.

It wasn’t magic. Not really.

It was you—something twisted into your blood long ago. You could read them. Sense the weight of a person by the colour of their aura, the heat of their intent. It made the world feel like a game of chess, you were always five moves ahead in.

And still, somehow, you’d lost everything.

No family. No justice.

Just a face burned into your memory—cold, unfeeling, and soaked in your brother’s blood.

The Winter Soldier. 

You’d read all the self-help books and spent years in counselling and therapy. God, you had tried everything to get over it. But you remembered it like it was second nature, so much so that your Void Room felt like a nightmare you’d been used to for the past twenty years. It wasn’t reliving trauma, because you had never left. You were only a small child when it happened. You remember the fear that outlined your brother when he was cornered by the Winter Soldier, and the Soldier’s aura? Nothing. Like he was cut off from the world. Not an ounce of feeling or emotion. 

But how could that be possible?

They said he was reformed, that he was out in the city under a government pardon, trying to live a ‘normal life’ after the Battle of Earth. There were traces of his presence a few years ago, working alongside Captain America to disassemble the Flag Smashers. And since then, a brief stint of being Brooklyn's Congressman.

Seriously, who would vote him into power?

You had been waiting for the world to hand him a spotlight, a new beginning, because that always seemed to happen to men like Bucky Barnes. 

A fresh start. Forgiveness. 

You were okay with waiting because a plan like this had to be made with precision, and precision took time. You couldn’t fight him with fury or fire. 

You’d get close. You’d make him trust you. And when the moment came, you’d watch his world fall. 

But for now, you worked at McCready’s bar in Lower Manhattan.

The neon lights outside the bar flickered in a lazy rhythm as you wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, the stale smell of spilt whiskey and cheap beer lingering in the air. It was a Tuesday, but the bar was packed — a sea of half-drunk faces and the kind of conversations that never mattered. You hadn’t expected much from the job, but at least it kept you afloat. Barely.

The tips were inconsistent, the hours long, but it was all you had. Living in New York City wasn’t kind to anyone who wasn’t swimming in money, and you weren’t even close. You’d gotten used to the way the city hummed around you, indifferent to your struggles, just another face in the crowd. At least you weren’t completely alone. Shane was always there, hovering in the background like a constant reminder of the life you were stuck in.

He was your roommate, sure — but the lines had blurred long ago. It was more than that. You couldn’t leave him, not because you loved him, but because you had nowhere else to go. Shane had a way of turning everything he touched into a mess, and you were caught in the fallout. He was just… volatile, always drunk, always angry. His mood swung like a pendulum — when it was good, it was fine, but when it was bad, it was a storm. And you were always the one caught in its path.

Tonight was no different. His eyes were bloodshot, his speech slurred, but you knew better than to challenge him. You knew the look, the one that came just before things went south. You had learned how to move quietly, how to keep your head down when he raged. It wasn’t the first time he’d lashed out — and you hated yourself for staying, for letting him control so much of your life. But you couldn’t leave. The apartment was cheap, and it was better than being homeless. The city wasn’t kind to women on their own, and you weren’t naïve enough to think you’d be different.

So you endured.

The clink of glass broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the bar. Another customer. Another drink to serve. You plastered on your best smile and handed over the next round, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, the one that never went away. The ache that was there every time you realised you were stuck in a life that wasn’t yours to begin with, with a person who only made it harder to breathe.

But then, he crashed against the bar when your back was turned.

You felt it before you saw him.

A tight heat in the centre of your chest, like a warning flare under your skin. The aura rolled in a moment later—dark, pulsing red, bloated with alcohol and laced with something sharp. Bitterness. Rage. Shame. It wrapped around you like smoke, familiar and suffocating.

Shane.

You didn’t even need to look up. The aura was unmistakable. Predictable. He always came into your orbit like this—loud, drunk, and looking to pick a fight he could pretend wasn’t his fault.

You braced your palms against the sticky bar top and sighed.

“Didn’t think you worked Thursdays,” his voice slurred from your left. He leaned heavily against the counter, already swaying.

“I switched shifts.” You kept your eyes on the glass you were drying, steady and detached.

Shane scoffed. “Of course you did. Probably duckin’ me.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in closer, breath hot and sharp with whiskey. “You can’t keep avoiding me, babe. We’ve got things to talk about.”

You turned to face him. “We broke up.”

His jaw twitched. You saw the spike in his aura before he even moved. The humiliation—how quickly it curdled into fury.

He slammed his palm down on the bar. “You can’t just cut me off like that! I still have your stuff!”

“And I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I get off work.” You spoke calmly, but your fingers curled against the wood.

“You act like I was the problem. Like you’re so perfect.”

You felt his emotions boiling up, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into your ribs. Your powers made it impossible not to feel it all—the guilt, the desperation, the jealousy eating holes in his brain.

He reached toward the shelf behind you, fingers clumsy and quick.

You saw it in a flash—his intention. The movement. The bottle. The shatter.

“Shane,” you warned, voice low.

But he grabbed the glass anyway.

And when you didn’t flinch—didn’t react—he hurled it at the far wall. The sound of shattering exploded through the bar like a gunshot.

Conversations cut off. Heads turned. The bartender at the other end shouted something you didn’t catch, but you didn’t move. You stared him down, heart steady even as your powers screamed with the heat of his spiraling aura.

“Get. Out.” Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

Shane scoffed again, as if that might somehow make him look less pathetic. He backed up with slow, jerking steps, flipping off the room as he staggered toward the door.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, just before the door slammed shut behind him.

The silence he left behind was louder than the glass.

You let out a breath, realising you’d been holding it. Then you grabbed the broom from behind the bar and swept the shards into a dustpan, the sharp scrape of glass grounding you.

Your skin still tingled from the contact with his rage. You hated that you felt it all—the fear before it turned violent, the hurt beneath the anger. You hated that your powers made it impossible to just forget someone.

But maybe that was the curse of being who you were. You always saw what was coming. You just couldn’t always stop it.

As the last pieces of glass clinked into the bin, you finally straightened. The bar had settled again. Conversations resumed. The music picked back up.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from the far end of the bar—smooth, level, edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You looked up. Black hoodie. Cap pulled low. Sunglasses indoors. He didn’t look dangerous, but he looked like someone who could be.

“Getting there,” you replied.

He offered a small nod. “Water, please.”

You poured it and slid it over. “You don’t seem like a regular.”

He chuckled. “I’m not.”

There was a pause. You watched him closely, brushing your senses over his aura. It was… quiet. Centred. Strong in a way that didn’t shout. But frayed at the edges. Worn. Heavy. You sensed something simmering—like a soldier forced to sit still while a war started without him.

“You handled yourself well earlier,” he said, not looking up.

You blinked. “You saw that?”

“I saw enough. Most people don’t know when to walk away. You did.”

You tilted your head, wary. “You following me?”

“No. Just watching.”

That didn’t make it less strange. But your instincts didn’t scream danger—only mystery.

You turned toward the corner TV to anchor yourself—something normal. Background noise. Distraction.

Instead, your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t meant to keep watching.

The TV had always just been background noise—old games, muted news reels, the occasional infomercial to fill the gaps between orders. But tonight, the screen was impossible to ignore.

A navy-blue backdrop. Stark white letters:

LIVE: O.X.E. GLOBAL INITIATIVE PRESS CONFERENCE

At the podium stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sharp in her suit, that perpetual half-smile like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

“Today,” she said, “marks the beginning of a new era.”

You barely noticed the sound of glass clinking behind the bar as someone restocked. The world had narrowed to that screen.

Val continued, cool and poised. “A world in chaos needs structure. Direction. Accountability. O.X.E. was founded for that purpose—and now, I’m proud to announce its greatest achievement yet.”

The camera panned as she lifted a hand, gesturing to the five figures standing just out of frame.

Your heart skipped once—no reason. Just instinct.

“Earth’s new protectors. A team not built on nostalgia or outdated legacies. But on precision, strength, and experience.”

The screen cut to a slow pan across the group.

First: Yelena Belova.

You recognised her instantly—shoulders squared in sleek black tactical gear, expression unreadable. There was something fiercely restrained in her stance. A storm with a chokehold on itself.

Next: Ava Starr.

Ghost. Gloved hands in her pockets, hood half-drawn. She looked like she wanted to vanish right through the floor. Her energy vibrated through the screen—quiet, unstable, barely contained.

Then: John Walker.

U.S. Agent. Chin high, arms crossed like he was daring someone to challenge his spot. The smugness rolled off him like oil.

After that: Alexei Shostakov.

The Red Guardian. Smirking like he thought this was a stage play. You remembered his face from news clippings—over-the-top patriotism paired with brute force.

And then—just as the camera reached the final spot—

You felt it before you saw him.

Cold steel wrapped in guilt. A storm buried under a thousand locked doors. It hit you like a tide and settled in your bones.

Bucky Barnes.

He stepped forward into frame, silent. Dark clothes. Gloves on. That familiar stare—the one you’d only ever seen in flashes, or in the brief security footage you weren’t supposed to find. The one from fourteen years ago.

Your grip on the counter went white-knuckle.

His name appeared below him in bold, unmistakable letters, sub-titled with the words Team Leader. 

The world faded around you. The bar. The people. The music. It all disappeared.

There he was. Front and centre. Standing tall like the past never happened. Like the blood on his hands had been scrubbed clean.

Leader. Hero. Forgiven.

And just like that, the plan began to form.

Because if he was back—if he was leading this new world—then this was your chance.

You’d get close. You’d get answers.

And you’d finally make him pay.

“Mind if I use your phone?” The voice cut your thoughts off with a sharp snap.

You hesitated. “Landline’s under the register. Doesn’t do long-distance.” 

“That’s fine. He’s local.”

The man in the cap dialled quickly, voice low as he turned away from the bar. You stayed close, listening despite yourself.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Cap said. That was the nickname you’d given him. It felt fitting. You read his aura, and found it laced with anger. But it wasn’t like Shane’s anger. It wasn’t volatile or red, but instead, it was muted and hurt. Betrayal.

A pause.

“No, I saw it. They didn’t clear it. Val went public without warning.”

Another pause.

“No, he didn’t tell me. Look, Torres. He knew— he knew about my plan to restart the Av—”

His jaw clenched before stopping mid-sentence, aware of his audience.

“Just be ready. If this gets worse, we’ll need to act fast. I’ll call him tonight.”

He hung up. Didn’t say goodbye.

You crossed your arms. “You talk like someone important.”

He gave you a look, unreadable behind the glasses. “Depends who’s asking.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to back down. “I’ve had enough people lie to my face tonight.”

For a beat, he said nothing.

Then, with the tiniest smirk, he pulled off the sunglasses and tucked them into his hoodie.

“I’m Sam.”

Your breath hitched.

Captain fucking America.

────✪────

Bucky’s phone lit up the second the press conference ended.

Sam Wilson.

He stared at the name a moment longer than he needed to, then answered with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Sam didn’t waste time.

“You really let them use the name.”

Bucky leaned back against the edge of the hotel desk, jaw tight. “It’s just a name.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam snapped. “It’s our name. You think you get to let some corrupt agency parade it around like a branding tool? Like Steve’s legacy didn’t mean a damn thing?”

Bucky said nothing.

“You stood up there like it was nothing,” Sam continued. “With Walker. With Val. You think this is what Steve would’ve wanted? You think he’d look at that team and—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut in, voice suddenly cold. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Sam didn’t flinch. “Someone has to.” 

Bucky exhaled, short and sharp. “I didn’t choose the name. I didn’t write the headline. I chose a mission. That’s it.”

“Yeah?” Sam snapped. “Well, congratulations. You just handed the Avengers legacy over to a bunch of government puppets.”

Something burned behind Bucky’s eyes. He clenched his fist.

Bucky’s silence was answer enough, and Sam could feel his partner’s stoic glare through the line.

Sam exhaled, like he was holding back something worse. “You think this is justice? You think you’re fixing something?”

“I’m doing what I can with the mess that’s left,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Same as you.”

“No, I’m trying to honour what came before. You—? You’re just trying to outrun it.”

That struck a nerve.

Bucky stood straighter, voice low and clipped. “You think I give a damn about your approval? I don’t need your permission to do something that matters.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam snapped. “Since when do you care about legacy?”

The air between them tightened, stretching thin with unspoken names and unforgiven history.

“You’ve got no idea what I care about,” Bucky said coldly.

Sam paused, just long enough for it to sting. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Click.

Bucky hung up first.

The fourteen months that followed weren’t peaceful.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Fic taglist: @ruexj283

[thanosspills]

SLAP ME!

THANOS/CHOI SUBONG X FEM READER (NSFW)

THIS IS PART 1

PART 2 IS HERE

thank you so much for my first request! i hope you like it :)

warnings: smut, p and v, face slapping, fingering

You and Thanos barely made it out of mingle. As soon as the voice called for 2 players he pulled you off of the stage, shoving two other players away from the door in front of you. You heard them get shot right outside the safety of the colorful room. The thought that you were partially responsible for the strangers deaths immediately began eating away at you. Thanos noticed your distress. He quickly pulled you and held you against his chest, whispering, "It's okay senõrita" "We're safe." Of course, Thanos's warm, tight hug helped bring you a bit of comfort, but you you felt ill, realizing the only reason you and Thanos were still here was because you sacrificed other people.

You and Thanos reunited with Nam-gyu and Min-su, walking back into the dorms together. Thanos seemed like his usual manic, happy-go-lucky self. "We made it!" He cheers. Nam-gyu follows with a little, "Skrt!" You tug at Thanos's sleeve and look up at him, "Can I talk to you for a second?" Thanos snaps his head down to look at you and smiles, "Of course, my senõrita." He looks back toward Nam-gyu and Min-su. "Be right back bros!" Thanos skips to a corner by the empty beds as you follow behind. "Whats wrong my flower?" He softened his tone. "I think I want to vote to leave." You say, your voice flat and stern. Thanos immediately pouts. He grabs both of your hands and holds them in his, stroking them with his thumb. "I know this can be scary, flower." "But think about how good our lives will be once we get that money." You roll your eyes. "You don't think we have enough already? We won't get any money if we're dead." Thanos sighs. "Let's just get to one billion, pleaseee." He begs, stroking your hands a bit more aggressively. You stop him, gripping his hands and staring into his eyes, "Thanos, we're voting to leave." He looks back into your eyes for a while, before saying, "Okay."

"Player 230" the voice of the pink soldier calls out. You stand on the bright red side of the room as you watch Thanos strut to the buttons. Nam-gyu looks at you from the blue opposing side with a shit-eating grin. You fold your arms and glare back at him, but the sudden high pitch tone of Thanos's vote makes your head snap toward him. The fucker voted to stay?? Thanos paused for a minute, slowly sliding his hand off of the O button before walking over to Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu puts both his hands on Thanos's shoulders and playfully shakes him, that evil grin only getting bigger. Thanos angrily swats him away as he notices you staring at him from across the room. He shamefully looks down at the floor, breaking eye contact.

The tie was announced and the tension in the room was at an all time high. As soon as the voting ended, you ran to the bathroom to be alone. You stared at yourself in the mirror, the dried blood crusted on your jacket made you sick. You look down at the red X patch attached to your jacket. It was a blue O before, and you remembered how proud Thanos was yesterday when you voted the way he wanted you to. As soon as you pressed the O button, he shouted "That's my girl!" He crouched down and opened his arms, waiting for you to leap into them. That idiot sure knows how to make you feel special. The bathroom door creaks open, and you turn your head to see the purple haired fucker peeking in. "Hey senõrita.." Thanos gives you a weak smile as he closes the door behind him. You shake your head in disbelief. "Why did you lie to me? You said you'd vote to leave!" Thanos frantically walks over to you, "I know, I know, my flower." "But what we have isn't enough yet." He leans over and gently places his hand on your chin. His cold rings and gentle touch gives you chills. He rubs his thumb across your cheek bone. You scoff and look down, but you don't have it in you to push him away. He cups your face in both his hands before leaning in and kissing you. You lean into it, dominating the kiss. A grin starts to form on his lips, he briefly pulls away and smiles widely, "So tomorrow, you'll vote to stay, and we can have the world flower." Your face immediately drops. Are you fucking kidding me? Without thinking, you raise the palm of your hand and strike it across his face. He immediately flinches and rubs his cheek. "Is this some kind of joke to you, Thanos?!" The air is stagnant and silent. Thanos grabs your wrist and pulls you into an empty stall. He quickly locks it, then grabs your other wrist and pins both of your arms against the stall door before crashing his lips onto yours. You let out a soft moan and ease into the kiss. Your mind is blank, all of your feelings of anger and betrayal seemed to of eased out of you. Thanos slides his hand under the waistband of your green track pants. He pulls out of the kiss, "I'm sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you." He moves his hand under your panties and gently rubs his thumb onto your clit, maintaining eye contact. His head was tilted down, his eyes glistening, pleading. The desperation was surprising, but fuck you liked it. You grabbed the hair on the back of his head and leaned into the kiss again, moving even more intensely. He started to circle his thumb faster on your clit, making you gasp in between each kiss. With ease he suddenly inserts two of his fingers, making you break away, a loud breathy moan escaping you, echoing throughout the empty bathroom. You throw your head back, looking to the ceiling as your walls tighten on his now bending fingers. He uses his other hand to aggressively grab the bottom of your face. He adjusts your head to look back at him. "Look at me, baby." He continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you, feeling how close you are, "Fuck! I can't I'm gonna cum!" You shout, tears build up in your eyes as you try not to take your focus off of him. He quickly pulls his fingers out before you get to release. "What the fuc-" Thanos covers your mouth. "Don't worry baby you'll get to cum, but first I need you to do something for me." You angrily furrow your eyebrows and glare at him. He grins even harder, finding it adorable. He slides his pants down and lifts his hard cock free from his underwear. He takes his hand off of your mouth. "Flower, I gotta tell you, when you slapped me it was so fucking hot." Now a grin was starting to form on your lips. Was he serious? Thanos uses both of his hands to slide your panties down to your thighs. He then grabs your hips and lifts you up against the stall. You wrap your legs around his waist as his tip wet with pre-cum teases your sopping entrance. He cheekily smiles, as if he has a plan.

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

imagine being melissa hat. you are 15-16 and going on a private plane to a very important soccer match (which you probably won't even have to play in) and then the plane crashes and burns and only one adult survived and he's lost a leg and half his sanity. you spend over a year starving in the wilderness, learning how to fucking survive on your own and mostly doing that by staying out of whatever the FUCK drama the main team has going on. because they've got SO much shit going on and you BARELY know these girls. so you stick with your own small group of... are you friends? just teammates? whatever it is, you're with them.

you watch one of the really kind players explode in fire when she tried to get help. a smaller group tries to get help and comes back with one of them half-eaten by wolves. the team captain has a breakup with her best friend (who you're kinda crushing on ngl) and fucking freezes to death outside. winter gets so intense and you're literally eating your own belts and finally resort to eating the team captain's corpse. the girl you're crushing on gives fucking birth in the middle of the wilderness and the baby is stillborn and she's screaming that he's alive and she heard him cry. on the same night, one of the girls you're "friends" with disappears into a blizzard and you never find her again.

there's this one girl who's kinda become everyone's cult leader. usually you'd be a little against worshipping the wilderness as an elder god BUT this girl also walked outside right before winter started and a bear came out and kneeled in front of her and she killed it and provided enough food to tide you over until the cannibalism so you know what, maybe she's got something going on. anyway your crush beats the fuck out of her and she's dying and you can't have that because she's the last shred of hope and meaning you all have, so you draw cards to decide who is going to be killed and eaten. the girl who gets picked runs and you join in the hunt to chase her. a child dies instead and you eat the child. the cabin burns down that night and the one adult you had left probably did it.

you spend the next months building your own fucking shelters in the wilderness and you finally get your crush to pay attention to you and yeah she pointed a knife at you but she also kissed you so that's a bonus. you still barely know her friends but that's okay, you're having a great time being gay in the wilderness because we all left homophobia behind like week two. the adult is tracked down and put on trial for trying to kill you. you vote to execute him but when it's decided to keep him prisoner your girlfriend prods you into slicing open his achilles tendon to cripple him. he eventually dies and you eat him. suddenly three random hikers come out and you think for a second you can go home but then the cult leader axe-murders one of them and another literally shoots you with a crossbow. your girlfriend abandons you and your friends spend all night trying to get the arrow out of your body, eventually pushing it through your body.

your girlfriend promises you she didn't mean to abandon you, really, and so you're okay, totally. they brought back two of the hikers and they're gonna take you home and you can finally have a bath and go to school and brush your teeth and eat french fries. but THEN. your girlfriend and the cult leader call off the rescue at the LAST MINUTE. when you try to talk to the scared hiker you're keeping prisoner your girlfriend stops being toxic and just becomes straight-up abusive and also nearly shoots you and makes you piss yourself in public. when you try to leave again she once again kills your last hope of escape.

you spend a winter again in the woods and all of your friends that are left die around you. all of them. you eat them. all of your friends. you are left alone with your abusive ex and all of her friends. you get rescued and all you have left, the only people who understand you are your abusive ex and all of her friends. they barely know your name. you didn't talk to any of them until the last winter. and you know they will kill you if you say anything. all you have is your abusive ex and her friends.

you fake your death solely to get away from your abusive ex and through a series of poor decisions end up play-acting at a normal life for the next decade and a half, pretending to be a normal person while you also have to look your crimes in the face every day. because you gay-married the daughter of the woman you murdered and had a child with her. and didn't tell her who you are. but that's okay because you've totally put it behind you

then, through another series of poor decisions, your abusive ex breaks into your house, accuses you of murdering the ex-cult leader and trying to kill her, attacks you with a knife, then bites off a chunk of your arm and forces you to eat it. you escape in a car but it runs out of gas and all her friends show up and kidnap you, drag you right back to where your abusive ex attacked you. abusive ex is still there and they talk about killing you, about how they've killed other people and covered it up, also they're pretty sure abusive ex was the one who killed the cult leader and not you, and at this point you either try to escape or try a murder-suicide. it's unclear. but you're all about to die from a gas leak and then one of the ex's friends is standing over you with a knife saying that if she kills you the wilderness will cure her cancer.

so you know what i think she was a little bit justified in stabbing her way out of the situation

[jessiso]

“So Vivid It Hurts A Little"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader

You and Spencer accidentally get locked in the library overnight, a shared love of literature turns into something far more intimate between the stacks.

cw: just fluff and books, idk maybe you hate books?

w/c 1,168

(The second most voted prompt !! I had fun writing this.. poetry and literature and sheeeet - and yet, i still don't proof read lol)

...

You weren’t supposed to be in the library that late.

But when the newest donation of first edition classics had arrived—Austen, Dostoevsky, Woolf—you'd slipped in “just for a peek.” And naturally, Spencer had followed.

He said it was because he didn’t want you staying alone after hours, but the truth shimmered in his eyes like the glint off gold-edged pages: he simply couldn’t resist the lure of a quiet evening among the stacks with you.

You hadn't meant to lose track of time. But one heated debate over which Brontë sister wrote better heroes, followed by a shared chocolate bar smuggled in your tote, and suddenly the overhead lights flickered off.

You froze mid-sentence. “Did the library just close?”

Spencer blinked, then glanced at his watch. “Oh. Yes. Exactly six minutes and forty-three seconds ago.”

Your eyes went wide. “Spencer!”

“I was… distracted,” he said sheepishly, lips twitching into a crooked smile. “You were making a strong case for Mr. Darcy as a feminist icon.”

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. “So, we’re locked in. Overnight?”

He pulled out his phone and held it up. “No signal either. This place is basically a Faraday cage built out of vintage Hemingway.”

“Fantastic. We're trapped in a fortress of books with no exit and no Wi-Fi.”

Spencer tilted his head, grinning. “Sounds like heaven.”

You shot him a mock glare, but you couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “Only you would consider this an ideal Friday night.”

“Don’t act like you’re not loving it,” he said, leading the way to the cozy reading nook by the tall windows. “You literally gasped when you saw the annotated copy of ‘The Waste Land.’”

“You say that like it wasn’t justified.”

“I didn’t say that. I found it oddly charming.”

You both settled into the cushions, books strewn around like petals.

The silence was soft—more like the quiet of turning pages than anything uncomfortable. Time seemed suspended between the towering shelves, wrapped in the scent of parchment and something that was unmistakably him.

You flipped open a leather-bound volume of Neruda poems. “Want me to read something depressing and beautiful aloud until we fall asleep and wake up to existential dread?”

Spencer leaned closer. “You’re really pulling out the literary foreplay tonight.”

You choked. “Excuse me?”

He smiled that disarming, boyish smile—the one that made your stomach do tragic Shakespearean monologues.

“I mean that affectionately. Poetry and emotional intensity? Very foreplay-adjacent.”

You were too stunned to speak, so you just stared at him over the spine of the book.

“Okay,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, “maybe that came out—”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, laughing. “Just didn’t expect you to flirt using Pablo Neruda.”

He shrugged. “I flirt in iambic pentameter sometimes too. Keeps things interesting.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed a cushion at him. He caught it with a grin.

An hour passed—maybe two. You lost track. Between soft readings and impromptu book quizzes (“Name five banned books in under ten seconds!”), the space between you narrowed until your legs brushed beneath the afghan you’d found in the “Staff Only” lounge.

You looked over at him, heart thudding in a way that had nothing to do with caffeine or excitement and everything to do with the way Spencer was watching you.

Like you were a mystery novel he wanted to annotate.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, “in the right lighting, you remind me of a Sylvia Plath line.”

Your breath caught. “Dark and brooding?”

He smiled. “No. Intense, impossible to ignore, and so vivid it hurts a little.”

You didn’t realize you were leaning in until your foreheads were nearly touching. The smell of old books, wool, and Spencer wrapped around you like a blanket.

“Do you think,” you whispered, “this is one of those ‘meet-cute turned long-term library love story’ tropes?”

He brushed a curl behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your cheek. “If it is, I’d like to check you out.”

You snorted. “That was terrible.”

“But effective?” he asked, eyes glinting.

You didn’t answer with words—just closed the last inch between you and kissed him, soft and slow, like the first page of a novel you never wanted to end.

The kind that doesn’t just sit on a shelf.

The kind you carry with you forever.

The kiss lingered like the last line of a beloved poem—soft, intentional, unforgettable.

When you finally pulled apart, Spencer didn’t say anything.He just looked at you the way he looked at a particularly complex cipher: fascinated, reverent, like he wanted to spend the rest of the night decoding every inch of you.

“You taste like dark chocolate and metaphors,” he murmured.

You laughed, cheeks warm. “That sounds like a compliment and a critique.”

“It’s a promise,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That I’ll never get tired of figuring you out.”

The words hit deeper than you expected.

You swallowed hard and looked down at the copy of Neruda still open in your lap.

Spencer followed your gaze, then gently took the book and closed it, setting it aside with a kind of devotion.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, but the truth sat heavy on your tongue. “I think I’ve wanted to kiss you since that day in the rare books vault. When you caught me reading Lolita and didn’t judge me for it.”

Spencer's lips twitched. “I was impressed. Most people are too intimidated by Nabokov to admit they’re intrigued.”

You nudged his knee. “I was terrified. You made it feel like it was okay to be curious.”

He reached for your hand, fingers brushing yours like punctuation at the end of a sentence. “You’ve always been curious. That’s what I love about you.”

You blinked. The “L” word hung in the air between you, so fragile and full of weight it almost didn’t feel real.

Spencer noticed too. “Sorry, that was—”

“No,” you said quickly, squeezing his hand. “I just… didn’t expect it. But I don’t mind hearing it.”

The air between you shifted again, softer now, more intimate than even the kiss.

Outside, the streetlamps painted pale gold stripes across the floor, and the library felt like it existed outside time—somewhere between fiction and memory.

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You know what we should do?”

“More kissing?” he offered hopefully.

You laughed. “Yes. But also—build a pillow fort out of the beanbags and read ‘Wuthering Heights’ to each other until we fall asleep.”

He smiled into your hair. “Only if I get to do Heathcliff’s lines in a dramatic British accent.”

“You better,” you said, tugging him up by the hand. “It’s not a proper library love story without a little melodrama.”

And just like that, you began constructing a castle out of cushions and stolen time, the two of you tucked away from the world, hearts louder than your voices, and literature the thread pulling you closer with every turn of the page.

[gothicfied]

nam-gyu x shy reader 🙏🙏🙏

Nam-gyu / Player 124 with a shy reader

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x shy!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, killing, blood (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

A/N: TIHIHIHI I love this man sm

જ⁀➴ You realized pretty quickly that being rather shy in this place would get you absolutely nowhere. It made you an easy target, but no one seemed to notice you at all at first. Everyone was too busy with their owm stuff, their selfishness showing itself in the first voting. You couldn't understand how anyone would press 'O' after witnessing people die right in front of them. Was money really worth more than human lives? What would make winning even enjoyable knowing innocent people were executed? It left a bad taste in your mouth.

જ⁀➴ However, there was one person who noticed you. Since the vote was already this close, Thanos and Nam-gyu were set on trying to win some other people over to their side. They were taunting and relentless in their ways, even after starting and losing a fight with Player 001. The latter of the two had taken notice of you immediately, thinking your shyness and crippling awkwardness awkwardness was adorable.

જ⁀➴ It was clear to him you had no direction, but thankfully he was there to help you. Even if you didn't hesitate to press 'X', to Nam-gyu you seemed almost too easy to convert. He thought by charming you or paying you enough attention to boost your ego a bit, you'd 'come to your senses' and vote to continue next time. In a way, he knew how fucked up it was, but did he care? No.

જ⁀➴ Nam-gyu also thought that it'd be better if he took this over. Someone like Thanos wouldn't know how to handle someone like you. So, he'd watch your every move. Sometimes you two would lock eyes, to which nodded at you, but you could only look away quickly. You weren't good with confrontation and you already saw what those two were capable of, so you didn't want to draw Nam-gyu's attention any more.

જ⁀➴ Did that work? Of course not. Even though this should've only been to their - actually, to his benefit - he couldn't help but find himself attracted to you. You seemed sweet, almost too innocent to be in this place. A thing you weren't, though, was incompetent — and he liked that about you.

જ⁀➴ To get you out of your shell and make you trust him more, he figured he just needed to save your life. Make you feel like you owed him something. And in this place, fabricating a situation like that was obviously not hard.

After hearing the rules for the next game you played, the mingle, worry was plastered on your face. Watching everyone make a plan with their team while you were kind of just standing there, too shy to ask to join, it made you lose hope. This was it. This would be your last game, most definitely even. Thankfully, you made it out somehow, which was thanks to Player 124, or Nam-gyu, as he introduced himself. He had taken your hand and dragged you with their group to one of the safe rooms during a round and made sure you were okay after. "Thank.. you so much." you said again when stepping out of the room to a bloody mess on the white floor. You were careful not to step into any of it. "What? No," Nam-gyu laughed it off, "we have to thank you. If you hadn't come with me, we'd all be dead now."

જ⁀➴ Now he had you exactly where he wanted you. Vulnerable, but still trusting enough to try to shift your opinion. And you actually did feel like you owed him something. Now Nam-gyu felt kind of bad despite his and Thanos' plan. The more he got to know you and the less shy you got around him, the more he liked you.

જ⁀➴ You were smart and honestly very pretty and you even got along with Thanos. It seemed to him that you tried to see the good in everyone here, even if they voted 'O'. You were so full of life, he didn't know anymore if he wanted you to change your vote.

જ⁀➴ At least he got to enjoy these moments with you now, hearing you laugh and seeing you smile made him forget about the prize money for a couple of minutes every time. Perhaps he should change his vote to have more time with you outside of the games.

[luigilore]

pediatric surgeon!lu headcanons

(a/n: hi so these have the reader already in an established relationship with him but i didnt specify readers job or anything! this is just something quick i wrote based on this post from yesterday because i cant stop thinking about Him...)

okay dr. mangione would be universally adored by people at the hospital; he goes out of his way to learn and remember people's names, he loves his patients, and he walks around the hospital with his obnoxious neon green luigi lanyard

did he get tired of the super mario thing after like age 12 yes but he very willingly indulges in it bc he knows and likes how excited a lot of the kids get

it's always a great icebreaker in his experience...

his office is also filled with drawing his patients and former patients made for him; christmas cards, thank you notes, so many mementos from patients and their families and ofc books and toys that kids can play with

they do start to overflow into your own home like there's drawing hanging on the fridge like you guys have your own kids already

has his obnoxiously green luigi lanyard that the kids love

has an abundance of stickers too

always bends down to their eye level, would be so patient and great at explaining things

practically crawls into bed after his after-work shower and brings his work home with him often because how can he not! sometimes there are... bad days... and he doesn't handle them well

he can't just compartmentalize and move on, he's an emotional person and really cares about his work

so he really leans on you in those moments and can definitely get a bit closed off

has an insane schedule like yes you wish you had guys had more time to spend together but you still wouldnt trade your relationship for anything <3

you massage him a lot when he comes home ... usually comes home after long shifts hurting :(

and he's always insisting you don't have to

"you're always taking care of everyone else," you'd say, running your fingers through his hair

the hospital is stressful and chaotic so your home is really a solace for him and you are too

but you love seeing how loved he is at the hospital

one time a nurse is there talking to you guys and is gushing about how amazing luigi is with the kids and asks how many you guys have, insisting, "you have to have kids to be this good with them"

and he just smiles and looks at you knowingly saying, "not yet," before talking all about how his nieces <3

would so theme his scrubs or little surgeons hat or accessories to the corresponding holidays

has the best tricks down pat on how to distract kids when they have to get poked with needles especially like has an entire catalog of silly voices he can whip out to make patients laugh

is so disciplined his daily routine continues to be insane to you and you do not participate, is getting up at like 4 am to go to the gym then the hospital shift for 12 hours with NO caffeine mind you he might be crazy

loves nature stuff like mountain biking too idk dr. mangione gives healthnut

has woken you up multiple times with the sound of the blender at 4 am for his pre workout shake like okay

he loves when you visit him for lunch at work is always walking you down to the hospital cafe

you also bring him little homemade lunches sometimes with sweet notes like yeah you are babying your surgeon boyfriend what about it!

is always telling you about how cute and sweet his patients are and it always makes your heart swell thinking about how great of a dad he's going to be

hospital heartthrob like everyone wants to know if dr. mangione is single! is actually voted hospital heartthrob officially on valentines day one year

but if you talk to him long enough it doesn't take long for him to mention 'my girlfriend/wife' offhandedly

like the rest of the doctors and nurses know you by name! and also when you come in lol everyone loves you guys together

some of his longer term patients even have heard your name lol

did you get jealous at a hospital holiday party once bc one of his co-workers got a bit tipsy and flirted with him... maybe... does it matter that she was married and like 25 years older... no

gives the best hugs ever

is subscribed to different tech and med magazines and newsletters excitedly explaining to you the advancements in ai catheter scoping and ur like <3 wow awesome <3

he's like the perfect man

okay nsfw time: sometimes (a lot of times?) comes home horny

just needs to hold you close and fuck you head buried into your neck, breathing against your skin, smelling like your expensive bodywash but it's fine <3

really likes shower sex because he can multitask and it's time efficient (and it's sexy ofc)

sometimes if he's on call or something you send naughty pics <3 just to cheer him up and get him through the day/night

you think he looks hot as fuck in his scrubs and he gets embarrassed by it sometimes like he doesn't get the appeal but not so secretly likes your attention hehe

[football-and-fanfics]

Restless - Jude Bellingham

Who: Jude Bellingham Prompt: Restless sleeping Requested by: as voted for by you! Warnings: slight mentions of nightmare

A/N: this is my first time writing for Jude, so hope you'll like it ;-)

You rarely woke up in the middle of the night, and on the very few occasions that you did, there always was something going on. So when you suddenly found yourself wide awake at 2.30 am, you immediately looked around for anything out of the ordinary.

It was a quiet autumn night. Nothing outside or in the house made a sound which would explain you waking up. You were just about to write it off as an anomaly, when suddenly Jude made a sound beside you.

"Don't..." A soft groan rolled off his lips. He lay on his back, fitfully rolling his head and shortly trampling his legs under the blankets.

You instantly knew that his restless sleeping was what had woken you up. Given the state of the blankets wrapped around him, and in some places not covering him at all anymore, he must have been uneasy for a while already.

Another whimpered groan rose up from him, as his fist clenched around the sheets. "Babe." You gently placed a flat hand on his bare chest, very carefully giving him a soft shake to wake him up. Jude immediately startled awake with a sharp intake of breath. He looked around a little confused, before his eyes locked on your face.

"What's wrong?" Jude propped himself up on his elbows, an urgent undertone to his voice. "Are you okay?" "Don't worry, I'm fine." You softly caressed his chest to ease him. "You were restless, tossing and turning."

He frowned at the faint memory of his own unpleasant dreams of just now. "Just..." Jude slowly shook his head. "Dreams..." "Not the kind of dreams you'd want to have from the looks of it," you spoke softly. Jude slowly lay back down, staring up at the dark ceiling. "Not really, no."

"Close your eyes." You reached for his hand and lovingly took it in yours. "Let's get some happier thoughts into that head of yours." "What are you doing?" Jude sounded unsure, but still did what you asked. "You'll see." You smiled softly. "I want to try something."

You slowly ran your fingertips over his hand and forearm, just lightly enough for him to feel. "Just focus on me. Feel my touch on your skin." The tension in Jude's body almost immediately disappeared as all his attention switched to you and no longer on the remnants of his dreams.

"Savour this feeling." Your voice was only a soft whisper now. "Replace those dark thoughts for something beautiful. Maybe that hattrick you scored last week." "Or the first time we met," Jude smirked, not opening his eyes. "Or that," you chuckled softly, "just let that happy memory swirl around your mind." "Gladly." Jude took a deep breath, lying on his back with his eyes closed and only focusing on the memory of your first date.

For several minutes you lay with Jude like that, caressing his skin and speaking softly to him. Finally, you noticed the slowing of his breaths and how the tension of his muscles fully left. You waited a few more minutes, but you could only reach one conclusion: Jude had fallen back to sleep. A peaceful sleep this time.

You pulled the blankets up a little higher over the both of you, before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Sweet dreams, babe."

Tags: @stonesyyyy, @footballffbarbiex, @football1921, @laurasstufff1, @ella33, @hbstre

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[dominiquelucalover]

"Friendly" Competition

Blurb for @nervousmagazinefestival

Summary: Luca and his gf have a competition over who can cook the best pancakes so they have a blind taste test at HQ 😂 (<- actual req)

A/N: I hope this okay. It was super cute and I enjoyed writing it.

It started with a harmless comment about who was the better cook, yourself or Luca, and from there it snowballed. Beginning in your kitchen quickly spread to HQ as you and Luca wanted to see how the team would respond to such a question. The catch being that they wouldn't know who made which stack of pancakes. So, both woke up earlier than usual, hit the store on the way to work, and went straight to the kitchen to get started.

By the time the team arrived, they smelled the sweetness of freshly made pancakes with a few extra sides to satisfy everyone there. They'd gotten a text in the group chat to not eat breakfast because they'd be treated to something special when they got to HQ. No one was disappointed to hear that, except to Rocker who when asked if he could have some, that it was 20 David only,

Everything was almost ready when everyone rolled in, so Luca ushered them out while trying not to burn a pan of soft, fluffy pancakes. Street whined about how hungry he was before the door shut and leaned against the wall with a pout. It wasn't long before they were let back inside and saw the table filled with a fruit bowl, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, orange juice, and of course two domes covering the ready to eat pancakes. You and Luca had gone a little overboard with the whole thing, but you figured it you'd asked them to wait, you had to make up for it.

"All we ask is that you try both types of pancakes and tell us which one you like best," you explain.

Deacon raised an eyebrow as he filled his plate. "This is about pancakes?"

"Yeah, man," Luca said, grinning softly. "She said she made a better pancake than me, so I had to show her how it's done. All in good fun, of course."

You laughed beside him and patted his arm. "We'll see about that, love."

Street was shoving food in his mouth like a monster and Chris was looking at him disgusted as she tried to enjoy her meal. Then she looked at you and said, "I don't know how reliable Street's answer is going to be. I'm not sure he can distinguish anything flavor from the way he's about to choke on his food."

He gave her a sharp look but immediately dropped it when you slapped him on the back. "Calm down there, Streeter, we've got more than enough for you."

"Hey," he said with his mouthful, swallowing before speaking again. "You're the one that asked us to not eat this morning."

"They also got here early to make us this meal, so why don't you say thank you and eat," Hondo said, making everyone laugh.

By the end, everyone had their answer to the question you'd posed. All the pancakes were gone, leaving behind the empty plates they'd once been stacked upon. To cast their vote, everyone put their fork on the plate of the pancake they'd enjoyed the best.

"I gotta give it to the cinnamon," Tan commented as he dropped his fork with a loud clang.

Chris followed after him. "Me too, the vanilla was a nice touch."

"Did we eat the same pancakes? Because the chocolate chip was amazing," Deacon said, satisfied. He looked to you and Luca. "I'll need that recipe for the kids, they'll love it for sure."

Hondo grinned and put his fork on the chocolate chip plate.

Then all eyes turned to Street, who was wiping his mouth of syrup. He looked up and shook his head. He looked at the couple standing at the end of the table, waiting for his verdict. "It has to be up to me? Really?"

"That's usually how ties work," you told him, smiling. "Don't choose wrongly."

He sighed and thought for a moment, then held up his fork to drop. "The best pancake was-"

But before he could finish his sentence, the door opened and Hicks was calling them to duty. An active shooter was terrorizing a neighborhood and he needed his best team out there yesterday. Everybody got up, throwing down napkins and quickly heading to the locker room to gear up, the little competition forgotten about for the time being.

Maybe they'd come back to it later...