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spencerreidenjoyer · 10 months ago

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we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve.

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it.

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly.

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar.

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you.

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp.

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room.

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you.

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end.

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do.

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect.

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch.

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock.

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy.

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person.

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit.

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point.

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend.

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off.

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him.

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big.

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion.

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him.

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them.

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his.

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you.

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer.

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is.

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot.

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought.

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you.

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart.

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?”

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one.

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum.

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his.

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame.

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out.

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers.

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say.

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.”

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender.

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling.

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take.

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencerreidenjoyer writes

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marstons-angel · 1 year ago

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i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#zero.writes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #red dead redemption x reader #this is so lovesick and silly i feel so miserable #I AM A JOHN GIRL. BUT. well that deadbeat father and bastard isnt gonna write you love letters like arthur im afraid #outlaws love letters

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felassan · 8 months ago

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David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

#dragon age #bioware #video games #morrigan #queen of my heart #long post #longpost #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4

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forzarma · 8 months ago

Text

Between the lines

Lando Norris x Law student!reader

A/N: ok amma just act like i didn’t ghost this app for months and came out if nowhere but here we are ig. Also the Brazilian gp??? What the heck like wild race istg😭

It all started one night in Monaco, on a break from law school. You were on vacation with a friend, celebrating the rare freedom that came with a brief pause in your intense study schedule. A night at the casino was not usually your scene, but your friend had insisted.

After about an hour, she’d struck up a flirtatious conversation with some guy who’d been lingering by the bar. You waved her off, telling her you’d be fine, and took a seat on your own near a roulette table.

That’s when he walked up. Unassuming at first, with that messy hair and a slightly cocky smile that had “trouble” written all over it.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, a hint of an accent in his voice.

You shrugged, amused. “Go for it. But I’m not particularly good at this.”

He chuckled. “Neither am I.”

You exchanged a few more jokes, but it didn’t take long for him to introduce himself, giving you his number in a smooth, unhurried way.

“Lando,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You stashed the number away without much thought. It was only the next day, when you mentioned the encounter to your little sister over FaceTime, that you realized who he actually was.

“Some guy named Lando gave me his number at the casino,” you’d said offhandedly. Her jaw dropped.

“Wait, Lando who??.”

You blinked, stunned, and then laughed. “I don’t know, apparently he’s famous”

“so it’s lando fucking norris what” she said wide eyed

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Only my sister would be this oblivious to F1 drivers. I’ve been a die-hard fan since I was, like, ten, and you meet one without even knowing?”

From there, you let yourself get to know him, intrigued by how normal he seemed compared to the hype you’d suddenly realized surrounded him. When he asked you out, you thought, why not? You were used to focusing on your studies and keeping your personal life private, so it didn’t seem like much would change. But with Lando, everything was different.

Months later, you’d fallen into an unexpected but steady rhythm with Lando. Despite his career, he managed to keep things low-key. Neither of you posted much about each other. Hell, you barely posted anything at all. You were still a law student with a private life, and the last thing you wanted was for the whole world to know who you were dating.

One evening, you were lying on his couch, scrolling through your phone, when Lando turned to you with a sly grin.

“Babe, you know… you’re eventually gonna get caught, right? Someone’s going to snap a picture of us, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” he teased, nudging your leg with his.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Oh, sure, because every random person with a camera is just dying to know who you’re dating.”

He snickered, leaning in closer. “Maybe. But you know, it could be kinda nice… to go out sometimes. Like, properly. We don’t have to make a big deal of it.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. As much as you loved being with him, the idea of being recognized—or worse, photographed—made you cringe. Your accounts were private, your life simple, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about people seeing you with him.

But, at the same time, you knew it wasn’t fair to keep him hidden away forever. So, you took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. “What if we make a deal?”

His eyebrows shot up in interest. “I’m listening.”

“You can have me at the paddock,” you said, already dreading the idea. “But my accounts stay private, no tags, no ‘girlfriend reveals’ on Instagram. I’ll show up, I’ll be there for you but I’m not trying to become some celebrity.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Deal. Although I can’t promise you won’t end up in a couple of team photos. You know how they love to catch every damn moment.”

You chuckled, trying not to think too hard about what you were signing up for.

A couple of weeks later, you were lying in bed with Lando, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, when you felt a pang of guilt.

“I never actually told you about my sister,” you said suddenly.

“Oh?” He looked over at you with interest.

“Yeah, she’s been obsessed with F1 since she was like, ten,” you explained, laughing softly. “She’s begged me to take her to a race for years, but I was always too busy with school. Now she’s a full-on Ferrari fan… and she’s probably never going to forgive me for dating you.”

He grinned, intrigued. “A Ferrari fan, huh? That’s rough. Maybe I can convince her to switch sides.”

You snorted. “Good luck. She’s already sworn allegiance to Sebastian Vettel. In her words, McLaren’s colors are ‘an offense to her soul.’”

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Well, in that case, we’ll have to win her over somehow. Why don’t we bring her to a race? I’ll make sure she gets the best seats, full experience,

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She’d lose her mind. Seriously. Are you sure? Because I can tell you right now, she’d never root for McLaren.

“Absolutely,” he said, squeezing your hand. “If she’s as big a fan as you say, she deserves a proper race weekend. Plus, I think it’s time we officially break her ‘Ferrari-only’ heart.”

On race day, you and Lando arrived at the paddock, and immediately, heads turned. You’d chosen a classic, chic outfit and despite your initial nerves, you managed to keep your cool.

You spotted your sister down the row, and her jaw dropped as soon as she saw you. She approached, barely able to contain her excitement, though she shot a mock glare at Lando.

“Such a shame I don’t like McLaren,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “You just wait. One lap, and you’ll be a fan.”

She rolled her eyes, but you could tell she was thrilled, practically bouncing on her heels as she looked around at the spectacle. She turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re really here… at a race. I don’t know whether to thank you or disown you.”

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “I’m still not a fan, if that helps.”

She huffed, pretending to be offended. “I guess I’ll forgive you. But only if you bring me every single time from now on.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cameras, fans, and the hum of engines. You couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that came with being part of the chaos, even if it meant being in the public eye. And when you saw your sister’s face, completely lit up as she took in every second, it felt worth it.

The relationship slowly became public, just as you and Lando had agreed. You kept your accounts locked down, but fans began to recognize you, and a few photos of you two at the paddock circulated on social media.

Your sister stayed true to her Ferrari fandom, texting you regularly to tease you about your “betrayal.” But every now and then, you’d catch her slipping in a comment about McLaren usually something along the lines of, “Okay, that car looks pretty badass.”

One evening, Lando turned to you with a satisfied grin. “I think we’re doing alright, don’t you think?”

You looked around the Monaco apartment you’d somehow started calling “home” without even realizing it, at the life you’d built together. You leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

In the end, you realized you didn’t need to post, announce, or shout your relationship from the rooftops. Being there for each other was enough, even if it meant sharing some of the spotlight.

After all, Lando may have been the one the world wanted to see, but you were his, and that was more than enough.

#Lando Norris x reader #Lando Norris smut #Lando Norris fanfic #ln4 #ln4 x you #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris x female reader #land norrix x oc #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formual one x reader #formual one

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written-in-flowers · 1 month ago

Text

Secrets and Desires: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, enemies to lovers,

Word Count: 5k

Summary: When the world's worst person discovers your secret, you have two options: give into your hidden desires or risk utter embarrassment and shame.

Tags: dub-con, consensual non-consensual (shifts from dub con), blackmail, force relationship, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, forbidden romance (sort of?), public sex, outdoor sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, nipple play, spanking, spitting, name calling, hair pulling, doggystyle, dom!rafe, sub!reader, sex worker!reader,

Part 2 >

****

“You’re sure you don’t want one of us to go with you?”

“Yeah, you’d be walking into enemy territory, YN.”

Pope and JJ stared at you with concern, both of them carrying plastic grocery bags in their hands. You walked alongside them with a small case of beer in one hand and another bag in the other. You should have expected their natural chivalry to come into play.

“I’ll be fine, guys,” you insisted with a soft laugh. “Really, it’s not like I’m walking through the club. It’s the golf course. It’s all old people who aren’t concerned with what I’m doing there.”

“That’s not always true,” said Pope. “That place is crawling with Kooks, and they look for any excuse to mess with us.”

He wasn’t wrong. The thought did cross your mind when you initially agreed to help deliver goods across the island. Pope’s father, Heyward, obtained things from the mainland and sold them to people. He usually employed the help of his son’s friends to get things out to the customers. This time, you offered your own help. Just because you’re a girl didn’t mean you couldn’t handle a bit of manual work. The case weighed close to nothing, and the bag felt light. While JJ and Pope got places closer to where you all lived, you’d been given The Island Club on the other side of the island in the Figure Eight neighborhood.

You didn’t particularly care for the elite families of the island. All of them were arrogant, spoiled, entitled brats who had more money than they knew what to do with. They looked down on working class people like you and your family. While your mother cleaned houses and your father slaved away on a fishing boat, they sat in their fancy waterfront homes without a care in the world. It stirred up a resentment that neither side backed down from. Fights often broke out between them. It only took a few rude words, and suddenly fists went flying. You’d argue Kooks often went after Pogues, since most of your kind didn’t bother with them. They’re too busy grinding to care what a bunch of losers in loafers and polo shirts thought of them.

“Look,” you stopped to look at them once you reached the street, “I promise you guys I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I can take care of myself pretty well, I think. Besides, I need money so I kind of don’t have a choice right now.”

“Haven’t you been doing housekeeping with your mom though?” asked JJ. “You said you were making a killing off of it.”

You hesitated for a moment. You’d forgotten you’d told the gang you’d started cleaning houses with your mom when they noticed the cash in your wallet. A voice in your head told you that telling them how you really got it was a bad idea. The boys would tease you and Kie would be disappointed that you’d stooped to ‘selling’ yourself. You had the argument prepared in your head: you aren’t physically giving anyone anything; you only take pictures or videos for horny lonely men. Modesty aside, men did flirt with you and if life gives you lemons, you make them pay to see you naked.

“Yeah, but most of that goes to our house and bills,” you said. “I want some spending money of my own.”

“At the risk of, you know, having to deal with Kooks?” asked JJ.

“Yeah, and remember Rafe.”

The name alone gave you pause. Immediately, a picture of a young man with dirty blond hair and a sly grin came to mind. The Kook Prince took up space in your head in a way no other guy did, and you hated it.

“Rafe’s not a problem,” you said quietly, forcing out memories of every interaction from your head.

“Um, he is? The dude sticks to you like fly paper whenever he sees you,” JJ continued. “He’s always…like, all over you and flirting with you. Sure, you’re usually with us so like he doesn’t try anything but what if he catches you on your own? He’s bigger and stronger than you.”

You could hear the insinuation between the lines. Guilt and shame kept you from muttering, ‘Oh, if only somebody would’.

“I can take care of myself, you guys,” you said instead.

“We know you can, YN,” JJ said worriedly, “But Rafe’s different. The dude’s a fucking psychopath. He isn’t going to care that you’re a girl.” He then made a final decision when you got to your car. “I should go with you. You know, protect you.”

“You have your own deliveries to make, JJ,” you said softly. Something deeper than friendly concern lingered in JJ’s bright eyes. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Be careful,” he warned.

“Will do!”

While you found their concern endearing, you didn’t see the real problem. Sure, Kooks liked to give Pogues a hard time whenever they shared a space, but nothing particularly bad ever happened to you. The worst you’d gotten was rude comments or cat-calls from boys, which you dodged and handled perfectly fine. You weren’t scared of a bunch of rich kids in bermuda shorts and boat shoes. Starting your old, beat up car, you drove towards the Island Club. Mrs. Norton requested the food be taken to the club’s kitchen, and she’d have somebody pick it up from there. God forbid she interact with a Pogue. It worked out for you since Linda and Susan might sneak you a plate when you show up, and you wouldn’t have to deal with Mrs. Norton’s annoying yapper of a dog. The possibility of running into any Kooks you knew was low, and that worked out for you just fine.

‘But Rafe’s different. The dude’s a fucking psychopath. He isn’t going to care that you’re a girl.’

JJ’s words of caution came back to you during your drive. Like a fly around spilled soda, Rafe Cameron constantly hovers over you until shooed away. This left you rattled at times. Rafe never actually touched or did anything inappropriate to you. He never threatened to hurt you or even said anything particularly nasty. But, he didn’t have to do that to annoy you. Him being a Kook and you being a Pogue, you’d think he’d have no interest in you outside of the usual bullying. At first, you believed his shameless flirting as a joke to get under your skin. A guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly really be interested in you. Yet, certain times made you think otherwise.

‘Go out with me, YN. I’d treat you like a princess.’

‘Ditch those Pogue losers and hang with me. I got some good shit you could try.’

It struck you as odd when this happened. He’d sound so sincere. You’d notice a certain light come over his eyes when he spoke to you. Like JJ said, he gravitated towards you when you came into contact. You caught the sense that once he saw you, nothing else mattered. Suddenly, you became his entire world and he only wanted to be around you. Oftentimes, John B, Pope or JJ told him off for talking to you. When you thought about it, there wasn’t much harm in simple conversation. You bet plenty of Kook girls would love his attention. Every time, you deny your interest and make an off-hand comment about him. But, every once in a while, the guy weaseled his way through and lived there rent free.

Because, Kook and Pogue rivalry aside, Rafe was good looking. You never admitted this to a soul, not even Kie. To say it out loud was to admit that you desired somebody you should hate. Rafe tormented your friends constantly. He bullied them and beat them at times. He’s a psycho who hurts people to make himself feel more powerful. You should not want him or even think about him. But, he snuck into your head whenever you made content. Him and his strong arms and large hands came to you while you squirmed and wiggled around on your bed. The fantasy brought you to the hardest of climaxes, then doused you in ultimate guilt.

‘He’s a creepy jerk,’ you heard Kie, another friend, say in your head. ‘Do you see how he looks at you? It’s weird.’

Yes, you did know how he looked at you. Sometimes, he stared with fondness and longing in his eyes, and other times with pure lust. Both left you shaken and aroused at the same time. Did you sometimes wonder what it's like to be a Kook and have financial security? Yes. Was Rafe Cameron sometimes in those daydreams? Also yes. It intrigued and sickened you, like watching a car wreck or seeing a particularly violent scene on television. You could not stop thinking about it regardless of how you felt. But, you knew better. You came from different worlds, and truly, he lusted after you, not loved you.

How would you feel if he did, though?

Driving in through to the Figure Eight, your phone buzzed in the cup holder. Taking a quick moment to look, you smiled at the notification.

‘24 new comments, 23 tippers, 17 new subscribers!’

Curiosity got the better of you while you waited at the light. Honestly, when you first created your OnlyFans account you didn’t think you’d make much money off of it. You’d seen people much better looking than you flounder in numbers, but you’d learned that had to do with mid-level content and poor promotion. After much trial and error, figuring out your niche and what worked, you started doing surprisingly well. Not only on OnlyFans, but on your other secret socials. While you did used to worry somebody might figure out it’s you, you learned with heavy makeup techniques, wigs, and angles, you could hide your identity pretty well. The money and comments came pouring in right after that.

‘You look so pretty all tied up!’

‘Let me ruin you, baby.’

‘I have a gun I could stick up that slutty cunt.’

Every picture and video further cemented the idea that this must stay a secret. It’s one thing to merely be taking suggestive photos. It was another to make videos choking on large dildos until you cried or photos of you naked with dirty words written on your body. What you’re into might shock people, and you cringe with embarrassment when you think about their reactions.

You pushed it from your mind as you continued your way to the country club. You thought about ideas for your next spicy bundle when you started walking through the golf course. A long expanse of hills and sand dunes, the Kooks could rest and relax while hitting small white balls into holes. You didn’t see many people, and those you did see were too far away. Good. You didn’t want any of them invading your creative process.

‘Maybe I should do something with a gun,’ you thought as you trekked down a long sandy path alongside the course. ‘But where would I get a fake one? Costume store? Perhaps a knife is better?’

“Hey, can I have one of those?”

Of course fate put him in your way today. Absent his usual gang of friends, your guard went even higher when you saw Rafe. Perhaps you should have let Pope or JJ walk you after all.

“No,” you said, trying to hide your shaky voice. It was uncommon to find Rafe alone. The Kook Prince was rarely ever without his lackeys. However, you saw him golfing solo. “These aren’t for sale.” You tried moving past him, though in vain.

“Not even one?” He said, getting in your path. “You have so many, and I’m parched.”

“They’re not mine,” you replied, glancing around for signs of another person. Nobody. The closest person was too far away and engrossed in his golf game. “Somebody’s already paid for these. The club is right over there. I’m sure they’ve got plenty for you to drink.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he blocked you with his golf club. Long and thin, you didn’t want to think about what he’d do to you with it. “Can’t you just give me one? It’s not like they’d notice.”

“I’m sorry, but no. Can you please-”

“-What’s a cute thing like you doing making deliveries anyways?” he cut you off, getting closer.

“Pope is my friend and Heyward pays me,” you answered, stomach churning. Surely, he’s here with somebody. Kooks travel in packs like wolves. “I need the money.”

He scoffed, eyes scanning over your tanktop and jean shorts. You saw the lust building in the pale blues, stripping you down to nothing. “I know a few ways you can make some extra cash, sweetheart,” he said as he lifted your chin with the club, voice low and sensual. “I’d be a regular for sure.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hissed, pushing his golf club away and starting to walk off.

“You know,” he came up beside you, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you, “If you were my girl, you wouldn’t have to make deliveries. I’d take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of. I’m not a baby,” you retorted. “Besides, you’re a Kook and I’m a Pogue.”

“Okay, and? I’d make an exception for you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Come on now,” he moved in step with you, getting closer than he should, “Just imagine it: you and me.”

You wouldn’t. You shouldn’t.

“I’d buy you nice things-” he began casually.

“-I don’t need nice things-” you forced yourself to say.

“-We’d go out to fancy places-”

“-I hate fancy places-” Not entirely true.

“-We’d go on vacations together like to Aspen or Nassau-”

“-No thanks-” a vacation did sound lovely after working so much.

“-And I’d spoil you because my girl only gets the best,” he finalized. He stepped in your way again, staring at you almost lovingly. “Not to mention, I’d fuck every coherent thought out of your head whenever you wanted.”

This statement struck something in you that you buried deep down. “You just have to make it lewd, don’t you?”

“I can’t help it when I’m looking at you,” he winked with a laugh.

“You’re so…” you shook your head, laughing softly in disbelief. Walking ahead of him, you said, “Why don’t you go back to playing golf or whatever spoiled rich boys like you do and leave me alone?”

You let out a sudden yelp when something hooked your shorts and dragged you back. Beer case and bag falling into the sand, you stumbled back and hit his hard chest. Golf club trapping you by the waist, he held your jaw with his gloved hand. All breath left your body, and you tried getting it back in quick breaths through a tight windpipe. You pushed against the club pressing into your stomach, but he was so much stronger than you. Like you always imagined in your dark fantasies.

“I wouldn’t make you do anything you haven’t done before,” he said in your ear, a caress in his voice as he spoke. “You fuck those Pogues in The Cut. Why won’t you fuck me, hm? You think you’re too good for me?”

“Let me go,” you whimpered, struggling against him.

“No,” he grunted, “Not this time. You’re gonna pay for being a fucking cocktease.”

He clapped his hand over your mouth before you could scream. Your body flushed in a cold sweat as he dragged you into the dense shrubbery near the path. Heart hammering in your chest, you prayed for salvation but ached with anticipation. A cocktail of arousal and fear stirred as his body pinned you to one of the thicker trees. In the dark shade of the small woods, you wouldn’t be seen from the empty pathway a few yards away. Rafe discarded his golf club, confident that you wouldn’t escape him, and grinded his hips to your ass. The dark desire lingered in your lower gut, snaking its way to the center. You felt his lips press to your shoulder, kissing from the curve to your neck.

“Rafe,” you wriggled in his hold, fingers gripping the bark of the tree and sandals sliding in the dirt under you, “Stop it. Please.”

“No. Not when you got me this worked up,” he groaned, hands going under your top. The contrast between the two hands tempted that desire more. The ungloved hand felt smooth, while the glove lightly scratched across your side. “You look so sweet and cute all the time. I can’t help it.” You cried out when the two hands caught hold of your breasts, making you struggle. “I can’t control myself when I see you.”

That tense pressure you knew well started building once his hands fully cupped you. The thin cotton bra did nothing to hold back your stiffening nipples, or shield them from Rafe’s thumbs. You clenched your jaw to fight it off. You can’t allow this to happen. You can’t give into him so easily. Lord knows what he’ll say when he’s finished. He’d go and tell all his friends you’d given it up to him without a fight. He’ll tell them you threw yourself at him, portraying himself like the self-proclaimed king he is. But, his hands continued stroking your arousal, the sensation purring like a spoiled housecat. He knew exactly where to touch to disarm you. You swore he knew your body better than you did. Your tanktop lifted over your tits, Rafe tugged down your bra beneath them and groaned softly in your neck. The supple flesh filled both his hands, molding to their grips and squeezes like dough. The different hands worked together to entice the desire lurking within you more. It brought shivers down to your core, making you writhe against him. You couldn’t stop yourself from memorizing his touch. His rough thumbs constantly rolled your nipples and the palms that cupped them so nicely. You wondered what his mouth felt like on them. You’d do anything to feel it.

“So much better than I imagined,” he moaned in your ear, digging his erection against your ass. Big. You could tell from the length sticking between your cheeks.You forced yourself to not grind back into it. “If only we had more time,” he kept one arm across your chest while the other went further down, “Then I can play with them longer.”

“No, no, no,” you cried, trying to escape him despite the growing need. “Rafe, let me go.”

“But we’re having such a good time, baby,” he said, “We can’t stop now.”

You clenched your thighs to keep his hand out, though there was no need. He went for the button and zipper first. You shook your head and tried pushing his hands away as they worked on the button. Fingers hooking around the palm, you forced it off you though this hardly worked. His strength worked against yours easily, hands managing to overcome your own. Images of what he had planned lined up with videos you watched at night. Helpless girls with duct tape on their mouths and wrists crying as a masked man uses their body how he pleases. Girls weeping and pleading before a hard cock is forced down their throat. Every time you wished it was you being treated that way. You mirrored a lot of them in your own content, knowing how much your subscribers liked it. You told each one you pictured them doing it to you, but you really only saw Rafe.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting me this much,” he said, easily undoing the button and ripping down the zipper. “Isn’t this what you like? Isn’t this what turns you on?” He pushed the side of your face into the tree, holding you by the neck as he yanked down the waistband of your shorts to your thighs, “Or should I have brought duct tape and thrown you in the back of my truck instead?” He laughed when you stopped moving. “You really thought nobody would ever know, huh?” He hungrily kissed up your neck to your ear, “You shouldn’t wear your normal clothes in your videos. Somebody might recognize them and realize it’s you, and then where would you be?”

No way. No. Fucking. Way. Dread kept you frozen in place, the fear taking you out of the moment right away. How had he known? You studied his words and realized what he meant. Your Hello Kitty shirt. A magenta sleeveless t-shirt that hung from your shoulders, you’d worn it the other day to a party at The Boneyard. Rafe had been there. He’d seen it. He’d even commented on it, telling you how it’d look better on his bedroom floor. Was that when he made the connection or was it later on? He knew this secret that your friends did not. He’d hold it over your head now.

“What? You didn’t think your little double life would stay a secret forever, did you?” he asked in your ear, hand running down your back to your ass. “I’m there surfing the CNC tag on Twitter, right? Just minding my business, my dick in my hand, and wanting to see a sweet girl get wrecked by a total stranger,” he gave one cheek a smack, sending ripples through you, “When I see this one video from a profile I didn’t know. No face, but she was on her knees, only wearing that cute shirt while riding a big dildo.” His gloved hand started pinching your nipples again while the other groped your backside. “She was crying and saying it was too big. She said cute things like ‘stop it hurts’ and ‘don’t make me keep going’. She kept looking off camera as if somebody behind it was making her do it. I don’t think I came so much before.”

You knew what video he was talking about: a teaser for a story video you’d filmed. In it, you pretended as if someone behind the camera was making you film the video. It’d gotten tons of views and pleas for similar videos.

“After I came so hard I couldn’t see straight for a second, I realized I knew that girl,” he pulled your panties aside to reveal your wet sex. “I recognized the shirt. I knew the voice even though she tried disguising it by talking in a higher pitch. It was you.” He kissed the space beneath your ear, thumb rubbing your nipple, “My YN. I then found out that you had an OF and Pornhub account where you posted more stuff like that. It’s almost embarrassing how much I spent on your content.”

Rafe held you by your hair, ponytail wrapped around his hand as he forced you to arch your back. You tried shimmying away when his hand cupped your sex, fingers rubbing the pooled wetness there. The thought of Rafe spending his daddy’s money on you did give you a stroke of pride. You bit down on your lip when he slid two fingers between the lips, caressing the button hidden inside.

“I know I got the biggest hard on when I realized it was you,” he said as he stroked your throbbing clit. You heard him spit to make you even wetter. “Sweet, innocent YN whose so soft spoken and dainty,” he smirked when his rapid touches made you shift against the tree, “Taking pictures of herself doing the naughtiest things imaginable. I never would have guessed that of you.”

“Rafe, just stop. You don’t have to do this,” you wept, moving around on his hand and moaning softly.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned in satisfaction, “Say that again. Beg me to stop. Tell me it hurts and you want me to stop.” He shoved a finger deep inside, pressing right up into you and you tightly gripped the tree. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please,” you said, adding a whimper for the extra effect. “Rafe, stop,” you made a futile attempt to push his hand away which made him chuckle. “Take it out. I won’t tell anybody, please, stop.”

You forced yourself not to focus on how his finger massaged your walls in each push or how he reached right up inside you. Plenty of guys did this before. It didn’t make him special in any particular way. But, as his gloved hand groped your breast and his other hand sunk a second finger inside, you swore it became mind bending. He didn’t move with the delicate, gentle touches of other guys. They always treated you like a porcelain doll, handling you gently and treating you nicely. They listened to what you wanted, which you guess you liked sometimes. Unlike them, Rafe didn’t seem to care much for tenderness. His finger went fast and deep, palm slapping your ass in each move. The entire experience pulled you out of reality. You always imagined it, but didn’t think you’d ever do it or it’d happen to you.

“I think someone is about to cum for me,” he groaned in your ear, tweaking your nipple and fingering you faster. “Are you about to cum, baby? Hm?”

“No-No,” you said, eyes closed as your orgasm approached.

“You’re right, you’re not,” he said, “Because you’re cumming on my dick first.”

“No! No, Rafe, please!” you gave a panicked voice that you knew aroused him more.

“Shut up,” he smacked your ass hard, earning another cry, “You’re getting this either way, so you just stay put and take it.”

You let out a pitiful whine when he removed his fingers. A sudden emptiness came before something thick pressed to your pussy. Rafe rubbed and tapped himself on your clit, the tip lightly kissing the nub each time he slid over it. You hated how wet he’d made you with almost no effort. You hated knowing he’d likely hang this over your head whenever you met. Logic told you to scream out for help or force him to stop somehow. Yet, the heat flaring in your cheeks and radiating between your thighs argued against that. It yearned to have him fully inside. You’d wanted this for longer than you’d care to admit. It’s why you stayed still when he fully sheathed himself in your cunt.

“That’s it,” he said, keeping you against the tree as he continued the pace of his hand. “That’s it, slut. Take all of it. Take every fucking inch of me.”

“Raf-Rafe,” you wept, embarrassment mixing with your desires, “Please…”

“‘Please’ what? ‘Please fuck me like the slut I am, Rafe’? Is that what you wanted to say? Hm?” he asked, giving your ass a harsh slap. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna do that. I’m gonna fuck you like this all the time.” He held you by your hair, his fingers keeping a good grip on you, “Because this is mine now, you understand?” He spanked your ass again, the sound loud and the sting sharp. “Your holes are mine to fuck whenever I want. You could have made this easy and just been my girl; let me take you out, treat you nicely, be a good boyfriend to you, and all that but no. You didn’t want that. You wanted to be treated like the slutty Pogue you are, so that’s what you’re getting.”

His shaft stretching you out, the length filling you completely drove you crazy with need. You thought your entire body might have been electrified with how his tip brought constant pangs of pleasure. The hand in your hair moved back to your throat, fingers grasping each side as he cut off a bit of air. Soon enough, the only sounds either of you heard were his hips slapping against your ass and your restrained moans. The head of his cock kept pushing right to your g-spot, as if it knew where it was the entire time. Each time they met, you felt yourself getting closer to your climax. Your eyes kept casting over to a breakage in the foliage nearby. Anybody walking by might hear you two and peek inside. Would you call out for help if they did? Buckets of pure bliss poured into you as Rafe changed angles and went deeper, nearly bouncing you on his length. You didn’t want him to stop despite your weak pleas.

“Please, no, stop…Rafe, please stop…”

“But we’re both so close, baby,” he said, free hand starting to work on your clit. “I can tell by how you’re squeezing my dick. Cry all you want; I know how much you’re loving this right now.”

“No, I’m-I’m not,” you tried squeezing your thighs together to keep out his hand but he managed a finger. You sobbed when it began flicking the small pearl up and down in time with his cock. You made weak attempts to push him off, even though you needed him closer. “I’m goin-going to tell some-someone.”

“Who would believe you?” he challenged, his voice bringing you to the edge. “Who’d believe a slut Pogue over me? Peterton would take one look at you and know you wanted it. Because you do,” he started going faster, moaning along with you as he grew closer, “Deep down you’re a little whore that can’t get enough dick.”

“I’m going to tell her and you’ll get into a lot…a lot of trouble…”

A sudden sensitivity hit your clit as your orgasm came. Your entire body quaked, and you lost feeling in your legs for a moment, unable to stop as it rushed over you. That singular pulsing in your body became your only focus, followed by the way his finger kept teasing your clit as you came. You couldn’t recall the last time anyone made you cum this way. His grip on your hip tightened, and you felt him start giving a few final thrusts.

“Don’t,” you wept, shaking your head as you knew what he was going to do. “Not inside. Please, Rafe, not inside.”

You tried pushing him away but it was too late. With a few low groans and hard shoves, that thick warmth started shooting into you. You felt him stiffen right behind you, his warm body pressed up to yours. Giving whimpering cries, you hid your face in the crook of your arm. Rafe did not even stop once he finished. He withdrew just to rub over your oversensitive clit, gathering up leaking cum to push back inside. You didn’t want him to stop. You barely scratched the surface of what Rafe Cameron was capable of doing to you.

“You did it inside,” you said, voice muffled by your arm.

“You’ll get a mouthful next time,” he breathed heavily, head resting on your shoulder.

Finally, he withdrew and released you. You stayed against the tree as if it were the only stable thing left. Shame once again filled your gut. You didn’t want to think about what your friends would say if they learned what you’d done. They’d be shocked to say the least. Yet, even with the embarrassment, you felt satisfied. More than with any other guy.

“This is what you’re going to do now, slut,” he said in your ear, keeping you trapped in his arms, “You’re going to delete your little OF account. You’re going to take down your Twitter and Instagram.”

“I can’t. I need the-”

“-I don’t care. You’re my girl now, and nobody sees you naked except me,” he forced you to turn around and face him. He put his hand back between your legs, rubbing your sore sex gently. “You only take your clothes off for me. You only get on your knees for me. You only let me touch you,” he whirled his middle finger around your clit again, making you tremble, “In exchange, I don’t tell the entire island how YN Hanes, neighborhood darling, is secretly a horny slut that posts nudes of herself on the internet for money. I mean, I think it’s a pretty good deal, don’t you?”

Two sticky fingers found their way in your mouth, sliding sweet and salty goodness on your tongue. Your eyes stayed on his as you cleaned his fingers of your combined juices. Letting the digits dragging out of your mouth, you made sure he saw your tongue flick to the end. By his heavy eyes and parted lips, you knew he wanted more.

“You couldn’t just ask me out like a normal guy?” you smirked, reaching for his waistband to bring him closer.

“Why? This was much more fun.”

He sealed your lips with his, the kiss soft and warm before he deepened it. His mouth stayed locked to yours as he lifted your shorts back over your panties again, buttoning them for you. You hummed, kissing him back passionately while he fixed your bra and top back as they were. His hands massaged your lower back and sides, soon going underneath to lift you up. Being in his arms blocked out the rest of the world. In this special place, neither Kooks nor Pogues existed. It was you and him. What he’d done might be terrible by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t wait for him to do it again. Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms slung over his shoulders, you stayed firmly in his embrace as you both kissed.

How many times in your life will you meet someone who does what Rafe just did?

****

A/N: yaaay my first Outer Banks fic! Of course I pick Rafe because I can't help myself when there's a hot villain around. I hope you guys enjoyed this juicy little slice, and I look forward to doing more <3

#rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey #obx fanfiction #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #outer banks season 1 #outerbanks s1 #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut

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solxamber · 10 months ago

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Crisis Averted - Cater Diamond x reader

After a royal screw up, Cater is left scrambling trying to fix his mistake before you find out. Best part? You've known what he did from the start and you think it's hilarious.

It started out as a normal day. Sun shining, birds chirping, and Cater Diamond doing what Cater Diamond does best—being charming, taking selfies, and generally vibing. But today? Today was different. Today, something bad had happened. And Cater was in full-on crisis mode trying to fix it.

The problem? He’d accidentally erased an entire folder of your saved photos. Not just any folder, either—the one with all your most treasured memories. Birthday celebrations, vacations, goofy selfies of the two of you, everything. Gone. Deleted. Kaput.

Now, to most people, that might not seem like a big deal. But Cater knew better. Those pictures? They were important to you. You loved looking through them on rough days, getting lost in nostalgia, and reliving all those sweet moments. And now? Now they were digital dust, and he was freaking out.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…” Cater muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth in his room. He tugged at his hair, his phone in one hand as he furiously scrolled through every possible "how to recover deleted photos" forum. “I am so dead…”

What Cater didn’t realize, however, was that you already knew. In fact, you’d known from the start. He wasn’t exactly subtle, and after the fifth time he started texting you, only to delete the message before you could read it, you had a pretty good idea that something was up. Honestly? It was kind of… cute. Watching him scramble to fix things like that, his usual cool and carefree attitude unraveling right before your eyes.

You decided to sit back and let the chaos unfold.

Meanwhile, Cater was in full-blown panic mode. He had no idea how you hadn’t noticed yet. He'd been avoiding you all day, coming up with the most ridiculous excuses for why he couldn’t meet up. His messages were starting to get weirder, too.

Cater: Heyyyyy, babe! Can we talk? Wait, no. Scratch that. Uhm, are you free? Like, soon?

Cater: Actually, no. Never mind. I’m busy. Super busy. The busiest. TTYL!

You stared at your phone, a smirk playing on your lips. He was so bad at this. Deciding to mess with him a little, you shot him a casual reply.

You: Sure, I’m free! Wanna hang out?

There was a solid three minutes of radio silence before Cater’s reply came in.

Cater: Haha, maybe later? I’ve got, uh… stuff. Very important unbirthday stuff.

You could practically feel the anxiety radiating through the text. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back in his room, Cater was biting his nails, sweat beading on his forehead. “Okay, okay, okay. Gotta fix this, gotta fix this now,” he whispered to himself, pacing like a madman. He quickly uses split card, and suddenly, there were three Cater Diamonds standing in front of him, all looking equally panicked.

“Alright, team,” the original Cater said, clapping his hands together. “We’ve got a mission. We need to recover those photos before they notice anything.”

One of the clones raised an eyebrow. “How are we supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know!” Cater wailed. “That’s why we’re brainstorming!”

The clones exchanged a look before launching into a ridiculous plan. Clone One suggested hacking into your cloud account, while Clone Two thought maybe bribing one of your friends for a copy of the pictures might work. Neither idea was particularly realistic, but desperation was a powerful motivator.

“Alright, alright, calm down, me,” Cater said, rubbing his temples. “Let’s start with trying to recover the deleted files. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll… we’ll figure something out.”

The next few hours were a blur of Cater running around, trying every possible recovery trick in the book. He even roped his clones into checking your laptop, your external hard drives, and even the trash bin on your phone, all while sending you increasingly bizarre texts to keep you from getting suspicious.

Cater: Sooooo, what are you up to today? Got any fun plans? Not that I’m prying! Just curious!

You: Just chilling. You?

Cater: Oh, you know, vibing. Totally normal day here. Nothing weird happening.

You: Uh-huh. Sure.

By this point, you were just waiting for him to crack. And when he started sending his clones to “casually” check in on you—one pretending to drop by for a “totally innocent, nothing-to-see-here” visit—you had to bite back laughter.

The first clone showed up at your door, grinning nervously. “Hey! Just thought I’d swing by and say hi. You’re not, like, working on anything super important, are you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not really. Why?”

The clone scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting around. “No reason! Just checking! Everything’s fine! Great! Haha, okay, bye!”

And he was gone just as quickly as he’d appeared.

You leaned back in your chair, shaking your head. Poor Cater was really losing it. And you… well, you were having the time of your life watching him squirm.

Finally, after what must’ve been hours of frantic searching, Cater hit his breaking point. All of his clones were gone, exhausted from their efforts, and he was alone in his room, slumped over his desk, completely defeated.

“I’m doomed,” he muttered to himself, face in his hands. “They’re going to hate me. I’ve ruined everything…”

That was your cue. You figured you’d let him off the hook before he spiraled into a full-on meltdown. Casually, you made your way over to his room and knocked on the door.

“Cater? You in there?”

There was a long pause, and then the door slowly creaked open. Cater peeked out, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. “Oh, hey…” His voice was weak, his usual enthusiasm completely drained.

You smiled softly, stepping inside. “You okay?”

He let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no. Actually, no, I’m really not okay. I screwed up, and I didn’t know how to fix it, and now you’re going to be so mad at me, and I just—”

“Cater,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. “I already know.”

He froze, eyes wide. “You… what?”

You chuckled. “I knew the second you started acting weird. You accidentally deleted my photos, right?”

Cater stared at you, completely dumbfounded. “You knew?”

“Yup,” you said, grinning. “And honestly? Watching you try to fix it has been hilarious.”

He gaped at you, his face a mix of relief, confusion, and a tiny bit of betrayal. “You… you knew? And you didn’t stop me?!” He whines "You're so, so mean!"

You laughed, pulling him into a hug. “I thought it was kind of cute. Plus, I backed up the photos ages ago, so it’s not a big deal.”

Cater sagged against you, all the tension draining from his body. “Oh my Seven… I thought I was going to die from stress.”

You smiled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not off the hook, though. You still owe me for all the chaos you put me through today.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. “Fair. Totally fair. But… thanks. For not being mad.”

“Who could be mad at you?” you teased. “You were way too entertaining.”

Cater finally pulled back, his usual grin returning, though there was still a hint of sheepishness in his eyes. “Well, I guess if you enjoyed the show, then it wasn’t a total disaster.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Diamond.”

He flashed you a wink, back to his old self again. “Oh, I know I am.”

And just like that, the crisis was averted.

Masterlist

#cater x reader #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #cater

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porcelainbirdss · 2 months ago

Text

my december love

summary: Mydei was the sun that peeks out from the clouds after a particularly heavy thunderstorm. she was the air you breathed in. she was everything. when someone asked you: "how did you two met?", all you could reply with was: "funny story. actually, i think i know her from the past life."

in other words: you and Mydei become roommates — this leads to a chain of events neither of you saw coming.

cw: fem!reader, fem!Mydei, fluff, angst, modern au, and they were roommates!, mentions of alcohol consumption, both of them are emotionally suppressed, yearning, like a lot of it, mutual pining, jealousy, reader is somewhat obsessive, dependency, slight hurt/comfort, good ending. || wc: 12k

it has been one year since you decided to share an apartment with Mydei. due to how expensive the costs were, you posted a simple question, asking whether someone would like to live with you. after all, you were a college student, and the state of your bank account was… well, rather questionable.

some people reached out to you, and you conversed with them for a while, getting to know them, and explaining the potential boundaries you’d have to set. unfortunately, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself they were good candidates, the doubts still continued to linger in the back of your head. no one seemed good enough (and you were not picky — you actually could think of yourself as an extrovert).

you almost gave up on your search, until she came into picture.

you remember reaching for your phone upon hearing the notification sound, a short: "i’m interested.” appearing on the screen. you clicked on the message, cocking one eyebrow up at the rather sparse greeting. then, you decided to check that person out — and, as it turns out, she was hot.

unbearably so, if you may be so bold. your heart hammered when you pressed on her profile, seeing her icon photo on full display. that girl — you even forgot to see what she was called — was absolutely beautiful. blonde locks with faded red encompassed her sharp features, golden eyes so piercing, you felt as if they would bore through your phone’s screen, and split you in half. to only add to your tragic crush at the first sight, she looked rather muscular. and had tattoos.

does it get any better than that?

still, no matter how stunning she was, you had to get to know her. obviously, you could blindly agree — hell, you could provide for her if she asked you to! — but you had a part of your wits with you, and so, you should do better than that.

in response, you quickly typed out a simple: "great! :)) the apartment cost is 1,200 monthly. tell me if that’s alright with you?"

you remember waiting anxiously, hoping for a fast answer. oh, you didn’t even know her, and she already had you tied around her finger.

when five minutes passed, and you didn’t get any messages back, you slumped into your bed with a groan of defeat, cursing your own mind. then, a loud 'ping!' reverberated through the space, and you practically launched yourself at your phone with a dumb grin sprawled across your face.

it read: "that is fine with me.", huh, she’s formal, isn’t she?, "we can also split the cost of groceries, if you’d like."

you gasped in triumph at the conversation, giggling to yourself like a teenage girl. only then you thought to actually see what that mysterious person’s name was — Mydeimos. you repeated it out loud, and thought you liked the way it sounded on your tongue.

"that would be awesome! should we meet up and talk over the details?” you wrote, internally hoping Mydeimos would agree. you have never offered any of the potential candidates for your roommate to met before — alas, you wished to see that breathtaking face in person.

all you received in response was a thumb-up emoji.

well. could have been worse.

after that, you pretty much hit it off… at least that’s what you like to think. you couldn’t get much out of the girl during your first meeting — she acted the same way as she typed her messages. a little stern. somewhat frigid. but at the same time, it was obvious to you she was immensely patient, and kind, and you failed to spot any evident red flags.

not to mention, her profile picture hardly represented just how prepossessing she truly was. there were a few times where you had to ask Mydeimos to repeat herself, because as you ogled her, all you could hear was an incoherent: "blah, blah, blah."

ultimately, you talked some more through your phone, and decided to move in together. you can recall that day so vividly, as you practically trembled from excitement.

you stood in the middle of your still somewhat empty apartment, observing as Mydei carried in the last of boxes, filled with her stuff. she allowed you to help her with dragging in the majority of her things, sending you a polite smile as you earnestly offered to give her a hand. this one, however, she insisted to carry herself.

"c’mon, you must be tired from walking up and down," you chuckled, even though the girl didn’t seem affected at all, "give me that, i’ll put it in your room."

Mydei cocked one eyebrow up at you, settling the box down with a huff. "and you’re not? you’ve been running around like a headless chicken."

you laughed abashedly, waving your hand at her comment. it is true you were acting a little absurd, but you had no bad intentions! all you wanted to do was to appease your new roommate. you didn’t perceive it as any trouble, since you managed to move all of your stuff the day prior, and were still bustling with energy.

you shuffled your feet towards the box, inspecting it, and finally deciding to pick it up. it didn’t budge. you groaned in surprise, sending Mydei a perplexed look. "what the hell?"

"told you.” she shrugged nonchalantly, wiping her sweaty forehead. even though it was already september, the weather remained hot. "don’t try moving it, else you’ll hurt your back.”

you nodded stiffly, watching her walk towards the open kitchen space, and pour water into two glasses. couldn’t she just refill one? "okay…” you murmured, swiftly prying the box open to look at its contents. at least six dumbbells, two of them having a combined weight of 130 pounds — and she carried it up the stairs?!

with a gasp, you straightened out, your back almost bumping into Mydei. you swiveled on your foot, the sight of her perplexed face being the first thing to greet you. "uh, i—"

"here you go." she said, extending the glass towards your way. you blinked twice, because you were absolutely sure she’d scold you for rummaging through her things. so she poured that water for you, it would seem. huh…

you sent her a weak smirk, taking a generous sip. "thanks. to be honest, i’m spent.”

Mydei sighed at your words, stepping towards her empty room. "well, i’ve still got some things to take care of, but you go ahead and take a break.”

instead of plopping down on the couch, you followed in tow, stopping in front of your own personal space (which you were extremely proud of). "wanna see my room?”

the girl paused her walk. “what for?”

"oh, come on, we’re living together now! you have to know how your house looks like!” you beckoned in an upbeat tone of voice, opening the door.

upon seeing it, Mydei’s eyebrows narrowed in a frown, a certain mixture of disdain and perplexity growing on her face. you gulped.

"do you… do you seriously need this many plushies and fairy lights?”

“what, you don’t like it?” you huffed, knowing the clash of your personalities would come sooner or later — but honestly, you wished for it to never arrive.

she shook her head, schooling her look into something less judgmental upon your dejected eyes. "that’s not what i meant, [name]. it’s cute. suits you well.” she responded, though there wasn’t much conviction in her voice.

"…thanks.”

you decided to leave it at that, moping around in your bedroom instead of helping Mydei. the nightfall came, and you were starting to miss your family, filling up with doubts and various anxieties. perhaps you were a little sad — okay, more than sad! you felt like wallowing in your despair, pressing one of your childhood toys close to your chest — that is, until you heard a knock.

"can i come in?" called the familiar voice, causing your head to snap up.

you instantly sat, throwing the stuffie away, afraid of what Mydei could possibly think of you if she were to see you in such miserable state. "sure."

the door cracked open, a crown of blond hair peeking through. she walked in, checking you out as you sent her a tight smile. "are you okay? you haven’t left your room for the whole day.”

"totally!” you lied, of course.

she didn’t point out how stiff you were, her line of vision instead landing on the discarded plushie, now hopelessly sprawled out on the floor. she picked it up, a bit tentatively, and gently placed it on your bed. you wanted to burn from embarrassment. "i just finished setting up my room. do you want to see?" the girl offered, her tone flat but kind all the same.

you practically sprung from your sitting position, like a wind-up toy. "yeah, i’d love to!”

both of you strolled into Mydei’s space — and, to be fair, you don’t know what you were expecting, but surely not this.

well, the dumbbells along with a skipping rope and a rolled mat in the corner seemed in-character, though the rest completely contrasted with the girl you knew. first off all, her bed — a pale-pink duvet draped over its surface. then, the posters hanging above, one depicting a cutesy boysband you were unfamiliar with, and the second showing some rather hardcore metal band.

your eyes flied around, locking on the desk — a stack of cooking books on its side, topped with a dictionary of sorts. an orange cat figurine. a couple of music records on display. a mousepad — again, in pink color.

"and you made fun of my room!” you exclaimed, swiveling your head to face Mydei.

she frowned at you. “i said it was cute!”

"but you looked like you were seconds away from puking!”

the girl paused, blinking twice. "…can’t deny that.”

you sighed, shaking your head — alas, you could never take any real offense from Mydei. she may as well spit on your shoes right there, and you’d thank her, because who are you to tell what this goddess of a woman can and cannot do?

——

september fourteenth.

the second year of your college life rolled around, and you couldn’t yet discern whether you were absolutely despaired, or happy.

happy, because you got to finally see Mydei. the girl wasn’t from this city, so she left during summer vacations, leaving you alone with the few feeble friendships you managed to establish during the first year. you often called her, talking for hours on end, catching up and whatnot — but it simply couldn’t replace the sound of her quiet laughter by your ear, or how sweetly she smiled at you when you offered to help her out with maths.

i am doomed, you thought one day while you were lazing around on your bed, fanning your face as waves of hotness hit your body. sure, you were crushing on her since the start, but honestly, it was pretty shallow back then. the only thing you were infatuated with were her good looks. you failed to take Mydei’s lovely personality into consideration, or see how interesting of a person she truly was.

right now, you were absolutely certain your dumb crush was treading into a dangerous direction — and, well, you only hoped Mydei didn’t catch on your hopeless behavior towards her. still, it may have been pretty obvious when she stood in the doorframe with a singular suitcase, and you practically broke down in front of her, wailing at how badly you wanted her to stay.

well. that was embarrassing.

anyway, no matter how joyous you were at your final reunion with the girl, there were some problems too. the main cause of your troubles, right now, was the overload of stress and work piling up on your shoulders.

even though college started barely two weeks ago, you were already drowning in unfinished projects and deadlines, crushed under its weight. sometimes you felt as if you didn’t have the time to even catch a breath.

Mydei managed just fine. she stuck to her routine, waking up everyday at exactly 5 AM to go on a run, shower, prepare you both breakfast (because she was kind enough to make you food — it started once you praised her cooking so highly, her whole face burned up in a vermillion), head out to the campus, and come back. then, she’d go to the gym while you were still groaning over your textbooks, and come home at a rather late hour, but still having enough time to study.

you didn’t know how Mydei was doing that. sometimes you genuinely thought she was some kind of a super-woman, because there was no way someone possessed this much energy and self discipline. it only made you feel worse about yourself.

right now, you were hunched by the dining table, a multitude of books displayed on its surface as you tried gathering your thoughts.

no matter how hard you attempted to focus, everything seemed to bother you. birds singing outside the window, people from above your floor stomping loudly, Mydei accidentally dropping her fork—

"could you be quiet?” you snapped, your eyes flickering over to the girl who was currently sitting by the other end of the table, eating the late dinner you refused (which you did begrudgingly, alas, you didn’t have the time to even think about food).

her eyebrows narrowed at the harsh tone of your voice, and only then you actually regretted raising it. "you don’t have to scream at me, i can hear you clearly.” she retorted, digging the fork into a piece of beef. it scraped over the plate, evoking another uncomfortable sound.

"i’m trying to focus.”

“then go focus somewhere else.”

you huffed. “it’s my home, and i can focus wherever i want!”

Mydei already opened her mouth to take a bite, but paused, her sharp irises sending you a glare. “it is my home too, and we are in the kitchen, so i didn’t think you’d mind me eating here.”

you kept silent, trying to reciprocate the unpleasant look she was giving you, even if you couldn’t harden your eyes around the corners. you felt tired. utterly tired, and you just managed to anger Mydei by your stupid outburst. does it get any worse than that?

"i’m sorry…” you finally muttered, your gaze falling back onto your notebooks. what else were you supposed to say? you’ve never fought with her before — could it even be considered a fight? more like a bitter bicker, but still. your breath trembled, and you felt awful.

the girl continued to eat more quietly now, and once she was done, she slowly got up from the chair, as if afraid of startling you further. once Mydei put the dish away in the sink, she leaned over you, her hand suddenly squeezing your shoulder.

you looked at her with question in your eyes, gripping your pen a bit too hard. "i’m sorry too.”

now you were almost baffled. why was she apologizing over your own spillage of ugly emotions? "no, Mydei, it’s alright. it is me who yelled at you.” you quickly forced out, straightening in your seat.

she shook her head, and you swear you could melt on the spot from the mere look on her face. "it’s alright. shit happens.” she spoke, letting go of your shoulder — you wholeheartedly believed the conversation to end here, but then the girl reached for your tousled hair, swiping it to the side. "i can order some takeout for you. i could cook, but… i don’t want to make any more noise.”

you had to stop your jaw from slacking into the floor, completely stunned by her display of understanding. Mydei wasn’t like you — she was patient, and had this calming effect on people, no matter how intimidating she may have appeared. you were jealous.

not jealous of her, specifically — but of the people she considered her best friends. the ones who could taste her kindness on a deeper level, those who knew her for longer than you.

you didn’t know what connected you. sometimes your relation resembled a tug of war, with her pulling at the rope, and making you stumble with the sheer impact of her benevolent actions. you liked her. you liked her so badly it hurt in every single fiber of your body, and yet, you couldn’t do anything about it.

there were moments that got you questioning her sexual orientation, but she never mentioned having a girlfriend, or anything of the sort. how could you know if she was like that? what would you do if one day your resolve broke in half, and you confessed your feelings, only to be turned down with a few of dismayed words? she’d hate you, surely.

maybe you’re mistaking her acts of kindness for something deeper — maybe your friendship was nothing more but a shallow bond, created between two people who strived to survive in this unforgiving life of a college student.

perhaps, all the times you shared your woes, and all the secrets you spilled to each other weren’t as meaningful as you thought. you must be delusional, no?

"[name]?”

you jumped up in your seat, brutally snapped out of your morose reveries. "uh— what?”

Mydei sighed, taking a singular step back. "i asked if you want a takeout.”

you chuckled awkwardly at your own disorientation, scratching the nape of your neck. "sure, i don’t see why not.”

the girl nodded, reaching for the phone in her back pocket, and quickly dialing the number of your favorite restaurant. you observed her walk around the kitchen in circles, finally leaning her hip against the counter as someone decided to mercifully pick up.

she recited your usuals by heart, and then hung up, turning to look at your slightly dazed expression. "why’re you looking at me like that?” she questioned, her eyebrows knitting together.

oh. you were staring.

"like what?”

Mydei huffed, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder. "never mind. try to focus for now, and i’ll let you know when the food comes." she declared, touching your chair’s backrest before walking towards her room.

when the girl left, you groaned to yourself, embarrassed at how many times she caught you practically consuming her with your eyes. you denied every time she pointed it out, though deep down, you knew you were lying. if you closed your eyelids for long enough, the visage of Mydei’s face always appeared in your mind, seemingly engraved there for good.

——

october thirty-first.

life got easier now, and you managed to fall back into the rhythm of studying, and juggling between the chores of everyday life. you and Mydei helped each other out as much as possible, taking on some tasks when one of you was too tired, or just generally remaining supportive.

and it was going great. perfect, even, if not for your brilliant idea of going to a costume party. well, it was the hallows’ eve, and since you were a big fan of all spooky things, you just had to go. halloween lasted for only one day, and so, you practically begged Mydei to accompany you.

at first, she didn’t agree. then, as you pressed some more, she started to question what she could even dress herself as — you proceeded to list all the ideas off the top of your head, but neither satisfied the girl. a werewolf? too weird. a zombie? what are we, in the middle of the walking dead casting? a mummy — no way, she won’t deal with all the toilet paper. a witch? absolutely no. an angel? too generic. a devil? also too generic. a cat-woman? that earner an exasperated snicker.

well, Mydei ended up going with you, but she wasn’t dressed as anything. you, on the other hand, decided to wear a vampire’s costume. okay, maybe costume was an exaggeration — you simply searched your wardrobe for some black and red garments, and smothered the corners of your lips with an intense lipstick, which was supposed to imitate blood.

when your roommate saw you, all she did was raise an eyebrow at you, sending you an unimpressed look. you, however, had to contain a gasp of astonishment at just how pretty she looked — usually, Mydei wore sport clothes, nothing overly flashy or anything. this time, the girl adorned herself in something more official-looking, and you couldn’t help but fawn internally at how beautiful she was.

after that, you got to the organizer’s house, immediately greeted by some notorious melody, booming loudly throughout the space.

and you were having fun — really, you were — but at some point you and your friend got separated, busying yourself with different circles of people. you seethed internally on the other side of the room, watching as Mydei talked with some guy. you didn’t know him, but he carried that easygoing smirk on his face, which, truth be told, reminded you of a snake. a vicious viper, waiting patiently for its victim to let their guard down, and sink its teeth deep inside their throat.

he was leaning in way too much, and Mydei didn’t seem exactly bothered by the little proximity between them. she casually sipped on some wine, legs crossed, nodding along to whatever that man was saying.

perhaps what you did was spiteful, but you spoke to some unfamiliar man too. you weren’t flirting with him, or anything, just laughing at his poor jokes, pretending like you actually enjoyed the company.

and then, you got drunk. your heart felt a little too heavy, so you reached for one cup of beer after another, gulping them down irresponsibly. before you knew it, you were practically stumbling over that guy’s side, gesticulating wildly as you told him yet another story of your life — which he didn’t seem to be overly interested in, but still listened with intent.

suddenly, you felt a firm grip on your wrist, squeezing your limb hard enough to pull you out of your drunken stupor. you turned, only to see Mydei, scowling at you as if you at least murdered her whole family.

it was barely after 11 PM, but the girl tugged you out of the party, demanding to go home. you, of course, agreed without much hesitation, telling her to call for a cab.

the whole ride to your place was gravely silent, and you wished to ask what caused her such a deep dismay, but whenever you glanced in her direction, all she did was scoff at you. you decided to keep your mouth shut.

as you finally sat down on your trusty couch, Mydei continued to simmer internally — frown embedded on her sharp features, making her appear even more fierce than usual. you wanted to be scared of her — because that’s what she was aiming for, most likely. unfortunately, your drunkenness only caused you to become even more bold.

"Mydei,” you whined, circling around your roommate as she stood by the kitchen counter, preparing something quick to settle your stomach, "are you mad at me?”

"take a wild guess.” she answered lowly, her movements stiff.

you sighed at her words, looking around the space, as if it was supposed to offer you some miraculous solution. a slightly beat-up radio you thrifted stood on the windowsill, almost beckoning out to you, like a siren’s cry — so you turned it on.

"turn it off, [name].” Mydei muttered, drying her hands after she washed the knife, "i’m not in the mood.”

you swiveled on your foot, your eyebrows narrowing at the girl with determination. "tell me what’s wrong, or i won’t.”

she grumbled under her breath in response, the dismayed sound reminding you of a faraway thunder’s road. "you’re too drunk to even understand.”

a pleasant, slow melody filled the space. you grinned to yourself, grasping Mydei’s hands in yours, and tugging her forwards before giving a gentle twirl. her frown only deepened. "such a nice song, don’t you think?” you hummed happily, pressing your body closer to hers.

what you were doing obviously lacked in any sense or tune. once you sober up, you’ll regret everything you did and said, but…

"just what are you doing?” your friend murmured, still yet to pull away. she looked so stunning from up close. the warm light seeped into her golden irises, making them appear amber-like.

in response, you shrugged, swaying without much elegance, nor finesse. "trying to cheer you up, is all.” you slurred, taking a big breath in. she smelled of cherries.

"then stop it, because it’s obviously not working.”

"why aren’t you pulling away, then?”

that seemed to shut her up temporarily. after a short beat of silence, Mydei spoke again — reluctantly, but that was progress.

"wanna know why i’m angry at you?”

you nodded slowly, trying to showcase you were still able of properly communicating. "yes."

she exhaled, her fingers clutching a bit harder around your joints. "i didn’t like you talking to that guy."

upon hearing it, at first you wanted to burst out into salves of laughter — but then you realized that she wasn’t joking. the girl rarely pulled stunts of such nature on you, always remaining rather serious in her demeanor, so she was obviously telling the truth. she was… she was mad because you latched yourself to some man. well, you did that with this exact purpose, yet at the same time, guilt squeezed at your heart.

you didn’t mean to hurt her feelings — never, ever — but why was she actually irritated by this? it’s not like you had some unspoken rule, saying: do not talk to others.

your slightly hazy eyes scanned her face, and you led her into another twirl, trying to gather your disarrayed thoughts. "why didn’t you like it?”

Mydei scoffed, pointedly looking away from your searching gaze. she bit on her lower lip, obviously consternated. "that’s the worst part of it all. i don’t know.”

you chuckled quietly, thinking you’d be a lunatic if you got your hopes up over something as trivial as this. maybe she just felt lonely, with you pretty much ignoring her existence during the party. "you don’t?”

"no,” she sighed, her softened irises returning to you with defiance, "sometimes you drive me crazy. did you know that, [name]?”

your drunken mind couldn’t fully grasp the weight of those words, and you laughed again, pressing your head towards her neck. "you drive me crazy too.”

Mydei didn’t respond, and her silence urged you to continue. "but don’t worry. i think he was an asshole anyway.”

"that’s good.”

"his costume was shitty.”

"i’ve noticed.”

"do you think mine is shitty too?”

she huffed out an airy snicker, shoulders relaxing. suddenly, your track of the slow dancing got interrupted by your friend’s back meeting with the counter. you didn’t even notice when you led her there. "no. yours is beautiful.”

you giggled at the compliment, nose prodding at the column of her throat. "and do you know what vampires do?” you asked, out of the blue. Mydei shook her head, and that was all it took for you to latch your lips around her neck, giving a bite, careful enough not to break through the skin.

she hissed, but didn’t move. didn’t do anything to actually glue you away from her — you barely sensed her letting go of your palms, moving her hands to your waist. just what the hell were the both of you doing?

"they bite me—" she paused, taking a shaky breath, "i suppose.”

you hummed, pulling away to observe your creation, sprawled across her delicate skin like a purple moth, painted with the vibrant red of your lipstick. it melted into one with the tattoo adorning the girl’s neck. an artistic mayhem, you thought. the mark of your deeply-insatiable covet.

Mydei’s hand reached for the apple of your cheek, cupping it gently. "you’ve smeared makeup all over your chin.” she remarked, an easy smile growing on her lips.

then, as she looked at you through her thick eyelashes, you genuinely believed she was some kind of a vixen, sent down on this earth with the sole purpose of torturing you. an otherworldly being, with eyes of gold, and equally golden heart.

how could you not love those irises, who saw you in every state, and still decided to stick around?

before you thought of taking a step back, the pleasant music long gone, now replaced by the broadcaster’s monotone voice — Mydei’s grip on your face tightened, and you were pulled into a kiss.

your mind short circuited, and you gasped into her mouth with surprise, forgetting how to breathe — how to move your limbs.

the whole world seemed to stop spinning altogether, and the air got unbelievably heavy in your lungs. you’d adore her forever. there was no changing to that.

tears prickled at your eyes uncomfortably, but none fell, and you heaved, allowing Mydei’s consoling touch to support your suddenly lax body. forever, forever. even if you got changed into a bug — you’d find relief under the sole of her shoe.

when you pulled away, your mind instantly sobered up, shaken by how both of your lipsticks smudged, appearing as if you just feasted on some raw flesh. Mydei’s dazed look changed into a perplexed one when she noticed the conflict on your face. you reached to touch your lips, hand trembling.

she must have been playing with you, because there was no way this was real.

"[name], i’m—"

you turned on your heel, quickly walking towards your room without letting the girl finish her sentence. you shut the door, sliding down on the cold floor, and you let out a strangled sob, thinking: gods, why did i do that?

(perhaps it is true that all suffering originated from attachment).

the next day, you both agreed it was a mistake, and promised to never talk about it again.

——

november tenth.

honestly, you expected the atmosphere between you to remain tense, because after that halloween incident, neither of you were able of looking each other’s in the eye. fortunately, the situation managed to ease down a little, and you fell back into the usual tempo.

even if you were a bit afraid of touching Mydei, thinking she’d misunderstand you, and decide to move out.

even if Mydei sent longing looks your way every so often, clearing her throat awkwardly when you caught her staring.

well. never mind that.

three days ago, you got caught up in rain, and now you were absolutely sick, sprawled out on your bed with a febrile condition. it was tiring you out beyond all senses, and as you coughed and whined in pain, Mydei was constantly by your side.

at first, you insisted she doesn’t need to worry about you, but the girl dismissed you sternly. it is only logical she’d have her way — after all, she was quite stubborn.

you wouldn’t describe her as exactly rebellious — because she never outwardly displayed such traits — but she surely was. always treading her own path, making her own decisions, concluding what was the best for her.

you remember when some time ago, a topic of your families came up. you briefly joked about your siblings and parents, laughing how terribly they must miss you. Mydei smiled along to your words, saying she wished to have such a loving family too. you felt a bit consternated then, so obviously, you asked her what was up.

she then proceeded to casually explain how her father almost forced her to become the next CEO of his big-ass company — with the most deadpan expression on her face, mind you!

you were stunned into silence, because, most importantly — she must have been dirty rich, but still acted like a humble civilian, dressing in normal clothes instead of those lavish ones you could only dream of whenever you went shopping. certainly, you noticed Mydei’s jewelry looked rather expensive, but when you inquired where she got it from, she always responded with an unsure shrug. one time, you checked her necklace out, remembering the brand’s name (which sounded pretty luxurious). you closed your browser as quickly as you opened it, baffled by the first 20.000 dollars on the display.

yeah. there was no way you could afford it.

another thing — Mydei spoke of her father as if he was a mere pest. the disdain filling her eyes didn’t fail to slip past your notice, and you felt almost guilty for even touching upon the topic.

so, summing up, the girl was certainly rebellious. and now, she denied your protests, coming in and out of your room with new portions of soup or medication.

the frown on Mydei’s face only deepened as she took a brief glance at the thermometer, her sharp eyes narrowing with such perturbation, almost as if the inanimate object managed to offend her personally. you giggled weakly at the girl’s expression, trying not to showcase just how awful you felt.

"don’t laugh, it’s not funny.” she murmured, standing up, and starting to shake the thermometer, allowing the mercury to seep down.

you sighed, closing your eyes. your whole face seemed to be set on fire. "do i have a fever…?”

your friend clicked her tongue, setting the thing aside. "yeah, and a very serious one at that. are you sure you don’t want me to call for the doctor?”

oh gods, anything but a doctor!

"no, no. i’ll be fine.” you quickly responded, trembling at the mere thought of having some stranger loom over your exhausted frame instead of Mydei.

you cracked one of your eyelids open, gazing at the girl. she could serve as a good physician, you thought — and she really looked like one too. hair tied back into a ponytail, stern expression, and those reading glasses she had to wear, because the letters on some meds were too small.

she glanced at the clock before turning on her heel, and walking out. "soup time.” she announced, and you groaned under your breath.

yeah, this so called 'soup time' occurred every three hours, and you had to sit up on your bed, sipping on chicken broth Mydei seemed to be cooking up in a bottomless cauldron.

in addition, you felt guilty. you were troubling her to no end, no matter if it was her own decision to take care of you. she even skipped her gym time! how awful is that?

still. no one was forcing her to look after you. she did that out of her own volition. your heart clenched, and you couldn’t help but daydream about how nice it would be if her tender acts towards you were motivated by something more than friendship. again, you were acting delusional, but at least you had your febrile condition as an excuse.

the familiar footsteps resonated through the space, and your vision locked on Mydei, now seated by your bed with another bowl of that soup you were already sick of. "sit, [name].” she spoke calmly, waiting for you to scramble up.

you attempted to heave yourself up, but the strain in your muscles caused another cramp. those painkillers didn’t work at all, did they? "i can’t…!” you whined, perhaps a bit overdramatic.

Mydei rolled her eyes, setting the dish aside, and pulling you upwards as if you were featherlight. you blinked, flustered. "now, go and eat. you’ll feel better.”

since she was so generous, you decided to see how far her benevolence could stretch. "i don’t have the strength to eat by myself.” you concluded, spreading your arms helplessly.

your roommate looked at you like you had at least a few screw loose — and then she breathed in defeat, reaching for the bowl. "alright, if you wanna act like a baby,” the spoon prodded at your lips, "open up.”

"but it’s too hot—" your complain got interrupted by the soup practically pushed into your mouth once you spoke. you gasped, feeling at the uncomfortable temperature running down your throat, and settling somewhere in your chest. it felt like molten lava. Mydei probably didn’t estimate it as any sort of problem, because the girl often ate hot food. how crazy do you have to be to drink freshly-brewed tea while it’s still scalding?

before more protests fell from your lips, another spoon found its way towards them. you almost wanted to say: alright, never mind, i’ll eat on my own, but obviously, you didn’t. how could you refuse when all of your yearnings came true? Mydei is feeding you, eyes soft, even though her lips remain pressed into a thin line. if it turns out you died, and somehow found yourself in heaven, you wouldn’t be surprised.

once you were done eating, you took some more painkillers, and went to shower. of course, when you were taking far too long, Mydei felt inclined to knock at the door, asking if you were alive. she was really worried about you, huh?

then, both of you got busy with yourselves, and after a longer while of tossing and turning, you fell asleep.

your dreams were usually nice, however the fever seemed to mess with your brain even in the state of rest — your childhood dog, prancing around your legs happily. you were in your garden, tossing the stick for it to catch. instead of coming back to you, the dog burst through the line of poplars, disappearing from your view. you panicked, chasing after the pet, and calling out to it.

you’d probably continue sprinting (in slow-motion, to your dismay) through the labyrinths of trees, if not for the familiar voice coming from behind your back. you turned, dazed, the visage of Mydei in her hallows’ eve outfit reaching you, your dog obediently sat by her feet. she held him on a leash. you exhaled in relief, coming up to them.

and then, she gave you a shove to your shoulder. you gasped, jolting awake — only to see the same face, now looming over you, shaking your arm in the same manner. "gosh, finally awake.” she murmured, and you felt a pang of hotness spread over you.

ugh, you could barely open your eyes — your head pounded, sweat sticking to your forehead and back. "what…?” you forced out, trying to regain focus.

"i just came to check up on you.” the girl stated in a quiet tone, and only then you sensed the thermometer sticking out from under your armpit. your hazed gaze flied over the room, taking notice of a refilled jug of water, and another portion of ibuprofenum.

you didn’t respond, keeping your vision locked on her. Mydei sighed morosely, and you meant to ask what time is it, but her hand pressed by your temple, cutting you off. her touch was gentler than usually. "you’re burning up again… oh well, i suppose that’s normal during the night.” she commented meekly, taking the thermometer. "as i thought.”

you gave a silent hum, rolling on your back. "is it late?”

"half past one. i didn’t mean to wake you, but you seemed distressed so…”

"that’s alright. thanks.”

she smiled at you. "were you having a nightmare?”

"no, not really…” you chuckled weakly, running a palm over your weary eyes, "you were there. so it wasn’t a nightmare.”

your friend nodded once, the corners of her lips itching even further upwards. "good.” she tapped the bedside table, redirecting your attention, "take the meds. and if that doesn’t help, we’ll drive to after-hours medical service."

obviously, you didn’t want to go there, so you obediently took the pills, wincing at the unpleasant taste. "and why’re you awake, huh?” you thought to ask, seeing she was still dressed in her casual clothes.

"i couldn’t sleep.” was all the girl said, though you felt as if there was more to it.

looking at the concern on her face, and how generally stressed she seemed, you came to a simple conclusion — you are the reason for her sleeplessness. if that wasn’t the case, she surely wouldn’t be hovering in your room in the middle of the night.

how can anybody be this pure?

"Mydei,” you started, your eyelids too heavy to keep open now, "you’re my favorite person, did you know that?”

you failed to spot her reaction — all you heard was a quiet huff of neither laughter or dismay, and then she left. maybe it’s for the better.

——

november twenty-ninth.

things between you got weird.

well, not exactly weird, but it definitely wasn’t normal either. you fell into a routine especially tailored for each of you; studying together, doing your makeup, watching movies every friday and saturday evening (while inconspicuously leaning into your sides).

earlier on, whenever you broke down over your studies, Mydei would briefly ask you if everything was alright, quickly escaping the room with an awkward expression. now, she wiped your own tears, allowing you to wail into her shoulder, and offering to help you (even if she had a big workload on her shoulders as well).

you, on the other hand, possessed this habit of pointedly ignoring her outbursts when the girl’s father called, insisting she comes back home. her eyebrows always narrowed in such a glare, you were afraid you’d accidentally get intertwined into her flury of nerves. however now, you ensured consolation, listening to her vent the frustrations out.

Mydei show you her favorite music, and laughed when you sang along to that overplayed song you’d both listen to in the morning. she taught you history, and you allowed her to rant about all the events and wars. you learnt from her how to make those incredible dishes — and she never lost her patience, even if you weren’t the perfect cook.

you got closer, and closer. your terrible crush grew so much until it wasn’t a crush anymore, and now you couldn’t function properly with it.

there was this one time when you decided to snoop through Mydei’s phone while she was showering. a shameful act indeed, and you’re disgusted with yourself even now — but at least you got some closure.

first of all — you went into her messages. half of them were some weather alerts, or delivery men saying her package was home. one contact was tilted as "dumbass"…? what kind of name is that? you clicked on it, and saw a candid photo of a grinning girl with ivory locks. before your gut could clench with any jealousy, you read through their texts. the last one was from a month ago, and every single of them went pretty much like this: "what’s up?" — "nothing" — "how are you?" — "good. hbu" — "i’m good too!" — "ok".

well. that’s acceptable enough.

then you headed straight for her gallery. two hundred photos overall — not much in comparison to your ten thousand. one folder filled with screenshots of recipes, another one of some animals, one for friends, and… your heart practically stopped when you saw the inconspicuous name: "with [name]". you pressed on it, only ten photos showing. selfies you took of when you were doing some silly things together, and sent to her. one picture depicting two plates of food you got at some fancy restaurant as a treat with half of your torso in sight. another of when you went to the main square, and a pigeon sat on your head. third one — a selfie the girl took herself, her face close to the camera with you in the background, coddling a stray cat.

the fact Mydei didn’t delete any of the photos you sent her was already a big achievement, but making a separate folder specifically to store them? now that was bewildering. yeah, of course, she had one with her friends too, but it was a general package of their faces. none of them had an unrelated folder — unlike you.

then, you heard the shower turn off, so you quickly locked the phone, and put it back in its previous place.

your emotions were in a state of conflict, because all of this time you believed you were pretty much insane for thinking Mydei perceived you as anything more. your relationship with her was stable, and you could say you were happy with how things were — but at the same time, it wasn’t. after all, you’ve kissed before (and didn’t discuss the act any further), relied on each other more than you probably should, opened up about the most embarrassing secrets you’d never tell anyone. you continuously stared at Mydei — and she stared back at you, not even bothered to hide the fond smile stretching her lips, almost as if beckoning, signifying: "stop being so oblivious, and come to me.”

but neither of you spoke honestly of your feelings, and it was killing you. perhaps you were stubborn, after all, and wouldn’t ever tell how you truly felt. that is, until you got that brilliant idea of trying your luck, and pushing to see where your lack of restraint would get you.

your first attempt was… well, of questionable results. Mydei was making herself some protein shake, back turned towards you as you neared her in steps loud enough to not startle the girl. you carefully hugged her from behind, leaning your chin on her shoulder, and asked what she was doing. your roommate froze, one of her big palms accidentally crushing a handful of wild strawberries. she cursed you out for scaring her — which was weird, because you obviously didn’t sneak up.

you wholeheartedly believed this whole charade was a failure, and you should stop, except your efforts borne some fruition. one day later, you were in the same spot, washing your skillets with incomparable fervor. then, Mydei stood beside you, her hand touching the small of your back — she said something about how you should use less soap, but all you heard was white noise, and the rush of blood running through your ears.

you deemed it as a success (considering that your friend has never initiated such closeness), and now there was a silent agreement between you — where you could finally touch without any fear caused by some prejudice.

but it still doesn’t change the fact it’s not enough.

right now, you were sprawled out on the couch, hanging upside down with your legs hooked over the backrest. you were bored, and tired. yesterday (or rather — today) your upstairs neighbor decided to throw a party. it lasted until 3 AM, and normally you wouldn’t mind, except it was in the middle of a week! at around 1 AM, you sent Mydei to confront them, because she was braver than you. it didn’t take long before their conversation changed into a screaming match and police threats. your roommate already started dialing the number, so you had to forcibly drag her away.

with that, you didn’t get any real sleep. Mydei was running on fumes, considering she managed to fall into rest at around 4 AM, and woke up an hour later. you were no better, with barely three hours of sleep, and eyelids so heavy you thought you might pass out right there.

"i’m bored. entertain me." you murmured, irises focused on the reversed image of the girl. with your current position, she seemed to be hanging from the ceiling, like some kind of a bat.

her hands paused, but she didn’t move her eyes to look up at you from her laptop’s screen. "perhaps you should try reading one of your overdue books."

you snickered. "no way. besides, i like annoying you better.”

it was not entirely true, but you felt like teasing her. sometimes your witty comments or actions led you to places where mere words would never take you.

"well, you’re succeeding.”

you let out a mocking gasp, the corners of your lips stretching even further. "damn, that was almost a compliment."

Mydei smirked faintly, typing a few letters, still yet to look at you. "it really wasn’t."

with a sigh, you rolled over. your head hurt a little from the weird position you took earlier, blood probably coloring your whole face red. it was already pretty late, and if not for the tapping rain along with your friend’s meek shuffling, the whole space would be completely silent.

and then, a thought passed your brain. it was equally crazed as the rest of your ideas, but non-committing enough. you could easily snake your way out, in case Mydei got angry at you. you’d simply chalk it up to a joke, pretending as if you weren’t genuinely truthful.

"tell me… why don’t you ever let go?"

you saw her jaw clench, but she didn’t look up. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

try and guess, is what you itched to say — alas, knowing Mydei, she’d probably offer the most roundabout answer in the world. you couldn’t be thrown off-track now.

"you’re always doing something. working out. cleaning." you paused, taking an unsure breath. "pretending like what we have is normal."

her joints stopped moving again, eyebrows narrowing together. an obvious sign you stepped into a dangerous territory — it often felt like that with her. you’re having fun, and then you can almost sense the lion’s breath on your nape, because you were foolish enough to parade into its liar. "i’m not pretending."

your gut clenched. "uh-huh. sure.”

Mydei finally glanced at you. you were staring at her — really staring. a beat of something silent passed between you, and it pushed you to speak again.

"you know what i mean."

"i don’t think i do." she responded quietly, so unlike her.

"Mydei."

it was painfully easy to spot how her whole body seemed to tense up. "don’t."

you should stop — but you had this weird conviction that if you ceased the conversation now, neither of you would talk about it again. just like it was with that unfortunate kiss.

now it was your eyebrow’s turn to furrow. "why not?"

she exhaled heavily, running her fingers through the blonde locks. they grew so much, the red paint on them barely visible now. maybe you’ll offer to redo her hair once you have the time. "because if i say something—" a pause, "if i say something— then this changes. and i don’t know what happens after that."

you straightened out in your seat, because for whatever reason, you imagined a sharp guillotine hanging above your neck. it surely felt like so. your heart hammered at your ribs, and all the boldness you previously harbored began to crack. "you don’t think it already changed?" you asked in a low tone.

Mydei’s expression was now shaped into this weird mixture of a snarling dog and a dejected fawn. "i just don’t want to mess up whatever we have, alright?" she retorted, suddenly closing her laptop. it clattered so hard you thought she might have accidentally broke it.

"i don’t understand you."

the tug of war. the chains bidding your wrists. the mixed signals. the kennel you were both stuffed into, forced to deal with your own emotions while simultaneously rejecting them.

when your friend didn’t respond, you heaved yourself up, slowly closing the distance between you. you leaned your hip on the table’s edge, an arm’s length separating you now. her golden eyes fixed on you, but they lacked in their usual fierceness — perhaps it was the dim light that caused them to soften around the corners.

she opened her mouth to speak, but you were faster. "what if i told you i think about you all the time?"

Mydei huffed out a dry laugh. "i’d say you’re being dramatic.”

"and you’re deflecting. again."

it wasn’t your place to decide whatever the girl was feeling — but maybe you’ve managed to hit the bullseye, because she seemed to flinch. a sigh escaped her lips, and she looked down, biting on her inner cheek. it took her a while to look back at you. "i just really don’t know how to do this."

"do what?”

her voice was barely audible when she began. what a contrast to how she was yelling at the neighbors during the night. "i don’t know how to not ruin it."

no matter what you felt now — it seemed to instantly dilute with something gentler. and no matter how gentle you were — you felt hungry. "you think i know how? Mydei, i wake up in the morning and i swear you’re the first thought in my head. it’s infuriating. you—"

oh no.

your roommate blinked at you, as if you managed to stunt her with your mere words. "[name]—"

"i didn’t mean to say that." you quickly interrupted, cowardice squeezing at your chest.

(it would be safer to back out now, wouldn’t it?)

"but you did."

"yeah. i guess i did."

what happened then was the last thing you expected, but Mydei reached for your hand. it was a tentative move — you deemed to be already past holding back, but your assessment of the situation might have been wrong. after all, how could she suddenly act natural when you’re both tugging at each other’s heart strings? you swallowed thickly, eyes widening when her fingers interlocked through yours. it wasn’t casual. none of it was. whatever you shared, it long stopped resembling a friendship.

her thumb ran across your knuckles. "i think about you too."

it hurt. how terrible it is that she was so close, but felt so faraway. "then say it."

a pause. "how?"

"say anything, Mydei, say anything and i’ll be—" you practically forced out, leaning into her, eyes desperately searching for any sing of mutual longing. you saw it, and when you were sure you’d fall into her embrace, a notorious sound of knocking interrupted your trail of words.

the girl’s previously softened expression rapidly morphed into a scowl — she got up from the chair, going to open the door. you, in exchange, breathed like you were taking in the oxygen for the first time in your life. you were so close. so damn close.

you kept your eyes fixated on the table’s surface, listening to the lock’s click. "what the hell do you want?” resonated Mydei’s frigid voice, and you thought it’s very unusual for her to greet anyone like that.

with a dim curiosity, you looked back, only to see that neighbor who interrupted your sleep. he seemed so small in comparison to your friend, clenching his hand around a box of chocolates. "i wanted to apologize for—"

she shut the door, not letting him finish. you gaped at her, slightly surprised — but maybe it was one of the better options, considering how tightly her fingers formed into a fist. you observed her stand there idly for three more seconds before turning on her heel, and quickly walking out of the room.

what a pain.

——

december eleventh.

time passed faster than you wanted it to. holidays were nearing, and so you busied yourself with various things. the studying sessions got more intense now, and your search for an appropriate gift for Mydei seemed endless.

one day, you walked into her room, seeing a small bag, colorful paper sticking out from it, and a ribbon glued to the side. you asked her if you could see (because your curiosity peaked at that moment), but she sternly refused. it’s a surprise — is what she said, and you had to hold back.

well, anyway. that’s not important.

what is important, is the fact you were going crazy.

as you predicted, none of you touched upon the topic of your near-confession. you could say you were already used to missing out, and pretending you were alright — except this time, things between you did not fall back into place. every single previous situation dissolved after a while, leaving you unsatisfied, but content that nothing really changed. right now, it was awkward, and all the progress you made was gone. okay, maybe not exactly gone — it was buried. hidden away, waiting. for what, you didn’t know, but it drove you insane. you were jumping around like startled hares, pretending not to see the problem blooming between you.

you both reached for the salt — your fingers brushed, and then you were stumbling over your words, apologizing.

her arm accidentally touched against yours when you stood by the kitchen counter — you jolted back, and she mouthed something under her breath.

you wanted to use the bathroom at the same time — you insisted Mydei goes first, and in return, she argued you should go instead of her.

in attempts of keeping your resolve and kindness as persisting, you began to crack once more.

you should consider yourself a lunatic for falling so deeply for a girl who was your roommate, but you couldn’t bear it any longer. the way her lips curled into a smile, and how she brushed stands of hair away from your eyes.

previously, you thought she didn’t like you that way. now you were halfway sure. no, maybe seventy percent sure. after all, she didn’t seem defiant those two weeks ago when you were inches apart from finally confessing. still, complete certainty was still quite far away from you.

in the mornings, Mydei was the first thing you thought of. you always went to search her out, hopping happily to her side as she cut some bread.

during the night, when light was gone, and the world was quiet, you drowned in reveries about the girl — constantly.

how could you tear your eyes away from her, now that you’ve seen her? if you were sunflowers, you’d face Mydei instead of the sun. that’s how far your affections towards her stretched.

and it was dumb. utterly dumb.

"wow, this color is so bright.” you commented, smiling to yourself as your gloved fingers stretched the box dye across your friend’s hair ends.

she complained about how faded the paint was, so you quickly jumped into action, running to the nearest store, and buying the most expensive dye. after that, you offered to do all the work yourself, convincing the girl it would be easier this way. she agreed without much hesitation.

she hummed under her breath. "that’s good. maybe it won’t wash away so soon."

her eyes were glued to the TV, watching some poor christmas comedy. you turned in on just to occupy your minds with some noise, in case you both accidentally slipped into that cave of awkwardness and reluctance. you paused your work, taking a second to watch the film as well. as you thought — it was absolutely cheesy.

you huffed out a small laugh, taking another strand to smother it in intense red. "why are these movies always about a big-city girl falling for a guy who owns a pine lumberyard?"

"capitalist propaganda." Mydei deadpanned.

"you’re so festive." you teased sarcastically, giving a gentle tug to her locks.

she shrugged, her neck bending backwards as if following after your touch. "i’m full of cheer."

"you’re surely full of… something."

your roommate briefly turned her head to look at you from the corner of her golden eye. she was smiling. "you’ve been weird recently, [name]."

here we go again, you thought morosely. "thanks."

"i don’t mean it in a bad way," she corrected, turning her vision back towards the TV, "just… kinda quiet. that’s unlike you."

Mydei was awfully perceptive and smart — but failing to notice how heavy the air between you was as of late would be impossible, even for someone dense. "you’ve been avoiding me."

it’s a good way you were dying her hair, else she’d probably spring out from the chair, and give you a bitter look. "no, i haven’t—"

"yes, you have." you forced out against all your wits, tired of the countless conversations you had about this specific topic. it was like an endless circle, with both of you chasing after each other, and finding yourself in the same spot.

a sigh. "maybe. i guess… i didn’t know where we stood. after that.”

you scooped another portion of red on your fingers, running them over the blonde. "neither did i."

she chuckled dryly, crossing her arms over her chest. perhaps it’s a good thing you couldn’t see her face now. "so we both just stopped talking. like cowards."

“like cowards." you repeated, nodding to yourself.

you knew Mydei despised people who ran away from the consequences — those who cowered in fear, afraid of meeting with the truth. you did too, but then silence fell over you, and neither of you spoke again. so you shall remain as cowards.

after waiting for about twenty minutes, Mydei went to wash her hair. you followed in tow, like a stray dog begging for a bone. she sent you a curious glance, cocking one eyebrow at you.

"what?"

“want me to rinse the dye off?”

(could you get any stupider than that? surely).

you wholeheartedly expected her to chase you away, but the girl tilted her head to the side, lips stretching upwards in inconspicuous assessment.

"…okay. since you wanna be so helpful today."

your whole body seemed to breathe out with relief at her agreement. you happily waited until she bent over the bathtub’s edge, reaching for the handheld shower. you let the water run through her hair, streaks of red painting the white ceramic. the hum of it caused your thoughts to cease for a brief moment. if you could, you’d stay like that forever — except soon your back will start to hurt from being hunched over, and Mydei will certainly complain along.

you put the hose away, lathering your hands in shampoo. your fingers interwoven in her locks, patiently washing away the remnants of dye. it was quiet. it was good.

your eyes briefly flickered upwards, catching on the darkened sky through the small window above. it was snowing. you didn’t say anything — and then you thought how much you detest december.

you turned the water back on, rinsing the foamy soap. once you were done, Mydei straightened out, thanking you quietly. you handed her a towel.

both of you dragged your feet towards her room, and you didn’t know why you followed after her still, but you did. she didn’t comment on your actions, which was a relief.

she seated herself on the edge of the bed, hairdryer working loudly as she blew her locks dry. you almost leaned into her side, relishing in the warm air, and how close you were. your legs were hooked around each other, tangled, like snakes in their den.

and when your friend turned it off, you grinned at her, proud of how skillfully you managed to paint her hair (even though it was your first time).

"wow, you look nice!" you complimented, but then again, was there ever a time when she didn’t?

Mydei reached for her phone, opening the camera to look at the final result. "indeed. you chose a nice shade." she smiled back at you.

"uh, so…" you began, afraid of slipping back into that uncomfortable silence between you. you didn’t know what to say, but you were desperate to uphold the conversation.

"anyway, [name]," Mydei interrupted, and you were thankful for it, "wanna see the gift i brought for you?"

you blinked at her with surprise. "but didn’t you say it was supposed to be a…?"

she waved her hand dismissively, stretching her arm to its full extent, and reached for the bag sitting on the floor. "yeah, but i can give it to you now. i’m sure you’re more than curious."

"can’t deny that." you chuckled, observing as she set the thing by your thigh. you sent her the last questioning look, seeing if she will change her mind.

"don’t be shy." the girl coerced, and so, you reached into the bag.

your fingers met with something hard, its shape resembling a rather small box. you carefully took it out, and when you saw the letters engraved atop, your jaw slacked to the ground.

it was the same luxurious brand of Mydei’s jewelry — the exact same one you searched up some weeks ago, baffled by the absurdly high prices. your eyebrows narrowed together, thinking it was a joke, and once you open it you’ll meet with nothing.

upon seeing your bewildered expression, she giggled. how can she be giggling at a time like this?! "c’mon, go ahead."

slowly, you pried the box open, your eyes widening at the sight of a ring — it remained dainty while having that classy air around it, and you gawked at Mydei like a fool. it must have been expensive. hell, expensive’s definition probably doesn’t cover half of the money spent on it!

"no way…" you muttered, your vision flickering back to the ring. "it’s— it’s so beautiful, but i… how could i accept it?"

she shrugged, taking the thing away from you, and pulling the ring out of cushioned box. "it would be impolite to refuse a gift.”

you nodded stiffly, eyebrows still knitted together, as if you were in some kind of a real emotional distress. why would she buy you something like this?

your breath hitched when Mydei tugged your palm closer, carefully slipping the jewelry on. "see? it looks nice." she smiled at you kindly, and you thought your heart might shatter from the sheer force it drummed with.

"yeah, it does." you admitted meekly, looking at the way light reflected off of it. “but i still don’t understand…"

"what do you not understand?"

"i— i’m not deserving of such gifts—“ you stammered, running your tongue over your teeth nervously, "i can’t, i just—"

her joints suddenly curled around yours, and she pulled you towards her. at this point, the whole ground might just open up, and devour you. “[name], do you seriously think i go around buying my friends pricey stuff?"

your irises flied away from Mydei’s face, but her free hand caught your jaw, forcing you to look at her. you swallowed harshly. "maybe…?"

she huffed out an exasperated sigh, probably barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. "no, i do not. but… you’re different. and that’s why i gave it to you."

the rope tying you both seemed to tighten impossibly hard, and you were sure you heard the creaks of it.

when no meaningful words found their way out of you, she continued. "do you remember when you called me your favorite person?" she asked, and then you thought there’s no running from it now. you were doomed — or perhaps salvaged.

"yes." you answered, unable to keep your gaze away from her comely features.

"well," she began, leaning a bit closer, “you’re my favorite person too."

before you even knew it, Mydei’s lips connected with yours. it knocked the oxygen out of your lungs — but it felt different from what you’ve shared during halloween. it was not fueled by the fleeting fancy or impulse.

it was giving. tender. almost evocative in its nature — ripe and soft, just like the sweet flesh of an apple in full-bloom. the fingers of your unoccupied hand found their way onto the girl’s shoulder, and you couldn’t hold your body back from practically pushing into hers.

you couldn’t believe it was happening. your covets were so nigh for all this time — and now, they finally came true.

she must have liked you. if she didn’t, she certainly wouldn’t be kissing you like that — like you were made out of the finest porcelain. her hand wouldn’t be caressing the back of your head, and you would not be able to feel how hard her heart hammered, threatening to rip through her breast.

when you pulled away, chest burning from the lack of air, Mydei let go of you. her gaze was unsure, but it quickly eased into something less restrained upon your mesmerized look.

"let’s not run away from it anymore, alright?” she almost pleaded, brushing the unruly strands of hair away from your temple.

you immediately nodded, lips stretching into a grin so wide, your whole cheeks began to hurt. "let’s not."

her muscular arms wrapped around you, and you chuckled to yourself, embracing her back. with the touch — your forehead resting in the crook of Mydei’s neck, and her fingertips brushing across your waist — the ache from your body seeped away. it was strained from constantly sprinting, acting as if you were chased by a pack of bloodhounds. but now the pain was gone.

——

december twentieth.

you held onto the girl’s hand tightly, burying your nose in the warm scarf when another sting of coldness caught your face. snow was falling from the sky relentlessly, covering the whole ground with a blanket of whiteness.

another train passed by, its loud horn startling you slightly. she glanced at you, snickering at your sudden jolt. you sent her a lighthearted glare.

currently, you were standing on the platform, waiting for her train. when Mydei told you she was going away for the holidays, you felt as if someone stabbed you — after all, you just managed to finally stabilize your relationship.

you asked why, because obviously, she wasn’t going to visit her father. she then proceeded to vaguely explain something about her mother, that she needed to see her, and talk to her. you inquired if she’s willing to introduce you to her — she merely nodded, sending you a small smile. only later you found out that her mother passed away when the girl was only two years old.

it was a crushing revelation, but Mydei didn’t seem particularly moved by how you began to weep. she simply wiped your tears, saying not to grieve in her stead — but how could you not? upon your vivid sadness, Mydei promised to bring back albums from home, and show you what her mother looked like. then, she offered to visit her during summer, and that was enough to placate your shaken emotions.

there was still so much you did not know about her. just how much sorrow and woe must she carry on daily basis? what kind of shape her thoughts take when she has to deal with the hardships fate placed on her shoulders? how does she prevail?

you wanted to be the first person she reached out to when life got tough. from what little you deduced, Mydei’s existence was never easy. you wanted to be there for her, no matter what — so you squeezed her hand now, knowing she’ll have to face her megalomaniac father soon, and share a meal with him. if you could, you’d hop on that train with her — alas, she probably wouldn’t agree.

another horn tore you away from your grim reveries, and you glanced at the train, Mydei’s hometown on its display.

"here it is." she announced, walking closer to the yellow line. you followed in her step.

"are you—” you began in a hasty manner, watching as a multitude of passengers spilled from the car, "are you sure you’ll be fine?”

she chuckled, letting go of your palm to adjust your scarf. "yeah, everything’s gonna be okay."

you nodded, smiling weakly when she leaned in to kiss you. her lips felt warm against yours. "call me when you get there."

"sure." she nodded, planting her foot on the train’s step. "i’ll see you in a week."

you waved at her, feeling at how uncomfortably your guts clenched. the girl tugged her suitcase up in one swift move, now hugged closely by all the other people walking in and out, steadily disappearing between their silhouettes.

"Mydei," you called over the clamor, catching her attention, "i love you!"

you observed her turn her head towards you, golden eyes widening before the door closed. it was the first time you ever mustered up those words. your heart clenched, dejected by how she didn’t even say it back. when the train moved, you were ready to walk away — but then, one of the windows snapped open, the familiar flury of blonde hair peeking out.

"i love you too, [name]!" she yelled, a grin plastered across her face. the train’s wheels pushed forwards faster now, causing her locks to billow around, tousled by the wind.

a surprised gasp left your mouth. you ran after the large machine, laughing along with Mydei as she pushed the strands obscuring her vision. your legs burned, and now you were sprinting after the girl — not away from her. once you could no longer keep up, you finally stopped, completely out of breath, and smiling like a love-struck fool.

no matter if she’s not by your side — there’s always going to be a home for her in your heart. you’ll leave the lights on.

#mydei x reader #written due to a request!#decided to put good ending in the tags #so i wouldn’t scare anyone off lmfao #anyway. gays rejoice!!!#idk why i decided to make it so long #since i think fem mydei is kinda niche #but oh well #it was purely self indulgent LNFOA #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #mydei #mydei x you #mydei x y/n

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reverie-starlight · 1 year ago

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nia, you’ve inspired me to write this with that sleepover question you asked abt me n atsumu a while ago 🫶🏻🫶🏻 I live soley to bug him. it’s my favourite hobby. @luvring

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff.

the faint humming of the television as it played whatever movie had been reduced to background noise is the only sound in your apartment’s tiny living room.

you’re laying on top of atsumu, who’s holding you so tightly against him to make sure you don’t roll off and hit the floor. it had been a lovely day together, going out for lunch and then spending the day at your place playing video games and watching movies. you had even attempted to cook dinner together (a task neither of you are particularly good at, but the simple Italian recipe you found seemed to work out well). you’ve been “sleeping” on his chest for the past half hour, but if you’re being honest, you’re slightly more awake than you’re pretending to be.

according to the clock on your wall, it’s 9:30. which means atsumu has to start heading home soon. it’s the time he set for himself and he’s always so good at keeping his schedule, but you don’t want him to go just yet.

…or at all.

you stay perfectly still on top of him without tensing up too much to avoid suspicion, hoping he’ll just forget and stay the night. with the way he’s gently rubbing one of his hands up and down the skin of your back, you almost fall asleep in his arms for real. but then you feel him slow to a stop.

he pulls his hand out from under your shirt, slowly, you assume it’s so he doesn’t ‘wake you up’, and sighs. you can just picture him checking his phone and realizing, so you do what any scheming partner would- you pretend to wrap your arms around him tighter and nuzzle into him in your sleep.

but atsumu’s observant. he knows you’re not actually sleeping (your breathing hadn’t quite evened out yet) but you are getting there, so he dares to disrupt the serene environment and kisses your forehead to soften the blow.

“baby,” he says, and you immediately shake your head in protest. “ya gotta move, sweetheart. it’s time for me to go.”

“noooo,” you whine, and he thinks it’s the cutest sound he’s ever heard.

he knows you don’t want him to leave just as much as he doesn’t want to leave either, but even though he hates the very idea of it, he has to be up early for practice and you live a bit further away than he’s willing to accommodate for on such short notice.

you nuzzle into his neck a bit more and he sighs again. “angel, please?”

you tilt your head up to look at him and he worries about the angle your neck is twisting at. he brings a hand up to cup the back of your head to keep you from moving it any more.

“‘tsum, please stay?”

turns out you were closer to falling asleep than he anticipated. your voice is so soft and clearly riddled with sleep that he almost caves.

but then he remembers last time this happened and how he had to wake up at 4:30 to make it back to his own apartment to shower, change and pack his gym bag.

and he shudders.

“lovebug, ya know I wish I could, but I really can’t this time. can ya let me up?”

you grumble a bit at the nickname, peering up to glare at him, and he thinks you’re really going to give in, but instead you just lock your legs tight around his.

of course you’re not making this easy for him. when do you ever?

“baby!” he can’t help but laugh, because he absolutely adores you for it.

“you can’t leave if you can’t move,” is what he thinks he hears muffled against his chest.

“that a challenge?”

you shrug and he just scoffs.

“cause if it is… I think we both know how quickly you’d be proven wrong.”

it’s true and you do in fact know it, but you’re just desperate enough to delude yourself into thinking you could keep him down with sheer determination alone.

so when you hold your ground and get defeated in milliseconds by him manhandling you and carrying you to your room, it’s a good thing you have a backup plan ready.

“okay, okay! you win, so your prize is taking me home with you for a sleepover at your place!”

he freezes just as he’s about to dump you on your bed (and presumably tuck you in so you don’t try and jump him on his way out like you have many times before).

atsumu wonders why he hadn’t thought of that as he breaks out into a wide grin. he curls you closer towards him and presses kisses all over your face and neck. “you and your beautiful brain! Oh I love ya so much,” and then he drops you onto the bed. “pack a bag, you’re comin’ over.”

ten minutes later, you’re out the door and no longer tired. it’s a struggle to lock your door when you’re still slung over his shoulder and trying not to laugh so loud that you wake up your neighbours, but like most other situations, he’s there to keep you steady.

“take your time babe, not like we’re in a rush,” he teases while swaying back and forth to make things harder.

you feel delirious, from love or being held upside down you’re not quite sure, but you giggle some more and smack his back. “‘atsumu, come on.”

he relents and soon enough you’re in his bed, playing with his hair. the roles seem to have reversed, because now he’s the sleepy one and you’re admiring the view.

you feel his breath tickle your neck and the goosebumps that follow. he nuzzles into you further and you can feel the movement of his lips when he says “we should have a forever sleepover.”

you turn into a puddle of goo. “yeah? you want to spend every night together?”

he nods and grumbles when you move your hand away from his hair. “wan’ ya with me every night. wanna come home to ya. and I wanna be the first thing ya see when you get home too.”

you coo at your sleepy golden retriever of a boyfriend and he hides his face against your shoulder. “you’re adorable when you’re tired, baby.”

“not as cute as you were earlier, that’s for sure.”

you smile and press a kiss to his scalp before forming a response for his unofficial proposal to move in together.

it’s not as though you haven’t thought about it. it’s constantly on your mind, especially since staying at his place has started to feel less like being a guest and more like an extension of your own home.

if he were to ask you properly, you would most definitely say yes, but since he’s half asleep and most likely doesn’t realize what he’s insinuating…

“we’ll talk about it more tomorrow after you get back from practice. sleep, angel, it’s late. I love you,” you whisper.

he nods a little and repeats the sentiment in a soft, slurred murmur before nodding off for the night.

you’re sure to hug him a little tighter as you drift off soon after and dream of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

cheesy ending, but I’m feeling soft for him :( so can you really blame me??

tagging some more lovely people :3 @emmyrosee @dira333

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader fluff #atsumu miya x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #atsumu fluff #haikyuu fluff

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littleredwolf · 7 months ago

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Home for Christmas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound and you and Wanda are busy making festive cookies for the team to enjoy upon their return from a mission.

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff/cosy Christmas content.

Words: 982

A/N: I wanted to have a go at something fluffy and festive, so I hope this ticks all the right boxes! Merry Christmas!

The snow fell in gentle cascades, blanketing the compound in a glittery shimmer that added a touch of magic to the view. Inside, the compound had been transformed into a festive haven, every corner adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, while Christmas music played softly over the sound system, mingling with the rich scents of sugar, vanilla, and freshly baked gingerbread. It was like a scene straight out of a Christmas movie, so cosy and picturesque.

“I think we may have overdone it,” Wanda mused as the two of you stood at the counter to admire your afternoon's work.

The kitchen sides were covered with trays filled with cookies of all shapes and sizes. There were snowflakes, gingerbread men, Christmas trees, candy canes, Santa, stockings, and even some questionable looking reindeer. To anybody else, maybe it was a little too much, but with a team full of superheroes to feed, you wondered if maybe it wasn't enough.

“I don't think that's possible,” you replied, straightening one of the cookies on the tray closest to you. “The super soldiers alone will get through most of these between them.”

“I'm surprised you haven't made Bucky his own personal batch,” she said with a teasing smile.

At the mere mention of his name, your cheeks flushed and your chest tightened.

It had been nearly three weeks since you'd last seen Bucky, he and a few other members of the team had been away on a mission, and while he'd sent a few texts and the occasional picture (one particularly adorable shot of him and Sam looking begrudgingly festive in Santa hats), you missed him more than you’d like to admit.

The compound had felt strangely empty since he'd been gone, you'd missed his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always managed to put you at ease simply by being there. Your bed had felt too big without him in it each night, and the absence of his arms around you and gentle kisses to soothe you to sleep had thrown your sleeping pattern completely off balance.

The excitement of his imminent return had been bubbling all morning, making you so impatient and restless that Wanda had insisted you do something to keep yourself busy, hence the cookies.

Now you were finished, however, the nervous excitement was returning, and you couldn't resist the frequent glances out the window to see if you could spot the quinjet through the snow.

“You really love him, don't you?” Wanda smiled as she began to tidy everything away, sending the dirty utensils to the dishwasher with a wave of her hand.

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating her words, then slowly nodded. Although neither of you had used the ‘L’ word yet, there was no denying how you felt.

“Yeah, I do. It's different with him, Wanda - I can be myself around him without feeling like I have to dilute any part of my personality. I never thought I'd find someone who just accepts me as I am - even the messy, broken bits! He’s just, so damn perfect, you know? I feel like pinching myself sometimes because it feels too good to be true!” Your tone was light, but there was no hiding your insecurities from Wanda Maximoff - she knew you better than you knew yourself most days.

She reached over the counter to squeeze your hand, smiling softly. “He feels the same way, you know. Anyone can see it.”

Before you could respond, the compound’s security system chimed, announcing an incoming quinjet. Your heart leapt - they were home!

“They’re here!” you exclaimed, abandoning your work and rushing to the window. Through the snow, you could just make out the sleek shape of the jet landing on the pad outside.

Wanda laughed as she trailed after you.“I think you’re more excited about this than Christmas itself,” she teased.

You turned to her with a thoughtful expression. “I'd say it's a draw,” you smirked, and she shook her head with a laugh. You turned to the window again, but the snow was so thick now that you could barely see a thing.

“What are you waiting for? Go and greet your man!” Wanda urged, giving you a gentle nudge.

You didn’t need to be told twice - you slipped on your shoes and dashed outside, forgetting to even put on a coat in your rush. The icy wind bit at your cheeks, but you hardly noticed as the quinjet’s hatch opened and the team began descending the ramp. Sam was the first to emerge, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Merry Christmas!” he called, waving as he approached and pulling you into a bear hug. “Now, where are the cookies?”

“It’s good to see you too!” You laughed, giving him a playful shove as you sent him on his way, your attention snapping to the next figure emerging from the jet.

Bucky stepped out into the snowy evening, his eyes scanning the landing pad until they found you. His face softened instantly, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he hastily made his way down the ramp.

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck as he caught you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of him - leather and something faintly metallic - wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“You’re freezing,” he gasped, brushing his gloved hand over your cheek.

“I don’t care,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin mirroring yours as he cupped your face. “I’m home.”

He pressed his lips to yours, filling you with so much warmth that it instantly melted away the agony of the last three weeks.

Out of all the gifts you could have received for Christmas, being back in Bucky's arms was by far the best one.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes x reader #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes x reader

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moonstruckme · 2 years ago

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hi lovely!! i love your writing sm, was wondering if i could request poly! marauders x shy! reader!! like they try to fluster her whenever they can, maybe leading to smut? totally okay if not, just thought i’d ask, hope you’re well <3

Thanks for requesting!

poly!marauders x shy!reader ♡ 625 words

“He-llo, gorgeous,” Sirius says as you walk into the boys’ dorm, and you know instantly that it’s going to be a trying afternoon. “Who gave you permission to look that good on a Tuesday, huh?”

You feel blood rush to your face, but you put all the severity you can into one word as you sit on Remus’ bed, far as you can get from your smirking boyfriend. “Quit.”

You should have known it would only encourage him. Sirius arches one eyebrow, smile spreading like a blight across his pretty face. “Oh I see. Feeling bold today, are we? Wanna repeat that, pretty girl?”

You don’t, actually. Your daily quota of boldness has hit its limit.

Sirius is downright gleeful at your silence. “Aw, come on. I love it when you boss me around, sweetheart. Moony, isn’t she cute when she tells us what to do?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Remus’ voice is quiet behind you, lilting in that way it gets when he’s particularly amused. “She never does it with me.”

James laughs from where he’s digging through his wardrobe, fishing out a pair of sweats to change into from his robes. “Only you, Pads. You’re the only one who pushes her that far.”

“Mm, but she gives up too easily.” You can hear the pout in Sirius’ voice, can feel his stare boring into the top of your head, but you don’t look up from where you’ve begun picking your nails.

“Hey.” Remus’ hand wraps around yours, shielding your fingertips from one another. You tense. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say, but the word is barely audible, barely more than breath.

“What was that?” You can feel him shifting around you on the bed. When you still won’t look up, he slides to the floor, crouching in front of you to capture your eyes. “Look at me, darling.”

You do, for the half of a second it takes for him to smirk, and then you realize his game, the sneaky bastard. You can feel your heartbeat in your face. You know you have to be red as a stop sign, but neither Remus or Sirius will heed you.

You look to James, your softhearted angel, for help. Remus chuckles, hand flattening against the side of your knee to rub soothingly, but you know better than to fall for that now. After a few moments of silence, James glances over. His eyes soften into warm brown mush when he sees the plea on your face.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, forgoing his search for a shirt and opening his arms as he comes your way. “Are they being cruel?”

You’re not ready to commit to slander, but you accept his hug readily. He steals you from Remus’ grasp, taking you into his hold and scrubbing a hand up and down your spine while he laughs.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he teases the other boys, palm steadfast on your back. “Ganging up on our poor girl like that.”

“Hey, I just wanted her to know that she looks nice,” Sirius says, and without removing your face from James’ neck you can picture his don’t-shoot gesture. “Anyway, it seems like she got what she wanted in the end.”

James’ laughter starts up again, a low rumble in his chest that has you tensing warily. “Ah, I think I understand,” he says, voice turning smooth as velvet. “You just wanted to feel me up while I’m shirtless, is that right, sweetheart?”

You make a quiet, miserable sound, slumping against him despondently as his shoulders shake underneath you.

“You little pervert,” James goes on, teasing tone at odds with the steady patting of his hand on your back. “Lucky for you I’m willing to be objectified, you freak.”

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regheart · 9 months ago

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there's something i find particularly annoying in this fandom and it's the way purebloods are written as highly sophisticated extremely rich and straight up a rip off of regency period novels

i understand the choice of this specific portrayal, i can see it as an approximation to historical drama, where the social restrictions are compelling and are relevant to the story, and a good writer can make any concept believable and good

HOWEVER as much as the worldbuilding on wizarding costumes (and a lot of other things) is extremely inconsistent and gets progressively worse towards the later three books, the implications that i see don't point towards this version of a sophisticated performatic elite who interacts only with itself

while i tend to see the blood status in the harry potter universe as a distinction of class and not at all a distinction of race, i don't think the difference is, in practice, as marked as it is in real world contexts, mostly because of how numerically small and insulated the wizarding community is

this post is part of my personal vendetta against purebloods as charming aristocrats & what appears to be the necessity of writing each and all of them as so very well spoken and politically savvy and never-caught-dead-speaking-to-a-half-blood

for once, the sacred twenty-eight is extra canon information and is disputed IN UNIVERSE, because it was anonymously published and received backlash for the inclusion (weasley, ollivander) and exclusion (crabbe, goyle, potter) of certain names

the malfoys are the only extremely rich family we see in canon. extra canon information tells us they made money before the statute of secrecy by trading with muggles

compare that to the potters who are also very rich (there's no scale to tell us who is the richer family), but made most of their money from the invention of sleakezy in the 20th century

the blacks are also implied to be wealthy: sirius manages to live off his inheritance after buying harry an expensive broom, and he says his grandfather likely paid for an order of merlin

there's a lot to be said about the blacks (e.g. they should have at least a couple more properties other than grimmauld place), but the big picture and the similarity with the gaunts (not about the incest, stop fixating on that) suggest they were a family in decadence by the time sirius was growing up

i believe that the implication is that neither of them had a proper job, which creates a similarity with gentry, but gentry lived off rentals and while it is possible they had a country state i don't think grimmauld place was making a lot of money

lucius malfoy also didn't work and spent a portion of his time being a school counselor (and obviously not being paid for it, as it was a way to exercise his political power over the main learning institution in his community)

it's also extra canon that the nott family had equal footing with the malfoys, so we can assume that crabbe, goyle, parkinson and bulstrode were slightly beneath them, either in social standing or money, despite the later two being part of the sacred twenty-eight (or it could appear to be so because pansy and milicent are girls)

the weasleys are obviously the main example of a poor sacred twenty-eight family, as were the gaunts

the crouch family was most like rich (they could afford a house elf), but it's likely that most of that money came from mr. crouch having a high level ministry job. his family and connections were probably an advantage to getting the job, but it's possible he wouldn't be able to maintain the lifestyle without working

longbottom, prewett and macmillan are families that appear to be very traditional, but not remarkably wealthy

other working members of the sacred twenty-eight are: horace slughorn (school teacher, but it can be argued that teaching hogwarts is a prestigious position), garrick ollivander (wand maker and shop owner, but, again, the only wand maker, which holds a certain prestige in itself), mr. burke (shop owner), arthur weasley (ministry employee), frank longbottom and kingsley shacklebolt (both aurors). amycus and alecto carrow are also temporary hogwarts teachers

the blacks married out of the sacred twenty-eight many times (max, gamp, crabbe, potter)

all of these people and every single muggleborn goes to the same school, buy magical supplies at the same place, drink from the same pubs, etc. that alone should serve as evidence that there aren't many exclusive pureblood hangouts around

the only place that seems to attract the malfoys (arguably the richest and most important pureblood family in the 90s) and not most other people, is the knockturn alley, which is hardly a high brow sophisticated spot

except for malfoy and flint, no slytherin quidditch player during the 90s is in the sacred twenty-eight, so that's hardly a criterion for making it into the team

mulciber is not a sacred twenty-eight name, they could very well be half-bloods

tom riddle and severus snape were half-blood students who formed ties with purebloods while in school and held blood supremacist views, assimilation to a certain level was possible

#my other personal vendetta is that it all comes down to demographics but no one wants to hear me talking about that #trying to come up eith background slytherin characters from the 70s took me places i wouldn't go with a gun #and my very petty complain is can we please stop with the galas? when can we stop with the galas?#and assuming they care about culture like at all my rant on wizards and art is probably bigger than this one #hp meta #pureblood society #pureblood culture #the noble and most ancient house of black #the sacred twenty-eight #sacred 28 #a worldbuilding nightmare #this is my most annoying post up to date and its a Hard contest #also just find reading about this stuff soooo boring but i find myself trying to justify not wanting to write like this

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bennyboyfics · 2 months ago

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What’s on my phone || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

Summary: as the title suggests, Ben participating in the what’s on my phone interview :)

Wc: 1,788

Warnings: not proofread

MASTERLIST

The camera crew is bustling around, adjusting the lighting and checking sound levels as Ben lounges comfortably in a chair, his phone in hand. There’s an easy grin on his face as he leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The ATP Tour’s What’s on My Phone? segment is a fan favourite, and Ben knows the drill—unlock his phone, reveal a little too much, and probably get roasted for it.

“I’m Ben Shelton and this is What’s on My Phone?”Ben chuckles, dimples flashing. “Alright, let’s do this.” The screen behind him mirrors his phone in real-time, and the moment he turns on his phone, the lock screen is revealed—prompting an immediate reaction from the crew. A few awws and some teasing whistles fill the room, making Ben shake his head with a laugh.

On his screen is a photo of you. It’s not just any photo—it’s a candid his photographer took during one of his matches, when you were sitting courtside wearing a cap and one of his oversized hoodies, completely caught up in the game. You weren’t even looking at the camera, just watching him, biting your lip in concentration like you were the one playing.

The way the sunlight hit your face, the way your expression softened ever so slightly—it was a moment he knew he wanted to keep with him. Ben rubs the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, uh… that’s my girl.” His voice is warm, casual, but there’s something deeper in it—an unmistakable fondness.

“She’s kinda my good luck charm, so…” He shrugs, like it’s obvious, like there’s no other option but for you to be the face he sees every time he picks up his phone. He swipes up to unlock it, bringing up his home screen—an organised but slightly chaotic layout, with notifications from Instagram, Twitter, and iMessage sitting unread.

“Alright, first question—what’s your most used app?” Ben hums, opening his screen time stats. “Probably Instagram,” he admits, tapping into the app. And that’s when the real fun begins. Because the second his feed loads, it completely betrays him. The algorithm doesn’t lie. His entire recommended feed is flooded with you.

There are fan edits, paparazzi shots, even a few tagged posts from your fan accounts. One video is a slow-motion montage of you in the players lounge ar Miami open, your arm looped through his, smiling at him like he hung the moon. Another is a courtside clip of you watching his match, your expression unreadable—until he wins a point, and you break into the proudest smile.

Ben lets out a laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Man, y’all are really gonna do me like this?” he teases. “Okay, yeah, I look at her fan pages. So what? Y’all are fast with the edits, too. Some of these are from, like, yesterday.” The producer laughs from off-camera. “Do you have a favourite post you’ve seen recently?”

Ben scrolls for a second, then pauses on a familiar photo. It’s a candid someone took of you standing up mid-match, clapping after a particularly good point. You’re wearing one of his hoodies—again—this time layered over a tennis skirt, your expression a mix of excitement and relief.

“This one,” he says, holding his phone up to the camera. “She swears she’s not a sports person, but she’ll be up yelling at the umpire if they make a bad call.” The crew chuckles, and Ben smiles down at the image before backing out of the app. “Alright, next question—what’s the last photo in your camera roll?”

He taps into his photos, scrolling to the most recent one, and his lips curve into a grin. “Oh, this is good.” He turns the screen toward the camera. It’s a blurry selfie from the night before—you kissing his cheek while he laughs, his dimples deep and his face slightly flushed. There’s a laziness to it, the kind of picture taken when neither of you cared about the angle, just capturing a moment.

Ben chuckles. “I think she was making fun of me for something, but I don’t remember what.” He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “Probably for losing at Mario Kart. She swears she’s better than me.” The producer smirks. “Is she?” Ben scoffs. “Absolutely not.” Ben shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders as he exits out of Instagram.

“Alright, what’s next?” The producer smiles, glancing at the list of questions. “What’s your most used emoji?” Ben doesn’t even have to think. He swipes down to his recently used emojis, and right at the top—unsurprisingly—is the red heart. He tilts the screen toward the camera, raising an eyebrow.“Yeah, it’s the heart,” he confirms, smirking slightly.

“Not shocking, I know.” Someone off-camera chuckles. “Who gets the most heart emojis from you?” Ben grins, already knowing the answer. “Oh, definitely her,” he says without hesitation, referring to you. “I’m a heart emoji kinda guy. She’ll text me something random, and I’ll just respond with like, three of these.” He taps the red heart for emphasis.

The crew laughs, shaking their heads as the producer moves on. “Alright, next up—what’s the last text you sent?” Ben swipes into his messages, and immediately, your name is pinned at the top. He clicks on your chat, scanning for the most recent message. A soft chuckle escapes him as he reads it. “Oh man,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Okay, so the last thing I sent was—‘I swear I didn’t forget, don’t be mad.’” There’s a beat of silence before the producer asks, “Forget what?” Ben drags a hand down his face, laughing sheepishly. “She wanted me to call her before I left for practice this morning. And, uh… I kinda forgot,” he admits. “But in my defense, it was early and I was half asleep.”

There’s some playful teasing from the crew, and Ben holds his hands up in surrender. “Look, I remembered eventually! I FaceTimed her as soon as I got to the courts. She answered with the biggest side-eye, too. I was like, ‘Babe, please, I’m sorry,’ and she just—” He mimics a deadpan expression, pursing his lips and crossing his arms.

“Did she forgive you?” someone asks. Ben snorts. “Eventually. But she made me suffer for like, a solid ten minutes first. She just sat there, all quiet, making me work for it.” He shakes his head, grinning. “She’s too good at that, man.” The producer chuckles before moving to the next question. “What’s the last note you wrote in your phone?”

Ben pulls up his Notes app, scrolling through a mix of training reminders, random song lyrics, and half-finished grocery lists before landing on the most recent one. A smile tugs at his lips. “Oh, this one’s cute,” he says, turning his phone slightly to the camera. “It’s just—‘Don’t forget to grab her snacks before the flight.’”

There’s a collective aww from the crew, and Ben shakes his head with a fond chuckle. “Okay, listen, she has very specific snack preferences, alright? Like, if I come home empty-handed, it’s over for me.” The producer laughs. “So, what’s the go-to snack order?” Ben counts on his fingers.

“Sour candy, specifically the extreme kind—like, the ones that make your face pucker. Then, these little mini chocolate croissants she likes, and a very specific brand of iced tea that’s weirdly hard to find.” “Do you ever forget?” Ben scoffs. “Oh, I forgot once. And she gave me the most disappointed look. Like, not angry—just disappointed. Which is way worse.”

He shudders dramatically, making the crew laugh. “So now,” he continues, tapping the note on his phone, “I set reminders. Because I am not going through that again.” He locks his phone, shaking his head as he chuckles. “She’s got me trained, man.” Then comes the final question. “What’s your favourite saved TikTok?”

He taps into his favourites, scrolling past a mix of funny clips, tennis highlights, and a lot of dog videos before landing on the one he’s been waiting for. The second the video thumbnail appears, his smirk deepens. “Oh, this one’s good,” he says, already biting back a laugh as he clicks play.

The familiar beats of Baby by Quality Control and Lil Baby immediately blast through the speakers, and the screen fills with clips of you—from the same tournament where he took home the title. But it’s not just any edit. It’s a thirst trap edit. The producer is laughing. “Does she know about this edit?”

“Oh, she knows,” Ben says, grinning. “She sent it to me before I even saw it.” He watches the final few seconds of the video. Ben locks his phone, shaking his head with a fond chuckle. “Yeah, this is my favourite TikTok right now. No contest.” He looks straight into the camera, smirking. The crew laughs as the interview wraps up, and Ben locks his phone, bringing your smiling face back onto his screen.

His eyes linger on it for a second, his expression softening, before he tucks it into his pocket. “Alright, that’s it for What’s on My Phone?,” the producer says. “Ben, any final words?” “Yeah—babe, if you’re watching this, don’t be mad about the Mario Kart thing.” He smirks. “You got lucky.” The crew laughs as the video cuts to black.

#ben shelton #ben shelton fanfiction #ben shelton fanfic #ben shelton imagine #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton au #ben shelton tennis #ben shelton x fem!reader #tennis fanfic #ben shelton x you #ben shelton angst #ben shelton fluff #ben shelton smut #tennis x reader #tennis au #tennis fanfiction #tennis

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hrizantemy · 3 months ago

Note

Nesta's boots.

In the second chapter of ACOTAR, Feyre makes a note of how shiny they are. In ACOSF, when Nesta returns to the cabin, her point of view shows them as being so worn that they had a holes in them. While the most obvious reason for this is retcon, I think there is a in-universe reason that's worth looking into, because it's not the first time something like that happened.

“I needed new boots, but Elain needed a new cloak, and Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed.” ACOTAR, Chapter 1

In the first book, Feyre is written as someone practical, who is doing her best to keep her family alive. She also believes her sisters to be frivolous in their spending, which is shown when she mentions in chapter 2, that she feels the need to hide money.

“No, she just spent whatever money I didn’t hide from her" ACOTAR, Chapter 2

So, going back to the first quote, the fact that Feyre herself mentions Elain's need for a new cloak, already paints a picture of Nesta in our minds, of being the worst of the two sister, with the implication that Elain actually needs it while Nesta doesn't.

“I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces.” ACOTAR, Chapter 2

This perception of Nesta is practically set in stone by the description of those boots, in comparison's to Feyre's. I do think it's worth noting that, while we get the description of the boots the second Nesta mentions them, we don't get a description of Elain's coat, and the condition it's in. All we see is her whining about how cold she'll get.

However, in ACOSF, the description of the boots that we get is entirely contradictory.

“There in the corner sat a pair of worn, half-rotted shoes. Her shoes. One of them was bursting at the toe’s seam. She’d worn those shoes—in public. Could still remember mud and stones creeping in.” ACOSF, Chapter 55

To begin with, I think it's important to consider what each pair of shoes was put through to get them in that condition.

Feyre, as a hunter, spent a lot of her time in the forest throughout the year. She's setting up traps, stalking potential prey, and carrying it back, either to town or to her cabin. I imagine that she also skins and preps the meat while wearing her shoes, especially during winter, meaning they often get covered in all sorts of substances that would cause them to fall apart faster.

Meanwhile, Nesta spends her days, largely, in the cabin. Perhaps she steps outside every now and then, perhaps she goes into town some days. But, for the most part, she doesn't put her shoes through half the amount of stress Feyre does.

If we also consider that neither of them probably have particularly good quality shoes anyway (I'm sure in such a poor village, there's a cap on the quality of the products they sell, since most people wouldn't be able to afford them at a certain point, so there wouldn't be a point in stocking it, if vendors even have the ability too), then it makes sense why Nesta's shoes may seem better off than Feyre's, from her perspective.

This wouldn't be the last time Feyre's view on wealth is skewed.

"Velaris was by no means poor, its people mostly cared for, the buildings and streets well kept. My sister, it seemed, had managed to find the only thing relatively close to a slum." ACOFAS, Chapter 4

'Relatively close', she said.

So not a slum. Not even particularly run down. Maybe somewhat outdated, I imagine, but not violating health or safety codes, in any way. The streets themselves don't seem to be particularly dirty either. It's very likely that the area itself is safe too. I mean, this singular city has the, supposed, most powerful fae in their court living there. They all see their High Lord regularly, you never know if the spymaster is lurking in a dark corner, and the entire IC seem to have way too much time on their hands. Mor spends half the books at Rita's, for God's sake. And they all treassure Velaris on a personal level, so it's understandable that crime would be very low there, and why crime rates in places like Illyria and the Hewn City are much higher.

Both of these instances show just how skewed Feyre's perception of wealth is, which shouldn't be surprising. Feyre's inability to read shows how uneducated she was, even before her family lost their wealth. Frankly, I think Nesta has a better perception of money than Feyre ever did.

Nesta was raised to be a Queen. The human lands seem to be based off of Medieval Europe, so the roles of Queens in universe are likely to reflect that. Mor confirms at least the second part in ACOWAR.

“But she was human. And a queen—who needed to continue her royal line, especially during such a tumultuous time.” ACOWAR, Chapter 66

This means that a Queen's main role, aside from providing heirs, would be running the royal household, managing the finances, hiring staff, etc. There were times when they may take part in religious ceremonies, and, depending on their circumstances, politics. But, largely, their main duty was to run the royal household.

“You would need ten thousand ships,” Nesta said, her voice breaking. “You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here.” ACOMAF, Chapter 57.

Nesta proved in ACOMAF, when she calculated the number of ships that would be needed to evacuate the people inhabiting the mortal lands on Prythian.

So, logically speaking, who would've been running their household while living in the cottage? I doubt their father, who's track record shows how terrible he is with money, would be doing it. Feyre's perception of wealth has been shown to be skewed too. This leaves Nesta and Elain. Weather or not Elain has the skills to do that is unclear, at this point, which means the most likely person was Nesta. Even after they were given money by Tamlin, the person running their newly restored household would, probably, be Nesta. After the last time it's unlikely she would trust him with such a sum of money again. Nobody would be there to help them if he lost it.

This leads me to the question, what exactly was Nesta spending money on?

When Feyre mentioned hiding money, she mentioned that she did it because Nesta spent it, but, to the best of my memory, we never learn what she bought with it. Is it possible Nesta struggled to adjust after losing their wealth, and made some impulse purchases? Yes. In fact, I'd say it's likely that she did, which may be what Feyre is basing her opinion of Nesta's spending habit on. However, it's also likely that as time went on, she started to help manage finances. Replace things that Feyre refused to because she didn't think they needed to be replaced, like Nesta's boots.

We also know that it was likely Nesta, and perhaps Elain, who handled domestic labour in their household. This would include fixing torn clothes. It's unclear exactly how long Nesta and Feyre had the same pair of boots, but even for someone who didn't leave their home much, they would begin to rot eventually, especially if they're low quality. It also wouldn't be surprising if, as part of the domestic labour, Nesta tried to clean, fix or polish their clothes and shoes however she could, but with Feyre heading to the forest every day, I doubt it would work as well on hers than Nesta's or Elain's.

With all of this in mind, it makes sense why, from Feyre's point of view, Nesta's boots look fine, better than fine, even, from her perspective. And now, with sudden access to hoards of wealth, Feyre has essentially gone from zero to a hundred in less than a day. She never experienced the middle ground, that most people live with, leaving her feeling entitled, and out of touch by the time we get to ACOFAS, and maybe even in ACOSF too. Its why she seems so jarring, like she forgot her roots entirely.

1. The Boots as Narrative Symbol: A Mirror of Perception

The contrast between Feyre’s perception of Nesta’s shiny boots in ACOTAR and Nesta’s actual memory of her “half-rotted” shoes in ACOSF is more than just a continuity oversight — it reflects a fundamental truth of the series: that Feyre is an unreliable narrator.

That line — “Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed” — comes from Feyre’s internal monologue, not from Nesta’s actions. Feyre is projecting resentment. Her situation is horrible, and she’s young and desperate. And instead of seeing Nesta’s refusal to adapt as a trauma response or a psychological defense mechanism (which we later learn it was), Feyre interprets it as selfishness.

“I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door.” — ACOTAR, Chapter 2

But then in ACOSF, we get:

“There in the corner sat a pair of worn, half-rotted shoes. Her shoes. One of them was bursting at the toe’s seam.” — ACOSF, Chapter 55

That is a full-circle moment. It's not a contradiction — it's a correction. A window into how one character (Feyre) perceived things through her own bias, and how reality was far more complex. This shift matters because it reframes how we’re meant to understand Nesta. It’s the moment where the “spoiled, cold sister” trope begins to fracture, and the truth of her silent, lonely survival comes to light.

2. Wealth, Class, and Skewed Perception

You're absolutely right that Feyre’s perception of wealth is deeply skewed, both before and after her transition into High Lady. Her family was rich once, but she was a child — likely shielded from the logistics of how wealth was managed. When that wealth collapsed, she learned one thing: survival requires control. Her obsession with control — of food, money, her sisters’ choices — became a coping mechanism.

“No, she just spent whatever money I didn’t hide from her.” — ACOTAR, Chapter 2

But what Feyre sees as “frivolous spending” could very well have been basic necessities. In a household that was falling apart, with no income, and no parental guidance, it would have made sense for Nesta to try and replace things. To buy soap. Or fabric. Or, yes, a slightly better pair of boots to last the winter. And Feyre’s disdain isn’t rooted in logic — it’s rooted in resentment, which becomes increasingly clear with time.

Let’s not forget:

“Velaris was by no means poor… My sister, it seemed, had managed to find the only thing relatively close to a slum.” — ACOFAS, Chapter 4

This isn’t Nesta seeking out squalor — it’s Feyre projecting class-based judgment. It’s Feyre, who now lives in palaces and wears Night Court couture, acting like someone who used to be poor but now has the luxury to sneer at others from a safe distance. Her “relatively close to a slum” line isn’t just ignorant — it’s classist. It’s a reminder that Feyre hasn’t actually unlearned the trauma of being poor; she’s just buried it under wealth.

3. Nesta’s Financial Role and Domestic Responsibility

You hit on something truly important when you said Nesta was raised to be a queen — because that would have included education in household management. Queens in medieval and early modern European societies often oversaw everything from royal expenses to household inventories. They were expected to know how to run a court, a kitchen, and a staff. Even without fae-level magic, Nesta likely had early training in reading ledgers, assessing quality, and making judgment calls.

“You would need ten thousand ships,” Nesta said, her voice breaking. “I have calculated the numbers.” — ACOMAF, Chapter 57

Feyre, in contrast, couldn’t read at the beginning of ACOTAR. She admits this. So why is she the one assumed to be the practical, financially literate sister?

It’s because Feyre tells the story. She frames herself as the martyr, and her sisters as burdens. But who’s doing the mending? Who’s buying the salt? Who’s maintaining the hearth while Feyre is in the woods?

It’s likely Nesta did what she could — in a home where she had no real resources, no parental support, and no mental health help. Her “frivolity” may well have been the bare minimum of caretaking — but because Feyre sees it as excessive, so do we.

4. Symbolic Labor and Feminine Expectations

The boots symbolize more than class — they symbolize expectation. Feyre was expected to labor physically, while Nesta was expected to serve aesthetically and socially. When Feyre’s labor was visible (bruises, blood, boots falling apart), it was “real.” When Nesta’s labor was invisible (sewing, budgeting, scrubbing a floor, fighting to maintain dignity), it was “useless.”

Sound familiar?

It’s a gendered double standard that echoes through both human and fae society in the series. Feyre became the “masculine” heroine — bow-wielding, hunting, sacrificing. Nesta was the “feminine” failure — bitter, cold, broken, and ornamental. But both girls suffered. Both survived. And only one was allowed to be praised for it.

5. Feyre’s Arc Toward Elitism

By ACOFAS and ACOSF, Feyre isn’t just removed from her roots — she’s romanticizing them. She frames her past as a hardship she alone endured, without acknowledging the nuances of what her sisters went through. Her judgment of Nesta’s apartment, her flippant dismissal of Illyrian or Hewn City culture, all reflect a Feyre who has adopted the classism of her new station. She means well. She’s trying. But she’s also deeply out of touch.

And here’s the hard truth:

Feyre never had to learn how to live in the middle. She jumped from poverty to divine wealth, from hunter to High Lady. She never had to rebuild slowly — so she can’t fathom what it means when others do.

Conclusion: The Boots Were Never Just Boots

They were a symbol. Of perception. Of judgment. Of class. Of trauma.

Feyre’s narrative taught us, early on, that she was the only one struggling — that her sisters were dead weight. But as the series unfolds, and we finally get the chance to see through Nesta’s eyes, we realize the truth is so much more complicated. Nesta didn’t just let her boots rot. She let herself rot. She wore them into the mud and let them fall apart, just like she did with her body.

Because that’s what happens when nobody saves you. And nobody sees you.

So yes — the boots matter.

#anti acosf #anti inner circle #anti acotar #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti cassian #anti azriel #pro nesta #nesta archeron deserves better #anti amren #anti morrigan #anti nessian #anti night court

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sometimesanalice · 1 year ago

Text

I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation. You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.”

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch.

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

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