#so that’s even worse but it can’t be helped

[chleem]

Wonder what is going on with casual!drew and reader in valentine’s :////

⋆.˚ Warnings: angst w/ a side of fluff (read at own caution

word count: 3.5k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

As you made your way to checkout, you weren’t so sure anymore. 

It was your first Valentines’ with Drew, your casual relationship for…more than five months now. 

He was next to you, mindlessly pushing the cart, AirPods in one ear, eyes focused on the snack aisle. 

You couldn’t help but feel…disappointed? Sad? Weird?

It was casual, yes, but it was Valentine’s day. 

Valentine’s wasn’t just another day. It was the day, the one where people at least tried to show they cared—whether with a gesture or a simple acknowledgment. 

And while you’ve convinced yourself you were fine with the way things were between you two, a small part of you had hoped for something, anything. 

A hint that maybe, just maybe, Drew felt differently about you today.

No. He didn’t. 

Starting with this morning, no text. No call. 

Well, only one, and it was ‘dinner at yours?’

Okay, you had to admit, that got you a bit excited, because maybe he got something planned? 

But as the hours passed, there was nothing.

You didn’t see him at any point during the day, except for lunch. He was with his friends, laughing, hanging out, acting like… he would, on a normal day. But then, at one point, you could’ve sworn he flirted with that one girl.

The hours leading up were just bumping into couples in hallways, boring lectures, etc. 

And now here you were, walking through the aisles of the supermarket with Drew, sharing AirPods, grabbing groceries like it was…just another day. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t sure. 

As you walked toward the checkout, it was clear—he hadn’t even mentioned it. 

You glanced at him again, trying to gauge if maybe he was just oblivious, or if this was exactly what he wanted—no pressure, no expectations. 

Causal, casual, casual. 

But what you felt wasn’t relief; it was…you weren’t sure. 

Finally, mustering up the courage, you nudge his side, getting his attention. 

You could feel his blue eyes staring down at you as you both neared the end of the aisle. 

"Drew?" Your voice barely above a whisper as you looked ahead. God, were you nervous?

“Yeah?” His hand pushes on the cart, fingers drumming gently to the beat of I’ll make love to you. 

“…do you know what day it is?”

“Friday,” he answers almost immediately, and you can hear the slight confusion in his voice. 

Oh wow. So…he really doesn’t know?

“Right,” you say, your voice almost flat as you try to play it cool. “Friday.”

“Yeah?” This yeah was definitely a confused one. 

You and Drew exit the snacks aisle, making your way to the checkout counters. It's silent for a few steps, the air thick with the awkwardness, until—

"Something wrong?”

His voice is softer now, a little more tentative. He’s trying to figure out what’s going on, and part of you wants to just brush it off—tell him it’s no big deal.

You glance over at him, his blue eyes searching your face for some kind of answer, but you’re not sure of what to say.

Tell him and have him get you something last minute? 

That would…feel much more worse. 

But just as you’re about to settle on saying nothing, the seasonal aisle catches your eye. 

Aka, The Valentine’s aisle. Bright reds and pinks, heart-shaped boxes, plush bears, and cards scattered across the shelves. Everything screams Valentine’s and stands out like a neon sign, as if to make sure you’re fully aware that today was supposed to be special for someone.

It feels like the universe is saying, Here, you can’t ignore it anymore. 

Drew follows your gaze,

“Oh,”

He whispers, as if realizing. 

You watch his back, your eyes scanning the t-shirt that outlines his muscles, hoping to see anything—anything that might indicate he’s getting it now. Maybe a shift in his posture, a tightening in his shoulders, like he’s finally clued in. 

But no. Nothing. 

He stands there for a beat, his hands still resting loosely on the cart. 

In your AirPods, it’s now playing What a girl wants. 

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, until he turns back around, his eyes meeting yours, and there’s…a smile on his lips. 

A smile that, for the first time today, seems like maybe he does get it. 

“Okay,” his hands leaves the cart, wrapping around your waist. He pulls you close to him, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

Drew’s height towers over you, and he’s looking down at you with that, signature- almost smitten look of his. 

You rest your arms on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching the quick thrum of yours.

Is he gonna say it? Will you be my Valentine-

“Happy Valentine’s, y/n.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

But then, your eyebrows furrow, and the frown on your face betrays you, unable to hide the disappointment that creeps in.

You expected something more. You wanted him to say it, to choose you in that moment, to make this first Valentine’s together something that felt significant. 

And yet, it’s just… casual.

You pull back slightly, giving him a soft, but hesitant smile, the silence hanging heavier than before. You can’t help but wonder if he realizes how much this matters—or if it matters to him at all.

Drew seems to notice, and the hands on your waist gives it a slight pinch, “what?”

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the embarrassment that’s clouding your chest. 

Fuck- you really thought he was gonna say it?

No- no, it’s just casual. 

“Happy Valentine’s,” you whisper to him, barely above a murmur. Without giving him a chance to respond, you pull away from his arms, your hands gripping the cart.

Suddenly, you just want to get out of here. You don’t even know why— you just do. 

The wheels of the cart squeak as you push it forward, your pace quickening slightly as you make your way toward the checkout. 

Drew doesn’t follow immediately, but you can hear his footsteps behind you as he catches up.

His hands overlap yours on the cart, and you feel his chest press against your back as you continue toward the long line of checkout. His presence is undeniable now—warm and familiar.

He doesn't say anything at first, and for a moment, it feels like he's waiting for you to make the first move, to give him a sign that everything’s okay—or to tell him what’s wrong.

His fingers tighten around the handle of the cart, his hand large compared to yours. 

“It’s Valentine's day, right?” 

You can hear his smile, even though you’re not looking directly at him.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It is.”

“Okay…you mad?”

The line moves forward, so Drew gently pushes you and the cart forward. 

His breath hits your ear every time with how close he is, and you could feel yourself going limp, harder to stay upset now. 

“I’m not mad.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“…you wanna go back and forth like this?”

His tone is light, but you can hear the frustration that peaks out. He’s trying to keep it casual, trying to play it off, but you can tell he's getting frustrated too.

Before you can say anything, the cashier cuts in with a sharp “Next!” 

Drew steps back, the pressure of his body against yours vanishing, but his warmth lingers, as if it’s still tied to you.

The two of you move synchronously, like this routine is one you’ve done a thousand times. You start unloading the items onto the counter, the soft beeps of the register filling the silence between you.

But then, as you reach into the cart to grab the next item, your fingers brush against something familiar... condoms. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, even hotter than before.

Oh, it’s not just any kind—it’s labeled Valentine's Special. 

The packaging is red and glossy, with hearts and some playful wording plastered across the front.

His hands come in contact with yours, and when you look up, it's Drew, gently taking the box from your grasp. 

“It was the last one...” he murmurs, so casually, but there's a teasing curl of his lips as he pretends to inspect the box. 

He then places the Valentine's special box on the counter, its vibrant, awkwardly festive packaging sitting there between you and the cashier like a beacon of... well, awkwardness.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, no longer upset, rather, more self-conscious than ever. 

It’s one thing to buy condoms, but another to buy different flavors or special packaged-ones. 

Drew doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he looks almost too relaxed, like he's having fun with it.

Knowing you’re too focused on that Valentine’s condom on the counter, Drew finishes loading the rest onto the counter, the cashier bagging up the items. 

“How would you like to pay?” the cashier asks, breaking the silence.

“Card,” Drew responds, pulling out his wallet and swiping the card without a second thought. 

Drew finishes the payment, grabbing the bag, his eyes flicking to you with that amused smile on his face again.

One of his hands lingers on the small of your back, his fingers just barely grazing the skin there as he guides you towards the exit. He then leans in, his voice low and teasing, “excited, baby?” he whispers, the words almost like a soft joke.

As soon as you feel like the cashier is out of earshot, you can't help yourself, gently scolding him, although, the smile on your lips betray you, “Drew!”

He chuckles softly, not even the slightest bit rattled by your reaction. 

“Thought we, we’d try something special,” he shrugs. 

The supermarket doors open automatically, and you feel his hand slip down into the back pocket of your jeans, as he reaches for his car keys.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against your ass sends a jolt through you, making you yelp. 

The ticklish sensation makes your body instinctively pulling away just a little, which only makes it harder for him to look for his keys.

He lets out a soft laugh, the sound warm and amused, but his hand stays right where it is, maybe lingering a bit longer. 

Drew knows you’re ticklish, and he knows there’s no need to keep his car keys in your pocket.

But he does it anyways, all the time. 

“Hey,” you murmur, your hands going to rub your ass, where he touched. 

There’s still a smile on his lips as he finally pulls his fingers out of the tight back pocket of your jeans, pressing the ‘start’ button for his car. 

The sound of the car beeping open echoes in the quiet parking lot, and the trunk lifts automatically.

You both start walking toward the car, and Drew tosses the big bag of groceries into the trunk in one smooth motion, closing it after. 

Then the soft thud of the car door, as both of you settle in—Drew sliding into the driver’s seat, and you into the passenger’s. 

The familiar scent of his car hits you immediately, and its weirdly comforting in a way, but also stirring. 

Almost immediately, as Drew starts driving out of the parking lot, one of his hands rest on your thigh, the touch gentle yet grounding. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

You reach forward and press play on his car screen. 

Playing, Every breath you take. 

“Fucking classic,” Drew murmurs under his breath, eyes focused on the road ahead. 

A smile tugs at your lips at his comment, and you find yourself resting your head gently on his arm, surprisingly comfortable.

For the rest of the way back, the two of you just... settle into the silence. The music drifts through the air, and the shared playlist seems to pull you both into a space where words aren't necessary.

——

Once you stepped out the elevator, a girl stops you, her smile wide as she catches your attention.

Drew watches, as the two of you go on about…actually, he lost interest the moment she opened her mouth. 

He gives you a soft tap on your waist, and it immediately pulls your attention back to him. When you meet his eyes, he cocks his head toward the bag of groceries, a silent hint that he's going to head to your dorm first. 

You give him a quick nod, before returning to the conversation with the girl, maybe your classmate? Or friend? Drew didn’t care. 

As Drew makes his way down the hall, the sound of your voice fading behind him, he finally reaches your dorm. 

But…he stops dead in his tracks, his gaze falling to the floor in front of your door.

There, at his feet, is a large bouquet of roses. Bright, bold, and impossibly out of place in the otherwise quiet hallway.

What…the fuck? 

For a second, he just stands there, the usual confidence draining from his posture as he takes in the unexpected sight.

Drew then notices a small, white card tucked in amongst the flowers. His expression flickers, a quiet moment of hesitation before he slowly bends down.

His hand reaches for the card, fingers brushing lightly over the petals before finally gripping it. 

Drew’s eyes scan the words written on the card, his brows furrowing deeper with each sentence.

It slowly comes to his realization that this is a love letter…for you!

He blinks, re-reading the opening line. “‘I’ve liked you, y/n, for a very long time, please accept this…’” 

His grip on the card tightens, jaw clenched. The words on the card are so sincere, so lovingly—what the fuck?

Drew flips the card over, almost desperately, hoping to find any clue as to who might’ve sent this to you. 

And there it is, written in neat handwriting: Mike.

His mind scrambles for a moment, trying to place the name.

Mike…mike…mike…who the…

Then, it clicks.

Mike. That first-year at the bar. The one you bumped into a few weeks ago, the one at the library. 

It’s him. The guy who's clearly interested in you, and now he’s made his move with this…this huge bundle of flowers and cringey confession. 

His mind races, the feelings of frustration, confusion, and jealousy— all fighting for control. 

But, what he’s feeling right now isn’t what’s concerning. 

What’s concerning, is what to do with these roses? 

Then, he hears footsteps, coming his way, and slightly panicked, he crumbles the card up, forcing it into his pocket.

You stand there, only a few steps away, your eyes flickering between the roses on the floor and Drew bending- well, practically kneeling next to it now.

Closing the distance, you bend down next to him, eyes focused on the roses. 

And Drew sees it, clear as day; the way your eyes light up, that soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and the faintest flush on your cheeks— shy, happy, embarrassed, he didn’t know.

Your hand touches the roses, almost too delicately, and then, you meet his eyes. 

Drew's breath catches. There's something in your eyes—something that feels like…like the entire world is reflected in them.

He’s stunned, his words stuttering out, ”you—“

“Are these for me?” you ask, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah... they are,” he finally mutters, his voice quieter than usual.

Drew couldn’t help but admire the way you looked- his attention now solely focused on you, as if everything else in the world had faded away. 

You turn to him, eyes soft and full of warmth as you say, “Thank you.”

As if feeling the weight behind those words, you laugh softly, trying to play it off. 

But Drew knows you better than anyone. You’ll cherish these roses till they wither away, he knows it.  

But then your words- ‘thank you,’ flash through his mind, and he lifts his eyebrows slightly, confused. 

“You ordered these…no?”

You thought he was the one that gave you the roses. 

His heart races for a split second as he considers how to handle this.

Then, he decides fuck it, a grin tugging at his lips as he shakes off the knot in his stomach. 

The last time he’d seen you this excited, it was after you won that hotdog-eating contest, and honestly, he would kill to see you that happy again. 

With a gentle shrug, he smiles, “you like it?”

You smile even wider, “very much.”

You pick up the big bouquet of roses from the floor, hugging it tightly to your chest. 

Drew’s grin softens, and he leans in just slightly, his eyes sparkling as he catches your gaze. “Really?”

You stand up, still hugging it as if it might disappear if you let go. “Mhm.”

Drew stands up, “no you don’t,” he whispers, but not a single cell in his body believed you didn’t like it; it’s painted all over your face. 

“I do! I love it,” you say, your voice growing all soft and genuine. 

He stood there, watching you, almost as if time had slowed. 

Standing here, outside your room, with you, with how you cradled the roses to your chest with such tenderness—it made something change inside him, something deep he couldn’t quite place. 

There was something about you in this moment, the sincerity in your smile, the way you looked so... happy.

Drew didn’t expect to feel so conflicted. 

He’d always been the one to keep things light, casual, to avoid feeling too much. 

Was this what it felt like to want more than just the surface? To actually care?

Drew opened his mouth to say something, to make a joke, to deflect—but he couldn’t. He was struck by how genuine you were, how completely different this moment felt from everything else.

“Thank you,” you whispered again, and the words hung in the air, almost as if you were thanking him for more than just the roses.

Were you? Were you thanking him for more than just those roses?

And maybe, just maybe, Drew realized that he was starting to get a little too comfortable with the idea of something more. 

Something more, with you. 

Aw, fuck. 

And he did it, he cuts own his thoughts off, "Prove it.”

Those words practically echo between you two, a challenge wrapped in a husky whisper. 

You glance up at him, a little taken aback, but Drew notices it, the way you quickly recover.

You take a small step forward, "Prove it?”

Drew’s smile is a mix of teasing and something deeper. "Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face. "Show me, show me you really mean it.”

Without thinking, you tilt your head just slightly, and then, just as Drew anticipated, you close the gap, pressing your lips to his. 

His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you in, as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more alive than any of the other moments you'd shared before.

In that kiss, there's no pretending, no games. At least for Drew, there’s no pretending. 

Actually, not a time was he pretending. When he’s kissing you, those kisses are full of all that’s unsaid, and Drew finds himself lost in it. 

And soon enough, the only thing that matters in this moment is the dent forming in Drew’s pants. 

Also…the huge bouquet of roses and grocery bag in the way, almost like a wall. 

He reluctantly pulls away, breathless, eyes flickering between your lips and the flowers. 

Silence flows through the both of you, until Drew speaks up, his voice soft, and in his ears, sounding a bit whimper-like.

“...I'm not hungry anymore." 

You’re not?” you ask, your voice a bit higher than usual.

“I am, but, for something else." 

“…but I’m hungry…” you reply, your words soft, and Drew catches the little pout forming on your lips.

He freezes for a second, seriously contemplating whether he should prioritize his appetite or yours.

Drew decides against it- laughing, the sound low and warm, “Okay- okay.”

Your smile returns, and you reach into his pocket for your dorm keys, hands close to his erection that pokes evidently against his jeans. 

Your eyebrows raise briefly as you take the keys out, unlocking your room. 

Drew watches you, amused but also slightly captivated by how you’ve turned this moment into something playful. But that’s your charm—the way you could take something as intimate as this and make it feel light, effortless. It’s always been that way with you.

But clearly- that guy, Mike, clearly saw something in you too. 

That thought makes a strange twist in his gut, yet, Drew quickly pushes it aside, not wanting to spoil the mood.

The roses might be from someone else, but this moment? That’s all his.

After all, it was Valentine’s Day. 

And it goes without saying, love is in the air, and nothing could ruin it. 

Or- casualness is in the air, or… whatever’s going on between you two. 

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

is there a difference between 'will you be my valentine?' and 'happy valentines.'? i wonder...

elevator | other | official oneshot | extra 1 | extra 2 | extra 3

casual taglist: @maybankslover @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @bananaminn @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @drewnationalgf @iraslore @ursogorgeous13 @jamimers @hockeybabe87 @jqtsblyth @virgochaos @wolvestitches @dontblamethedrunkcaller @thoughtdaughter0

edit: i forgot they got airpods in during shopping...pretend they took it off once they got in the car, okay? ok.

[moonstruckme]

hi hi hii so exited the thawing out au is here to stay!! i'm a figure skater myself so i'd like to request a lil something if u don't mind? this may or may not be self indulgent 🤧 but what about the reader feeling faint/ passes out on the rink during practice? it was kinda scary and my coach was even worse but i've got my trusty crackers and ur comfort drabbles with me 😙

That does sound so scary omg, glad you were okay angel! <3

Read the Thawing Out series here

cw: modern au, fainting, small injury with blood implied I guess but not mentioned or described at all

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The rink whirls around you, and Sirius’ hands catch you around your middle the second before your skates hit the ice. You feel at once grounded and blissfully unmoored. 

Just outside the boards, Remus nods in approval. You and Sirius glide into arabesque, finishing what you have so far of your new routine. He beckons you over. 

“It’s looking lovely,” he says once you’re close enough. “How does it feel?” 

“Good,” you say. Sirius nods.

“I think a spiral sequence would go well after that,” he says. His hand rests on your lower back, as it often does these days. You tease him for it, say you’re perfectly capable of standing without his help, but really you wish he’d been doing it all along. It’s a mystery to you now; how you and Sirius managed to keep from touching each other for long. 

Remus hums thoughtfully. “It does seem natural there, doesn’t it?” 

“Either that, or a mirrored spin.” 

“Maybe. What do you think?” 

It takes you a beat too long to realize they’re both looking at you. You’d zoned out a bit. You mentally kick yourself; usually you’re much more focussed during practice. 

“I think either one would…” Your voice sounds odd, at once soft and thrumming in your own ears. “…would be fine.” 

You feel abruptly very warm. A tiny shiver passes over your skin, leaving goosebumps where you’re sure there should be sweat, and Sirius’ hand on your back suddenly feels like it’s pressing too close, keeping your already tight shirt held even tighter to you. It’s suffocating. 

“Either one?” Remus looks at you, brow furrowing. “You don’t have any preference?” 

You manage a hum before your elbow bites into the ice. 

You can’t be unconscious for long, because you have the sensation of falling as you wake. You pull in a startled breath. 

“Shh.” Sirius’ voice is a strange mix of gentle and tight. His hand cups your cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay. What was that about, hm?” 

You hear skates cutting into the ice, and when you blink your eyes open Remus is dropping onto his knees beside you. He’s taken to wearing his skates during practice so that he can come out onto the ice to demonstrate what he wants from you when words aren’t enough; it’s somewhat unusual for a coach, but you and Sirius are beyond delighted with it. Even now, the sight of Remus on the ice fills you with a burgeoning pride. 

“What happened?” he asks, laying a protective hand on top of your head. 

You realize you’re in Sirius’ lap. His thighs are warm beneath your head and shoulders, the rest of you pressed against the cold floor. After your hot flash of a few moments ago, it feels like a relief. You welcome the bite where your shirt has slipped up your back and your bare skin touches the ice. 

“You saw,” Sirius says. “She just went stiff.” 

That’s not a very flattering image. You sit up, an involuntary sound coming from your throat. 

“Hey, hey.” Two sets of hands on you, holding you steady. “Take it easy,” Sirius says. “Don’t move so much, just—just rest for a second.” 

You let out a breath of assent. Pull your knees up so you can rest your head atop them, skates in a v so they’ll stay put. You feel shaky and all off. 

“Alright, love?” That’s Remus rubbing your back. You recognize him from the slow, long strokes, less firm than Sirius would be. “Does anything hurt?” 

You shake your head. 

“Do you feel sick?” 

You shake your head again. “I’m okay.” 

“You don’t seem okay,” Sirius mutters. You can picture him without looking, the terse set of his mouth, worry that looks like irritation. 

“She just needs a minute, I think,” Remus says patiently. “Let’s go sit down, yeah?” 

If you felt like talking you might point out that you’re already sitting down, but when both boys stand you know they mean the bleachers. You let Sirius pick you up, trying not to feel childish or embarrassing at the way you stick your face in his neck. He rests his cheek on your head like he doesn’t care either way. 

You lie your head on your knees again once he sets you down. Sirius rubs your back, asking you questions that you answer in murmurs of yes or no.

You don’t fully register that Remus has gone, but he comes back a minute later to press a styrofoam cup of cold water into your hand. 

“Can you have some of that for me?” 

You drink rather than answering, feeling the cold in your teeth. 

“I’m going to clean your elbow up, alright?” 

You don’t have a clue what he’s talking about until you look over your shoulder. Remus is taking your elbow into his hand, a first aid kit lying open beside him and your skin split over the jut of your bone. Once you see, you remember feeling the impact on it as you fell. You don’t know how you didn’t notice it aching before. 

Both of your boyfriends are touchier than usual, even Sirius. He rests both hands on your knees, thumbs running over the tops of your kneecaps, while Remus holds your arm in a gentle grip as he tends to your elbow. 

You take a deep breath, letting it rush back out of you. 

“Okay?” Sirius asks worriedly. 

“Yeah.” You give another sigh, not very convincing. “Sorry.” 

Remus smooths a plaster over your elbow, lowering it back to your side. He leans over until he’s in your line of sight. “What are you sorry for, lovely?” 

“I…that I fell.” 

Sirius makes a scoffing noise. “That’s a terrible reason.” 

“Awful,” Remus agrees, lips twitching despite the concerned set of his brow. “We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? Everyone falls sometimes.” 

You let out an amused exhale. “Yeah,” you acquiesce. You look at Sirius. “Did you catch me?” 

He grins. “Don’t I always?” 

You smile, resting your temple on your knee and letting your eyes slip closed. “I feel weird.” 

Sirius tuts, kissing the top of your head. “I can tell, baby. I’m sorry.” 

“Let’s rest here for a little while,” Remus says, his voice low and soothing. “Then we’ll go back to mine, and I’ll make us something for breakfast. Alright?” 

“I can finish practice,” you say, not believing yourself. “Just give me a minute. It’s going away.” 

Sirius gives a chuff of laughter. “Sure, gorgeous,” he says, already undoing the laces of your skates. 

“Mhm. Let’s wait and see.” Remus’ tone is heavy with fondness. 

His hand begins moving over your back again. Sirius slips your skates off, and then rests his head atop yours, his shampoo smell enveloping you. You suppose there are worse ways to miss practice.

[daeniradraconis]

My Emergency Contact – William Nylander

Just a little short Valentine’s Day fluff—because nothing says romance like realizing your boyfriend is absolutely not qualified to be your emergency contact. (Yes, inspired by the TikTok trend!) BTW, this pic is literally my favourite of Willy. Like, sir—how are you this hot and this cute at the same time?! ---

Moving in together was supposed to be romantic. Cozy. A new chapter in your relationship.

Instead, you’re sitting on the couch in your new apartment, watching your shirtless boyfriend, William Nylander, struggle for his life against an IKEA bookshelf.

The shirtless part isn’t unusual. If anything, it’s his default state. The man has never met a fabric he liked.

And honestly? You’re not complaining.

His blond hair is tousled from running his hands through it in frustration, his cheeky grin flickering in and out as he mutters to himself in Swedish, clearly losing patience. His mustache and beard are in full force—an off-season indulgence, just like the sheer amount of cake he’s been consuming lately.

And it shows.

Willy is always strong, always an athlete, but off-season Willy? He’s soft. He still has muscle, but instead of his usual sculpted abs, there’s the faintest hint of a tummy, a little dad bod moment that somehow makes him look even hotter.

Unfortunately, all that raw, Swedish power is currently being humiliated by a simple bookshelf.

“IKEA is a scam,” Will mutters, glaring at the half-built monstrosity. “They make the instructions impossible on purpose.”

“You’re Swedish,” you remind him, sipping your coffee. “This should be, like, in your DNA.”

“Yeah, well, my ancestors built actual ships, not this bullshit.”

He picks up the hex key like it personally insulted his mother, then frowns down at the two pieces of wood he’s supposed to connect. His brows furrow, lips pressing together in deep concentration, and for a fleeting moment, you think—maybe—he’s finally figured it out.

But no. No, he has not.

With way too much confidence, he tightens one screw, nods to himself like a man who knows what he's doing, and then leans his full weight on the side panel—only for it to give out instantly, betraying him in the most dramatic fashion possible.

The entire bookshelf wobbles violently before crashing down in slow motion.

And so does Will.

You watch in horror as your six-foot, professional athlete boyfriend completely loses the battle. He stumbles backward, knocks into a chair, flails to catch himself—too late. His knee buckles, and before you can react, he fully wipes out.

A loud thud. A groan. Silence.

For a split second, your heart stops. You freeze, eyes wide, a sharp pang of panic in your chest. He’s completely motionless, just lying there, staring at the ceiling.

“Will?” you ask, rushing over, hovering a hand over his arm, not sure whether to touch him or call 911.

No response.

Then—he bursts out laughing.

Flat on his back, bare chest rising and falling with laughter, stomach shaking, cheeks flushed—he looks absurdly proud of himself. And you can’t help but laugh too—though only after you're sure he’s not actually injured.

And then it hits you. This man is your emergency contact.

The realization hits you slowly. This is the guy responsible for calling an ambulance if something happens to you. This one.

The same man who once set off the fire alarm trying to “improvise” a grilled cheese with a blowtorch because he thought it would be “faster.”

The same man who got his shoelace caught in an escalator last summer and had to be rescued by a mall employee.

The same man who confidently insisted he could fix a leaky faucet in your old apartment, only to somehow make it worse—so much worse—that you had to call an actual plumber, who took one look at the situation and just muttered, Jesus Christ.

You blink down at Will, still sprawled on the floor, grinning like an idiot, and a strange mix of affection, disbelief, and sheer terror floods through you.

You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you are my emergency contact.”

You look at him, grinning up from the floor like he just won a prize, and a mix of affection, disbelief, and helpless laughter washes over you.

Will, still sprawled out, turns his head to smirk at you. “Baby. I got you.”

“You just lost a fight to plywood.”

“It was a close fight.”

“In your dreams.”

He just shrugs, completely unbothered, propping himself up on one elbow. “Eh. I’m strong. I can take it.”

You stare at him, still processing the absolute chaos of it all. The lack of concern.

Will sees your expression and smirks, sitting up fully. “You’re thinking about it, huh?”

“I’m regretting it.”

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Wow. That’s ruthless.”

“Honest.”

Will squints, then rubs the back of his head. “Maybe. But too late, baby. We live together now. No take-backs.”

You roll your eyes, standing up to help his dumb ass off the floor. He lets you pull him to his feet, then immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Will—”

“Shhh,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “Let me hold you. I almost died, älskling.”

You snort. “You did not.”

He squeezes you tighter, grinning against your hair. “You were so worried about me.”

You groan, but his arms feel nice, and he smells like cedarwood and the vanilla latte he stole from you earlier. Despite everything—despite his complete incompetence at building furniture or being careful at all—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You sigh into his chest. “Yeah. You are sometimes actually terrifying. You clumsy idiot.”

Willy laughs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“Terrifyingly sexy, you mean.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

[sonotpattismith]

Omggg Established relationship Sukuna forgets it’s valentine’s day angst fic?? I NEED it 😈

stupid in love

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 7.1k content: valentine's day edition!!!, fluff, angst, sukuna and his problematic attachment style, a bit toxic if you squint, jealousy, hurt w/comfort, smut, 18+ continuation of where I first saw you and ruin it all over and dedicated to @emochosoluvr who I've appointed as godmother of my two kids tattoo artist!sukuna and ballerina!reader

“Where the fuck are you?”

Sukuna could hear the rough streams of rain smacking against the ground even on the other line of the phone, that sharp fear that only you had the innate talent of filling in him crashing into his system as a result. It had been almost twenty minutes now that he had been parked outside of your dance studio, his windshield wipers straining with the effort of the torrential downpour attacking his car— twenty minutes past the time you told him you’d meet him outside. 

“Ryo, I need help.” Your sweet, frantic voice on the other line sent his heart racing. 

Immediately cutting the engine in his car, the enormous man damn near ripping the door from the vehicle as he allowed the rain to soak through his clothes. 

“Where are you? The fuck is going on?” He tried desperately not to sound as panicked as he felt, and he reached in to pull an umbrella from the backseat before slamming the door shut and hauling ass.

“I-I’m right outside the back entrance.” Your words trembled from the freezing rain clinging to you, and it made his heart crack, picking up his pace ever so slightly. “Please, hurry.”

A growled curse escaped him when you hung up the phone abruptly. Dialing your number again, his boots began pounding on the gravel walkway while he squinted through the mix of rain and nightfall to spot you. His heart was pounding against his chest when you didn’t answer, a myriad of possibilities running through his mind of what could have possibly happened to you. 

Had your fracture relapsed? Was someone stalking you? Or worse— had someone actually done something to you? His mind was racing through worst case scenarios, only aiding in his frantic pursuit. 

It was only a short few minutes before he finally caught sight of you just beside a bush outside the entrance you mentioned. You were hunched over, your back to him as the rain soaked your sweater, but he was sure he’d be able to pick you out of a crowd. Racing over to where you were squatted, Sukuna all but fell to his knees beside you, his hands immediately reaching out to inspect you. 

“What’s wrong? Why the fuck would you hang up like that? You had me—” 

His frenzied questioning of misdirected frustration fell short on his tongue as he heard a strange… squeaking coming from just below you. You were rambling out in relief before he could ask any more questions though. 

“Please, Ryo, can you reach it?” You cried desolately, clutching onto the sleeve of his leather jacket while you pointed toward the bush you were crouched beside. He blinked owlishly at you, contemplating whether or not he should check you for a fucking head injury, because he couldn’t see anything but leaves. 

“Baby,” Sukuna tried to level his voice cautiously for you, though you seriously made him question his patience with each passing day. You already knew that he didn’t see what you had been referring to, as he only called you that when he thought you were on the brink of a full-blown crashout. “Someone give you something? A drink, or—”

You huffed in frustration, cutting him off when you yanked at his sleeve and pulled him closer. With a trembling hand clutched to his jaw, you maneuvered his face into your line of vision before pointing once again. His brows slowly unforrowed as he finally caught sight of what you had dragged him all the way out here for. 

“Is that a fucking cat?”

“Please, I’ve been trying to get it out, but I can’t reach back there.” 

Your boyfriend looked down at you incredulously, now taking note of countless scrapes lining your arms from the thorns and branches, some deeper than the others and making him pinch at the bridge of his nose. Your desolate sniffles pulled him from his mental anguish, clicking his tongue against his teeth upon seeing your blood-shot eyes. 

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” He grumbled, shifting onto his knees to shrug his jacket off and drape it over your lap before leaning over the bush. 

The damned thing was tiny, shivering as the rain dripped from its frazzled, black fur. Its milky-yellow eyes were staring up at Sukuna, wide and reflecting in the moonlight. It didn’t recoil from him as he thought it would— didn’t bear its still growing fangs or attempt to scratch at him. Using just his forefinger and his thumb, he grasped at the scruff on its neck, using his other hand to push away at the shrubbery so he could pull it out. 

The kitten hung limply in his grasp as the man dangled it in front of his face to better inspect it. Narrowing his eyes at it as though it might remind it that it should be scared of him, it only squeaked a meow at him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the scraggly thing reminded him of—

“Oh my gosh!” You squeaked through the haze of your tears, stumbling forward to gush as the small animal in his grasp. Nearly falling into your boyfriend’s lap in an attempt to get a closer look, you gawked affectionately with your wet cheek pressed against his tattooed one. “He’s shaking, Ryo.”

He flattened his lips into a scowl at the creature, but despite his outward disapproval, that tender spot he held for you betrayed him as he tugged his jacket from your lap to wrap it around the kitten carefully. With that same glower on his face, he shifted the bundle into your arms before opening up the umbrella to shield you from the continuous onslaught of rain. 

“Yeah? So are you. Put it under the awning and let’s go. I ain’t taking care of your sorry ass if you get sick.” But he would. He knew it, and so did you.  

“I think he’s hurt.” You shouted over the down-pour, and god, you looked up at him with those tragically beautiful, teary eyes that made him want to fight the world. Staring down at you, an internal war was waging in his mind, evident in the way his face scrunched furiously in a manner you always found so alluring. 

It wasn’t long before both you and the fucking kitten were in the passenger seat of his car, soaking up his seats as he drove sulkingly to the nearest veterinary clinic. Glancing over at you, it was an active effort not to soften those hard features of his, because you looked far too content for someone who was shivering so pathetically, smiling affectionately as you stroked under the kitten’s chin. 

It was just another moment in which Sukuna was coming to terms with the fact that he was changing. You danced into his life and suddenly he was regularly attending ballets, rescuing fucking kittens from bushes, and damn it— he could actually tell you the entire plot of the Nutcracker from memory. It was a sort of tenderness he never thought was present in him, or maybe it was just that you made him feel safe enough to show it. 

Still, it was increasingly frustrating that it didn’t seem to come so naturally to him as it did to you. He watched in his peripheral as you instinctively held the creature closer to you, how you didn’t hesitate before mutilating your arms in an attempt to get it to safety. It could have been feral, diseased— bit and scratched at you, but you always seemed to give life the benefit of the doubt. It drove him insane, and he wasn’t quite sure why. 

Thankfully, Sukuna had had a spare hoodie in his backseat that he had you replace your rain-soaked sweater with before you two stepped into the veterinary clinic, his hand still settled defensively on your nape as you had grown so accustomed to already. You had learned that he wasn’t exactly one to show his affection so outwardly if the two of you weren’t alone. Despite this, it came like second nature to him to always show some sort of sign that he was still with you— whether it be his grip on your nape, or a hand wrapped firmly around your bicep. You never felt brushed off by him, whether he intended the reassurance or not. 

You had all but forgotten that Yuuji had mentioned that his boyfriend worked at a veterinary clinic alongside his studies for the very same field. So, it wasn’t too much of a surprise that Sukuna had chosen to come to this particular clinic, knowing that Megumi already knew him and could take his straight-forward manner of handling situations without feeling any sort of way. 

Additionally, you were grateful that the vet tech could at least give you updates about the kitten later on, and, unbeknownst to you, it was another reason your boyfriend chose this place. He could already practically sense the melancholy that would grip you in the coming days if you weren’t able to confirm if the damned thing made it out okay. 

The menacing man thought you’d burst into tears again once Megumi informed you that the kitten was malnourished and had some sort of ear infection. Your shoulders tensed, but you seemed to stop yourself with the sinking of your teeth into your bottom lip as you nodded in understanding. Sukuna knew better though— he knew you better. 

“You gonna let it out or are you gonna wait until you see one of those sad ass animal commercials and explode?” He grumbled as soon as you two finally climbed into bed that night. 

Your current living situation was something you thought was temporary. After having miraculously been recruited by one of the local, professional dance companies following the Swan Lake incident, you had switched over to an online college in order to at least finish up your degree that you were already nearing completion on, while devoting most of your free time to your passion. Given the sudden switch, you had to move out of the dorm at your previous university. 

Sukuna insisted that you stay with him for the time being, spouting some excuse about him being closer to your new studio anyway, and that you shouldn’t be stressing about finding a new place while you’re settling into your new routine. Deep down though, he knew damn well that he was making sure to make the arrangement comfortable enough that you wouldn’t want to leave. 

It wasn’t subtle no matter how much he tried to make it out to be. Your favorite foods were always stocked in the fridge, a salt soak ready for those fucked up toes of yours each time you came back from practice, down to the habit he’d formed of massaging your calves for you every night when you’d crawl into bed utterly spent from the gruelling hours you’d put in at the studio. 

You’d sigh blissfully as you sank into his plush mattress, your comparably small frame appearing swallowed up by his dark sheets while his fingers dug deliciously into each cramping divet and strained muscle on your legs. No matter how many times he’d done it, it never failed to make you flush bashfully under his attentive touch. 

“I saw an apartment complex that’s opening up a few minutes from the studio.” You’d offer in that sleepy voice of yours, insistent on the notion that you were actually imposing on him by staying here. 

“Yeah? What’s with the rush?” He’d always tease with a click of his tongue as he allowed his hands to drift higher and higher until you were miraculously not so tired anymore. With just a tilt of his head, he’d send your heart racing against your chest. “Don’t like it here with me, doll?”

It was safe to say that him and his skilled hands never failed to put those ideas to rest. 

“‘M fine.” Your pitched voice betrayed you as you pulled the black comforter up to your chin and turned to face away from him. 

A frown of effort painted your pouted lips as you felt the mattress dip beside you, and soon you were being scooped against the warm skin of his chest. It was as if the sudden safety the reassurance of his arms provided was enough to break the dam you were holding back, hot tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. 

“You’re a fucking nutcase, you know that?” Sukuna grumbled with barely concealed amusement, all the while wiping at your flushed cheeks. 

This made you smile through your tears, fully recognizing the pathetic nature of your behavior. Shifting around, you buried your face into his chest while landing a playful smack to his shoulder. It was silent for a moment as you sniffled into his sternum, his fingers creating a gentle rhythm through your loose hair. 

“I just keep wondering how many people walked by it, and…” Your soft voice trailed, and you wiped at the tears you had stained his chest with. 

“Cause it could’ve had fucking diseases.”

“They can be fixed.” You defended, smushing your cheek back down against his peck. Even after all this time, he couldn’t understand how you treated him with such warmth when he only ever responded with the frigidness he’d grown accustomed to his whole life. “Someone just had to give him a chance, y’know?”

His chest ached at the tenderness of your heart. Trailing his hand down your neck and shoulder, he allowed the tips of his fingers to graze along your marked up arm. The sight of the various cuts and scrapes made him click his tongue. 

“Look what the damn chance did to you.” He grumbled, but you only yawned in response, your delicate frame stretching against him before settling comfortably with your leg nestled between his. 

“I don’t mind.” It was clear in the tone of your voice that you were already beginning to drift off. 

With a soft scoff, Sukuna shook his head and allowed his arm to settle back down around you. It was so like you to tear yourself down with the promise that someone else might benefit— never revealing if it hurt you, if it pissed you off. He didn’t understand it. 

“Course you don’t.”

That subtle irritation didn’t linger for long, because by the next day you were bright-eyed and beaming as you always were, and it made him forget what he had been so pissed off about in the first place, as it always did. It took all of four hours after the two of you had parted for the day that you were texting him between practice sets to ask him if Megumi had updated him about that damn cat, but now that some time had passed, the memory only made him roll his eyes in feigned annoyance. 

Though he’d never admit it, he found your concern endearing. You eagerness only amused him as he shook his head with a concealed smirk, slipping his phone back into his pocket to get ready for his next appointment. 

Despite the wall of indifference he liked to put up, it still meant the world to you that Ryo cared enough to help you that night. It was clear that he often got caught up in the convincing, but you never cared how much convincing it took. Underneath all that bravado, you knew the type of man he was. You’d seen it all that time ago when he’d protected and gone out of his way for you— the then stranger who had the nerve to pass out in his tattoo chair. 

He reminded you of it time and again, contradicting his sharp tongue with each gentle caress every night and each bouquet of flowers waiting in his hands after all the ballets he always made sure he was in attendance for. 

So, no, you didn’t care if he scowled and grumbled and cursed, because you knew what was underneath all of it, and it only made you love him more. Much like the young boy in him that doodled and sketched on every visible surface because he was never quite sure how everyone around him knew just what words to use when they weren’t feeling right, you knew Ryomen would always find his own way of showing you what was hidden beneath all that attitude.

He had already done so much for you: protected you, supported you, taken you in, introduced you to people who you could now actually call real friends here. 

It took Sukuna some time to open up about the fact that he’d never exactly done this relationship stuff before, but you figured as much given how guarded he was. Flings— sure. Dates and I love you’s though? That was a different story entirely. 

Of course, this posed the challenge of figuring out what you could possibly get a man who pretended to care for nothing. A trivial holiday like Valentine’s Day seemed like it would be that absolute bane of his existence— what with all the outward displays of affection and saccharine love confessions. Still, much like every aspect of your relationship thus far, there was a spark of uncertain excitement lighting your stomach ablaze as you wondered how he would make it his own— for the both of you.

Like most mornings, you were up and starting your day before your boyfriend could even think about opening those prepossessing eyes of his. The parlor never opened early, but almost always was open until the late hours of the night, which paved the way for Sukuna’s vehement aversion to mornings. 

You never minded though, always finding yourself feeling so lucky to be able to stare quietly over at him each morning. His defenses were down, at least as much as someone so guarded could bring them down, his pink hair strewn messily about his forehead as he snored softly against his pillow. It had become an admittedly embarrassing little habit that you’d formed as part of your morning routine— allowing yourself a few minutes following your alarm waking you to drink in the sight of him.  

Still, each morning he’d stir awake, even if just for a second when you did finally shift over to get out of bed to start your day. It had become almost calculated at this point; his brows would twitch, and then the most abrupt of scrunches would wrinkle at his nose as though he could sense a disturbance in his environment. Then— your favorite part— his crimson eyes would squint open to stare blearily at you for a moment until his half-conscious mind was able to process what was happening.

Sukuna would grunt each time, tugging at your wrist so you’d lower down enough for him to plant a sleepy kiss to your forehead. Your hand would slip into his hair, stroking at the tufts just behind his ear in the way that he never admitted made him hum blissfully each time.  His head would soon hit the pillow once again, and he’d be dead to the world for another few hours, leaving you with that gentle reminder of just what the tiniest bit of love could do to even the most callous of men.

Which was why you didn’t think twice when he hadn’t texted you that morning with any mention of the holiday. It wasn’t until lunch rolled around that you were on break from rehearsal that the doubt began prickling at the back of your mind, because he did text you then— his usual good morning as though it wasn’t damn near noon already and reminding you to actually take your lunch break that day. 

You blinked down at the message, feeling so unbelievably pathetic for the way his simple words struck the oddest sense of unease in your chest. Still, you brushed it off, assuring yourself that your concern was unwarranted, and that Ryo was a dry texter in general. 

So, you went about the rest of your day, only being reminded of his non-mention of the holiday once again when Satoru, who had also been recruited by the same company that fateful night of Swan Lake, presented you with a bouquet of white roses. Of course, you knew he meant nothing inappropriate by it— already having learned firsthand of your relationship and never crossing that boundary. 

You weren’t sure your boyfriend would see it as innocently as a long time dance partner expressing his gratitude for your professional connection though. There was hardly any room for him to be upset though, considering it was well into the afternoon now, and you still hadn’t gotten so much as a text about—

Shaking your head, you forced a smile onto your face as you pushed those temperamental thoughts to the back of your mind. Who were you to get so angry at him after all the kindness he had shown you? Ryomen would surely laugh at you for becoming so worked up over something so… trivial. Yeah, that’s all it was— trivial. Besides, the day wasn’t over yet, and you were going to meet him at the parlor after practice as had become ritual for the both of you— that is when it wasn’t torrential downpouring when he’d refuse to hear any lip about you taking the train. 

That notion was what kept the smallest bit of confidence in you as you walked into the parlor that evening, the small, heart-adorned gift bag with a brand new, leather-bound sketchbook tucked carefully inside clutched in your hand. You had been noticing that the one Ryo used was hanging on by its last leg, fraying at the edges and nearly out of pages. You thought a sturdier one might be better for someone who had the tendency of haphazardly tossing his stuff aside when was crunched for time. Additionally, you had found a shop that would engrave his initials into the corner. 

The bell chimed, signaling your entrance into the already rowdy parlor. This was typically prime time for them, nearly all the chairs taken up and conversation blocking out the heavy, alternative music that was constantly pumping through the speakers. You spotted the back of Ryo’s broad shoulders, hunched over his tattoo chair as he was placing the finishing touches on a woman’s spinal tattoo. You smiled softly at the thought of his fiercely concentrated expression that always appeared as rage to anyone who didn’t know any better. 

“There’s my favorite ballerina.” Choso greeted you fondly from behind the counter, his darkly-lined eyes already assessing the bouquet in your arms with a questioning glint. “Got an admirer? Who beat me to it this time?”

You beamed excitedly at him as he reached down to reveal a heart-shaped box of chocolates that had since been hidden beneath the counter. With an incredulous laugh of your own, you reached into the duffel bag you had slung over your shoulder to pull out the nearly identical box of chocolates you had bought for him as well. He clutched at his chest dramatically in a mock swoon. 

“See— didn’t I tell you we’re perfect for each other?” Choso gushed before exchanging boxes with you and ruffling at your loose bun. 

Your glittering laugh broke through even the loudest of boisterous conversation filling the air of the packed parlor, reaching Sukuna’s ears like the sweetest of siren’s songs. It made him swivel around, his gloved hand still carefully smearing the antiseptic gel over the client’s fresh tattoo. An adoring smile threatened to tug at his previous scowl of concentration at the sight of you, but it quickly fell upon noting the flowers in your arms and the chocolates before you— neither of which came from him. 

The sight made his heart fall through his stomach, plummeting down with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him as the realization dawned on him. It made him question who he was more angry at; his brother, who had grown far too comfortable in his ‘feigned’ flirting and was picking out which chocolates to try first with you, whoever the fuck it was that felt confident enough to buy you roses, or himself— who had completely forgotten about Valentine’s Day. 

After a few more final details, his client was rising carefully from the leather seat and thanking him for his time. Clicking his jaw in irritation of his own shortcoming, he snapped his gloves off before begrudgingly beginning to clean up his station. Each little giggle and stifled laugh was driving that stake of spite farther and farther up his chest until he could swear he felt it poking up his throat. 

It wasn’t long before he was finally collecting himself to make his way over the the counter where you were perched atop of, melted chocolate staining your fingers as you chatted animatedly with his brother. 

Of course, Sukuna knew there was nothing going on there. After all, no matter how much he seemed to get a kick out of pissing him off, Choso would never cross that line. In fact, it typically brought him a sense of comfort and fondness knowing that you got along so well with both of his brothers. It was just now, where the artist knew his brother had been a step ahead of the glaring pothole that he had so stupidly missed— that was pissing him off. 

“You don’t have anything better to do?” Sukuna snapped lowly at the bunned-man hunched over the counter. 

Choso’s brows rose in mock surrender, raising his hands up before stepping back with a smirk of amusement he didn’t bother to conceal. Understanding that you two clearly needed a moment, he slipped out from behind the counter and trudged to the back to make himself useful somewhere else. 

Ryo’s crimson eyes regarded you through gently furrowed brows, and by the look of guilt hidden deep within his guarded eyes— you already understood that just what you had suspected was correct. Gulping down the feeling of sand pooling in your throat, you managed a tight smile at him with the hopes of easing some of the tension. With a click of his jaw, his eyes drifted down to glare instead at the neat arrangement of flowers perched beside your hip. He toyed with one of the petals between his fingers. 

“You’re popular, huh?” He attempted, cringing at his own audacity, but he was speaking on pure, raging emotion rather than reason. 

“They’re from Satoru.” You explained with an attempted lightness.

“Is that supposed to make me feel any fucking better?” His sharp canines sunk mercilessly into his bottom lip as though to punish himself for the way he was snapping at you. 

To be fair, you already had an inkling of understanding about your boyfriend's thoughts on your dance partner. It came in the seemingly innocent questions about why it was always him that was paired with you for numbers, but you always brushed it off with the explanation that it was better to have a consistent partner to aid in the chemistry of the choreographies— which, you knew probably wasn’t the right term to use, but it didn’t make it any less true. 

Realistically, Sukuna knew he was irrational in his jealousy, but he couldn’t help it when it was always the same fucking man he was seeing with his hands all over you, hell— kissing you every so often for shows. It only made matters worse when Satoru had been invited for dinner with you all after one of your shows, and your boyfriend had to come to the startling realization that he bounced off of your glowing energy so effortlessly and in a way that he knew he could never. 

So, though he never gave you a hard time about it, it always lingered in the back of his mind. 

“Right, sorry.” You muttered quickly, the once bright spark in your eyes dulled as you cast your gaze to your lap. 

If anything, it pissed him off more. He expected you to get angry with him, yell, cry, anything. It was more than well-deserved. You only pushed it down though, looking back up after a moment with a forced smile to ask him how his day went. 

“My day?” He repeated incredulously. You nodded, a dam skillfully constructed behind your bewitching eyes. With a scoff, he leaned forward, his fist clenched onto the counter by your hip. “That’s it? You’re not gonna let me have it?”

“W-What do you mean?”

“I mean I fucking forgot our first Valentine’s Day.” Sukuna emphasized with an infuriated twitch of his brows. His eyes darted down to watch the way you gulped apprehensively. “I mean some other fucking lowlife had to be the one to get you flowers because I didn’t.”

“Ryo, it’s okay.” You quieted him with a placating hand to his chest. Your lashes fluttered as you glanced down once again for fear that he’d see right through you. “I know that’s… not really your thing. It’s okay.”

Your small shrug of feigned nonchalance sliced through him worse than if you had just ripped into him as he surely deserved. This was far worse. Not only could he see the swirling waves of hurt evidently pooling in your eyes and tensing your soft frame, but he was also coming to the startling realization that you were lowering your own expectations for him. It made him sick to his fucking stomach. 

“But that’s—” He stopped himself, already feeling how his voice was rising and each muscle in his body was contracting with the rage he reserved only for himself. Stepping back to take a deep breath, his ruby eyes glanced up at the ceiling to collect himself before he was tugging you carefully off the counter. “C’mon, we’ll talk about this at home.” 

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest the entire, painfully silent drive back to his apartment. It wasn’t born out of fear, but rather a manifestation of all the strength it was taking you to not break down as you so wanted to right now. That unique unease had you jolting nervously as the apartment door shut behind him that evening. 

Silently, you made your way to the kitchen, grunting with effort as you reached above your head to reach the vase in the cabinet above you. The struggle was only making the swell of your emotions rise, and you bit back your tears of frustration. After a moment, you felt him pressing against you, brushing your hand away to grasp at your target with ease. 

“Thanks.” You hoped you sounded as lighthearted as you were desperately trying to. 

Just as you moved to fill it with water, Ryo stopped you. You yelped in surprise as he hoisted you up to sit atop the kitchen counter, forcing you at eye level with him. His bulking arms came up to trap you between him. 

“Talk to me.” He demanded simply. 

“About what?”

“Yell at me. Get pissed. Cry— do something!” 

“I told you it’s not a big deal—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Sukuna laughed humorlessly with a shake of his head. Placing his hands on your thighs, he gently jostled at you. “Get mad. Tell me how the fuck you’re feeling!”

“Ryo—”

“Wanna hit me? Hit me—”

“Stop it!” You finally cried out, the tears you had been trying so ardently to restrain bursting at the seams. Shoving your face into your hands, you shook your head desolately. “Just stop it, okay? Yes, I’m upset, Ryo. I’m embarrassed. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He fell silent, his brows furrowing as he tried to take in the reaction he had just been begging you for. Now that he had it though, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Releasing a tense sigh, he nodded encouragingly as he allowed his hands to massage at your thighs. 

“Keep going.”

“I-I just—” You smacked your hands back down onto your lap in frustration, looking up and allowing your tears to stream freely down your cheeks and temples. He clicked his tongue softly upon seeing the way you flushed at your own reaction. “I feel stupid for putting so much thought into it, and for assuming that it’s something that you cared about, and I got you that stupid book, and—”

“You got me a gift?” He interrupted feebly, the confession only serving to make him feel that much more guilty. 

Finally looking back down, you stared behind him to avoid his watchful eye. You offered a nod so subtle that he barely caught it. Reaching over, you grasped onto the small bag at the edge of the counter, your fingers toying with the handle shyly. He allowed you time to collect yourself, watching with bated breath as you reached into the bag and procured the deep crimson, leatherbound book. 

“Your other one is… too fragile for your temper.” You mumbled defensively once he slowly took it from your hands. 

Sukuna ran his calloused fingers over the textured material, huffing at himself in disbelief upon noticing his initials engraved intricately into the corner. The corners of his lips twitched up at your explanation, the thought you put into it filling his chest with the type of warmth he’d been pointedly avoiding his whole life. Shaking his head in resignation, he placed the book to the side before sliding his hands up to cup at your flushed cheeks. 

“You gotta start letting shit piss you off.” His voice was soft— far gentler than it had been just a few minutes ago. Your bleary eyes glistened as you stared back into his, your cheeks squished against his palms in a manner you had begun to notice he loved seeing. “I don’t get to tell you what’s important to you, you hear me?”

You nodded gingerly against his grip. Dipping down closer to you, his lips brushed against the furrow between your brows, willing it to disappear under his tender kiss. 

“It… pissed me off that you forgot about Valentine’s Day.” Your mumbled confession made him smile and press a soft kiss against your pout.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” The man teased, his teeth kissing your lips due to his wolfish grin that only grew when the blood rushed to your cheeks all over again. 

“You’re such a creep, Ryo.” You huffed in feigned annoyance in an attempt to conceal your bashfulness. 

“Mmm, bet that pisses you off, huh?” His sturdy hands left your face to curl around your hips. In one swift motion, you were being yanked off the counter, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“Yeah, it does.” You replied breathlessly as he began pressing heated kisses down your jaw on his way to the bedroom. With an airy moan, your hands reached up to curl into his hair. 

Kicking the door shut behind him, he flopped back down onto the bed. The abrupt drop made you squeak in surprise, and he grunted out a laugh as you landed atop of him. 

“Tell me more.” He insisted before latching onto your lips hungrily. 

“It— mmph— it pisses me off when you play your music so loud when y-you’re in the shower, and I’m trying to watch something.” You felt his lips curl up against yours. 

A shiver ran down your spine when his frigid hands crept under your sweater to toss it over your head. The sudden gust of cool air made you gasp, huddling closer to him while he continued to chase your lips. 

“Keep going.” Sukuna growled with a pinch to your ass that had you arching against him in anticipation. 

“Ah— it pisses me off that you never tell me what you’re thinking, but you always need to know my thoughts.” Your fingers seemed to move on their own accord to pull his shirt off. The hand that had settled on your rear creeped up to push your bottoms down before kicking them off with his foot, and you were quickly doing the same to his until you were both bared to each other. “It pisses me off that Satoru makes you so jealous.”

“Don’t fucking say his name when you’re on top of me.” He warned lowly, smacking at your waist to grind you against his stiff cock. You gasped out a moan, falling forward and steadying your hands on his chest. 

“It pisses me off that you make me forget how mad I am everytime you touch me.” Your voice broke out into a blissed out cry as he lifted you to sink down onto him with an agonizingly slow pace. He threw his head back against the mattress when your nails dug into his pecks.

“Want me to stop?”

“No— god no, Ryo, please.”

“Then show me how much I piss you off and use me like you fucking hate me.” 

No matter how much he assured you followed through with his lecherous command— till your hips stuttered and those typically athletic thighs of yours were giving out under you— Ryomen was sure he couldn’t love you anymore then he did as you allowed him the privilege of seeing even the parts of you you thought were so ugly. Still, he waited, his fingers pressing a bruising grip into your waist to stop himself from taking over as was so routine for him. 

His baritone grunts and growls only spurred you on until you could no longer, and the fevered roll of your hips slowed. His hands creeped up your back as you dropped forward onto his chest, fingers threading through the hair on your nape. With a knowing smirk, he tilted his head until his lips brushed against your perspiring cheeks.

“You done being pissed off, doll?” His grin only widened when you nodded desolately against him at his breathless question. “Mmm, then let me show you how much I love you, yeah?”

And he made good on his promise, swiftly sitting up to grind you against him himself, his biceps flexing with each lift of your spent body. You could only cling onto his neck, pressing hungry kisses against his lips and allowing each of your strained moans to dance with his, twirling and dipping about the intimate space between you. 

Ryomen made love to you until the tears that spilled from your eyes were no longer from your mounting frustration or your needless embarrassment. He kissed at each one, promising for every drop that for as long as he lived they’d be the only type of tears he’d allow you to shed for him again. 

For the first time in months, he was awake before you— before the sun even rose to assure you didn’t beat him to it. Unlike him, you didn’t so much as stir when he carefully removed himself from the bed that morning. With no one around to witness it, Sukuna allowed himself to stare down at your sleeping form with an aching tenderness that reopened the wounds of his self-hate for ever having been the reason that ethereal face of yours ever wore anything but a smile. 

An adoring smile tugged at his lips, one he didn’t try to hide, as there was no one around to bear witness to the pathetic fool you’d managed to morph him into with your merciful soul and delicate turn of phrase. Brushing back the hair that clung to your cheeks, he pressed a kiss to your temple and pulled the comforter further up around your exposed skin before slipping out of the space he’d carved out special just for you.

When you woke, it was from the repeated curses echoing from outside the bedroom. Every muscle in your body still ached, your thighs feeling just as heavy as your eyes did when you tried to crack them open. With a hum, you buried your face deeper into the pillow that the magnetic scent of Ryo still clung to, willing yourself to go back to sleep. 

“Ow— you little fucking shit!” 

Blinking down at the crumpled sheets of the mattress where your boyfriend was supposed to be, you were now certainly more awake then you had been the first time his colorful language disturbed your rest that morning. Sitting up with a grunt, you slipped off the bed and quickly tugged on one of Sukuna’s shirts. Tucking your arms into the sleeves to fend off the cold, you cautiously crept out of the bedroom. 

Your sharp gasp had him spinning around to face you, revealing the two, ultra-fine scratches slashed across his cheek. He almost looked embarrassed of the predicament he’d been caught in, the tiniest of black kittens in one hand and a now wrinkled, red ribbon hanging from the other. 

“Ryo, is that—”

“The cat that’s about to be shoved back into a fucking bush? Yeah, that’s him.” He growled in frustration, setting the frazzled kitten back down onto the counter to attempt putting on his bowed ribbon once again. It continued to hiss at his brash man-handling, biting at his fingers each time they came too close. 

“Easy, he’s just a baby!” You gushed excitedly, lunging forward to snatch the ribbon out of his hands with a force he wasn’t even aware you had in you. 

The man watched in barely disguised disdain as you scratched tenderly under the spawn’s chin, pressing a doting kiss to his tiny head before slipping the collar around his neck with ease. It mewled softly at you, so theatrically innocent that Sukuna was sure the damn thing was conspiring against him. 

“See? He just needed a little love.” You beamed lovingly, scooping the kitten into your arms to nuzzle him against your cheek. As the creature rubbed his head against your face, your glittering eyes stared up at your boyfriend hopefully. “Is he mine?”

“Yeah, you brat.” He grumbled in defeat, internally melting at the look of pure, blissful contentedness that broke out onto your face for that bastard of a cat. Careful to keep his still bleeding cheek a safe distance from the thing, he hooked his arm around your neck to pull you in and press a chaste kiss to your temple. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

A pathetic, misty haze glazed over your eyes as you looked up at him with all the love in the world— the kind he still never felt as though he deserved, but still the kind you not once made him feel like he had to earn. 

The kitten was purring contentedly with your forefinger’s rhythmic stroke behind his ears, making you smile knowingly. 

“Look, Ryo, he’s just like you.”

“I’m gonna take him back to the fucking clinic.”

a/n: SO SORRY FOR THE LATE POST work BEAT MY ASS but Happy Valentine's Day to each and every one of you. I'm sending virtual hugs and kisses RAGHHH

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[wordsmeetwbb]

Every Loser Needs an Azzi

Word count: 1.3k

Content: fluff, angst (it’s just hurt/comfort okay)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: Short little fluff piece for you on this fine UConn vs South Carolina game eve. If UConn loses in a dramatic fashion tomorrow (which I'm hoping they won't), at least we still have fluffy fanfiction!

________

Paige had played like shit. Worse than it, actually. Sure, everybody had bad games. Paige knows that. But this had been downright embarrassing. She slumps onto a bench in the visitor’s locker room, avoiding the pitying looks from her teammates. Azzi, KK, and Jana had already gone to do media, so no one left in the locker room was brave enough to approach her. Good.

Her mind runs wild as she goes through the motions of showering, changing, and heading out to the bus that’s already waiting outside. She’s moving slowly, too caught up in her thoughts. By the time Paige gets on the bus, trying to ignore the disappointed stares from fans, Azzi is already in a seat, headphones on, looking out the window. Paige plops down in the seat across the aisle, avoiding the look she can feel Azzi giving her. She doesn’t want to see the disappointment coming from her too.

“Paige,” Azzi says. Her voice is soft but somehow still carries the few feet to Paige’s ears, even through the raucous noise of the mostly full bus. Paige slouches further into her seat and pretends not to hear. “Paige,” Azzi tries again, voice more insistent now. Paige can’t help it. She glances up.

Azzi’s staring at her, eyebrows raised but with no judgment on her face. No pity, no disappointment. She pouts a little. “You’re not really gonna make me sit by myself, are you? After a loss?” She complains. Her tone is light but Paige is immediately hit by guilt. A loss that she caused. Paige looks away from the brunette, staring out the window at the fans for only a moment before she can’t bear it, and looks straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of her.

“Paige.” Silence. Paige presses herself into the wall of the bus, pulls her headphones over her ears, tugs her hood up, and tries to hide from Azzi. She’s not proud of it, but she doesn’t want to face reality on this bus.

A body slides into the seat next to her. The scent of vanilla perfume and lavender soap washes over Paige, soothing her just slightly. “You don’t have to talk to me, but you can’t hide from me either,” Azzi says softly, too quiet for the rest of the team in the seats around them to hear. Paige nods, just once, and swallows hard. Azzi gets comfortable in the seat next to her. She’s being careful not to touch Paige, to give her space. All the places where Azzi’s body would usually be pressed into Paige’s are notably cold, but Paige is grateful for the separation.

The bus starts moving. Paige turns her music up as her teammates continue to chatter around her, seemingly unphased by the pathetic loss they had just been handed. She stares out the window and watches fields rush by. Five hours later the sun has set and Paige is finally back in her apartment. Jana and Allie are mercifully quiet, so she escapes to her room quickly, dropping her bag by the door and heading straight for her closet, desperate to just put her pajamas on and go to sleep.

She’s just crawled into bed when there’s a knock at her door. She knows it’s Azzi without asking. She hesitates. Azzi doesn’t open the door, just knocks again.

“Paige? Can I come in?” She calls, voice muffled by the wood between them. Paige wants to say no. Wants to pull the covers over her head and pretend she’s already asleep so she doesn’t have to face her girlfriend. She doesn’t do that though.

“Yeah,” she croaks, voice rough from yelling during the game and not speaking for hours after it. Azzi opens the door slowly, looks at the way Paige is curled up on the bed, and immediately folds the blonde into her arms.

“It’s okay, baby,” Azzi soothes, one hand rubbing up and down Paige’s back as Paige breathes shaky breaths into her neck. A tear slips down Paige’s face, the droplet tracing a hot, wet line down her cheek. She’s thankful Azzi can’t see it.

“One point,” she whispers into Azzi’s skin. “One point, three rebounds, two assists, and five turnovers.” Azzi doesn’t shush her this time, just lets her get the words out. “Five fucking turnovers, Az. Do you know how many points they scored off of my turnovers? Nine. Nine fucking points, and I only scored one to make up for it. I couldn’t get anybody the fucking ball, couldn’t get it through the hoop, couldn’t even keep it in my goddamn hands. I’m supposed to be the best in the nation and look at me. Fucking pathetic.” The words quickly devolve into sobs, tears falling onto Azzi’s shoulder, soaking the fabric of her shirt. Azzi just holds Paige.

At some point, Azzi moves them to lay down, once Paige’s tears have calmed down enough that she isn’t gasping for air. Paige is still wrapped in Azzi’s arms, and she knows that one of them must be falling asleep, prickling painfully where it’s trapped under Paige’s body, but she can’t quite get herself to move.

“That was a bad game,” Azzi says finally. Paige lets out a surprised, wet laugh.

“Gee, thanks for pointing that out, Az. I didn’t notice that I cost us the fucking game until just now when you said that,” she says sarcastically. Paige can hear Azzi’s tentative smile when she replies.

“You cost us the game and you’re still the best player in the nation.” Paige wants to cry again. She turns herself all the way around in Azzi’s embrace so they’re facing each other, scans Azzi’s face, and then lets herself smile a little bit. Not a big smile. Not a particularly happy one. But a small, fragile thing.

“I guess we’ll see when ESPN puts out the next mock draft, right?” She jokes. Relief breaks over Azzi’s face. She reaches a hand up, the one that’s not trapped under Paige’s body, and brushes away the remnants of Paige’s tears.

“It’s okay to have bad games, Paige,” she says gently. “Being Paige Bueckers doesn’t exempt you from that.” Paige swallows around the lump in her throat.

“I know. It's just… knowing that I’m going to have shitty games doesn’t make having one any easier. All those people that come to see us play, see me play- hell, you see those signs, Az! People driving across the fucking country to watch and I just disappointed all of them. They didn’t come to watch that disaster.” Azzi grasps Paige’s face gently but firmly and tilts her so that she has to meet her eyes.

“Honey, you don’t owe anybody a damn thing. Every single person in that arena chose to be there, regardless of how you performed. And yeah, there’s probably somebody who walked out of there feeling disappointed. Who fucking cares? You don’t know them, Paige. They don’t know you. Bad games don’t define your career, and they certainly don’t define you as a person,” Azzi soothes. Paige brings her arms around Azzi and hangs on for dear life.

“How are you so fucking emotionally wise? Who taught you this?” She groans. Azzi laughs.

“I read books and talk about my feelings, Paige. It’s not my fault you can’t read,” she teases. Paige grips Azzi a little harder.

“I can read. Just don’t like it,” she mumbles. Azzi presses a kiss into Paige’s hair.

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say. As long as we can go to sleep now,” Azzi yawns. Paige’s heart stutters as she looks at Azzi.

“Yeah. We can go to sleep now,” she agrees.

As Azzi is drifting off, Paige hugs her tighter. “Thank you,” she whispers. Azzi mumbles something that might be a reply, and although she had just played the worst game of her college career, Paige had never felt more like she had won.

[anisangeldust]

Cupids Arrow | S.M.

Summary: After falling pathetically in love; Sam Monroe decides to give Valentine’s Day a chance.

Pairing: Sam Monroe x popular!Fem reader

Warnings: annoying Sam, use of “faggot” (in a playful way) and “gaybo” (derogatory), lwk self loathing, loser in love Sam, kinda a heavy make out sesh, semi public smut, dry humping, premature ejaculation ? Whimpering Sam, reader teases him and he gets off on it.

A/N: this is lwk self insert and I’m not ashamed abt it. Also I lwk hate it but wtv :( happy vday!!

“Naw bro, she’s fine as fuck” Josh nudges his friend as you walk past. You’d switched high schools and joined the previous semester. It’s as if you were an overnight success, fresh blood, pretty face, and rich parents, a recipe for being the top of the social ladder.

Even sad, mopey, emo Sam Monroe wasn’t immune to your charm

“Fuck off dude, she’d never go for you. You look and act like a faggot. She needs a strong man.” Josh’s friend flexes and raises his eyebrows up and down at you. You rolled your eyes playfully and continued walking to class.

With a scowl, Sam’s eyes followed the whole interaction. What of you did want him? Why did he care? Sam didn’t want you, or your preppy attitude, you fluffy hair that fell above your boobs, your low rise Abercrombie & Finch jeans that barely pass dress code— No. No. He didn’t care about or notice you. You or your big eyes and full lips— No.

And he especially didn’t notice you or the way his heart rate sped up when you smiled at him.

——

If there’s one thing Sam hated more than his father it was P.E. You were the only thing that made the class tolerable. Except he didnt think that because he barely noticed you or your teeny Juicy Couture shorts at all.

Even worse than P.E. (And Sam’s dad) was dodgeball. Fuck dodgeball. Sam thought as he stood in the corner of the gym and watched all the popular guys peacock for your attention.

A star ball hit Sam in the face, and the accompanying voice of one of the jocks followed “you’re out gaybo! Sit the fuck down!” And Sam rolled his eyes, sitting down as he flipped off the guy.

Like a guardian angel sent by a god he didn’t believe in, you threw a ball at the jock and got him out, playfully flipping him off like Sam did.

You go up to Sam and offer a hand. “C’mon, you’re back in. You okay? Looked like a nasty hit.” You smile.

Despite the bit of chill in the winter air, Sam felt a warmth spread across his face. “Yeah no.. whatever. Im good. Im fine” he scoffs, taking your hand to get up and dropping it suddenly when he realizes he just accidentally held your hand

“M’kay” I smile and saunter off to keep playing.

——

“It doesn’t mean anything. Shes nice to everyone” Sam sighs and rubs his face as he and Corey sit in the roof of his station wagon.

Corey takes a long inhale of their shared cigarette “yeah but..” he exhales “she helped you.. or some shit. I don’t know. But I can feel it. She likes you dude” he lays back.

Sam leans back and looks up at the sky, biting his bottom lip in contemplation. “Yeah but— fuck man. I can’t just ask her to be my valentine. That’s corny. And she probably has one” Sam sighs

Corey rolls his eyes “does she even entertain the other guys? There’s no harm in asking. Just like, buy her flowers or chocolate or something I don’t know. But ask her” Corey takes a puff.

“Y’know what. Fuck it man. I’ll ask” Sam nods and takes the cigarette, taking a long breath in and letting the exhale dwindle away in the night sky, his mind on you, you and your plump lips..

“Do you think Angel likes roses?” Sam groans

Corey huffs “probably. Get some chocolate too. Shit dude, maybe even a card” he giggles.

——

Walking through the halls of the school had never been so embarrassing. Who did Sam think he was? Using the little bit of cash he had that he’d usually spend on weed for chocolate and stupid flowers? It was too late to back down now. He had to focus.. but even as you got closer he could feel your eyes on him..

Clutching the six roses in his hand, Sam clears his throat to get your attention. “Hey.. uhm— could I talk to you..?” He murmurs and looks around at your friends. Your popular friends, all hanging around your locker. This was a bad idea.

The gentle smile that teased the corner of your lips almost made him forget to breathe “Of course.” You smile and lead him away to a different hallway “we’ll be right back” you look back at your friend then focus on him.

Oh god he was going to do it. “Uhm.. I was wondering if maybe you’d like.. I dunno.. be my valentine?” He murmurs and holds out the roses, opening his backpack and grabbing the chocolate.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, he was so close to just walking away, but the gentle sound of your giggles bring his gaze back. “Of course I will Sammy” you take the gifts “thank you, these are beautiful.

He was shocked. You said yes? This was a joke. A bet. You were just pitying him. “Really?” He whispers, not quite registering that you actually agreed. “Well uhm.. how about I like.. take you to dinner..?” He spews before his mind can catch up with his mouth.

You smile wider “Yes really. And I’d like that.” You take out a notebook and scribble down two things “here’s my number and address. Let me know the details” you kiss his cheek “Bye Sammy”.

He’s eyes followed you like a magnet “See ya..” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to where you kissed him, gently touching the spot with the pads of his fingers.

——

Nervous wasn’t even in the ballpark of emotions he was feeling. This still had to be some elaborate prank, a joke, never mind that he’d called you 3 times and told you to be ready for a dinner he planned, his heart swelling at the excited tone of your voice. You’d stand him up, he’d drive to your house like an idiot and you’d tell him you weren’t serious.

Telling his parents was arguably just as nerve wracking.

<<Hey mom uhm, could you help me.. maybe?>> Sam mumbled to his mother, Robin, as she cooked dinner, her eyes widened in surprise as not only did her angsty son talk to her, but he was asking for help?

She smiled << yeah i suppose.. with what..?>> her tone was gentle, almost hesitant.

Sam shrugged <<I uhm.. like.. maybe have a Valentine’s Day date..>> he cleared his throat and had to stop the smile as his mom rattled on about who you were and then helped Sam with all the details.

Standing at the door of your very nice home, in his only pair of decent dress slacks and a black button down, Sam clutched the bouquet of roses his mom helped pick out and rang the doorbell.

A middle aged woman with sleek brown hair answered the door. “Ah, you must be Sam” she smiles.

Sam nods, running a hand through his black and blue hair “yeah.. that’s me” he gives a lopsided smile “is your daughter ready?” He asks.

“She should be.” Your mom turns into the house “darling! Your dates here!” And the click clack of heels meets Sam’s ears.

You looked stunning. Breathtaking. Sam was flummoxed as he met your gaze. Your dress was a beautiful blush color, and your makeup matched. Sam reminded himself to blink as you approached “Hey.. happy Valentine’s Day” he quirked up his lips and held out the bouquet of flowers.

“These are gorgeous. Thank you” you smile and take his hand, this time on purpose, and walk to his car. Sam opens the passenger seat before climbing in the drivers seat and twisting his key.

Mr. Self destruct by Nine Inch Nails starts to play up again and Sam quickly turns it off “Sorry.. I was uh..” he flushes with sudden embarrassment at his music taste.

You turn the dial back up “don’t apologize. I’d be happy to listen to the music you enjoy” you smile and admire his side profile as he drives, your eyes drawn to the way his hands fiddle with the gear shift, taking in the faint scent of weed that lingers on the leather seats. It was so him, so perfect.

——

The date was perfect. A beautiful awkward mix of Sam’s corny jokes and your elegant aura. It became clear that not only was it not a pity date, but maybe you actually liked him back? He tried not to let himself dwell on the idea. But as the server called you guys “cute” and you just thanked him, Sam could feel himself falling deeper into this boyish crush.

Walking out of the restaurant hand in hand, Sam decided to deviate from his original plan “We should get ice cream. I know this lookout point I smoke at sometimes. It’s perfect for stargazing” the sudden boost of confidence he had talking for him.

“I’d like that a lot” you take his hand and walk to his car.

——

For the first time Sam felt like the universe was on his side. Eating ice cream on Valentine’s Day, sitting in the open trunk of his car with the girl he likes and watching the stars after a successful date, the only thing that would make it better was if he didn’t have a raging boner from watching you lick cream off your lips.

As you got down to the bottom of your cone and started to lick the melted desert off your fingers, Sam wiggled and tried to pull away. But you noticed. Of course you noticed.

“Something wrong?” You look at him and scoot closer.

He swallowed audibly “nothing.. nothing wrong.. I’m great” he shakes his head vehemently.

You lean your head closer, the hot air mingling between you “you sure? You look flushed” you giggle and tease.

He dares to lean in “am not!”

You smile “are too” and then your lips attach. The kiss is heavy, full of Sams insecurity and your desire. His inexperienced tongue moves around your mouth, his pants growing tighter from the taste of your lips.

Climbing onto his lap, you finally see the source of his awkwardness “mmm.. is that what’s wrong?” You tease and gently move your hips over his hard on.

Sam gasps into the kiss, whimpering and letting his mouth part “y-yeah..” he stutters, trying to latch onto his last shred of gentlemanly thoughts.

“You’re so adorable” your giggles make him flushed.

“I’m not adorable.. I’m.. I dunno..” he stutters pathetically, panting into the kiss and bucking his hips up.

You keep moving “pretty sure you are. You’re whimpering like a loser. A cute loser” you kiss and suck on his jaw.

Sam lets out a moan “nuh uh..” he tries for the last time to hold on, but as he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, he’s done for. With one finally little whine, he cums in his pants, bucking his hips up and kissing you.

Both if you look at eachother with wide eyes, the look in his is terrified, the look in yours in playful “did you just..?” And he tears up

“Sorry.. ‘m so sorry.. couldn’t help it..” he pouts and looks at his lap.

You flick his nose to get his attention “I’m not mad Sammy.. that was.. hot” he giggle and kiss him again.

“Hot..?” He mumbles and his hands find your waist.

“And pathetic. Hot and pathetic.” You confirm with a nod of your head.

[destinedfordiapers]

Closer to the Edge

“Why’d you stop, honey? Did you finish already? That was fast!”

You shake your head, utterly defeated, trying to catch your breath.

“No? Why not? What’s wrong? Are you making a stinky?”

Your face turns a deep crimson. “N-no! I…I just…”

“Well then why did you stop? Don’t be embarrassed! Be proud of your cummies! You deserve it, honey!”

As if humping your diaper is something to be proud of.

“Are you serious?” you argue, “I should be proud I ‘get’ to hump my diapers while my wife gets ready for a date? It’s bullshit!”

Her phone buzzes.

“One sec, honey.”

She reads the message, face flushing as she furiously responds, grinning ear to ear.

Like you’re not even there.

With a dramatic click, she puts her phone away and sits next to you on the bed.

“Honey, we talked about this. Sex is out of the question for you. I won’t be intimate with someone who poops and pees their diapers, even if you can’t help it. I love you…but I can’t.”

Her words cut through you like a hot knife.

“And I don’t want you getting confused seeing me in my panties or even worse, naked. It’s not fair to you. I know it’s hard to accept, but it’s for the best.”

“B-best? How is that for the best?”

She sighs like someone running out of patience with a petulant child.

“Because you’ll never have sex again, honey. Your diapers are permanent. You’re not getting out of them. So why would I lead you on? You can make perfectly good cummies with me fully dressed.”

“It’s not the same! If you can go fuck random people, why can’t I?”

Her laugh—that horrible, uncontrollable laugh—made you regret even asking.

“By all means, go out and try! But don’t say I didn’t warn you! I don’t make fun of you for your diapers. But you might not be so lucky. Isn’t it better to get your cummies with me?”

You remember the way your coworker looked at you when she found out.

The revulsion on her face.

Deep down, you know she’s right. Even if it means a lifetime of demeaning cummies.

She senses your surrender, sliding closer to you.

“How about I rub your diaper for you? Would you like that, sweetie?”

More than anything in this world.

You nod excitedly. She giggles at your enthusiasm as you expose your soggy diaper, lying back for her.

An electric shock of pleasure erupts as your diaper crinkles under her touch.

The crinkling of your diaper fails to drown out your moans. You close your eyes, lost in the ecstasy of your soggy diaper rubs.

“It feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetie?…So, so good…Show me how much you love it…your warm, wet diaper feels so good….make your cummies for me babe…”

You’re so lost in your own world you never notice she’s texting her date tonight with her free hand.

“Awww, someone made squirties! Good job! That was so quick for someone who ‘doesn’t enjoy it!’ C’mon, let’s get you changed, honey. That diaper isn’t going to last much longer.”

Once she’s done tending to you, she’s off for some real fun.

[curatedcurios1ty]

(18+, fingering. reader has a pussy)

It had been a long week, and honestly, it had been even longer since you’ve masturbated.

It’s not that you dislike devildom or anything..it’s just a little frustrating not having any time to really take care of yourself.

So when the perfect night rolls around, with most brothers out of the house (lucifer meeting with diavolo, mammon doing god knows what, asmo clubbing, levi at a convention with beel tagging along, and satan at book club). You take full advantage.

And so, that’s how your night begins, you’re under your blanket with your knees up, underwear hanging off of one ankle, your hand makes its way between your legs and you sigh, finally.

And yeah maybe you’re kinda excited to be able to cum, too excited in fact. To the point where you almost (almost) miss the click of your door opening.

Dammit!

God Dammit. That’s it, you decide, the entire universe must be against you. Shouldn’t he be sleeping? Fuck! You drop your knees back down onto the bed. Belphegor makes his way over to the bed, he’s just about to get under your covers when you reach out a hand to stop him.

“Hold on, not tonight.” Thankfully he pauses, fist wrapped around the blanket.

“Why not?” His voice is soft, he’s almost pouting.

“It’s just…because, i’m busy right now.” You don’t have the heart to tell him what you were actually doing. Yet, after a moment of silence he’s already pressing forward again.

His expression shifts into something quizzical, like he’s trying to figure something out. You see him sniff the air around you and look back at you.

“You’re turned on. Were you masturbating?”

God fucking dammit. This is embarrassing. Is it a demon thing? You knew Asmodeus could sense lust, but can Belphie really smell your arousal? Well if he knows, he should be giving you space now. You hope.

“Uh, yeah actually,” That was still mortifying to admit, your body feels hot in more ways than one. “That was my plan for tonight, so maybe you should nap someplace else?” Even after all of this you still want to cum.

Instead of listening to you, Belphie fully slides under the covers. His eyes hold this intensity you’ve never seen before, and it’s all directed towards you.

“Let me help you, turn around.” He sounds more serious than you’ve ever heard. You don’t know what compels you to but you obey, turning so he’s pressed up against your back.

He wedges his head into the crook of your neck and inhales. “Let me take care of you.”

One of his hands traces along your side until it reaches the swell of your ass. He gives it a light squeeze before gripping your cheek and using it to push it to the side, giving him access to your pussy.

He uses his fingers to spread your pussy open, and fuck, you’re glad he can’t see how soaked you are..it’s just been so long.

As soon as that thought passes through you, feel his other hand reach under you. He drags his middle finger over your throbbing clit down to your sopping, wet hole before pulling back completely. You can’t help but moan, his touch is delicate yet deliberate. You want more.

You’re about to ask him why he stopped when his hand comes out from under the covers and into view. He holds it out in front of the two of you.

“Wow, you’re really wet, huh?” You can’t help but to be in awe as well. The digit is shining in slick juices, only made worse when he spreads it over to his pointer finger with his thumb.

“Belphie, keep going,” You don’t think you can take this teasing, not when he’s still holding you open. “please.”

“Okay.” The fingers disappear from view, a moment later you feel them on your clit rubbing in small circles. You move to grind on them but the hand on your ass holds you in place.

This continues for a while, you’re getting more turned on by the second. It’s good, but you need more.

“Put a finger inside.” You expect the ones on your clit to fulfill that task, but instead he stops holding you open to wriggle his other middle finger inside you. Fuck, it’s almost too much it’s-

“So good.”

He’s mouthing along your neck as he stretches you with his finger. He’s slow with it, but it feels like you’re on fire. Soon, you feel him slip out completely and trace over your hole with two fingers.

“Can I add another?” You nod, not sure if your voice would come out whole. Slowly, his fingers push in, and you gasp. He reaches so much deeper than you could on your own.

Slow thrust turn into slight stretching, which then turns into him curling his fingers. Hitting that gummy spot that makes your mind go blank.

“Do you think you could come, just like this?” His breath is hot against your neck, hell, everything is hot right now.

“Yeah, I could. Keep going, please.” And you mean it. Fuck, your orgasm is so close you can taste it. Like he can read your mind, his hands speed up. You’re moaning louder than before. And just like that something snaps.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers during your orgasm. Your sure belphie can feel it too, from the breathless way he says your name as his hands slow back down.

You’re still blinking hard from the aftershock when he finally pulls away. You turn your body to see him wipe his fingers on the corner of the blanket. Too out of it to say anything, you try to remember to wash it later.

He turns back to you and looks you in the eyes. Even if his face is flushed you can tell that he’s utterly exhausted. Your point is proven by how he cuddles up to you and completely deflates.

“Can we sleep now?” Any reply you would have giving would be useless. His eyes closed, and breathing already slowing down. You decide that you could save a real conversation for later.

For now you’ll just lie down with him.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

LET IT BLEED AWAY BETWEEN US

(adult) lottie matthews x fem!reader.

she shows up at your door… (inspired by season three episode 2 babyyyyyy I wrote this at 4 fucking in the morning earlier bc I couldn’t sleep enjoy please read to compensate my suffering)

“So,” you start, unsure of how to begin. “How was it?”

Lottie blinks. “The mental institution?”

You were better off not asking.

“It was fine,” she answers in a dull tone. She sits across from where you stand as she occupies your armchair — in your living room, which she has infiltrated and made herself at home in. “It’s been worse.”

She’s told you before, stories of all she has endured. You sit very straight, unsure exactly of how to proceed — it hasn’t been long since you last saw her, but there is a gap between the two of you already, and even in such a short amount of time the two of you have changed. She no longer has her wellness center to lead, you no longer follow her in it. You have been thrusted back into the real world — real dangers accompany it.

“You have a nice place here,” Lottie gestures around your living room. “I’m surprised you could get a hold of it so quickly.”

Your old house you had lived in before moving into the wellness center. You’ve had it on the market for a while, but no one has put in an offer. You don’t tell her that, though — part of you wants her to bear the guilt, think you found some new place in a pinch.

“I had to find somewhere to go,” you say defensively. “While you were detained.”

Her expression sours, she doesn’t like your wording. Neither do you. You don’t enjoy being angry with her, especially after being apart. All you want to do is rush to her, pull her into your arms and let it all bleed away between you, but it was Lottie herself who always showed those who followed her to feel their anger.

Lottie sinks further into her seat, sensing your discontent, crosses one leg over the other and pretends she’s blind to the world. “I missed you.”

You hum in response. Silence lies heavily between you.

“Are you upset with me?”

You don’t respond.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

She sighs. “Then what?”

“You hunted Shauna through the woods. You got shot.”

Lottie stands and makes her way to you. She looks tired above all, but you can’t help but notice a fidgety manner about her — dark eyes always flitting to avert your gaze, hands spinning her rings around and around her fingers. There is a general restlessness to her that you aren’t used to — it’s worrying.

“I understand that you’re frustrated—”

“What if it had been me?” You cross your arms. “Would you have hunted me?”

Lottie scoffs.

“Answer me. Would you have?”

She hesitates. She waits a beat too long before answering. You see the same flightiness. “No.”

You let it drop for now. You don’t want to press her and end up with a different answer. “Did it hurt?”

She’s becoming quite done with this. Her tone is laced with sarcasm, sharp with it. “When I fell from heaven?”

“When you got shot.”

“Yes, it fucking hurt.”

“I want to see.”

Again she sighs, more dramatically this time — but after a moment’s hesitation Lottie pulls off her black jacket. Your eyes find it immediately, though the wound is tiny. It’s already beginning to scar: the small mark of the bullet you remember all too clearly embedded in her skin.

“Are you okay?” Lottie asks.

“Are you?”

She offers you a soft smile — it’s not really an answer, more mournful than anything, but momentarily you have been persuaded to put your anger aside when her hands take yours and again you are home.

“If you ever get shot again, I’m leaving you,” you threaten. It sounded much less surreal to say in your head.

“I don’t plan on it,” Lottie assures you. “Though I didn’t plan on getting shot the first time.”

You beg to differ. It doesn’t matter in any case, what’s done is done. Now you need her in your arms, anger and all, and she needs it too — gently, almost so as not to scare you away into a fit of rage, she kisses you.

You had been silent when she’d told you she missed you, but you had missed her just as desperately. You missed the warmth and security of her beside you as you laid in an empty bed, you missed the novelty of being able to pull her into your arms whenever you wanted and decide it’s where you both would stay for a while. You missed her, in every way, and you were still pissed at her for all she had done to lose you.

Lottie glances around the house when you pull back, trying to determine in her surroundings where the bedroom is. You can see the disapproval etched into her features — this is not her home, this is not the life you have built together.

You can’t, not yet. Too mournful still.

When you pull her back over to the couch, it is a domestic gesture. When you lean against her so that you’re nearly on top of her and gently run a hand through her hair. When her arms wrap around you and you find your gaze trained on the bullet wound and you can’t help but reach out to trace it and know that someday, when the world is less dark and mournful and all of your wounds have scarred, you will kiss it clean of the past.

sexy sexy taglist: @webism @chaithetics @ahauandthesun

reblogs/comments always appreciated! :)

[tkwrites]

regarding your reblog about quinn sitting out for four nations….. i’m sure sarah would also be very relieved that he’s prioritizing his health, but i’m now also so curious how you think sarah would have dealt with the whole situation leading up to now….. i.e., quinn playing with his injured hand for weeks, the fact that they kept sending him back out in that one game when he was clearly in so much pain and couldn’t even make it through a shift (the game was basically over anyway!), and even just the process of him making the decision to skip four nations. how do you imagine sarah was feeling about all of it and how outspoken do you think she would have been about her concerns? do you think quinn was asking for her opinion? do you think the topic caused any sorta tension at all? (rambly as hell as per usual mb)

Well, this took on a life of its own (rambly as hell in my own way).

We're going from injuries and Sarah's worry that Quinn is putting himself at risk for the team, all the way to her keeping to her Valentines Day plans despite the fact that they're spending the lead up to the day together.

I had this idea for Sarah gifting Quinn lingerie to get him hyped for her arrival in Montreal on Valentines Day, and I just couldn't let it go, so you get everything together.

Warnings for lots of angst, and then lots of teasing and longing at the end. Also, some praise kink stroking.

Hope you enjoy even though it's a little chaotic!

Though they live together, and they’re fully committed, she’s still not quite sure what her place is in this situation and how much she should say. All Sarah wants is for Quinn to not push himself too hard. To not injure himself any further. 

They first talked about it when he decided to join the team mid-way through the road trip after his hand injury. This caused a minor argument. She thought he shouldn’t go. He felt like the team needed him, and, as the trainers told him, he couldn’t injure his hand any more than it already was if he took the proper precautions. To him, it was a no-brainer.

“You’re not the only person on that team, Quinn,” she said as he was packing. 

“Yep, that’s the definition of a team.” 

“I just…” She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to make herself heard. “I know you’re the best player on the team, but —” 

He stiffened, “no, I’m not.” 

“Statistics don’t lie, Quinn.” 

He turned from his suitcase then, “but what?” 

The way he was looking at her, all hard edges and determination made her pause. 

“But what?” he demanded again. 

There was no good way to say this. “But, if they can’t figure out how to play without you, I’m worried you’re going to run yourself into the ground trying to keep them afloat.” 

Anger flashed in his face before he turned back to his packing, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” she acquiesced, “but I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself even more. Isn’t it worth taking time off to heal?” 

“I have to help them,” he said, voice sounding like it was cut from glass. 

“Quinn, I know you want to win, but…” she trailed off, leaving out the at what cost? 

“We need to win these games, or we miss the playoffs.” 

“I know, but —” 

He slammed his suitcase closed. “I’m going, okay. I can’t hurt my hand any more.”

She winced, mind racing with images of someone targeting his injury, slashing him, or slamming him into the boards to guarantee it would get worse — keeping him out of the game even longer. 

The way she was looking at him, resigned and… almost frightened, made Quinn pause for half a second. His shoulders dropped, “I have to go, Sarah.” 

“Have to?”

“Yes. I have to help however I can.” 

Even though she’d thought this would be the outcome of this argument, she had to fight for him, even if he wasn’t going to fight for himself. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her soft voice was like a punch to the gut. 

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, pulling a half smile onto his mouth. 

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she still drove him to the airport and kissed him goodbye, hating the scratchy feel of the brace straps when his hands cupped her face. 

“I’ll call you when I get there,” he promised. 

She nodded, “Please be careful.”

“I will,” he promised. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she said, giving him a sad smile goodbye.  

He finally understood the guilt Mysey talked about when he came back from injury as soon as possible last season. 

The night he injured his oblique, she was watching from home (of course), wincing through the whole game. Everything felt off with JT suddenly gone. Then, near the end, when they announced Quinn was off the bench, her heart started to race, and she grabbed her phone, hoping he’s sent her some kind of update. He didn’t until after the game, and after she’d watched him try, and fail to skate the way he usually did more than once, knowing it wasn’t Tocc throwing him out there, but Quinn throwing himself out on the ice. 

When he came home, wincing at every movement, she watched him with big, worried eyes. 

She didn’t talk to him when he went to the rink for the following game, angry that he was so blatantly ignoring his own welfare. She even thought about not going to the game at all but ultimately decided that would cause more damage than she wanted to repair. It was a nice surprise when he appeared next to her to watch the game. Relief flooded through her, knowing that the trainers and coaches wouldn’t let him play, despite his insistence he could push through. 

As the tournament loomed closer and closer, and his injury was getting better, but not healed, she felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Quinn is competitive and intense, and hockey is something that brings him an enormous amount of joy. She didn’t want him to miss this opportunity to play for his country and with his brother and best friend, but she knew he just couldn’t. Hearing his grunt of pain when he sat up in bed each morning was enough to tell her he couldn’t feasibly play. His hand injury, though persistent, didn’t affect much of their everyday life, other than she’d been on top most of the time, which neither of them minded all that much. But this was different. And both of them knew it. 

When he finally announced he wasn’t playing, relief swept through her life like a wave. She’d even contemplated calling Jack to beg him to make Quinn see sense. The fact she didn’t have to made her feel almost giddy. If he hadn’t been so sad, she would have danced around the house in celebration.

The only thing she was a little sad about was the change to their Valentines Day plans. With school, she’d been planning to fly out to him on Friday night, and had care packages packed to sneak into his suit case, something to open on the 12th, 13th and 14th to get him excited for her arrival. 

She stuck to the plan, even though they were home, leaving a gift out for him to find each morning. 

When Quinn got up to go to PT on Wednesday, he had a text from Sarah. Don’t forget to open your gift! 

He had no idea what she was talking about. 

The gift she was referencing turned out to be a black silk drawstring bag, no bigger than a sheet of notebook paper, left on the dining room table. The tag tied to it read, This time, you get to choose. Package 1 of 3, which will it be? 

When he opened it, he pulled out a swath of meshy lace. Blue, to match his jersey. It took him a while to figure out which way was up, but once he did, he couldn’t help the noise that crawled up his throat. It was a lace body suit. Sheer and stretchy. Just imagining Sarah in it gave him an instant boner. 

He brought it up after she got home that evening, but she just patted his knee with a coy smile, “you have to wait to see all three options before you can make a choice.” 

“There was only one thing in that bag!” 

“I know,” she said, pressing a teasing kiss to his mouth, “they were supposed to go in your suitcase, so you’d be excited to see me on Valentine’s Day.” 

“They?” he demanded. 

“There are more,” she said simply, sauntering out of the room and leaving him feeling breathless. 

“You’ll get the second tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. 

He groaned despite the excitement that reared in his stomach. 

The next morning, after a restless night of wanting, another black bag appeared. This one on the bar counter. Two is the middle, but will it win of the three?

His fingers brushed something soft when he reached inside, and for a moment, he thought it might be empty before he realized the thing he was touching was made of the same material as the bag. He pulled out a pair of little silk shorts, trimmed in lace, then a matching black camisole. Compared to her gift from the day before, this seemed incredibly tame. All the same, he had to admit, he wanted to see it on her. He knew it would be her perfect brand of comfortably sexy. 

The thought of her in the little silk set popped into his mind even more than the blue number had. The blue lace was a fantasy — one he definitely wanted to see come to life — but the silk was real, something he could see her wearing often. He could imagine sliding it off her when they settled into bed on a normal Tuesday night. 

The image of her curvy thighs swathed in the slippery material assaulted his thoughts so often, he practically jumped on her when she got home from work, cornering her against that same bar counter where she’d left the gift that morning. 

“Hi,” she said, giggling against his mouth. 

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” 

“Am I?” she asked, innocently batting her eyelashes. 

“Why don’t you put this on?” he asked, fingering the lace where it lay on the counter behind her.

“You have to see all three,” she said, easing away from him. “Pick which one’s your favorite.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want you to wait. And the whole point of this was to get you so excited to see me, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me once I was there.” 

“But you’re here now.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Quinn.”

“This isn't patience. This is torture.”

“Torture?” she repeated, arching a brow. 

“You don't get it! I've had a hard on for two days now, and I’m going crazy. It’d be different if I was gone, but you’re right here.” 

She smiled a satisfied smile and walked to the kitchen. 

He was so desperate for her the next morning, he followed her to the bathroom, crowding her against the sink, hips pressed to her ass as she brushed her teeth. 

“Please?” he groaned in her ear. 

She shook her head before leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste. The move caused her to press back against him, and he grunted. 

“Just because you’re home doesn’t mean we should skip out on the amazing Valentines Day sex I had planned.” 

“It is Valentines Day,” he reminded. “We can have amazing sex right now.” 

Shooting him a look in the mirror as she swished mouthwash, Sarah shook her head. 

Letting out a groan of frustration, Quinn let his head fall on her shoulder. 

“You just have to make it until I’m done with class,” she said, turning in his arms. “I was planning on making you wait until I would have arrived in Boston, but then I decided that was too mean.” 

“Why don’t you skip class,” he asked, nosing her jaw as his mouth dipped to her neck. 

She let out a pleasured hum. 

“Come on,” he whispered into her skin, “I’ll get you off as much as you want.” 

Swallowing her desire and clinging to the knowledge that the anticipation would make everything better, she broke away from him, “I have to go to class. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He was gripping the sink, breathing deeply when she left the final present on the bed, and slipped out the door. 

Barely glancing at the tag, Package 3 of 3. Are you getting excited to see me?, he tore into the silk bag, nearly ripping it in the process. Too impatient to wait, he turned it over. Several pieces of red fabric spilled onto the duvet. 

He swore as he pulled the pieces apart. The largest was a robe, satin and short. There was a bra with a bunch of straps he couldn’t figure out, but he knew would look dead sexy once Sarah had it on. Then, a pair of panties made from the same lace as the bra. Only, it seemed as though the whole back of them was missing. Like a thong in reverse. 

How was he supposed to decide which of these to pick? He wondered if he could convince her to try them all on for him so he could make an informed decision. 

In the end, after laying each piece of lingerie side by side on the bed, he decided it had to be the blue. He’d never seen her in anything like it before, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he could wait for her to change. 

He left it out on the bed and left the apartment. He needed to clear his head and had to pick up her gifts. 

When he got back home, he called for her, hoping he hadn’t beat her home. 

“I’m up here.” 

He raced up the stairs, nearly dropping the roses and chocolates in his haste. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he said once his eyes landed on her where she was leaning against the lucky couch, wrapped in tight blue lace. 

“You like?” she asked, skimming a hand down her side.

He made a nonsensical noise that nevertheless served as an affirmative answer. She looked incredible, all lace and curves, and yet, still his loving Sarah. She was a fantasy come to life.

“You’ve been so patient for me,” she said, padding toward him and taking the gifts from him. 

She made a show of leaning over to set them on the coffee table. 

His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and he made a sort of guttural sound of longing. 

Her hand trailed up his arm when she came back to him, “you’ve been such a good boy for me, Quinn.” 

“Fuck.” 

“You know what good boys get?” 

“Rewarded?” he ventured, his voice cracking over the word. 

“That’s right. Are you ready for your reward?”

Knees wobbling, he nodded frantically. 

Giving him a sexy smile, she led him to the bedroom. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[revelboo]

Hi can you do Cyberverse grimlock Valentines Headcanon >:3

i need some cyberverse characters in here lol :3

Valentine’s Oneshot-Grimlock

Cyberverse Grimlock x Reader

• “Ah, there you are, my little darling.” Head lifting at the booming, cheerful voice, you can’t help but smile because he’s smiling. The big bot kneeling to offer you his hands and there’s no hesitation when you climb into his palm and hold into his servos as he lifts you closer to his face. “You know I don’t like you wandering around down there under ped.”

• You’re so small and helpless compared to a Cybertronian he can’t help but worry. Not every bot pays that much attention to where they’re going. Thinks about the possibility of you even being down there. “I’m not going to get smooshed,” you protest, little chin lifting defiantly and it twists through him. Stirring his protectiveness. Do you have any idea what he’d do if you were hurt while under his protection?

• “Humor me. I worry,” he says, venting and you stiffen when Slipstream overhears in passing, the Seeker laughing. And you hear her call you a bug under her breath, but it’s not like you haven’t been called worse by other former Decepticons. It’s nothing you’re not used to, but you hear Grimlock beginning to rumble. Oh, no. “I’m sorry. What did you just call my companion?” He’s smiling, but he’s showing a lot of denta.

• “Grimmy, let it go. Don’t,” you plead, but he’s gently setting you down on top of a wall. Helpless to do more than watch as he grabs the Seeker by an arm, still smiling. Hear him say ‘I think you owe my darling an apology,’ but you don’t catch her retort. Only Grimlock’s furious ‘you dare?’ Before he’s transforming. Groaning as Cybertronians scatter out of the war zone and Grimlock snaps his jaws on the femme’s leg and slings her with a roar. Defending your honor in a full dinobot rage that’s going to spill over to anyone in the vicinity if you don’t rein him in.

• “You run from Grimlock?!” Infuriated, he chases after the fleeing Seeker, jaws snapping. It’s a sharp whistle that makes him stagger to a stop, still snarling. Another whistle brings him around, looking. There. Grimlock friend. Tail swaying as you lower your hand, he bumps you with his snout, venting against you. Head tipping, he gently catches you in his jaws, mouth open as he carries you away from the noise and press of bodies. Rumbling warningly as bots scatter out of his path. Carrying you home safe in his jaws.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Forget Me Not - Chapter 3

Notes: established relationship, Tommy gets amnesia | rated: G | words: 2.5k

[Read on Ao3]

——-

He had managed to guide Tommy up off the floor. They sat in silence on the edge of the bed for a long time, Tommy’s breathing eventually evening out.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” He swallows harshly. “I’m fine.” He lifts up a hand, swipes at his face to catch the last of the drying tears. “Y-you can go, if you want to. I-if this isn’t working and you want to leave then-” He stops as Buck tentatively brushes the side of Tommy’s thigh, not quite brave enough to take the hand that’s resting on top.

“I just-” He takes a moment, images of the cracked picture flashing through his mind. “I just got a bit freaked out I guess. I thought you-” He fights the lump building in his throat. “I thought you would be more comfortable if I left. It can’t be easy, having a stranger in your house.”

Tommy turns to look at him, there’s something unreadable in his expression.

“But you’re not a stranger, you’re Evan.” He says it so simply.

They’re so close, Buck can feel Tommy’s breath on his cheek. He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment, takes a steadying breath. When he looks back Tommy is still exactly where he left him.

Tommy edges closer, tilting his head towards him. Buck is about to lean forward and close the gap when Tommy lets out a gasp and Buck pulls back immediately. Tommy’s eyes are scrunched shut and his hand shoots up to hold the injured side of his head, expression taken over by a wave of pain. Buck moves in front of him, arms on Tommy’s biceps to steady him as he threatens to fall forwards. He carefully goes through the checks on Tommy’s hospital release form. He is able to talk, lift his arms and his pupils had come up equal and reactive. The gash on his head was clean, still healing slowly, showing no signs of infection. Once Buck was sure Tommy wasn’t in any immediate danger, he takes a step back.

“You should get some rest. We can talk about this tomorrow.” Tommy nods shallowly, flinching again as the movement sends off another bolt of pain. Buck loops one arm around Tommy’s back and cups his other hand around the side of Tommy’s neck. He is sure to keep Tommy’s head steady as he gently manoeuvres him down onto the pillows. He moves down the bed, gently lifting up Tommy’s legs and quietly tucks him in. He sits on the edge of the bed as Tommy settles. He thinks about going back to his room but the fear that was rooted in his chest kept him where he was. What if something was wrong? What if Tommy got worse during the night and he wasn’t there to help him? He decides to stay, there’s no way he’d be able to sleep if he didn’t.

He had just settled down on the bed next to Tommy when his phone pings. He flinches and glances over at Tommy, who is undisturbed by the sudden sound. It’s a text from Maddie.

Is everything okay?

He pinches the bridge of his nose, looks down at Tommy’s now sleeping form. He quickly types out a response.

Yeah, I’m going to stay. I got stuck in my head earlier, it wasn’t fair on him to just decide to leave like that. Thanks for having my back though 🫶🏻

He puts his phone down and rolls onto his side, so that he’s facing Tommy. They’re so close again. He reaches out and runs his fingers along the back of Tommy’s hand, up his arm until he reaches his shoulder. The comforter has slipped down so Buck pulls it back up, carefully wrapping him up. Tommy shuffles in his sleep and turns his head towards where Buck’s hand is resting on his shoulder. The bolt of his jaw brushes along the back of Buck’s thumb. He gently turns his hand over,  running the pad of his thumb along Tommy’s cheekbone, curling his fingers to cup his face. Tommy makes a small sleepy noise and nuzzles into his palm. Warmth swoops through Buck’s body, settles in his chest. He thinks about their near kiss, the vulnerability on Tommy’s face. The fear in Tommy’s eyes when he thought Buck was about to leave him makes Buck’s stomach clench uncomfortably.

“I won’t leave you.” He murmurs, edging a tiny bit closer to Tommy. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift off in the comfort of their shared warmth.

——-

When Buck wakes up the bed is empty. The clock on the bedside table tells him it’s the morning. He tries not to think anything of the fact that Tommy is not still in bed with him. He comes into the living room and finds Tommy, his back to Buck, looking at something in his hands. Tommy turns as he hears Buck approach. The ghost of last night’s pain still on his face.

“How’s your head?” Buck asks, he feels awkward. For how close they got last night, now it feels like he’s further away than ever. What if Tommy wasn’t still in bed this morning because he regretted their moment, or that he wasn’t comfortable with Buck being in the bed with him. He’d not thought about that last night, he’d just wanted to stay close, make sure he was nearby if Tommy had needed anything. In the cold morning light it was all he could think about.

“It’s okay, still got a bit of a headache but it’s not as bad.”

“You should take something for it, the medicine cabinet is next to the fridge.”

“I found it, but thanks.”

“Oh, yeah okay. That’s good.”

They fall into an uneasy silence.

“We should get some new glass for it.” Tommy gestures to the frame that he is holding, forgotten from yesterday. Buck scuffs his foot along the carpet, doesn’t say anything. Tommy turns to him fully, reaches out and hooks his fingers around Buck’s wrist.

“I can’t-” he stops, face twisting down in a frown. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. A-and I’m sorry if I’ve been making it harder by not talking to you about it. I’ve just, just been trying to get it straight in my head but I don’t know-” He glances down at the picture frame again. “I don’t know what’s real. Like this picture, I can see that that is me and you, but it doesn’t feel like it’s me.” Buck starts to pull his arm away, he can see where this is going. It doesn’t feel like me, you don’t feel like me. Why would I stay with someone I can’t remember? Buck braces himself.

“But,” Tommy takes a steadying breath, “when you nearly left? I-” His fingers tighten around Buck’s wrist. “I knew that it wasn’t right, I don’t remember why I feel safe with you, I just know that I do. I remember how you make me feel.” His eyes flicker over to the front door, then back to Buck. “We aren’t supposed to be apart.”

Buck feels completely frozen. His mouth opening and closing around words that won’t come to him.

“A-and I know you want to go,” Tommy pulls in on himself, “and I have no right to ask you to stay.” He falters, worries at his bottom lip. “But before you do, I just wanted you to know that I know you’re supposed to be here.” Tommy takes a step towards him, something soft and pleading in his eyes. “We’re supposed to be here.” He says it so softly, so simply as if he hasn’t just made Buck feel like he could be knocked over by a light breeze.

Buck takes a deep breath, tries to stop his voice from shaking.

“I was only going because I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

Buck chews on the inside of his cheek, looks down to where Tommy’s fingers are still wrapped around his wrist.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

——-

Over the next few days Buck starts to feel a little lighter. He is still following Tommy’s lead, answering asked questions, sharing more of their lives together. They sit on the sofa and look through photo albums, wishes for the moment that something will click into place. The moment where Tommy will look at him like he used to, ask how he could have forgotten anything of them. The moment doesn’t come and Buck tries to shake away the thought, be happy with the progress they are making.

Tommy also seems to have gone from sleeping more than normal to not at all. Buck can hear him shifting around all night and the bags under his eyes darken each day. He knows he should say something, but everytime he asks how Tommy slept he just brushes him off.

Buck’s in the kitchen, staring down into the steaming cup of Chamomile Tea he had just made. He didn’t even know if Tommy would like it, but the research he had done last night while he was laying awake listening to Tommy toss and turn in the next room had suggested it as a sleeping aid. He knows he needs to talk to Tommy about it, knows that he will avoid it all together if Buck lets him. He picks up the mug and starts into the living room. Tommy is sat on the couch, leaning on the arm, legs tucked up to the side. He doesn’t seem to be paying too much attention to the nature documentary on the TV. He’s blinking slowly, like he’s struggling to stay awake.

“I got you some Chamomile tea. You’re not sleeping properly and I thought it might help.”

Tommy startles at the sound of Buck’s voice appearing from behind him. He frowns.

“I’m sleeping fine.”

Buck had expected the avoidance, he takes a deep breath.

“I can hear you at night, pacing around. I know you’re not sleeping well. Is your head still bothering you?”

Tommy looks over at him from his seat on the sofa. Buck crosses the room and hands him a steaming mug, sitting down next to him, mindful of the space he leaves between them.

Tommy shrugs, the steam from the mug clouding his expression for a moment. He rubs his free hand across the back of his neck. He can see the worry painted on Buck’s face.

“It’s not my head, that’s been fine.“ He meets Buck’s gaze, tries for a reassuring smile. He’s not completely sure he pulls it off. “I’ve just been feeling a bit restless, like I can’t quite settle.”

Buck lets out a sound of frustration at Tommy’s words, irritation crosses over his face as he jumps up.

“Sorry I should have-” He stops at the sight of Tommy, immediately drawn in on himself, the grip on his mug noticeably tighter. Buck squeezes his eyes shut and chastises himself, he hadn’t meant to startle him. His hands squeeze together anxiously as he tries not to think about how quickly Tommy had shrunk into himself.  Instead he slowly kneels down by the edge of the couch, one hand balancing him against it, close to Tommy’s thigh.

“Sorry, that wasn’t at you. I just remembered something I should have given you when you came home. I just forgot because normally I’m with you-” He takes a steadying breath. “Normally I’m with you at night when you need it.” Tommy looks at Buck with confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“Stay there, I’ll go and get it.” Tommy watches as Buck vanishes from the room, listens as he bounds up the stairs and begins rummaging around in their room.

When Buck returns he’s carrying what appears to be a huge grey blanket. Tommy furrows his brow, unsure as to what could make this blanket more effective than the one he is using currently.

“It’s a weighted blanket.” Buck explains as he unravels it. “We got it last year when you were having some sleeping issues.  You don’t need it so much anymore, but I should have thought about it, sorry.” He leans forward and drapes the blanket over Tommy’s shoulders, smooths it down his chest. He carefully runs his hands around the outline of Tommy’s body, gently tucking him into the blanket. His movements a quick and practiced, clearly something he has done before.

The effect is immediate, Tommy can feel all the tension draining out of his body. Suddenly it feels like he doesn’t have any option other than to fall asleep. The couch dips next to him, the warmth of Buck’s arm presses against his own.

“Sorry I didn’t think of it before.”

“-s’okay.” The exhaustion of the last few nights creeps up and settles in behind his eyes. He blinks slower. “It’s working.” He was sure he had meant to make the sentence longer, but he couldn’t find the words. He thinks he hears Evan laugh. He likes that, he thinks through the sleepy haze, he likes to make Evan laugh. He catches himself as his head tips forward, jerks back upright. He should probably lay down, find a pillow at least. He looks around blearily, catches Evan looking at him, a soft smile on his face. He thinks about the other night, how safe he had felt when Evan had pulled him into his arms, let him rest in the crook of his neck. Evan tilts his head to the side, a questioning look on his face. Tommy decides that he should trust his feelings.

“Can I-” He means to gesture to Evan, but his hand doesn’t move like he wants it to. He tries again, but it bounces back down into his lap, deflected by the blanket he is cocooned in. He pouts, his brain sluggishly trying to find a solution. Evan laughs again and a part of Tommy’s brain lights up. Evan seems to have understood what he was trying to ask for. He shifts slightly sideways and slides his arm along Tommy’s back, pulling him into his body until Tommy’s head is resting against the column of his throat, carefully tucked under his chin.

“Of course you can darling, anything you need.” He murmurs. Tommy turns the hand gently resting on Buck’s chest and takes a handful of his shirt. The fabric is soft under his fingers. He can feel the warmth of Evan’s body seeping into him, the steady beat of his heart lulling Tommy away into the easiest sleep he’s had in days.

Tag list for this fic (let me know if you want to be added or removed);

@leashybebes @perfectlysunny02 @sweaters-and-silly @sunnywithachanceofbi @mattdoestevan @mmso-notlikethat @harmonic-intervention @bidisasterevankinard @cinderellarhea @comfortingevanbuckley @theotherbuckley @apassingbird @actuallyitsellie

@casismybestfriend @crankypotionsmaster @powersuitup @disaster-j @hellion-child @rubydaiquiri @evanbuckleymylove @drivebyanon @teabroomsandbooks @feistygina @androidsaliensnwizards @bigfootsmom @babyspacegay @desert--moonchild @exhaustedpirate @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @swagmaster9k @sleepy-lazy-loser @tommysdaddykink

[juniperskye]

Mr. Bear

Based on the following ask: @itzvenus04 Aaron X reader where Aaron is a little jealous of when reader cuddles the teddy more, but he rather have her cuddle the teddy when he’s away on a case then someone else or something like that, especially when reader made sure the teddy smelled like him, but one morning he makes the bed and holds the teddy and looks at it, seeing some marks on it and stains and a few holes and a small tear on its side, clearly loved by reader for many years now and it makes him a little sad seeing the teddy like this and how sad his gf will be one day if she has to throw it away, knowing full well she wants to pass down the little teddy bear to her kids no wait their kids someday, hopefully a baby girl someday but then he decides to fix the teddy and clean him up or ask someone to help him maybe someone like Garcia idk and surprise reader with the teddy looking brand new and reader is so happy Aaron can’t be jealous of it because the smile on reader face is so worth it even if she cuddles a another man *wink* he’s literally a teddy bear – this is a short one babe, it’s a super cute idea and I loved writing it!

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 997

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, one use of y/n – it was unavoidable, age gap (non-specified), reader has a teddy that she cuddles when she sleeps, jealous Hotch (in a teasing way), Garcia being the best, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“You cuddle that thing more than you cuddle me.” Aaron whined teasingly.

“Oh, I do not!” You giggled, turning over and nuzzling into Aaron’s strong chest, your hands still clutching your beloved teddy, Mr. Bear.

“I don’t know babe, I’m thinking I might have to be worried. You have maintained a very long and serious relationship with this guy…and now look, he is quite literally coming between us.” Aaron’s tone was completely unserious as he playfully fought to take Mr. Bear from you.

Aaron shifted so he was hovering over you, his hands tickling your sides relentlessly. You writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get away from his grasp.

“Okay I surrender! I surrender!” You giggled, booping Aaron in the nose with Mr. Bear.

Aaron couldn’t help but notice that your teddy had smelled just like his cologne. The thought made him smile, you spraying your bear with his cologne just so it would smell like him, cuddling it while he was away.

--

“Okay! Coffee?” You asked.

“Coffee would be great.” He smiled “You go, I’ll make the bed.”

You made your way to the kitchen and got a pot of coffee going. You then began heating a pan to make some eggs, throwing some slices of bread in the toaster to go along with it.

Aaron when through the motions of making the bed, pulling the pillows off while he tugged the sheet and duvet up to the top of the mattress. He neatly arranged the pillows, noticing Mr. Bear at the foot of the bed. Aaron hadn’t realized how threadbare your teddy had really become; he was very clearly well loved.

Aaron thought about what he could do to fix him up, knowing that you had hoped to eventually pass the bear down to your future child.

--

“What can I do for you sir?”

“Garcia, what do you know about restoring plush toys?”

“Oh sir, I went down a seven-hour rabbit hole of stuffy restoration videos on TikTok, what do you need?”

“Well, I want to surprise y/n, she’s had this teddy since she was a child and he’s looking a little worse for wear.”

“Leave it to me…do I have your permission to work on it today – provided we don’t have a case?”

“Of course. Thank you Penelope.”

“Any time sir.”

--

Aaron had discretely placed Mr. Bear in his bag for work, gathering the remainder of his things. He made his way to the kitchen to have breakfast with you.

He helped you clean up before you both headed out for work.

“Aar, I have conferences tonight, so I will be home later than usual.” You reminded him.

“That’s right! I’ll get dinner started for us when I get home.”

“You’re the best. I love you baby, drive safe! Let me know if you guys get called away okay?” You requested.

“I love you too honey, I will. Drive safe, see you tonight.”

--

Aaron had made his way straight to Garcia’s office as he arrived at the BAU. He pulled out Mr. Bear and handed him over to Penelope, making her swear that she’d be careful with him.

“You got it sir.”

Penelope had brought in everything she could think of to help her repair your teddy. Penelope began by opening Mr. Bear and removing his stuffing so she could wash him carefully using warm water and a gentle detergent. Letting it dry, using the bathroom hand dryer to speed that process along before checking out where she might need to patch a few things. She used a technique called darning to patch the few small holes that had been created through years of love; once this had been done, Penelope brushed Mr. Bear’s fur to get him looking fluffy again.

Penelope had made two small hearts out of some scrap fabric, filling them both with Mr. Bears old stuffing, she placed one inside him as she stuffed him with new polyfill and kept the other one out as a keepsake for you. Once he was all filled up, she sewed him closed, brushed him once more and tied a neat ribbon around his neck.

The process had taken her the entire workday, though she and her boss didn’t seem to mind.

--

Aaron had been amazed with the work Penelope had done, Mr. Bear looked brand new, and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to him!

“Hi honey, I’m home!” You called out, entering the apartment.

“Hi baby, in the kitchen.”

The apartment smelled amazing, it had been a long day, and you couldn’t wait to eat whatever it was that Aaron had been cooking. Truthfully you wanted to eat and then curl up into bed and watch a movie.

“Mmm it smells amazing!” You sighed, taking in the table set up. Amongst the place settings sat a giftbag. “Did I forget something? I know it’s not our anniversary.”

“No honey, you didn’t forget anything, I just wanted to do something special for you.” Aaron explained. “Go ahead and open it.”

Aaron sat across from you, having already set the food on the table. You looked at him skeptically, pulling the bag into your lap and carefully pulled out the tissue paper. A shocked gasp escaping you as you revealed its contents.

“Aaron, what is – what did you – I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” Tears sprung to your eyes.

“I know how much he means to you, and I thought it would be nice to have him fixed up a bit, you know, so he’ll last a while longer.” Aaron wore a sheepish smile.

“This is amazing. You are so thoughtful.” You leaned over the table, pressing your lips to his.

You couldn’t believe that Aaron had done this, going as far as spraying him with his cologne so he’d still smell like him. Aaron was the best thing that ever happened to you, and every time he did something like this, it reminded you of that.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[tulip-room]

sickness and ginger - tsukishima kei || wc: 520 || genre: fluff || masterlist || warnings: sick reader, ooc tsukki bcs idc <3 everyone gets soft treatment when I write them <3

syn. y/n gets sick on valentine's day and tsukki is actually nice about it

she can’t believe she got sick on valentine’s day of all days. to make matters worse, kei had away game today so here she was cursing whoever decided to play this sick joke on her. of course kei had teased her relentlessly for getting sick which only served to make the experience worse because her mind felt too weighed down to even begin to respond. she tries to keep her eyes open to watch the match but they fall closed before she’s aware of it. 

when she opens them again she’s met with the smell of ginger and thinks she must still be dreaming. “sickie, i have tea for you.” tsukishima pushes the door open and leans against the doorframe for a moment. “i know, oh what are you doing here?” he rolls his eyes and mocks what he thinks she’s thinking. the moment he gets close enough her arms wrap around him and he can’t help but let himself relax a little bit as the glass hits the table with a dull clink. “hi, i made you tea.” 

“i see, i’m sad those glasses aren’t helping your eyesight.” he pinches the bridge of her nose lightly in retort and sits down on the bed with her. “i missed you.”

“i missed you too, now drink the tea and you’re not kissing me. i refuse to get sick.” 

“okay,” this is all she needed. she was already beginning to feel better, the warmth of the tea glided down her throat and soothed the sharp pain and tsukishima for all his fuss was actually nice to lay on. the cold leaving her body as she was wrapped in a multitude of blankets and her boyfriend. “thank you.”

“don’t thank me, just get better. i hate you being sick. now what do you want to do?” 

“i’m partial to just laying here” so they lay there with the gentle humming of the heater filling the house, the occasional rustle of the blankets and the warmth of tea. for a moment she believed being sick wasn’t that bad. if she got to spend it like this maybe the sore throat and runny nose was worth it. then she coughed and realized. no, being sick really sucks. soft tsukishima is just a  plus of that. she put of her homework and the thought of having to do it when she got better made her groan. 

“i know what you’re thinking, stop it. i can help you with your homework when you feel better. until then just…rest.” she can feel the hum of his voice as her head rests on his chest. the steady rhythm of his breathing and heart ends up lulling her back to sleep. “idiot, getting sick.” he kisses her forehead and sets the tea to the side. it’s going to be a hassle to clean up but that’s okay, he’ll make as many mugs of ginger tea that she’ll only drink half of as she wants. it’s all for her and he wouldn’t have it any other way. the best way to get rid of sickness is ginger tea and love.

asha, ths is for you <33 I know it's not valentine's for most of the moots anymore but I hope you still appreciate this darling <33 also sorry with how late it is I was so busy today T^T ennjoy the gift and I hope you had a wonderful valentine's day. I love you so much and I'm so happy you're my friend <3

if you guys want to see the other stuff I'm writing today you can find that here <3

taglist (gen fil out this form to be added) @hiraethwa @hatsukeii @cherrysurf @cheriisae @darthferbert @localgaytrainwreck @lale-txt @szyvrue @wyrcan

[bradleysass]

Valentine - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 789 - Starchaser + Wolfstar

James had been looking forward to this night for weeks. He’d made the reservation in advance, picked out his outfit days before, and even spent an unreasonable amount of time trying to figure out if Regulus would prefer flowers or chocolates (he’d settled on both). It wasn’t often that Regulus let himself be romanced, and James was determined to make it perfect.

So of course, something had to go wrong.

Regulus looked stunning. It was the first thing James had noticed when he picked him up—how he was dressed sharply in a dark suit, perfectly tailored, an image so different from the usual oversized jumpers and effortless laziness that James loved just as much. Regulus had even let his hair fall in soft waves instead of the usual loose curls, and James had to resist the urge to shove him against the nearest wall and kiss him senseless.

“Stop staring,” Regulus had murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“Can’t help it,” James had grinned. “You’re beautiful.”

Regulus had rolled his eyes, but James had caught the tiny smirk he tried to hide.

They had arrived at the restaurant exactly on time, James feeling smug and accomplished—until the hostess had frowned at the reservation list, flipped a few pages, and said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Potter, but it looks like there’s been a mix-up. We don’t have any two-person tables left.”

James had blinked. “What do you mean?”

“We accidentally double-booked, but we do have another couple who agreed to share their table, if that works for you?”

James had sighed, exasperated, but before he could protest, Regulus had spoken up, voice clipped. “Fine.”

James had turned, eyebrow raised. “You sure?”

“I’m hungry, and I’d rather not wait another hour for another restaurant. I don’t care who we sit with.”

That had turned out to be a mistake.

Because as they were led to their table, James quickly realized that the couple they were sharing with were none other than Sirius and Remus.

Sirius, who immediately burst into laughter upon seeing them. “Oh, this is fucking fantastic.”

Regulus, to his credit, did not immediately turn around and leave, though his jaw did tighten noticeably.

“I’m going to kill you,” he muttered under his breath to James.

James just gave him a sheepish smile before sitting down across from Sirius and Remus. “Fancy seeing you two here.”

“Didn’t realize you had a date tonight, baby brother,” Sirius said, smirking as he swirled his wine.

Regulus merely picked up the menu and ignored him.

Remus, who was clearly trying to keep the peace, smiled politely. “Well, at least this way we get to enjoy each other’s company. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s,” James replied easily, nudging Regulus under the table with his foot. “See? Could be worse.”

Regulus finally put the menu down and shot James a withering look. “How?”

“Well,” James said, grinning, “we could be stuck with, say, your mum instead of Sirius.”

Sirius snorted, and even Remus failed to hide his amused chuckle.

Regulus exhaled sharply and picked up his wine glass. “Fine. But I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

James, who would have bought him the whole restaurant if he wanted it, just winked. “As you should, love.”

Dinner, surprisingly, was not a complete disaster. Sure, Sirius spent a fair amount of time making thinly veiled comments about how proud he was of Regulus for having “an actual social life,” and Regulus spent an equal amount of time glaring at him, but Remus kept the conversation pleasant, steering them towards safer topics. James, ever the optimist, enjoyed watching the brothers interact in their strange, passive-aggressive way. It was almost endearing.

By the time dessert arrived, Regulus had begrudgingly accepted that this wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He even let James feed him a bite of his chocolate lava cake, which Sirius dramatically gagged at before Remus elbowed him.

After the check was paid (James insisted, despite Regulus’ protests), they all stood to leave.

“Well,” Sirius said, slinging an arm around Remus’ shoulders, “this has been an unexpected delight. We should do it again sometime, baby brother.”

Regulus shot him a withering look. “We won’t.”

Sirius smirked. “I love you too.”

James, watching the exchange, leaned down to press a kiss to Regulus’ temple. “I had fun.”

Regulus sighed but didn’t push him away. “You would.”

As they stepped outside into the cool February air, James laced their fingers together and squeezed. “Next year, we’ll get our own table.”

Regulus glanced at him, something softer in his expression now. “Yeah. Next year.”

And when James kissed him under the streetlights, he tasted like chocolate and something sweeter—something like love.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you're gonna go far | three - golf & parties

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where Rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for one, who couldn't care less about him, she's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the Cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing him away but again they don't like each other. word count: 5.2k content: angst! alcohol consumption, cursing, fluff authors note: happy valentines! longest chapter so far and I don't think they are getting shorter. Anyways, thank you for everyone who has been reading, liking, reblogging and commenting. enjoy! <3

He couldn’t stand your cold demeanor towards him for one more second. He was aware he wasn’t your favorite person, but you were never cold to him. Bitchy and a pain in his ass sometimes? Yes, but never cold. You had this warm presence he always claimed to hate, but that was a complete lie. That’s one of the reasons he liked you so much; no matter where you were or what you did, you always made things better, not only for him but for everyone around you. That was also why he felt jealous of how you were with the Pogues, even though he would never admit it out loud. He wanted to be the reason you were smiling, which usually wasn’t how things went, and he was aware it was his fault.  

During the next three days, Rafe avoided going to the Country Club on purpose because he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and he’d rather not make things worse. He knew you hated him at the moment, so to avoid making things worse, he stayed home. He hated feeling that way; it was as if the thought of you was enough to make his brain short-circuit.  

He groaned for what felt like the millionth time that day. Since three days ago, you had been stuck in his mind. He had been uncharacteristically distracted and quiet; his dad had asked him to pull himself together a couple of times during work meetings and he had barely interacted when he got together with his friends.  

“Dude, what's wrong with you?” Topper asked, pausing the game they were playing.  

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his tone indicating he was anything but fine.

“Right, sure, that’s why you have been moping for the past few days like a little boy who lost his mom at the supermarket, because you’re fine… sure.”  

“Not moping, just a lot on my mind.”  

“Like Pogue girl or wor—?” Topper didn’t finish his question before Rafe cut him off.  

“Shut up,” he bites back.  

“Oh! So it is her, huh? What’s her name again?” Rafe shoots him a glare, and Topper lifts his arms in surrender. “Okay, damn! My bad… why don’t we go to the club? A bit of golf might help.”  

“Can’t, I have to help Sarah prepare things for the party.” Topper looks at him, not believing a word that came out of his mouth.  

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You never help her with anything; it’s her party, let her handle it.” Rafe sighs, annoyed. “Come on, man, to release some stress before the party.”  

He stalled for a bit but sighed, giving in. “Fine… one round, that’s it.”  

“Atta boy, I knew you would come through.”  

No, he didn’t forget you worked there and that he might see you, but he was trying his best not to think about that. They made it to the Country Club; Topper had this mischievous gleam in his eyes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t plan this, all to see if you and Rafe could interact again. He had fun watching his friend stumble over his words, but he also knew Rafe was in a better mood every time he saw you, so at the end of the day, it was for the greater good if he saw you.

They made their way to their first hole. Topper didn’t miss how Rafe looked around, giving subtle, constant glances at the trail as they started playing golf. He was struggling to avoid thinking about you, secretly hoping you would show up in your cart, wearing that uniform that fit you like a glove, and… Topper pulls him out of his thoughts by telling him it’s his turn to hit.

—

After your break, you returned to the golf course, ready to continue your round. After a few minutes, you spotted two guys. You prepared mentally to greet them. Over the years, you had learned how to overcome your shyness, but some days, you felt your skin crawl whenever you had to address a club member. When you got closer, you noticed who they were and sighed. You parked the cart, and Topper’s face immediately changed as he gave Rafe a knowing smirk. Rafe turned around and saw you, straightening up as he noticed you stepping out of the cart.  

"Do you ever go to other places?" You smiled but avoided Rafe’s gaze as best you could.  

"Yes, but we just can’t stay away from here." Topper chuckled softly and then turned to see Rafe, who was unusually quiet. It was as if his tongue didn’t work.  

"Will you buy something today, or will I have to beg for tips?" You asked, lifting a brow.  

"We will buy something today, no need to worry," Topper said. He had been there the last few days, and to your surprise, he was nice, unlike other kooks. You had talked briefly with him a couple of times before and could see yourself being friendly with him, not just because your job required you to be nice to them.  

"And we’ll make sure to tip you well too," Rafe said finally chiming in, making you turn to acknowledge him.  

"Okay, good." Topper noticed how you weren’t smiling at Rafe, and as much as he enjoyed the tension, he was curious about what led to this. Rafe, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking at you.  

"So what’s the special today?" Topper spoke up.  

"We don’t have specials," you smiled. "But the Bloody Mary has been a bit popular today. Here’s the menu if you want to see what else we have." You extended the menu to them, and Rafe took it from your hand, doing anything but looking at the menu.  

"Yo Rafe, everything good?" Topper asked, noticing he was a bit distracted all this while trying not to laugh.  

"Yes, I'm just… deciding what I want." You stood there, trying to mind your business, but you stole a few glances at Rafe. He seemed different today, or maybe you were just imagining things.  

"Well, while he decides, I want a Bloody Mary and two shots," Topper requested nicely.  

"Bloody Mary, simple or double?"  

"Simple, don’t want to overdo it." You nodded.  

"I’ll just have a beer," Rafe asked quietly, noticing the familiarity with which you and Topper talked, and he hated every second of it.

“Okay,” you said as you walked to prepare the Bloody Mary and took out the shots and the beer they had asked for. During this whole time, Rafe couldn’t keep his eyes off you, even if he tried his best not to make it obvious.  

“Bloody Mary and shots,” you handed them to Topper, who grabbed them. “And the beer,” you gave it to Rafe, your fingers touching his slightly, sending a jolt through both your arms, but you ignored it.  

“It’s $30 for the Bloody Mary and the shots.” You turned to Topper, who handed you a fifty-dollar bill.  

“Keep the change,” Topper said, taking a sip. “Wow, this is good.”  

“Thanks,” you smiled, putting the bill away. “The beer is $10.” Rafe handed you the bill quietly, his eyes meeting yours; he could swear you had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. You looked away and put the bill away. “No tip this time?” you asked, trying to see if he would bite back. He had been uncharacteristically quiet, and that didn’t sit right with you.  

Rafe smirked. “Oh, you want one?”  

“I did an amazing job giving you that beer. I think I deserve it.” A small smile you couldn’t control formed on your lips. Rafe looked over at you before he dared to speak again. He wanted to make a snarky comment to tease you, but nothing came to mind; he only managed a soft grunt.  

“Yeah, you did a great job.” His voice was slightly strained, but Topper didn’t miss the opportunity to chime in.  

“Come on, Rafe, give her a tip. It’s the least you can do; after all, she’s been an amazing waitress.” Rafe shot him a glare, not finding his comment amusing.  

“I’m not a waitress,” you said, looking at them.  

“Bev cart girl, excuse me.” Topper lifted one hand. “Either way, you’ve been great, and I think Rafe here agrees, right, man?” He nudged Rafe, who just huffed quietly.  

“Yeah, you’ve been… great.” His voice was a bit gruff. He wanted to strangle Topper for making this all harder for him. “You deserve a… nice tip.”  

“There you go,” Topper continued teasing him. “Don’t hold back.” Rafe grabbed his wallet, not without giving another look to Topper, wishing he wasn’t there. Now he didn’t want to look cheap, especially not in front of you. He grabbed a fifty-dollar bill and gave it to you. You widened your eyes.  

“What?” Topper wanted to laugh at your reaction; your cold demeanor with him before was gone in an instant, and your eyes had softened. Rafe was a bit embarrassed, blushing, but it was barely noticeable thanks to the weather.  

“Take it as a…” he paused for a second, looking for the right words. “A token of appreciation… for the good service today and on the other days.” He nodded, knowing what he said sounded very stupid.  

“Uh… this is too much; it’s like five beers. It’s—” Before you could even finish, he shook his head.

“Take it. You deserve it.” But this time, the tone he uses makes you believe his words; he’s not playing, he’s not being an asshole. It was one of those moments where you could maybe see another side of him.  

“Thank you.” You give him a small, honest smile, and he softens at the sight of it, his irritation fading slightly. He smiles back, feeling like his heart might leap out of his chest; it’s genuinely embarrassing for him to feel like this around you.  

“No problem.” His voice comes out softer than usual, and you decide to ignore it, even if it’s noticeable.  

“Well… I should be going.” Topper nods and takes another sip of his Bloody Mary. Rafe, on the other hand, isn’t happy about you having to leave.  

“Wait,” he says, making you turn back to him. Even Topper, who was already walking back to his cart, turns to see what Rafe will do. “Uh… before you go,” he pauses to gather his thoughts, “I have a question.”  

“Yeah, what is it?” you ask, a bit confused about where this is going.  

“Do you work here every day?” He never breaks eye contact with you.  

"I usually don’t work on weekends unless they ask me, and my shifts during the week can vary too."  

“What’s the usual?”  

“Uh… 7 to 3. Sometimes I do overtime, and some days I work just half a shift.”  

“You do overtime today?”  

“No, I get off at 3.” Rafe’s eyes light up at your answer, an idea forming in his mind already.  

“Good. There’s a party at my house today at 7. Why don’t you come?”  

“Oh…” you stutter. This is not how you thought this conversation was going to go. In general, you didn’t know how it was going to go, but this was definitely not it. “I—I don’t think I can make it, but thanks.” You see the way his face drops, and for a second, you feel bad. Then you remember who you are dealing with and shrug it off.  

“Right…” he says, feeling very disappointed about it. You get back into the cart and drive away.  

“Look at you, actually trying this time,” Topper says, patting Rafe’s back.  

“Shut up.” Rafe’s soft demeanor is gone the second you’re not around.  

“Oh, okay, I see how it is. Pogue princess disappears, and you’re grumpy again—okay, okay.”  

“I will knock you out.” Rafe points a finger at Topper.  

“Let’s not do that, or who else will be here to help you with her?”  

“Help? I don’t need help.”  

“From where I was standing, you do need help, or did I imagine her saying no?” Rafe glares at Topper, and he takes a sip of his beer. “Fine… I will shut up.”

—

After your shift is over, Sarah and Kie pick you up from the Country Club and go to Kie’s house to relax. Even though you were probably going to end up going out, it was Friday, so it was a given. Probably another Boneyard party, you thought.

You were lying on Kie’s bed, eating the snacks she had brought while Sarah was talking. You weren’t paying too much attention until she spoke directly to you.

“Earth to Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. Golfers can sometimes be a bit too annoying,” you said, thinking about Rafe. Even though he hadn’t been annoying this time around, there weren’t many other words you would openly use to describe him.

“Well, you will forget about those golfers tonight,” she said a bit too happily.

“What do you mean?”

“She didn’t read the group chat,” Kie spoke up and then turned to look at you. “Sarah is having a party tonight at Tannyhill.” You felt your stomach drop; it was the same party Rafe had invited you to, and you had said no because you had plans. You opened your mouth to say something, but Sarah spoke before you could even get a word out.

“No, you can’t say no; it’s mandatory. It’s time for you to unwind!” She wiggled her arms as you stared at her.

“I’m tired, Sarah.” You looked at her and then at Kie, pleading for help. You didn’t want to see Rafe after saying you couldn’t go; it was a choice to see him outside your work hours—a choice you didn’t want to make.

“Sarah is right; you need to unwind. Come on,” Kie nudged you. “You can use my shower if you need to. We can go by your place if you want clothes, but you can use mine; they’ll fit you.” She pointed at her closet.

“You planned this, you evil people,” you pointed at them.

“Maybe, but if not, you were going to say no. And it’s at my house; what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Probably Rafe,” Kie said, almost like she had read your mind. You didn’t say anything.

“He's not going to be a problem; he’s going to be with his friends.”

“Oh yay, Topper and Kelce,” Kie says, rolling her eyes. “They are not the only friends he has, and Kelce is not invited.” At that, you perk up your ears; you want to ask why, but you busy yourself with your phone. “Oh, that’s new. Why?” 

“I said the same. He mentioned something about a fight they had over something he said, but didn’t give me many details, and it’s not like I care… but enough about my brother and his friends. You get ready,” she said, grabbing your shoulders. “And you,” she pointed at Kie, “make sure she gets there,” she said while walking to the door. “See you, my beautiful princesses!”

As Sarah exits Kie’s room, you sigh. “Do I really need to go?” 

“Look, I know you’re done seeing kooks every day, but we can ignore all of them today. Other people are going to the party, so it’s going to be fun. Now come on, let’s get dressed.” 

“I do need to shower first.” 

“Yeah, but first let’s see what you’re going to wear.” She opens her closet and starts taking things out. 

“Hey! This is mine,” I say when I see one of my dresses. 

“Well, look at that,” she jokes. “It’s a sign you need to wear that.” 

“It’s a sign that you robbed my closet.” You grab the mini black dress; it was one of your favorites. 

“Sue me, but this is your sign to use it and take it back to your house.” 

You spend a few more minutes looking at the options she threw at your face, picking what she would wear. After finally deciding, she gives you a towel so you can shower and start getting ready for the party you don’t want to attend. You take your time to shower and get ready, and when you both are set, Kie drives you to your house because you need to give something to your mother, allowing you to leave the things you won’t need and take only your essentials to the party. After that, you pick up the guys and Cleo.

—

When you arrived at the party, it was 7:30 p.m., and the music was blaring from inside. There were more people than you had expected to be there at that time, but again, it was Sarah’s party, so of course, there were going to be many people already there. You planned to stay at the party for a few hours, then say you had to wake up early the next day and leave. However, it was easier said than done.

As you walked inside, the music grew louder, and you saw some familiar faces smiling at you as they looked your way. As you and the Pogues searched for Sarah, you began to feel a bit anxious. You shouldn’t feel bad about saying no to Rafe and then showing up… but then why did you? You finally found her in the kitchen, where the snacks and cold drinks were.

“Y/N!!! You look so pretty!” she exclaimed happily as she hugged you first.

“What are we, chopped liver?” Cleo chimed in teasingly.

“Oh, please don’t say that. I’m happy to see you all here, but let’s be honest: when was the last time this girl actually got ready for something other than work?” Sarah stated again, and everyone silently agreed with her. You rolled your eyes.

“At least I work,” JJ chuckled quietly at your comment.

“Ouch?” Sarah feigned offense. “Enough about work. Grab a drink and make yourselves at home. John B is outside, so go. I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, disappearing again. JJ didn’t need to be told twice to grab a drink and went straight for a beer, and so did Cleo and Pope. Kie made herself a drink, and you did the same, but unlike Kie, yours had barely any alcohol; it was mostly just Sprite.

As you walked out of the kitchen, you caught a glimpse of Topper, who looked at you, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. You hurried away quickly, cursing internally. If he saw you, that meant he was going to tell Rafe whether you liked it or not, but just like Kie had told you, you were going to ignore everyone and stick to your friends.

One thing you hadn’t considered or even thought about was that maybe Rafe would be outside. You didn’t see him, but he saw you when you and the Pogues stepped out. His gaze would normally soften when he saw you, but at that moment, he felt betrayed. Did you hate him that much? He didn’t think you were the kind of person who would willingly lie just to make someone feel bad.

—

As the night went on, you focused on your friends and those who came to the group to talk instead of on where you were. Rafe, on the other hand, was drinking to distract himself from your presence. He had noticed you were chatting with a guy who had approached you. You thought this guy was nice, but Rafe didn’t; he would have done something about it but decided to drink instead. 

You caught glimpses of Rafe, each time with a new girl and always with a drink in hand. Why couldn’t he stick to just one girl? You found yourself caring too much about what he was doing and refocused on the guy in front of you. You weren’t really interested, but it was always nice to meet new people.

“Are you trying to burn a hole in the back of her head?” Topper asked when he noticed the intense gaze Rafe had on you. 

“What?” 

“You are staring.” Topper glanced at you too; he had to admit you looked good. 

“You are too.” 

“Don’t drag me into this, but in my defense, she looks really good.” Topper said with a teasing tone, wanting to mess with him. Rafe took a big sip of his drink, feeling the burning sensation slide down his throat. “Woah, slow down.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“I get it; you’re jealous, but don’t take it out on the alcohol. Drink some water, or you will regret it.” 

“I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous of that? He’s…” Rafe trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. He was talking to you, and you were engaged in the conversation. You were interested, which you usually weren’t with him. So yeah, he was jealous. 

He downed the drink in his hand and kept staring at you as if it were his life’s purpose. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way; he had no power over you, but it was as if you held power over him. If you were his girl, he would make sure everyone knew, but you weren’t, so he had to let you be and let you talk to whoever you wanted, even if the guy wasn't good enough. You deserved someone who could give you everything. He could be… he stopped himself; he couldn’t keep thinking about this. So, more alcohol it was.

You went inside the house to grab a new drink and more ice. He saw you, and before his brain fully processed it, he was already following you. He was a man on a mission, though what that mission was, even he didn't know. He heard Topper saying something, but he ignored it; nothing was more important than getting to you. 

When you got to the kitchen, you felt a sense of relief—no one was there. You grabbed more ice and Sprite; you weren't really in the mood for an alcoholic drink. After pouring it into your red cup, you stayed there, and then Rafe showed up, interrupting your party break just like he had done at the Boneyard. You didn’t want to deal with him alone… again. 

Some might say you couldn't move on from what he said and that you resented him. Well, maybe you did, and you hated it because it felt like allowing him to dictate your feelings. Your thoughts were interrupted by his closeness. Oh, he was drunk; his eyes were different, and he seemed more relaxed than usual, but you noticed something was bothering him.

“So…” he cleared his throat. “Weren’t you busy tonight?”  

“I wasn’t going to come; your sister made me,” you answered.  

“Right…” he paused for a second. “Next time, don’t lie to my face,” he said with annoyance. You huffed at his tone.  

“I’m not wasting my time with you.” You turned away from him, not catching his comment.

“No… come on, I want to talk to you.” He stepped in front of you to stop you from leaving; he was set on talking to you.  

“I doubt it. I know I have nothing to talk to you about.”  

“Yes, you do. We have things to talk about.” The way he said it made it easy for you to know what he was referring to, and it made you angry. He had to be drunk to address it for the first time when he had seen you plenty of times before.  

“No, I’m not doing this today; in fact, I'd rather never do it.”  

“Y/N…” he spoke your name almost pleadingly and a bit slurred. “I know I messed up…” he started, but you quickly interrupted him.  

“Stop it.”  

“Let me talk! I’m trying to make things right, and you’re not letting me!”  

“Yes! Because you are drunk, Rafe! And I’m not having this conversation with you like this or ever. For all I know, you’re doing this just because you are drunk or high or both.” He knitted his eyebrows together at your words.  

“What? I’m not high. Who do you think I am?”  

“It’s common knowledge that the only reason you would ever step into the Cut is for drugs from Barry.”  

“According to who? Your pogue friends?” He felt the anger bubbling up, and you huffed.  

“Why do you always have to say it like that?”  

“Like what?”  

“Like you hate them, like you hate us.”  

“Bold statement coming from you,” he said, the alcohol making it harder for him to filter his words.  

“Excuse me?” You asked, genuinely confused at what he was hinting at.  

“Oh, what? Pogue girl get offended? At least I can say it without having to lie.” You scrunched your face; there was one thing you hated more than anything, and that was being called a liar.  

“I have never lied to you. Actually, I think I have been transparent enough to let you know I can’t stand you.”  

“Oh, I got that clear, pogue. You hate me, I know. You lied to prove your point; next time, just have the guts to say it upfront.”  

“What are you on about?”  

“This party! I invited you; I wanted you here, and you said no.” He grabbed a bottle of some liquor and took a swig of it, the burning sensation numbing, for a second, all that he was feeling at the moment. “You said to MY face you were busy and couldn’t come, and look at you here, having the time of your life, laughing with your friends and talking to other guys who don’t even deserve your attention.”

He took another swig from the bottle of what you now know is whiskey. You were confused, perhaps even in denial about his words.  

“I didn’t know!” you huffed. “I didn’t know this was the plan; I was going to go out with my friends, and I didn’t know this was the place.”  

“You want me to believe you didn’t know, huh? Your little nice act won’t work this time.”  

“No, no, I’ve gotten enough shit from you. I won’t put up with this,” you said, walking out of the kitchen. He stopped you in the middle of the hallway. “Rafe, stop it!”  

“No! You aren’t even listening to me!”  

“Why should I? I’m wasting my time here.”  

“Pardon me, your Majesty. I know there are other people more deserving of your attention than me,” his voice dripping with anger and sarcasm.  

“Leave me alone for once!” You pulled your arm away and walked out of the house, not even thinking twice about it. You thought it was over, but you were wrong.  

“Running away again? That’s all you seem to know how to do every time I say something you don’t like.”  

“You’re an even bigger asshole when you’re drunk,” you huffed.  

“Me? You’re the one lying when I’m trying to be nice to you.”  

“Nice? How? Talking down to me and my friends? Making me feel like I don’t belong here?”  

“Not all of us are natural rays of sunshine, princess.” He stopped. “I… It’s hard for some people. I—” he groaned, “I wanted you here! I’m sorry for—” you interrupted him.  

“You’re drunk.”  

“I know what I’m saying! Stop acting like I don’t. I mean this!”  

“No!”  

“STOP, Y/N! JUST… stop.” He sighed and walked closer to you, making you take a step back. 

“I’m trying here… but you’re being an asshole about it, and I’m TRYING to apologize for something I know I did wrong.”  

“You’re drunk…”  

“Stop saying that, as if it makes my words invalid! I know what I’m saying and I mean every word!”  

“I don’t believe them! Is that what you wanted to hear? I don’t believe drunk words; alcohol doesn’t allow you to think straight, and I told you I don’t want to talk about it.” You turned away, ready to walk.

“For someone who claims to always be kind, you are doing a terrible job right now.” You stop in your tracks but don’t look back. “I’m here being honest, and all you do is think the worst of me… you’re just like everyone else…” he said, slurring more as the alcohol finally caught up to him. “I’m actually sorry, princess…” 

You heard the moment he walked back inside, and you finally turned. You watched as he went in and disappeared into his house, leaving you with the silence of the night and your thoughts. Why did he always leave you like this? Always analyzing his words. He sounded sincere; you could feel that, but there were so many layers to the conversation you didn’t want to dissect, yet you knew you were going to.

“You're leaving?” Topper interrupted your thoughts.

“Uh… yeah, I’m tired.” 

“Who is taking you?” No one; you were going to walk. A stupid decision, probably. 

“My friends,” you lied. 'You’re the one lying,' Rafe’s words echoed in your head. 

“Liar, they’re still inside.” You sighed. “Come on, I’ll drop you off. I need to buy more ice, so let’s go.” You didn’t protest and followed him to his car. 

You got in, gave him the address, and he drove in silence. He stopped for a bit of ice at a small store he found when he was closer to the address you provided. 

“Here, it’s okay.” You made him stop beforehand. You didn’t give him the exact address of your house; you were a bit paranoid about sharing it unless it was someone close to you. Topper parked his car right where you told him. 

“Thanks… you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Rafe would’ve killed me if something happened to you.” He paused, debating whether to say something else. “He would’ve done it, but he was too drunk.” 

“Yeah…” you said quietly. “I promise I didn’t know I was going to end up at the party…” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said sincerely. “You don’t owe me or anyone an explanation.” You nodded; you knew that, but it was as if you needed to ensure someone understood. You said your goodbyes and walked to your house, which was just around the corner from where Topper had left you.

You went directly to your room to change clothes. It was supposed to be a good night, and yet here you were, with your feelings all over the place, but mainly feeling guilty.

12:55 AM - Pope “Where are you?”

12:55 AM - Pope “Please tell me you’re alive”

12:55 AM - You “I am, sorry for leaving without saying anything”

12:56 AM - Pope “Still didn’t answer me. Where are you”

12:56 AM - You “I’m home”

12:56 AM - Pope “How? Who? The guy you were talking to?!”

12:57 AM - You “No… Topper… he went to buy ice and dropped me off”

12:57 AM - Pope “Topper? As in Sarah’s ex? tf”

12:57 AM - You “As in Rafe’s friend”

12:57 AM - Pope “Oh…”

12:58 AM - Pope “Something happened again huh?”

12:58 AM - You  “I’m okay, I just need sleep.”

12:58 AM - You  “I’m exhausted, it was a long day”

12:59 AM - Pope “Whatever you need just let me know, fyi I will tell Cleo about this.”

12:59 AM - You “I didn’t expect less”

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