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nadvs · 1 day ago

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the power play (part five)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

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You haven’t spoken to Rafe since he angrily left your dorm three nights ago.

You’re sitting in your booked study room, waiting for him to arrive, wondering if he’ll be regretful of your argument or be ready for round two or pretend it never happened.

Either way, you’d prefer to make light of it and move on. He may no longer be your fake boyfriend, if he really meant what he said, but you’re still going to be seeing him every week.

You hope that you can just give him back his jersey and leave what happened in the past.

The guilt that Rafe has been running from catches up to him once he walks in and sees you. He blew up the other night and you met him with understanding he’s never been given before, softness he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Let’s just get it out in the open,” you say as the door clicks shut behind him. “We fought. I was expecting a bouquet of apology roses, but maybe they got lost in the mail?”

He huffs. Typical of you to make a joke about it.

He sits down, slouched back as he unpacks his things, his long legs stretched out beneath the table. He doesn’t know what to say and is relieved, for once, that you fill the silence.

“I get why you got annoyed,” you say, “but I haven't changed my mind. This doesn’t have to be weird. No hard feelings, right?”

His jaw tenses as he sets your copy of We Have Always Lived in the Castle on the desk. He got through it quickly. And he actually didn’t hate it.

He’s sure it was only because reading killed the time he’d normally had spent training, but he figures this is a good enough topic to start with.

“I finished it,” he murmurs, looking down at the paperback. “It was good.”

“Oh. Wow,” you say, perking up. “You liked it?”

He nods, earning a prideful smile from you.

“Because…?”

“It was short,” he says.

“You walked into this room, I think a month ago to the day, and looked insulted when I asked you if you liked reading,” you say. “And now you’re telling me you enjoyed a book. That’s huge. I need way more than it was short.”

“You’re being a lot right now.”

“I know.” Your smile doesn’t falter. You motion for his laptop, he hands it to you, and you open a new document. “Keep talking. What did you like about it?”

“It got to the point.”

“The prose is very clear,” you agree, typing in the note. “What’d you think of the twist at the end? Did you see it coming?”

“No.”

“This is why I love this class. It introduces you to books you might’ve never picked up,” you gush, then take a breath. “You better not be trying to trick me. You knew I’d get excited about this and forget that we argued. But I’m already over it. Okay, I’m talking too much. Your turn.”

The relief of seeing you act like you normally do has lifted the weight that’s been sinking into Rafe since the night he snapped at you.

Now that he’s with you again, confined in a room he didn’t think he’d ever not mind being in, there’s no avoiding the fact that you have an effect on him.

Against his expectations, he cares about what you think. About how you feel. And he just wants to fix this.

“You don’t know what my fights with her used to be like,” he says. “I’ve heard it all.”

You still for a moment, then rest your elbow on the table, chin in your hand as you gaze at him through compassionate eyes.

You can sympathize that not knowing what Emma said is irritating him, but you couldn’t repeat her cruel words, even if you wanted to.

“I understand,” you say, “but I can’t bring myself to tell you something that’ll just hurt you.”

“That’s my point,” he scoffs. “It won’t hurt me.”

“It could.”

Rafe sinks into the realization that he’ll just have to take the loss here. You’re not going to tell him what he wants to know, because you don’t want to wound him. Even though he kind of deserves it for his outburst.

“I know I…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know I didn’t have to lose it on you like that the other night.”

“Yeah,” you breathe a defeated chuckle. “You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He fans through the book just to have something to do with his hands.

You take in the remorse etched into his handsome face and you admire that even though he can be rash, he tries to clean up the messes he makes, pushing aside his ego when he needs to.

“We’re past it,” you conclude. You look at the laptop screen again, glad this will be a clean break. “Let’s write what we can about this book first and then go back to the other essay. What else did you like?”

Rafe expected that you’d bounce back after your rift. Your positivity is so relentless that it almost tires him out. But he needs to make sure you know he uttered those words out of disingenuous impulse.

“I didn’t really mean that we should end it,” he clarifies.

You look at him again, a crease formed between his brows.

“Are you trying to un-break up with me?” you tease. “This is awkward. I already started pretend-dating one of the other guys I tutor.”

“You tutor other guys?” he asks before thinking.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you play along.

Rafe’s chest pinches. He doesn’t know why he assumed you exclusively tutored him. He thought he was the only one you see like this, the only one you ramble to and nag and joke with. Why does he hate that he’s not?

“Come on,” he murmurs, shoving past the unwelcome thought. “I know you miss me.”

You laugh. His typical brand of humor is detached and blunt and it’s nice to see another side of him, a playful side that makes him seem warm.

“I have to think about it.” You shrug. “Okay. We’re back together. I had a feeling you were just being mean the other night anyway.”

Rafe’s lips fall into a guilty frown. Without thinking, he scratches the back of his neck, grimacing and letting out a sharply exhaled fuck as his shoulder stings in pain.

“Are you okay?” you ask, serious now.

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“Convincing,” you say. “What is it?”

He sees no reason to hide it. You did tell him that he can vent to you and if there’s anyone he’d complain to about this, it’s you.

He��d rather not tell anyone on the team. Not even his closest friends. He doesn’t want to look weak.

“My shoulder’s fucked up,” he admits.

“Is it from that board check the other night?”

He nods and says, “Physio said it’s a strained muscle.”

“How bad?”

“I’m benched. He’ll look at it again before game two.”

“You mean you can’t play the first game of the championship?” you surmise.

Rafe’s tight expression tells you that you assumed correctly. You grimace sympathetically.

“Did he say if you can use anything to help with the pain?”

“Heat when it gets bad,” he says.

“I’ll be right back,” you say.

He watches you rush out, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Moments later, you come back with an instant hot compress and place it on the desk in front of him.

“The library has a bunch of first aid kits,” you tell him, sitting back down.

“How’d you know that?” Rafe squeezes the package in one hand, the subdued pop cracking through the small room. “You really like it here that much?”

“A student of mine got a papercut once,” you explain with a laugh. “But yes, I do enjoy being surrounded by books.”

“Right,” he huffs, still in disbelief of how different you two are. “Thanks.”

He rests the package on top of his shoulder, comforting heat spilling through his t-shirt.

When Rafe lets out a velvety, satisfied groan, you find yourself flustered within half a second. Your mind sprints away from you. A mere sound has never made every inch of you tense like this before.

Your imagination can’t keep doing this to you, but it feels impossible to ignore the physical pull you’re starting to feel towards him.

You swallow hard and look at the laptop again, blinking.

This is bad.

You’re crossing the line and you need to yank yourself back into rationality. Rafe is a friend and all the affection he’s given you has been a sham and it’s disconcerting that you keep having to remind yourself of that.

You know he could never give you what you need in a relationship. The last time you saw him was cold, hard proof of that. He’s much too volatile to make a good boyfriend.

And that’s accompanied by a very big if he even likes you like that, which you highly doubt, given how easily you frustrate him. You refuse to overthink, to tumble into infatuation with another man who’ll just hurt you.

“Anyways,” you say, your eyes locked on the screen. “We really should get to work.”

════════

With ten minutes left of the session, Rafe’s laptop dies. You slide it towards him, disappointed you couldn’t upload the essay you’d just finished before the battery drained.

“Make sure to submit it before midnight,” you say. “Oh, and Lyla and Beck’s parents are hosting their birthday party on Saturday, so consider me unavailable for fake girlfriend duties that night.”

Rafe opens his backpack, pushing his laptop in as he mulls over your words. That sounds like the type of event you’d want him to come to.

“Do you need me there?” he asks.

“You were invited,” you say, “but I’ll say you were busy. You’d hate it. It’s an hour away, with a bunch of strangers you’d have to impress, and there’s obviously no way your ex would be there. I can do this on my own.”

Rafe stills before he speaks again.

“Do you need me there?” he repeats, more evenly.

It riled him up to see Emma leave the last party with another guy. To see his arm around her at the game. He hoped he’d be able to count on you to be by his side if he sees them together again this weekend.

But mostly, and more importantly, picturing you at that birthday party alone, in the same room with the guy who hurt you, all because you didn’t want to make Rafe feel forced into going, gnaws at him.

You stare at him, trying to make sense of his tight expression. It’s confusing that he’s still even in this room, asking if you want his help after you’ve given him an out.

“Are you sure?” you ask. You’re positive you’d be fine without him, but he’s sort of become a security blanket.

“I’ve… seen her around with some guy,” he tells you. “It’d be good to get away from campus. And I owe you for losing my cool the other night.”

“Do you even have a cool?” you chuckle.

Rafe glares at you, but it’s proven disingenuous by the small, dimpled smirk he chooses not to stifle.

“I hope I’m with you the next time you see them together,” you say. “Anyways, we can drive up together, then?”

Your eyes brighten with your smile. He doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked at him like that, purely and truly excited to spend time with him.

“A bunch of friends from high school will be there, and obviously Beck and Lyla’s parents, who basically consider me their daughter,” you continue, “so we’ll need to be convincing. It’s a casual dinner, then we’ll just hang out as long as we want. Can you pick me up at five?”

“Yeah,” he says. He stands up, pulling his bag over his good shoulder. “See you.”

You watch him pace towards the door, relieved that you’ll have him there, grateful that he's doing this for you even though you’re certain he really doesn’t want to.

“Hey,” you mumble. He looks at you again. You motion to his injury. “Be careful with your shoulder. And… you’re going to call me corny, but I’m really glad you’re coming.”

A few seconds of silence pass between you.

“You’re corny,” he replies.

You share a smile before he steps out of the study room into the quiet library.

Emptiness abruptly digs into his chest once he’s not with you, growing deeper the farther he walks away.

You’re unlike anyone he’s known. You don’t try to hide how much you care about him and you see things in him he didn’t know were there and you combat his temper with humor and with tenderness and with reassurance that makes him feel like he’s not irreversibly fucking up all the time.

He’s never felt like this before. Like the void he’s always trying to fill isn’t bottomless after all.

════════

Your exhale is shaky as Rafe exits the freeway with only a few minutes left of the drive to Beck and Lyla’s home.

You pull down the sun visor, gazing at your reflection. You’re suddenly quiet and fidgety after you’d chattered for most of the ride.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “And why the hell do I have to ask?”

You chuckle, catching his implication that you typically blab about what’s bothering you without him having to check in.

“I don’t know how I’m going to look their parents in the eye and lie.”

“It’s that hard to pretend to like me?” Rafe murmurs. He’s glad there’s no edge to his tone, glad he can hide that your words stung him a little.

“No,” you chuckle. “When you’re being nice, I like you. Just not like that, obviously.”

Obviously. It’s happening again, the painful crook in his core, the tangled feelings that just keep twisting together.

He used to not care if you liked him. Because he didn’t like you. But your last conversation did something to him, something that was already quietly building up, something that he needs to strip before it sticks.

After every fight he had with Emma, he sensed the palpable cracks forming between them. With you, things felt stronger once you moved past your argument.

Fuck. Why is he thinking about you like you’re his actual girlfriend, comparing his last relationship? This is the last thing he needs.

“It just feels… official. Like I’m bringing a boy home,” you continue. “Nobody’s seen me in a relationship before and they might question your intentions and I don’t want it to be weird.”

You look in the mirror again.

“And I think I’m having a bad hair day. And a bad face day. And I kind of hate my outfit.”

Rafe can’t take your nonsense. Insinuating that you’re anything short of beautiful is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard you say.

He shuts the visor and utters, “You’re doing that overthinking shit again.”

“Okay, so, that’s a perfect example of you not being nice,” you laugh.

You know if you really liked him as more than a friend, his curtness would hurt you. It’s reassuring, the realization that your attraction to Rafe will never be more than physical.

You breathe a sigh, anticipating being with your friends again after you’ve parted ways to different colleges. You wonder if anyone’s changed in the few months since.

You glance over at Rafe.

“What were you like in high school?” you ask.

“The same,” he answers.

“So, just as warm and cuddly?” you tease.

He smirks. You smile like you do every time you crack his facade. It always makes you feel a little proud.

“Better when I started playing hockey,” he relents. “How about you?”

You purse your lips in thought.

“What do you mean better?” you prod.

Rafe’s in no mood to elaborate, stiffly repeating, “How about you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s like pulling teeth, getting this man to share anything.

“I haven’t really changed much,” you reply. He finds himself thinking that it’d be a shame if you ever did.

Rafe follows the GPS to pull into a quiet suburban street. He slows down in front of the house and parks. You gaze out your window to see helium balloons surrounding the front door and reach for the handle.

“Hey,” he rasps.

You turn your head to meet his eyes.

“You don’t need to freak out. We got this. And you…” He looks away. “You look good.”

The words are tight coming out of his mouth, like he really didn’t want to have to say them.

You start to thank him, but he’s already stepping out of the car.

════════

The party is so busy that you and Rafe disappear in the crowd. He stands close by as you catch up with your friends, remembering details about where they’ve gone after graduation, asking questions, making jokes.

When it’s time for dinner, you sit next to him at the table, diagonal to Beck, who has done nothing but flash you awkward smiles here and there.

He’s hardly spoken to you. You wish you weren’t doing it again, second-guessing if he really is jealous.

You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t get a chance to say hi,” Lyla’s mother says. You smile at her and sit up to give her a hug.

“There’s a lot of people,” you say understandingly.

“My kids are too social,” she jokes quietly, leaning over. She looks over at Rafe. “You must be…?”

“Rafe,” you say. His smile is faint, but believable.

“I hope you know I have to grill you a little,” she tells him.

“I know,” he says, glancing at you. “She warned me.”

He’s playing it entirely cool. You’re relieved. You had nothing to worry about. He has this handled.

“How’d you meet?” she asks.

“I’m his tutor,” you tell her.

“Always been a smart one,” she replies, squeezing your hand. “Is that what made you like her?”

Your eyes land on Rafe again, nerves pricking your spine.

“It’s… one a lot of things, yeah,” he says.

“What else?”

Rafe’s heart thrums.

“I don’t know anyone like her.” His eyes soften as he looks at you, the amusement in them replaced by a depth you’ve only ever seen in glimpses, when his guard slips a little. “And she has a good heart.”

“She does,” Lyla’s mother says, straightening to stand. “You better treat her right.”

“I will,” he says with a nod. When she steps away, you nudge his knee with yours.

“That was amazing,” you say. Your praise gives him a high.

“I’m a great liar,” he replies.

You nudge him again, laughing.

“I don’t care,” you say. “You can’t take any of that back.”

He wouldn’t want to anyway. It was the truth.

════════

After dinner, Beck and Lyla’s mother brings out an ornate cake, prompting the room to break out in song. You watch Beck and Lyla blow out the candles as everyone applauds.

“I’ll never forget what the nurse said the day you two were born,” their father announces as he stands by the head of the table, holding a glass up. “Even when they’re big, you’ll picture them this small. And it’s true.”

He looks down, nodding curtly, lips twisting.

“Here we go again,” Lyla laughs.

“He cries every year,” you explain to Rafe in a hush.

He gazes at your profile as their dad continues his toast. He was aware you knew Beck for a long time, for years, but seeing this makes it real.

He can picture it now, you spending your adolescence in this house, making memories with this family, falling for the guy sitting on the other side of the table who brushed you off, who’s blind to how happy you make everyone around you.

The night you sat on that kitchen counter in that frat house back on campus, your eyes deepened with a sadness that hardly ever comes across your face, and you told him what you saw in Beck. What made you fall for him.

Fun. Kind. Nice to everybody.

And it’s a reminder of why this fire that’s growing inside Rafe for you needs to be put out. He’s the antithesis of the guy you’re in love with. You’d never want him like that.

“I’m so proud of both of you,” their father continues. “Happy birthday.”

Rafe looks down at his plate, wishing he’d been prepared for the wave of pain that’s crashing down on him as the sounds of conversation and dishes rattling and joyous laughter ricochet across the room.

He hates to admit it to himself, but Beck has everything he wants, down to a father who’s proud of his son.

He glances over at you again, but you’re still looking at Beck, your smile both happy and sad, your eyes trained on the one person you’re doing all of this for.

════════

The party moves to the rec room after Beck and Lyla’s parents wish everyone a good night.

Rafe’s hand is in yours as you lead him down the carpeted stairs, then settle on the plush sectional couch next to him as you chat with your friends.

He always hated his impulsivity. He was just telling himself to put out the fire, but he only throws fuel onto it when he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you closer the moment Beck walks in.

You nuzzle in, shifting to look at him again, your noses nearly bumping from how close you are.

“It’s the other shoulder?” you confirm softly, making sure you aren’t putting pressure on where he’s hurting.

“Yeah,” he says.

You nod and absorb yourself back into the group’s conversation. Your back is pressed against his chest and he hopes you don’t feel how hard his heart is pounding.

But he knows that the way you make him feel isn’t unique to him. He sees it now that you’re with your friends. You make everyone feel this way, like you want them around.

Drinks start getting passed. You look at Rafe again.

“I’m staying sober tonight,” you tell him. “Thought I should reassure you that I won’t be inviting myself over for another sleepover.”

He wants to ask why that’d be such a bad thing and it’s like he left his sanity upstairs, because now he’s wondering what the hell he’s doing wanting to flirt with you.

“Everyone’s playing,” Lyla announces as she places a box in the middle of the coffee table. “And nobody’s allowed to sit out. You legally can’t say no to the birthday girl.”

“It’s my birthday, too,” Beck says.

“Who cares?” Lyla jokes, opening the box. “It’s truth or dare. We’ll take turns picking a card and reading it out loud and if you won’t do either or you fail at a dare, you have to drink.”

“Oh, no,” you whisper to Rafe.

“Just be happy you found a way to read at a party,” he replies.

You crack a genuine laugh. His lips pull into a smile as he watches you, gratified that the joy you’re feeling right now is entirely because of him.

You feel Beck’s stare on you from his spot on the couch a couple of people away. You look up at him and he looks away and it’s like a discombobulating shove into the past, reminding you of when you’d catch him staring and let your mind run away with daydreams.

The feeling of Rafe’s arm tightening around you grounds you in reality, but it also sends a rush of heat through you and you hate that it does that.

“Truth: what's something you're glad your family doesn't know about you?” Lyla reads out. “Or dare: keep your eyes closed for three full minutes. Easy. Dare.”

She closes her eyes, then points to her right. The game continues around the circle and when it’s your turn to pick, you select a card, feeling everyone but Lyla’s stare on you.

“Truth: what’s the last excuse you used to cancel plans? Dare: don’t laugh or smile until your next turn.”

“Worst dare you could’ve gotten,” Rafe murmurs.

“You’d never manage,” your friend, Marcus chuckles.

You laugh, then laugh again when you realize you just proved both of them right.

“Damn it,” you say. “You know what? I’ll take the dare.”

You put the card down on the table and exhale deeply, trying to focus.

Rafe’s eyes flit to Marcus, whose eyes stay on you longer than he’d like them to.

“Your turn,” you say to Rafe, stone-faced.

He’d rather not play this, but he’s supposed to be acting like a good boyfriend. Besides, there’s something about disappointing you that makes him feel worse than disappointing anyone else.

He leans forward, his arm lifting off of you for a moment, and picks up a card. His hand settles on your hip again as he reclines, his bicep hard against your back.

He’s only staring at the card, so you tilt your head back to read it aloud for him.

“When was the last time you cried? Or, let someone in the room write whatever they want on you with a permanent marker.”

You look at him, holding back your smile, knowing you’re both thinking the same thing. As his girlfriend, it’d make sense that you’d be the one to mark his body.

He would never admit to crying, especially to a group of strangers. The reminder of Emma’s words, of how she’d said he called her in tears, makes your stomach drop. Suddenly, not smiling doesn’t take any effort anymore.

“Dare,” you answer for him. “I need a marker.”

“I’ll get it. Someone help me,” Lyla says, her eyes still shut as she stands. She feels for her way around the room as one of your mutual friends stands up to accompany her. “Keep playing!”

The next person starts their turn, and you take Rafe’s free hand and rest his arm across his lap, gently to not tug too hard and strain his shoulder.

It’s a shock how instinctually you did it, how touching him is natural now, yet still manages to make your heart race a little faster every time you do it.

“I’m going for a meaningful one. I’m thinking my name,” you tease, running your finger up the length of the inside of his forearm, eyes travelling over the faint lines of veins, “from here to here. Sound good?”

“No,” he answers gruffly. You crack a smirk. “And you lost your dare.”

“Don’t tell,” you mumble, forcing your smile away. “You know I can’t hold my alcohol.”

When both girls come back downstairs, Lyla blindly hands you the marker. You meet Rafe’s stare before you look down at his arm.

“The card said whatever I want,” you say quietly, mischief in your tone.

He watches you lean in, eyelashes fluttering as you blink, lips pursing in thought. The wet ink hits the inside of his wrist and his stomach goes numb when you start to slide the smooth, thin end of the marker over him, your thumb gently pressing into his skin as you hold him steady.

Rafe stares as you concentrate, and he starts to breathe a little deeper simply because the way you smell has become a comfort now, a familiarity, a hit of dopamine.

You sit up seconds later. He looks down to see Room 205 written in small, black characters. Your study room.

“You’ll never forget where to go,” you say happily. “Well, until it washes off.”

You finally meet his eyes again. He’s wearing the same concentrated look you’ve seen before, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What, did you really expect I’d write something that bad?” you say as you snap the cap back on the marker.

The group continues with the next round, and when it’s your turn again, you have to choose between sharing your biggest insecurity or whispering a secret to someone in the room.

“Dare,” you decide, putting the card on the table and leaning back, lifting your chin to whisper into Rafe’s ear.

He slightly angles his head so that nobody can read your lips, shivers spreading over his skin from the feeling of your cheek on his.

“You’re probably my favorite student that I’ve ever tutored,” you say quietly.

It’s not a lie. Even with all his flaws, Rafe has given you something you’re not sure anybody else would have. He came into your life at the perfect time, came up with the perfect idea, and you’re deeply grateful for it.

He hastily cups your jaw, his hand so large it covers your cheek completely, as he tilts your head so he can tell you something, too. His lips brush over the shell of your ear.

“Just probably?” he whispers back. “That’s bullshit.”

You pull back, laughing, your eyes lingering on him.

“Don’t start making out, please,” Lyla teases.

You roll your eyes and look at the group again.

“I’ll spare you all the PDA,” you reply.

“Why start now?” a friend jokes.

“Yeah,” Beck quietly huffs. An ache of confusion rattles through you.

The game carries on, but Beck’s eyes linger on you. He’s never looked at you like this before. And it makes you believe what Rafe has been telling you this entire time.

════════

You leave the party holding Rafe’s hand and untangle your fingers from his the moment you’re out of the house, the moment there aren’t any eyes on you.

Rafe’s palm is cold now that your touch is gone.

Again, he’s powerless to the way his heart does whatever it wants and doesn’t give his head a chance to catch up.

He wasn’t supposed to like you.

He never expected to.

But when he looks at you as you tread towards his car together and the hushed moonlight bathes your features in its glow and you offer him that smile that makes his heart splinter in a way it never has, he yields to the truth, unable to put up a fight any longer.

He’s hopeless. You’ve pulled him under. And he had no choice but to let you.

(to be continued)

>>> new parts drop every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

author’s note and the yearning (that eventually turns mutual) begins 🙂‍↕️

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron

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navybrat817 · 1 day ago

Note

Seb's new Variety photoshoot did things to me Navy, and now thots of sucking the living shit out of his cock consume me.

UNTIL I MEMORIZE EVERY VEIN 🥵

TRULY. And I have to use the image you sent me.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 660

Warnings: Implied smut, implied oral sex (m. receiving), implied vaginal and anal sex, dirty talk, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

Banner credit to @cafekitsune

Okay, but imagine. Bucky taking a shower after a long day. Maybe he worked up a sweat fixing his car or bike. He wants you because, well, he always wants you, and you were sweet enough to leave him be and not tease him. Not that he would’ve complained if you did strut around to distract him, but his want for you only increases since you left him alone. Covered in sweat and grime though, he wants to be a gentleman and shower first so you don’t have to deal with the mess.

There will still be a mess, but that’s beside the point.

Sighing under the spray of the water once he’s undressed, he can’t help but picture you as his eyes slip shut. He thinks of your lips on his skin as you kiss down his body, taking your time to worship and drive him crazy. He can practically feel your hands move up his thighs once you’re on your knees. Licking his lips, he can imagine the feigned innocence so clearly in your eyes before you wrap your hand around his hard cock and dart your tongue out to taste him.

Your sinful mouth was made for his cock to ruin, just like the rest of you.

“And what has you all hot and bothered?”

Bucky tilts his head and opens his eyes, smirking when you push the curtain open more to join him, your clothes on top of his on the floor. Your nipples are already hard and he doesn’t have to touch you to know you’re wet. “You,” he says, unashamedly stroking himself as he fully faces you. “It’s always you.”

How could he want anyone else when he has you?

You hum and run a finger along his arm, chasing a droplet of water. “Were you thinking of anything in particular?”

“I was picturing you sucking my cock,” he answers, smirking again when he hears your breathing pick up. “You always take me so well.”

“Is that right?” you smile, placing your hand over his to help him stroke himself. “Well, we both know I have a dirty mouth made for fucking, and you have a gorgeous cock made for sucking.”

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps, stroking faster.

“Maybe I should get on my knees so you can fuck my throat right here. Make that daydream a beautiful reality,” you suggest, leaning in close enough for your lips to touch. “Look up at you with tears in my eyes as your soul leaves your body.”

Bucky’s eyes almost rolled back. If anyone could suck the soul out of him, it was you. Each of your holes took him to a kind of heaven he didn’t know existed.

“But before your soul leaves your body, I want to memorize every vein. I want my throat molded to the shape of your cock,” you continue, letting your tongue move along the seam of his lips. “And when you’re done, I want you to wreck my pussy the way I deserve.”

A growl escapes and Bucky’s proud he doesn’t come then and there. “Greedy thing, wanting me to ruin your pussy, too.”

And Bucky will. He’ll fuck your throat and watch as tears spill over when you take him deep in your throat. He’ll fuck your pussy until the only thing you remember is his name.

“Yeah, I’m greedy when it comes to you.” You wait a beat before you smirk. “So, you should probably fuck my ass for good measure.”

Bucky’s hand freezes because he knows he’ll blow his load if he doesn’t stop. “What did you say?”

“I said you should fuck my ass, big boy,” you repeat, and Bucky wonders how he got so lucky to find you. “If you’re up for it.”

Bucky is more than up for it.

And just when he thinks he can’t love you more, you go in for the kill. “Oh, and fuck me bare. I want you to drip out of me later.”

Okay, lovelies. Go about your business! Nothing to see here! Love and thanks for indulging me in my nonsense! ❤️

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devosin · 2 days ago

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— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! episode five : white lies & understanding . . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Dual pov . .

Your face drained of colour, sitting frozen in place as his words repeat in your head like a broken record, "I just don't believe you can act", the words said so casually with a drunken slur, as if he didn't just put down your entire skillset and career all together. Your hands grip the glass tighter, as some form of bitter resentment washes over you—momentarily, but enough to burn—your throat hurts as you let the words of complaint and the slur of insults that you really, really—wanted to hurl die there.

The discomfort settled into a deafening form of silence among the table—and to think the two of you were getting along moments prior, sharing and recommending drinks . . ‘Way to kill the vibe, Schoenheit.’

The two of you didn't speak, seemingly waiting for the other to speak first, weighing down whether talking after that was . . the good idea? . . There was still some time to cancel the contract right? (There wasn't) . . . the fine wouldn't be that high! (1 million give or take, out of your pocket).

The silence draws on, until Vil takes the hint, letting out a soft—well softer response, "I don't mean to offend you, I'm a little bias that's all", he said, his words no longer having a slight slur to them, the tension must've sobered him up.

You paused, . . and let out a sigh, then smiled, "You're not good at apologizing, I hope you know that", you pointed out after a while, bringing the glass back to your lips, letting the alcohol burn your throat, melting the anxious bob down back to your stomach, your liver can deal with the problems later.

Vil blinked, and let out a breath of relief, which he quickly tried covering up with a fake cough, . . and you're supposedly the bad actor?, "It's not one of my biggest talents", he replied after a while, the words came out slower than expected as he stared down at the table, not quite meeting your eyes, "but I do apologize, it won't happen again."

"It better not", you said casually, then laughed at his wide-eyed expression, "It's fine, I didn't like you in the camping series either, so I guess we're even?", you say, trying to cheer him up a bit . . okay maybe you wanted him to feel a little offended as well . .

“I was a child!”, he retorted back, and you bit back a smile, “Not an excuse Mr. Schoenheit, the ‘great’ actor”, his lips curled upwards just a bit, this time he didn’t really make an attempt to hide it, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you both were a little petty in your own right.

After a while, the two of you were getting back into the rhythm of conversation, talking about some things here and there, and some casual word of the mouth gossip, because you both have an NDA and that shit isn’t getting out anytime soon . . All the while consuming a little too much alcohol for a small brunch meeting, and you knew you were going to regret it when you got home.

“Did you know I’m camera shy?”, you said randomly, and Vil looks up at you, eyes half-lidded, holy shit don’t make eye contact, you focus on the wall behind him, and he doesn’t really notice, “Really?”

You nod, “Yea, terrible, I used to get nauseous every time I was behind a Camera, even for just photos”, he tilts his head slightly in confusion, because yeah, that doesn’t make sense, an A-list actor, whose income is from acting, being camera shy, “Did you get over it? . . because . . “, he gestures to the air, referring to your career, you chuckle and nod, “mhm.”

“Yea, someone special to me said to start recording little videos for Magiciam, to get over it, so I did . . just to step out of my comfortzone.”

“Did it help?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

He blinks, and then the two of you chuckle, a drunken slightly slurred laugh.

“I personally loved being behind the Camera, I felt . . alive every time”, Vil says in response after a while, “Yeah I can tell” . . . “What is that supposed to mean?”

You avoid the subject, and he eyes you curiously, almost waiting for an answer.

The evening sun lighting was hitting you in a little too perfect position, you both were seated by a large window, but it hit you at a perfect angle, it’s like those shitty films about the ex dead wife, and the wife is always depicted in that yellow lighting which made her look ethereal? Like nostalgic . . That being said, you do look pretty . . ethereal . . and fuck look away.

Vil faces the other side, as casually as he could muster.

Which wasn’t casual at all, because he was too tipsy to play it off cool and collected, “You okay?”, you ask, and he grips his fork . . and yea you guys ordered food sometime ago, “Yep”, he says, with a grin, “totally fine.”

You nod, then a comfortable silence falls over the two of you . . . and suddenly things felt so peaceful, calming almost.

And maybe this partnership wouldn’t gut him out and make him go mental in the next few months.

Maybe.

Okay so now he’s just doubting his own words.

Making eye contact with a drunk Vil sounds like torture im ngl, his eyes are very hot, violet baddies for the win.

This is actually a soft launch into my new smau (Cater diamond x Reader), the first few pictures hint at it, so check out "For the record" if you like this series <3 , they're interconnected.

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

♡. Want spoilers ?! . . Join my server . . !! (or to be namedropped <3)

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♡ . Ask to be tagged... (If you don't see yourself up here, I cant tag you)

Do consider buying my emergency commissions, if you can <3

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81pastrys · 5 hours ago

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Osc

Summary— Lila is a little behind on talking, but she catches Lando’s nickname for his teammate.

Warnings— fluffiest dad fic ever ; overuse of the word cute

A/N— this is absolutely adorable.

Dad Lando List

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— I love your writing the way your write all the drivers as dad 🥹 so cute could you do like Lila as a toddler maybe hearing lando call Oscar osc and she repeats it to him or something cute and fluff it’s okay if you don’t do it -🫶🏻

Lila was usually independent at the track. Walking around, handing out stickers and such. Today happened to be different, all she wanted to do was be held by Lando. He obliged, it was quality time he liked spending with her.

They were nearly done for the day and Lando was packing things up. He would narrate what they were going to do and such. She was a girl of only a few words, like ‘mama’ or ‘daddy’ or short words. So the doctor suggested to talk with her even if she wouldn’t respond, just to kickstart the sentences or fragments.

“Once we leave we’re going to go home and see mama, then we’ll eat dinner and go to bed.” He was saying. Oscar knocked and said his farewell. “Bye Osc, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said returning his voice to normal for his teammate.

“Bye, bye bug.” Oscar said to Lila. She waved back as he left. Lando kept on his rambling sentences and she listened. He got her in the car and she rambled and made noises.

“Os, Os, Os.” He heard. He awed internally, not wanting her to stop. It was adorable cooing. They got home and he took her out of the car. “Mama!” She babbled when they walk in.

“Hey my sweet girl!” She said, crouching to the 2-year-old. “How was your day? Did daddy take you out on track?” She asked. Lila nodded and looked to the tall man hovering to get a kiss from his wife.

“She learned a new word today.” He whispered with a smile and light chuckle. “Who did we say bye-bye to?” Lando asked, hoping she connected the name to the face.

“Os!” She exclaimed. Her mum nearly doubled over at the cuteness of her daughter. “Bye-bye os.” She repeated.

“You said bye-bye to os?” Her mum asked. Lila smiled and reached for her mum. She got what she wanted and was picked up. “I bet Os is going to love that.” She said.

“I’m not telling him, he’s going to find out tomorrow.” Lando laughed. “Is that not the cutest thing?”

“Well what can Lila do that isn’t cute?” She asked. “Look at her face.” She pinched one of the little girls cheeks and Lila giggled.

The next day they arrived on track and Lando settled in his driver room with the little girl. Oscar knocked and opened the door. Before he could get any words out he heard Lila. “Os!” She exclaimed and hugged his leg.

Oscar looked to Lando, smiling ear to ear. “Hey bug!” He greeted her. “You know my name now.” He said looking more to Lando.

“Bye-bye os.” She said. Lando laughed and Oscar joined him. “Os.” She repeated again and again.

“Isn’t she the cutest little thing?” Lando asked smiling at her repeating the nickname. “Os is right there sweetheart, see?” He pointed to him.

“Bye-bye os.” She said again and Lando laughed. He explained Oscar isn’t leaving and picked her up to walk out with Oscar.

Cutest little kid ever I know it.

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @itznotsophia @pandabiiissh @justaf1girl @chertik-007vvv @kallanfiona

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leonarecs · 8 hours ago

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we’re back for part two 🤭 i’m scared but excited because i know they are finally gonna FUCK n i’m very happy about that LMFAOOO, now let’s begin 👀

His absence leaves a heavy weight of guilt that presses hard onto your shoulders, regardless that he had been the one to mostly start the fight. What had you really even done wrong?

absolutely NOTHING queen, do not feel guilt!!!!! he’s being an ass <3 (sigh i kinda feel bad too i have too much of a soft spot for this man)

Despite his elusion you still see him, amongst your shared classes, the late nights in the common room or when passing in the halls.

this when they’re usually attached at the hip omg it hurts to imagine it MY BABIES

He decides it’s not worth getting involved now that Mattheo’s made his intentions clear. He wants nothing to do with it.

oh, so i’m not worth fighting for 😔✋ i see how it is, what a pussy. of course you’re scared of mattheo 🙄 (it’s okay at least we’ll have scary bf privileges soon)

He had just suddenly been everywhere, like a convenient beacon.

the ‘do you really like him or is he just giving you the attention you’ve been so desperately craving from someone else’ trope is inescapable and i love it

For the way you felt under Mattheo’s spotlight was divergent. He made you feel special, your heart beating to a different rhythm for him. Being with Mattheo was like watching a sunrise for the first time, the shades of orange and pink peeking up after you both stayed up all night stargazing. It made you feel alive. He made you feel alive. Made you feel electric with life and like you could conquer anything with him by your side.

I’M FUCKING SCREAMING OVER THIS??? THE DESCRIPTION OF HER LOVE??? THE WAY HIS ATTENTION IS DIFFERENT FROM EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD?? i’m sobbing. this captures that overwhelming feeling of being seen by someone you care about so perfectly. also the way you went from “it made you feel alive” to “he made you feel alive” to drive it home FUCK it hits so hard. it’s like you can feel her heart waking up for him. i’m actually going to cry over this.

It wasn't his fault he was deeply flawed, but it was your choice to be the one to see him past those sharp thorns. To help bloom the roses that laid trapped underneath the rumble, bring them to light in the same way as how you saw him.

again, no words to describe how i feel, so:

“I'm not oblivious like you two are, besides I don't really want a repeat of my last relationship.”

poor guy can’t catch a break from all the girls that have secretly been in love with another boy since they were kids

“Not entirely sure what you see in the nutter, but knowing what kind of girl you are, it must be something good.”

AWWW OKAY THAT WAS SWEET I’M GIGGLING

A week without you had been to put nicely, hell for him. He had wallowed entirely, sulking like a pathetic child, like his favourite candy had been ripped from his clutches. He realized quickly that this was worse, that having your attention shared, not having your presence at all, had turned him into a dreary grump.

the way he completely falls apart without her in his life, HE’S SO IN LOVEEEE Y/N OPEN YOUR EYES

He missed you in his arms. He missed the gentle way you would soothe him to sleep. With warm caresses that resembled a mother’s touch, but with you it felt more intimate.

i genuinely believe you’re trying to kill me right now. my heart is literally unraveling with every word i read, mother, why must you be so cruel 😖 him falling asleep in her arms only will never fail to fucking destroy me. and they still wanna talk about some “best friends” bullshit bro, stfu

Clearing your throat of nerves, you speak directly to the point. “I didn’t mean it.” Mattheo's stubbornness had always been a persistent habit, one of his shortcomings that meant you knew it was unlikely he'd apologize first. Especially considering he can’t even look at you.

the fact that she just knew where he’d be. without even having to ask anyone, they really know each other better than anyone else in the world UGHHH 😓😓😓 also idc if he’s stubborn, he should be apologizing FIRST tf ✋

“I’m sorry, I.. I- you.. are wanted. Always, Mattheo.” “But not in the right way.”

oh god i literally cannot breathe right now

“It's fine, Ace. You’re forgiven. We’re still friends, alright.”

bitch. don’t you have something else to say. and what the FAWK do you mean ‘friends.’

He fights the part of him wanting to swallow his pride and spit out an apology, but he’d never been good at those. That would mean he’d have to explain the reasoning and vulnerable depth, years' worth of trauma that built a viscous insecurity he’d never shared with anyone, not even you. He didn’t feel exactly spritely about indulging you just because you were upset that he hit Dean.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it once again, the way you characterize him is fucking spot on. you can feel how stubborn and defensive he is without it ever outright saying “he’s stubborn” — it’s all in the why. the way you tied his pride to this deep, unspoken insecurity?? it makes him so much more human. he’s not just being difficult to be difficult, he’s protecting these old wounds he doesn’t even know how to show. i’m losing it over how layered this makes him.

“For what? You’re the one that called me unwanted.”

NO I DIDN’T, STOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH.

“I said I was sorry.” The words whisper with the tone of desolation. Despite your anger, the guilt and worry break the barrier through the emotions you wear on your sleeves, knowing you never wished to hurt him.

THE POOR GIRL MY HEART HURTS SO BAD RIGHT NOW it wasn’t her fault 😭

He steps without hesitation; coming closer, wrapping you up into his arms, a much needed hug for the both of you. He aches, feeling you reciprocate, gently hugging him back, and he holds you a little tighter, having missed your touch.

the hug oh my god i have real tears streaming down my face right now, the history and emotion between these two is too much for me to handle

The small sounds of your sniffles smothering into his chest vibrate through to his heart painfully, like an earthquake causing destruction to his protective walls.

more metaphors that i adore and have to highlight thank you very much

He turns glaring at you. “Let’s just go inside, Ace! It’s fucking thundering!”

it’s so intense right now, i’m literally buzzing with anxiety goodnight. this whole scene is playing out like a movie in my head the dialogue is SO GOOD.

He's ignoring how his mind is screaming to just tell you the truth, to finally bare his heart and soul to you, but the fear of rejection has him by the throat.

yeah.

“Tell me- god please Mattheo, I swear if this friendship means anything to you! You’ll fucking tell me.” The doubt creeps back in; Dean was wrong. He doesn’t see you the same.

i’m fucking screaming JUST TELL HER THE TRUTH YOU’RE DOING NOTHING BUT FEEDING HER DOUBTS RIGHT NOW PLEASEEEE MY HEART CAN’T TAKE MORE OF THIS ARGUMENT, he’s just letting her believe that he doesn’t give a shit whether she’s in his life or not 😞

“because you’re the best thing in my life! And yet I'm just scum on the bottom of your shoe.. And that motherfucker was right and I hate him for it, because I-i-I don't deserve you!.. Not your kindness… or attention… or friendship, and yet I'm still greedy. I still want more!”

ASAHSEDHAEGDFFYGACHUNˆSHDGFHDGFUHERIFJIENDXKJEWBDXJERBGCHJHIÇ≈≈XEFUHGVUFHDGU OH MY GODIFHJDG

i’m sorry. i cannot fucking breathe right now, there’s so much i want to say. the angry confession. the stuttering. the “i’m still greedy.” FUCKING HELLLLLL, when they think they’re not worthy but still can still admit that they want more, i can’t DO THIS ANYMORE

“B-because- because I fucking love you, you idiot!”

can’t even turn on all-caps, i’m too busy trying to hit the right letters through my tears

You're shut up by the pleasant surprise of his lips smashing onto yours, with an effort of urgency urged behind the feel of his soft lips. His hands move to cup your face, your soaked face, the warmth of them rising a blush to your cheeks, as he holds them with tenderness. He kisses you with all the love he has, willing to give you every beat of his heart. He knows you already have it. It's always been yours.

the last line i—

“Actually?” He smiles in reassurance and hope glosses over his eyes. His chest vibrates as he chokes out a disbelieving laugh and his grin broadens. "You-u lo-” He can't even finish the sentence so choked up by all of this. A smile graces your face with wide, full cheeks that burn with happiness and you reciprocate his choked upness, feeling the tears start again. The way your head nods ridiculously fast, flicking your drenched hair in all directions, makes him chuckle and he cups your cheeks for fear of it flying off. “Not fucking with me are you now Ace, cuz I swear to god if you-” Leaning forwards you capture his lips effortlessly, now being the one to shut him up.

this whole sequence has me actually laughing and smiling through tears WHO AM I????? g, you’re so unbelievably talented, the feelings are feeling really hard right now and i need a nap despite the fact that i slept for 15 hours last night

His arm guides you wrapping around your waist, a stark contrast to the way his arm usually drapes over your shoulder casually.

THIS DIFFERENCE BEING POINTED OUT AAAAHHHHH i’m literally bursting with happiness rn. also him not being able to handle seeing her cry even when its happy tears, fuck just let me fall to the floor real quick

His gaze drops and his eyes darken shamelessly, admiring how your shirt clings to your body, accentuating your chest. He licks his lips, letting his thoughts run wild for once with no guilt, and stops what he was doing walking closer. His hands graze your waist, letting you know of his proximity as he speaks with a low husk in his tone. “Lemme help Ace.”

I’M LITERALLY TREMBLING OMGOMGOMG HE’S SUCH A PERV LMFAOOOO WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE I’M SO EXCITED

His head dips, brushing his lips back against yours, and he whispers with the weight of a man ready to feast on his deepest desires. “Ace..you know I want you… don't you?” He’s so close that when he licks his lips, his tongue grazes your lower lip with the subtlest of touches and he relishes in the sucking in of your breath.

the way i’m holding my breath right now fucking hell, my choochie quaking i can’t even lie to you

“Fuck, you look so sexy when you bite that.”

the way he thought this in part one as well and now he’s actually able to voice his thoughts ajdghfgff i’ll never get over mattheo calling us sexy

He grabs your wrists, gently kissing both of them before he pins them above your head, shocking a gasp out of you. He grins, satisfied by your reaction as he shifts, sliding his hands upwards, intertwining your fingers together in an intimate hand hold.

my first reaction while reading this: oh my god, kissing her wrists is the sweetest fucking thing i’ve ever read. second reaction: HE DID WHAT OMG I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING. third reaction: HAND HOLDING MY FUCKING FAVORITE MY HEART IS MALFUNCTIONING

He shifts, rolling onto his side, allowing your hand to slip inside his pants and wrap around his cock. He can’t help but buck his hips into your palm at the feel of your hand making contact. “Fuck-Ace.” His eyes droop, looking at you shifting onto your side too, your tits squishing together in the constraints of your bra, his mouth gaping letting out a hitched shaky breath.

Couldn’t even edge to this, I exploded immediately!!! Clean up on aisle MY PANTS 😂😂😂😂 (i’m sorry.)

“Soakin Ace. You've been this wet the whole time?”

YES OBVIOUSLY OH MY GOD

“Yeah, you want another? Want me to stretch you out…wanna be ready for me, don’t you, Ace?”

He gives his fingers a quick lick, not wanting to waste a single drop of you, watching focused how you shuffle out of your panties.

OH MY GODDDJSGEWFHG WHAT IS THIS FEROCITY THAT YOU’VE EVOKED IN ME RIGHT NOW I’M BARKING

Wandering his gaze at your movements, he watches frozen, disbelieving the vision before him. Sitting up onto your elbows, you unclip your bra, freeing your tits and exposing yourself fully. His pants sit halfway down his legs, his jaw tensing, eyes gazing with enamour at your bare body. He blinks again, swearing this has to be one very good sex dream.

MY FEELINGS CANNOT EVEN BE VOCALIZED RIGHT NOW I DIED DEAD RIP ME THE WAY HE FROZE GOODBYEEEEE

“God, I love your laugh.. gonna make me cum right now.” Your laugh grows in ecstatic shock at his vulgar words. “Mattheo!” “Oh yeah, look at you practicing screaming already.”

THE GIGGLE THAT THIS TORE OUT OF ME SHOULD BE STUDIED BECAUSE I SWEAR I’VE NEVER MADE THIS SOUND BEFORE

“Tell me really, am I bigger?”

I’M FUCKING CRYING LMFAOOOO HE’S SO ANNOYING

But then you smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and whisper an adorable, “Hi.”

AAAAAAAHHHH ITS GIVING “Hi, Johnny.” “Hi, Shannon.” SQUEALING ESPECIALLY WITH THE TITLE TOO AHHHH

“I want your eyes on me the whole time, ok Ace.”

whatever you say, daddy— i mean what hahahhahahah

He flickers his eyes back and forth from how his cock slides between your folds captivatingly and up to your pretty blessed out face. Your mouth gaping as streams of whiney moans flows out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. “Fuck, I don't know where to look baby…look so good taking me.”

“s'good..the best ace. I could live in your pussy, just fall asleep and never wake up.”

it’s all over the screen 💔💔💔🥀🥀🥀

The notion that you'll both be alright, swaddled in the new cocoon of your relationship, both finally receiving the love you deserve together.

this is such a beautiful way to end it i’m sobbing

speaking so truthfully when i say that this wasn’t just a fic; this was a fucking experience. i felt like i was watching a movie in theaters and i didn’t even realize how long this was (18k words together i think?!?!) because it flowed so well and the dialogue never left a single moment where i wasn’t hooked. this, in its entirety, was so unbelievably well written—the dialogue, the metaphors, the story, descriptions and imagery, the way you weaved in their backstory and their tie to each other. i hate that it’s taken me so long to read it fully without distractions, but you truly exceeded all expectations. like i know deep in my heart that, from now on, every time i think about a best friends-to-lovers trope with him, my mind is instantly going to go to mattheo and ace because they’ve just set the bar for this whole trope. the yearning, the slow burn, the hesitance for both sides to finally admit their feelings, the fear of rejection — it’s all put together so perfectly. the emotion is so real and raw and powerful, i felt everything like it was actually happening to me. this might (definitely) be my favorite writing i’ve ever read from you. you’re fucking phenomenal b, literally never stop writing!!! (and never leave this fandom, i won’t survive without you!!!)

i honestly don’t even know how i’m to move on from this. someone come pick me up off the floor because i need mattheo and ace forever and ever (i know you posted something else of them and i’m excited to read but like fuck i just need an 8 book series of them because i’m not ready to let go)

[S]he will be loved ~ part two

Sum Reader is hopefully and madly in love with her best friend, constantly having her heart broken living in the shadows of other girls. Unaware that he’s hiding a secret, unable to express the truth about how he feels for her too.

Warn: NSFW18+, angst, yelling, swearing, PIV, fingering, semi handjob, dirty talk, (the smut is a little vanilla for the sake of being romantic), use of Ace as a nickname, y/n occasionally, Dramatic asf fr, maybe too dragged-out argument lmfao. Wc: 9.4k An: thank you for being so patience! It is suggested you read part one if you haven't, once again I went a bit in circles with this and so now will run away nervous as hell! but hope you all enjoy! Dividers from here & here

He makes good on his promise, avoiding you for the rest of the weekend and into the next week. His absence leaves a heavy weight of guilt that presses hard onto your shoulders, regardless that he had been the one to mostly start the fight. What had you really even done wrong?

Despite his elusion you still see him, amongst your shared classes, the late nights in the common room or when passing in the halls. His head locked straight ahead, as if the wall is the most interesting thing, and if his gaze weakens and he nips a glance at you, it holds no kindness. The icy water drenches your bones again and makes you question your memory, and how badly you’ve hurt him.

Dean keeps his distance as well, despite being unaware of your fight with Mattheo, the damage by him is more than physical and Dean wishes to keep far from the drama tempting to unravel. He decides it’s not worth getting involved now that Mattheo’s made his intentions clear. He wants nothing to do with it. His distance doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you can’t help wondering how you’ve managed to drag him into an unnecessary mess.

Had you, in spite, subconsciously used Dean to get a reaction from Mattheo? Were you challenging the bounds of your friendship? It wasn’t like you had planned to even consider Dean an option. He had just suddenly been everywhere, like a convenient beacon. It hadn’t been hard to get along, with his contagious energy and charming personality, he had easily cleared the thick aged brain fog once completely consumed by Mattheo.

Clouds slide inwards, covering the heat of the sun, and casting downward shade along the cobblestones, making you plan to head back inside soon. You sit under the shelter of a tree in the viaduct courtyard pondering the inner turmoil. Feeling conflicted, you sigh, weighing up the differences between them.

Dean, a kind and warm spirit who opened his arms to you instantly, making you feel needed and welcome. So ready to listen, and match your energy to his own passions. But there was always something missing. It all felt very surface level, and maybe that was because it was new. Or maybe he just gave you what you were yearning so desperately for. Attention.

But it wasn’t the right type you craved. For the way you felt under Mattheo’s spotlight was divergent. He made you feel special, your heart beating to a different rhythm for him. Being with Mattheo was like watching a sunrise for the first time, the shades of orange and pink peeking up after you both stayed up all night stargazing. It made you feel alive. He made you feel alive. Made you feel electric with life and like you could conquer anything with him by your side.

Maybe you ought to give Mattheo some credit, for he his life had always left him complicated.

You, of all people, know the traumatic strain his upbringing had scared him, continuing into his current life. There is no escaping the forceful path his life has been shunted down, his hands bound. It wasn't his fault he was deeply flawed, but it was your choice to be the one to see him past those sharp thorns. To help bloom the roses that laid trapped underneath the rumble, bring them to light in the same way as how you saw him.

You sit up suddenly, spotting Dean crossing the courtyard with his friends, and jump at the chance to make amends with him. “Dean!”

His head whips around and he stops walking, allowing you to approach. His smile is less, but not unwelcoming. “Hey Y/n.”

You eye his friends awkwardly till they call out for Dean to catch up and continue walking. You shuffle between your feet, feeling nervous about starting the conversation. “Hi- I.. I just wanted to apologise. I’m really sorry about what happened last weekend.”

Dean is quick to shake his head, respectfully dismissing your apology. “It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize, y/n. I hold no grudges towards you - besides, my nose has healed up all fine.”

You wince at his little joke, adding, “It's not just on behalf of Mattheo, I want to for myself too.”

“Oh?”

“I’m worried. I led you on.. Though I swear it was completely unintentional..”

Dean nods his head firmly and grabs your shoulders to calm your rambling. He already understands and offers you one of his kind smiles you had grown to miss. “It’s really alright. I kind of figured that out already.. And I definitely don’t wanna meddle in the middle of your situation with Riddle.”

“Figured out?”

His eyes crinkle and shoulders shake as he laughs at your oblivious confusion. “I'm not oblivious like you two are, besides I don't really want a repeat of my last relationship.”

You nod, not quite understanding what he means by oblivious, but feeling the recurring wave of guilt hit for misleading Dean and so you just give him an appreciative smile. Your heart remains heavy despite Dean’s forgiveness. “I’m sorry again, anyway.”

He shakes his head, dropping his hands from your shoulders, “It’s fine y/n. Maybe catch ya with Eli sometime. But good luck with everything, yeah. Not entirely sure what you see in the nutter, but knowing what kind of girl you are, it must be something good.”

While Dean retreats, catching back up with his mates, you stay eyes locked on where he last stood in a daze of thought. Must be something good. That’s always what you’ve seen in Mattheo, aware that it’s the defining string between your relationship. The knot that continued to tighten throughout your years at Hogwarts, strengthening with every moment of trust and kindness you shared with him.

For once you bite the trepidation and unknown awaiting, the thought illuminating and making the lightbulb brighter. Hoping maybe Mattheo’s reactions to Dean were rather explainable, and burying the one doubtful tic questioning if this was his usual protective self or merging into something new.

With newfound determination, you set off to find Mattheo, choosing to believe in the bright possibility that this territory was Mattheo awaiting under the rainbow of your deepest fantasies with a mutual feeling.

He was mad at you for how you defended that prat so easily, without stopping to question his intentions. But then again, he’d never openly admitted that Dean’s words had gutted him, mentioning his biggest insecurity. Not being worthy of you. Of your attention, your kindness, your laughter, your warmth, and last, your love. It had eaten away at him all week.

He’d hardly slept, which was saying something for he rarely could. He knew he was undeserving, and yet if there was anyone he wanted to prove his worth to, it was you.

He continued to watch the lull of the black lake from within the Boathouse, a quiet spot for his thoughts to wrestle in the ring with one another. He missed you in his arms. He missed the gentle way you would soothe him to sleep. With warm caresses that resembled a mother’s touch, but with you it felt more intimate. His cigarette burned, allowing small moments of relief to flow through his lungs, the inhale of nicotine calming his distressed heart.

He hears the footsteps of someone entering the wooden house and peers over his shoulder, assuming it was someone who knew he came here. Seeing its you, he turns back to look at the water, exhaling another deep breath, his heart exhilarating just by your presence. He suddenly feels clammy, wishing to douse himself in the cold water just to calm his nerves.

His shoulders square tensely as you near, and you continue with caution, uncertain how to proceed. Everyone knows the extent of Mattheo’s temper, and thankfully you’ve never found yourself on the other end.

Your earlier bottomless energy and hopeful determination seems to have found a sudden end, diminishing like his smoke does into the afternoon sky. Being around Mattheo again makes the doubt seep back inwards, wondering if Dean had been imagining something between the two of you.

He stays quiet, listening actively. He doesn’t like where this is going, despite aching to make up with you, having never fought with you like this before. He’s aware this is leading to an unstable vulnerability, and he’s not sure he can hold on to the part of him that despises being soft.

“I’m sorry, I.. I- you.. are wanted. Always, Mattheo.”

He flinches at the use of his full name. Coming from your lips, it sounds so sweet and remorseful. He knows you’re being sincere. He can hear it in your voice and somehow it makes it harder for him to admit his own wrongdoings. “But not in the right way.” He mutters mostly to himself, exhaling the last of his cigarette.

Frowning, not catching his mumbled whisper, you take another step bravely and stand beside him, finally capturing a glimpse at his face. It holds no clear emotion of how he’s truly feeling, constrained by the mask he wears protectively. Eyes locked dead on the smoothness of the water, the clouds darkening out above the lake and the surface breaks as raindrops ripple, gently dropping onto it. Even in his blank expression, he still looks gorgeous, making the butterflies flutter.

He sighs, knowing you’re giving him a look to explain, for an answer, anything as he keeps his lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw clenches desperately trying to avoid glancing at you, for he’s well aware that with just one look, he'd crumble.

He stabs the end of his cigarette out on the wooden panels, discarding it into the previous piles of used up ones. “It's fine, Ace. You’re forgiven. We’re still friends, alright.”

Even as he says the words, he curses himself for leaving your relationship there, when he so wants to take the conversation somewhere else. Somewhere further, where he can express himself to you fully, but he’s afraid. He turns towards the exit. “It's late, and it's starting to rain. Let's head back up.”

You stand frozen, reflecting over his words, “wait - what? I’m forgiven?!”

“Yes, that's what I said. Isn’t that why you came here?” He pushes through the door, feeling the beginning of the downpour hitting his skin, quickening his pace, not checking to see if you’re following.

You trail behind him in disbelief, appalled by his audacity. You knew he was stubborn, but not to this extent. “Yes, but-what about yours? Don’t you think I deserve one too?!”

He hears the pain and confusion in your tone and curses himself. He fights the part of him wanting to swallow his pride and spit out an apology, but he’d never been good at those. That would mean he’d have to explain the reasoning and vulnerable depth, years' worth of trauma that built a viscous insecurity he’d never shared with anyone, not even you. He didn’t feel exactly spritely about indulging you just because you were upset that he hit Dean.

“For what? You’re the one that called me unwanted.”

He knows it's a hard blow as soon as the words leave his lips. But he refuses to change something about himself he knows will only make him weak. Showing that kind of vulnerability and transparency to you is not something he can afford in his life. He can't stand to see your view of him change. To see him fragile, the hidden boy behind the hard exterior. Even if you end up hating him, he’d go to the grave protecting that piece of him, even from himself.

He keeps walking, not noticing that you’ve come to a stand stall, frozen in shock from his jab. His words make your heart ache. It's clear he still holds a grudge over the words you said. You had never meant it like that. It wasn’t that he was unwanted, but his overwhelming protectiveness that ultimately made you feel like he was in control of you, and you had always put up with it.

Never once had you allowed yourself to be selfish and actually enjoy the potential opportunity of romance. Until now, and yet he still continues to act cold, pushing you away.

The rain pours harder, soaking your clothes through to the bone, and you wish for it to absorb you completely. Mattheo finally notices the quieting of your pestering and turns to see you just standing there with an unreadable stare. His brows knit with concern, his earlier irritation washing away, and he blinks through the rain, feeling a wave of guilt.

“Ace.” He descends back down the stairs with a fasten pace, “Fuck- Don’t just stand there, merlin it's pouring.”

Your arms wrap around your body to provide any warmth physically and to your heart, lifting your head heavily as he approaches. “I said I was sorry.” The words whisper with the tone of desolation. Despite your anger, the guilt and worry break the barrier through the emotions you wear on your sleeves, knowing you never wished to hurt him.

He sighs with realization, his habit of self protection had only projected an icy blast at you and messed with your head. He steps without hesitation; coming closer, wrapping you up into his arms, a much needed hug for the both of you. He aches, feeling you reciprocate, gently hugging him back, and he holds you a little tighter, having missed your touch. The way your hands grip with need the longer the two of you stay embraced, and your head snuggles into his chest.

It's one of his favourite positions, his chin aligned with the crown of your head so perfectly. The way he feels ten times lighter now that you’re in his arms, and his eyes close, finally taking a breath of clean air. He gets lost in the moment, grateful for how you’re able to calm him so quickly. How you can take away all his anger at the snap of fingers, all his stress, all his pain even if momentarily just from the mere warmth of your touch.

His peaceful tranquillity breaks by the shakes of your body, and he’s reminded that he is the one to have hurt you. The small sounds of your sniffles smothering into his chest vibrate through to his heart painfully, like an earthquake causing destruction to his protective walls.

Cold water continues to splatter, coating the wet clothes that cling to your bodies, the only warmth radiating from your chests pressed together as one. He rubs your back soothingly, allowing you to express his feelings in the only way he knows how to offer comfort.

He opens his eyes, looking up at the thick darkness of the night; blinking back the rain that has no effort to cease. He can’t fully determine whether your body is still shaking from sadness or the cold. He sighs deeply, looking down at you, offering a smiling feeling as if things will calm back to normal at any moment. “Come on, we should get inside.”

You shake your head stubbornly, not wanting the conversation to end here, and pull back with a deep frown. His smile does little to ease the pain and, in fact, bothers you at how nonchalant he’s acting. “No. it’s just a little rain, and it’s not hurting me nearly enough as your absence of an explanation.”

He studies the wedge of separation you stick between the two of you, the reigniting of infuriated energy charging him like an electric circuit. Why won't you just drop this? He doesn’t answer you, his head turning, looking out over the castle grounds, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he’ll snap at you or, worse, reveal something vulnerable.

You press onwards despite the tensing in his jaw, annoyed that he ignores you. “Don’t you trust me? Why can't you tell me the real reason? I just need to know why you hit Dean?”

“Please, just drop it Ace.” He grits out, trying to keep from raising his voice. His body still turned; his mind buzzing, humming with anxiety.

The lingering anger swarms to the surface at his refusal to even look at you, “I’ve been here for you through thick and thin and you can't even tell me this one simple thing?!”

The clouds boom before a thicker onslaught of water spits down harder on the concrete steps, making it harder for him to hear you. Cowardly, he’s hoping if he ignores the issue, it will go away. But he knows you, and the determination you’re expressing only makes you stubborn like a mule, knowing you won't drop it till you’re satisfied with an answer.

He turns glaring at you. “Let’s just go inside, Ace! It’s fucking thundering!”

Apprehensively, you pause at his loud tone, knowing he’s beyond pissed. But the urgency for the truth pushes you onwards into your questioning, with your heart thinly stretched on the line.

“I can't! I need to know!”

He groans, “Why?! Can’t you just believe me and drop it? Like I already told you that shithead deserved what he g-”

“No! That's not good enough. I need more, a proper explanation Mattheo… and if you can’t tell me why.. I-I'll-”

“You’ll what?!” He snaps with an offensive scornful tone, so bitter he can taste the metal on his tongue for the attitude he’s giving. He blinks the water out of his eyes, shaking his wet hair that hangs soaked to his forehead. “You’ll leave?”

He's ignoring how his mind is screaming to just tell you the truth, to finally bare his heart and soul to you, but the fear of rejection has him by the throat. At this point, though, he’s afraid it won't matter what he does. The outcome is hanging dangerously, that he might lose you either way.

You swallow your turn not to say anything. You hadn’t wanted to actually say it, because it wasn't true. You didn’t want to leave, but you were feeling frustrated, hurt, betrayed.

He continues walking closer with intense energy, the darkness of the atmosphere making him look intimidating than ever. “Gonna walk away? Had too much of me finally, huh!”

His voice raises and you force yourself to hold still and not move from your spot, even when he gets right up in your face. You noticed the clear strain behind his words, and there's a flash of something more in his eyes other than anger, pain.

“Please Matty-y just tell-” you whisper pleadingly.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.. Stop looking at me like that.” He breathes out, hissing with venom and agony.

“Like what?” Uttering the question feels risky, as if the answer will hold all the truth to how he feels. His face twists and turns as your mind spins with anxiety. This is it.

“Just,” He groans with frustration, his voice raising again. “Like that! Fuck. Ace.” The lump in his throat grows, making him uncomfortable and his fists shake, clenching them to control the unravelling pressure.

You blink back the swelling tears and take a braver step closer, “Tell me- god please Mattheo, I swear if this friendship means anything to you! You’ll fucking tell me.” The doubt creeps back in; Dean was wrong. He doesn’t see you the same.

He’s cracking under the pressure and intensity of your gaze, seeing the fire burning like an inferno. There's no longer the usual glowing light he loves. How you stare at him like his answer will make all the difference to how you feel about him. But it's the way you mention your friendship with him that ultimately makes him combust, spilling his deepest, most impenetrable secret.

“Because when you look at me like that, it makes me feel unworthy!” He spits, not pausing to even let you process the emotions coming out of him. “Like I’m breaking you apart from the inside and i-I can't handle that. I can't handle seeing you cry…or even when you look at me in anger. It makes me feel like a piece of shit for who I am.”

His arms are up and his hands stress tangle through the wet locks in distress, “because you’re the best thing in my life! And yet I'm just scum on the bottom of your shoe.. And that motherfucker was right and I hate him for it, because I-i-I don't deserve you!.. Not your kindness… or attention… or friendship, and yet I'm still greedy. I still want more!”

He takes a step back, needing the distance from you. His chest heaves while he lowers his eyes at the pebbled ground, deep in realization that he’s slipped up. The silence between you two is killing him and he’s lost in his head with dread and doubt that he’s just gone and fucked up everything more. He raises his eyes with the little spirit he has left, eyes filled with great pain that knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You want… more.. With me?” The question is barely breathed out into the open space of increasing vulnerability.

He licks his lips, contemplating his next words, taking his time to really study your appearance. He notes the lack of uncomfortableness. There's no show of disgust or rejection of his disclosure for how he feels. He’s surprised he’s still standing considering how his heart is beating, sure if it beats any more he’d need a replacement.

He swallows with force the last of his fear, feeling the lump drag down his throat and sink to the bottom of his pit. He nods, unable to utter anything else, allowing himself to be fully transparent for once.

Tears of realization stream down your face as you comprehend his words, blending with the saturation on your face. He’s not even mad at you. He’s angry with himself. You know him well enough to spot that his eyes reveal his tell. He’s afraid. He wants more, even though he can’t admit it. Your heart skips a beat at the confession.

He’s close enough to catch the onslaught of tears beginning and his face falls with fear. This is what he had apprehended. “Fuck!” He turns with anger, his fists clenching, his body shaking with regret and anguish. “Ace-e - why would you let me tell you this? Jesus!” He’s facing away from you to hold back his tears, his head clouded with assumptions of why you’re upset, all heading in the wrong direction.

“W-what? Mattheo - no these are-” You step forwards reaching for him with a tender arm.

“Dont. Don’t lie to me, Ace.” He shrugs your touch off, blocking his walls back up with ease.

“Mattheo, I'm not lying! I’m not upset-”

“Y/n I’m being serious.. I don’t want your pity-”

You scoff, offended, “Pity!? I've never once taken pity on you, Mattheo Riddle. Is that how you think I see you?” You blink back the tears as he turns again, fighting the frustrations to not just smack some sense into him. God, how oblivious is he to you. “I could never pity you. I respect you too much.”

“Respect me?! What in fuck for?”

The water builds behind your eyes, blurring your vision amongst the rain, watching him express his insecurities. “B-because- because I fucking love you, you idiot!”

There's a buzzing, fluttering feeling in his chest like all his nerves have lit on fire, and he blinks, frozen in shock. His chest rises and falls, shallow and slow, but his heart palpates rampaging behind it. The fuzzy feeling migrates around, running from his fingertips up to the apples of his cheeks like an unwelcoming chill as he attempts to process your words.

Everything he thought he knew disintegrates out into the open space, like a gust of wind swept through his mind collecting all his stupid, suspecting doubts. You love him. Love. Love! The unfamiliar word bounces around his mind as he mulls over the possibilities of the meaning. His mouth runs dry despite the assault of rain, as he struggles to form any words.

“I know this is hard, hell I can’t believe I just said that to you-”

Truly, every piece of love for you is magnified by your relationship with him. Your generosity to accept him for who he is, to open your heart to him, even if he always believed it to be platonic. It was enough to grow his heart, and since then, it had always belonged to you. He pushes every ounce of emotion through, knowing it's easier to express than through words.

“You-u..” He breathes, catching his breath as he pulls back, struggling to get the words out.

A smile graces your face with wide, full cheeks that burn with happiness and you reciprocate his choked upness, feeling the tears start again. The way your head nods ridiculously fast, flicking your drenched hair in all directions, makes him chuckle and he cups your cheeks for fear of it flying off. “Not fucking with me are you now Ace, cuz I swear to god if you-”

Leaning forwards you capture his lips effortlessly, now being the one to shut him up. It's sweet but passionate and he can’t get enough when you pull away. He threads a hand through his soaked hair in utter disbelief, his eyes returning to your loving ones. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. Kiss the crap out of you over and over.” He rests his forehead against yours and reaches down for your hand.

He’s taking in everything you’ve just said, grasping for the same longing that's been sitting, waiting to be released between the two of you like a dam. His face lights, and a little smile curves onto his face, and for the first time he feels the words sitting with ease on his tongue. “You have no idea how in love I am with you. Ace, I’ve been in love with you since forever. Fuck i-just you know I'm not good with words, feelings, all that bullshit.”

You try to fight the blush creeping up your neck, but the smile that appears beaming brightly back at him is impossible to suppress. You’re completely speechless, overwhelmed with euphoric feelings of contentment. Words you’d only dreamed of hearing, now confessed to you in the eye of a storm, and suddenly you’re laughing. “Are we insane?”

His eyes light at your happiness, but he raises a curious brow, not catching what you said at the sound of another boom. “Are- we…WHAT?”

The sound of your laughter bubbles at his adorable confusion. “It doesn’t matter! We should head inside now.” He seems to catch the end of that and nods hurriedly, reaching out to grab your arm, leading the two of you up and into the castle.

Under the shelter of the overhanging archways he turns, grabbing you by your shoulders, “wait- just let me get something else off my chest first.” He swallows, pushing the wet strands back behind your ears, “I’m s-sorry.”

You watch him feeling an immense depth of pride for him, and you smile softly, reassuring him to continue. “look.. I won't apologise for hitting Dean, I don’t regret that and- i-I can’t tell you it all yet, but he said something that cut deep. Whether or not the asshole meant it, I couldn’t take how it made me feel. But I am sorry I ruined your night at the gig. Fuck- I was angry and jealous and I really was trying to look out for you.”

You nod in understanding, accepting that he’s not ready to bear that much emotion in one night, and bring him in for a hug. “Matty.. You don’t know how much I appreciate you trying.” He clings to you, a desperate boy finally receiving the much needed love he had been deprived of for too long. “And-d you didn’t really ruin my night. I wanted to go with you first, anyway. But I got in my head - the doubt i-i just didn’t want to ruin us.”

He pulls back cupping your cheeks, “god we’re stupid aren’t we?” He smiles amused with the obliviousness and blindness you both held for one another. “I’m just glad I didn’t lose you.”

You shake your head, “you never would have. I was bluffing completely.. I couldn’t handle being without you, Mattheo.”

He grins, leaning down to press another soft passionate kiss to your lips, “and you couldn’t have lost me even if you tried Ace. You’re literally iron cast around my heart. The knot is too tight. You’d have to break me just to free the attachment I have to you.” His eyes are sincere and hold so much emotion you’re verging on tears again.

“Okay, ah let's not cry again. I wasn’t lying about not being able to handle that. Let's go back to my dorm. Come on.” His arm guides you wrapping around your waist, a stark contrast to the way his arm usually drapes over your shoulder casually. He helps you walk back to his dorm with care and compassion, the energy between you a mixture of excitement and lightness, the weight of the confession lifted.

He helps you into his dorm, closing the door and gazes at you with pure happiness before searching his dorm for some towels. A room you’ve stood in many times before but never in this sense, and just being here with all your feelings out in the open makes your body prick with anticipation.

You stand watching him shivering a little, and begin to unstick your thick sweater, clinging to your soaked through shirt, stripping it up with difficulty while Mattheo searches through his draws for some clean clothes. The head of the material sticks trapping your head and you groan, frustrated, trying to pull it off, catching Mattheo’s attention. He peers over his shoulder, laughing at the awkward situation he’s spotted you in.

He slides his hands gently up your sides till he pushes the sleeves of the sweater up, freeing your arms before helping squeeze your head through the hole. The sweater drops to the floor; the moment becoming charged with heightened tension and desperate looks reflected in both of you.

His fingers descend, tracing down your sides in slow strokes that makes your heart leap your full attention on him. You exhale small shallow breaths, feeling your insides squirm under his intense stare, not daring to say a word. His hands wrap around the curve of your waist, tugging you inwards till you press fully up against him, giving you his signature boyish grin.

“That's better.” His eyes flicker between the desperation dripping in your eyes to the soft parting of your lips, waiting with anticipation.

You nod, your chest rising and falling with intense yearning, whispering back, “Yes.. I know now.”

“Good. That’s good.” He presses another kiss travelling up your cheek, sparking the heat to rise, flushing the skin a deep red. He grins sincerely, “you look so pretty when you blush.”

You swallow, feeling your body alight with need, buzzing with electricity that runs down to the tips of your toes. You wonder if he knows how aroused you feel right now. The rest of your clothes are slick still with rainwater, but you already know the puddle forming in your panties is definitely from the heat. You attempt to exhale quiet bated breaths throughout your nose, unable to trust your mouth to open, uncertain what kind of animalistic sound would fall out.

Mattheo might be oblivious to love, but he’s a keen observer in the act of sexual intimacy. It’s as if his eyes are an x-ray lust detector. He knows all the tells of an aroused woman. “So pretty Ace, fuck..you’re making me want to kiss you senseless.” His voice strains with restraint. He’s still holding onto some concern, not wanting to freak you out with all his intense energy waiting to consume you.

The struggle in his tone only makes you want him more and your eyes lift upwards, filled with hungry persuasions. Uttering a simple, “please.”

The moment you plead with those sweet eyes, all his control gets thrown out the window. Taking your jaw in his hand, he leans back in to kiss you. His lips melting onto yours, the two of your lips colliding in synchronization. His hands cup the nape of your head, tilting it back, and diving deeper, his tongue pushes, seeking entrance as kindly as he can be while he fights the pure animalistic hunger to devour you urgently.

You moan softly, allowing him access, the two of your tongues dancing with one another like a fervent tango. He mumbles softly against them, “Do you know how long I craved to feel these lips, Ace?”

A deep flush grows on your cheeks and you breathe heavily, gazing up, feeling his lips kiss along the side of your neck. “How long?” You ask breathlessly.

He chuckles at your response and interest. “too fucking long. I always knew that you’d taste this sweet.” The soft sighs and hums that vibrate out of you have his mind spinning and he presses his lips harder onto your skin, needing to entice more out of you. He pulls you closer to him before he’s back, kissing your lips, engulfing you completely.

The two of you continue to make out, still standing, before his fingers slip under your wet shirt and he hisses at the cold contact. “Merin, you're still freezing.”

“I’m okay.” You reassure him, shivering from his touch.

He smiles, noticing the shiver. “Yeah?”

You nod, promising him, finding it sweet how he’s concerned about you. Sliding your own hands up his arms, you find solace cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down, needing another kiss. He falls back into the growing pattern, not wanting to miss even a single moment of your touch.

“I know a way you can warm me up, though.”

His eyes flutter open and he gazes at you, his eyes glistening with similar intention. “Oh, yeah?” He flashes an amused smile, intrigued by your flirtatious energy. “What might that be, Ace?”

Biting your lip with a teasing smile of your own, you step back, pulling him with you onto the bed, causing him to chuckle happily. His arms flex, holding himself up from crushing you with his weight, and his head dips. “Fuck, you look so sexy when you bite that.”

Your face contorts with a soft whine at the flustering compliment and he grins, more pleased with your reaction. His lips reclaim yours once more with delicate urgency, and you match it quickly getting lost, diving your hands into his curls. Having only stroked his hair tenderly, your fingers move with eagerness, tugging and pulling desperately to get a sound out of him.

His hands trace you with the utmost respect and value, different from his experiences with other girls. There's reasoning and depth behind every touch. Enjoying every sweet moment, being able to explore every curve he’s only dreamed about touching. He’s finally able to hold you the way he's always wanted, no longer needing to hide behind his fragile vulnerability in the dark. He's finally giving you all of him under the limelight, and he hopes to show you how he’s felt this whole time.

Mattheo groans at each tug of hair, lowering himself to keep kissing you, his hands sliding under your shirt again, feeling the way your body contracts. The muscles twitch with sensitivity and he swallows your gasp, grinning before pushing dominantly his tongue back in. His fingers peel the wet shirt up and over your bra.

He sits up ditching his own shirt, and your hands roam over his chest, feeling the groves of his past scars, sending shivers down his back. He watches gazing at your eyes and how they view him. You already know about the meaning behind them, but now you get to love them, and he bites his lip to not get choked up at how you look at him with love in your eyes.

“I’ll go gentle on you...just for today, yeah.” Another cheeky grin flashes your way, unaware of the concealed experience of your sexual life.

You laugh at his sweet reassurance, squeezing his hands, loving the feeling of holding onto him. “I’m really not as innocent as you believe, Matty.”

He raises a brow with surprised curiosity. “Are you telling me I’m not about to be your first Ace?”

The silence confuses him, for when he looks down at you, there's a flash of guilt in your eyes. “I’m not?” He feels a wave of jealousy flow through his veins at the thought of you with someone else, though he knows he has no reason to. He leans down, carrying on his sensual onslaught, kissing up behind your ear. He nips it gently as he whispers sultry, “really?”

Feeling your head nod, he lets out a tiny groan, mostly at himself for taking too fucking long to get his shit together. “That is a shame, baby.”

Turning your head to lock with his sight, reassuring him, “It means more with you, though, Matty.”

His eyes soften, giving a curt nod. He can see the sincerity and honesty in your eyes and he offers a smile back, pecking you. He knows it's true, as it is for him. “The same goes for me.” He cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “This isn't a one time thing, okay? You mean so much to me, Ace, and never again do I want to make you feel how I did before.”

His eyes hold so much truth and devotion that you can feel your eyes beginning to water. That is before his hips shift, pressing ever so subtly down, getting into a grinding rhythm as he distracts you from the raw moment with kisses.

He almost jumps out of his skin when your bold hand explores down south, not expecting you to act so brazenly. He shifts, rolling onto his side, allowing your hand to slip inside his pants and wrap around his cock. He can’t help but buck his hips into your palm at the feel of your hand making contact.

“Fuck-Ace.” His eyes droop, looking at you shifting onto your side too, your tits squishing together in the constraints of your bra, his mouth gaping letting out a hitched shaky breath.

Capturing your lips once more, moaning into your mouth, he drowns in the pleasure of how your hand increasingly pumps his cock up and down. He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours with knitted brows, “oh - yeah, ace like that.”

His own hands creep and unbutton your jeans, pushing them down with a bit of urgency. “This okay?”

You nod and ask back, “You? This okay?”

He nods, kissing your cheek and down your neck, “Yes.. better than okay- your hand feels so good.”

You tug your jeans down, kicking them off revealing your panties and he groans, peering down, before he slides a hand rubbing your thigh and tracing his fingers teasingly over the skin as they itch with temptation, brushing gently over your core. He rubs, applying slow pressure over your clothed covered clit and runs a hand through your hair, tugging it back to kiss you. He loves hearing your little sounds muffled into his mouth at the extra sensation you’re feeling.

“So pretty..you sounds so hot.”

You whine sensitively and he swears he’s sent to heaven at the harmonic pitch of your voice. His cock twitches, pulsing in your hand to the sound. Your actions slow focusing on your pleasure and for once he doesn’t mind not being the centre of attention.

He watches with an intense focus full of desire at how your pretty eyes can’t handle staying open, fluttering. The steady rise of your chest increases with every bit of pressure he rubs tauntingly slow. He can't wait any longer, maneuvering his hand under your panties, sliding one finger in, his skin saturated instantly in your juices.

His own breathing congeals to short tiny gasps, eyes darkening, consumed with lustral appreciation. “Soakin Ace. You've been this wet the whole time?”

His question, which seems sincere, causes a flustered reaction and you moan again, grabbing hold of the sheets. He takes it as a yes.

Soft moans of satisfaction infiltrate the room at each hum of your lips. He can feel just how much you’re enjoying this, welcoming him to do what he wants. The trust you have to know what he’s doing is appreciated, and he hums himself in arrogance. Every reaction, sound, movement - watching as your hips begin to jut slightly seek more friction only fills him with a deep pride. You're his girl now, and he’ll never disappoint you again.

His lips move peppering kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin, seeking the achievement of leaving marks of purple hues. “You like that, yeah?”

His finger protrudes deeper, gaining a steady pace, and his eyes flicker away from decoration markings on your neck to your legs spreading wider for his hand. He needs more, hearing every gasp and the sweet moan exhaling from you is pure bliss, and makes him feel on cloud nine.

He hisses gently at how your hand involuntarily squeezes the nearest thing, which happens to be his cock still. It's torture, as you're so focused on him, just pleasing him to even notice the subtle teasing you’re providing. “Sweetheart..” His tone is gritted with bated breath. “F-fuck, please either let go or do something with your hand.”

You moan at the pet name and begin pumping him again, trying to multitask, your brows frowning at his addition of another finger. “Ah- sorry Matty.. I’m trying…just feels s’good!”

He grins at your struggle to speak. “Yeah, feels good?” His fingers meticulously move with skill, slick knuckles deep in your cunt, before he curls them, scraping the spot to make your back arch.

There’s a string of whines as your hips buck up into his hand, “Uh! Yes!”

“Yeah, you want another? Want me to stretch you out…wanna be ready for me, don’t you, Ace?”

While his words are forward and prompting for more, he doesn’t make any moves to do anything until you give him confirmation. He’s continuously checking for your assurance, making sure this is what you want. He just wants to bring you pleasure, watch you get off riding slowly onto his fingers. How your back is arching and your muttering soft pleads, all for him. What's yours is his right.

You nod desperately, “Please Matty!”

He obliges, pushing in a third with ease, your walls contracting to fit him snug inside your drenched pussy. The warmth that evades his fingers has him groaning, listening to a new wave of mews slur out of you. “Fuck-that’s it. Such a good girl, baby.”

He bites back the small protest when you release his cock and grip his arm instead, the indents of your nails digging into his skin, stinging but filling him with a possessive power. He wants your marks on him as much as he wants to leave them on you. To combine your bodies as one and intertwine in a way that goes beyond physical.

Pure bliss overcomes your face and you turn, opening your eyes, glossy with need. Bringing his head down in urgency, you plead. “Matty…Matty, I want more.. Please, I don’t wanna cum unless it’s in you.”

“Shit-t yes yeah?”

His fingers slowly drag, retracting out, pulling a needy whine from the back of your throat, and you nod urgently. He gives his fingers a quick lick, not wanting to waste a single drop of you, watching focused how you shuffle out of your panties.

He shifts sitting up and starts removing his own wet pants with great difficulty. The jeans are heavy and compressed to his thighs tight, causing them to stick, his groin constricted pushing snuggly against the material of his unbutton pants. “Shit- fuck, these are fucking tight now.”

“Fucking Salazar.” He takes in your body as you lay waiting patiently. His lustful gaze only makes you that much hotter. He leans against the bedpost, unable to drag his eyes away. “Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Just checking this is real.” He finishes pulling his pants down, almost tripping over them with excitement that draws a giggle out of you. The sound of your laugh shakes him out of his daze, and he grins cheekily, continuing his mission of ridding his clothes as fast as possible. “God, I love your laugh.. gonna make me cum right now.”

Your laugh grows in ecstatic shock at his vulgar words. “Mattheo!”

“Oh yeah, look at you practicing screaming already.” He grins, finding your flustering adoring. He frees his cock, admiring the absolutely thirsty look painting your face. He can’t help how his mind backtracks to your admission of not being a virgin, and he lets out a speck of jealousy. “Tell me really, am I bigger?”

“Bigger?” Only just are your eyes able to drift away and up with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah.. Then the fucker who stole your virginity.”

You can’t help the pleased laugh breaking out at his not-so-subtle jealousy, trying to hold back the smug attitude. “Seriously, you're getting jealous now, while I'm baring not only my body but my heart and soul to you.” Lifting a feigned unimpressed eyebrow, you watch with astonishment at how his face changes, expressing a small sheepish smile.

You beckon him closer with a finger, welcoming the confidence flowing through you. “Come here.”

As if pulled by a magnet, he crawls back down, hovering above, his eyes gleaming enticingly and the deep inhale of need. The way you’re looking at him as if he holds all your answers, holds all the warmth for you and that he’s the only one to bring you happiness prick at his skin, feeling nervous. But then you smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and whisper an adorable, “Hi.”

He grins back, finding himself relaxing just at the mere sight of those brimming cheeks and whispers back, “Hey gorgeous.”

His hands roam, maneuvering over your body and pushing your thighs apart. He notes how your eyes fall, breath spiking with anticipation. “Hey, look at me.” His voice is a soft, strained whisper, on the break of losing it altogether as the head of his tip drags through your folds. “You know I love your eyes. It's one of your favourite features of mine.”

He’s never done this before. Been so openly intimate, especially as he’s preparing to fuck someone. He nudges the tip a little further in just gently, a low rumble etching out with hoarse feralness. “I want your eyes on me the whole time, ok Ace.”

Meeting his eye, losing yourself drowning in warm pools of brown neediness, listening to his gentle but essential request, you nod in confirmation. “I will. I never want to turn my back on you again. I love your eyes too much, too.”

His cheeks are hurting from how much they’ve stretched into a smile tonight. “God, you’re perfect, aren’t you?” He captures your lips in a short but passionate kiss.

“Just tell me if it's too much, yeah.” He warns concerningly, biting back the desire to lose control and wreck you completely. At just your nod he utters, looking back up, “words Ace.”

“I will.. yeah, Matty just please..”

“Good girl, such sweet manners.” He grins, licking his lip as he grips his cock, nudging it further in between your folds, his eyes fixed on the way your pretty pussy embraces the head so perfectly, like it was made just for him. A glottal groan of relief passes through his lips and he thrusts his hips gently, his cock sliding deeper into the tightness of your warm walls.

“Oh-f-fuck.” He drops his head, pressing his forehead already beginning to bare a sheen of sweat onto yours, feeling the gaping of your own mouth. The sound that pulls from you is sinful, a delicious lewd moan that makes him grip your hips with firmness to not fall apart so quickly.

“God-yeah…You feel so fucking’good.”

At the flexible way your legs bend back towards your chest naturally, he groans breathlessly, taking it as a sign you’re okay for him to pick up the pace. His hips thrust, driving into you with a satisfying rhythm, the moans continuing to tumble from your lips.

“That’s it… you sound so pretty, baby.” He rasps low and husky. He’s looking at everything, watching the pleasure etched on your face while you lay with your eyes scrunched closed, absorbing it all. He flickers his eyes back and forth from how his cock slides between your folds captivatingly and up to your pretty blessed out face. Your mouth gaping as streams of whiney moans flows out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. “Fuck, I don't know where to look baby…look so good taking me.”

Clutching onto him with a grip of iron, nails pinching into his skin as he cages your body in. His biceps bulge under the movement of holding his weight above you. He drops his head into the crook of your neck and he groans, feeling your fingers dig into his hair, listening to your babbled praises. “Matty- ah feel s’good.”

He roams his hands, stretching your legs wider as he presses his palm down to stabilize himself, his hips vigorously bucking with the strength of a raging bull. He doesn’t know how he told himself he could go easy, with the way your pussy squeezes his cock feels as good as pure heroine. He plants kisses on your neck and turns your head towards him, pressing his lips back onto yours.

He’s in love with the way you feel, the way you sound, your touches roaming his body, switching from gentle caresses to carnal scratches. He feels whole with you, intertwined as bursts of passion taint your tongues, each sound harmonising together heavenly. “Ace.. fuck, you’re so perfect.”

You nod, trying to form a solid thought in response, but the way the tip of his cock is gliding so effortlessly into your cervix only makes you chant his name, your voice breaking with a high pitch strain.

It’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever witnessed and he kisses your ear, whispering sweet nothings into them, encouraging your onboarding orgasm. “Mmm yeah, cum for me baby, so fuckin pretty wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your climax breaks, spots of white light blurring your vision and you tighten your arms around him, clinging to the one thing grounding you from the overwhelming pleasure. His head lifts, watching with pure delight at the way your body convulses, glistening with sweat like an ethereal being. His body shakes as his hips jutter following you. Broken groans mumble against the skin of your neck as he spills his seed into you entirely.

He huffs a tired pant, not wanting to move, for he’s never felt so whole as right now. He murmurs softly, pressing a sloppy kiss to your ear, “s'good..the best ace. I could live in your pussy, just fall asleep and never wake up.”

You catch your breath, letting out a shaky laugh that makes your cunt squeeze his cock, releasing another deep groan. He shifts his cock aching sensitivity and pulls out rolling to lie beside you, wrapping an arm around your neck to tuck you into his side.

He rests his chin on top of your head. “You okay?”

Nodding with droopy eyes, you plant a kiss on his collarbone and try to calm your mind and absorb the reality of what’s just happened. “Yeah..you're definitely bigger.” You grin answering his earlier question. You blink, gazing up at him with nothing but love and a rapturous glow on your face. “but I’m ok.. im great.”

He chuckles warmly, not even caring to be cocky anymore. He tangles his hand into the still wet knot of your locks. “fuck yeah you are..and your super sure you're real?”

You pinch his thigh, making a sudden squeal come out of his mouth. “Alright! Aight, no need to seek revenge on me - I already apologised.” He jests cupping your head in a firm hold like one of his usual headlocks, but only plants a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“I am sorry, though, and I mean it.” He shifts so your face is parallel to his and he admires the returning light that shines back into your eyes, a warmth that lights the darkness inside him. He brushes your check with his thumb, over the red hues adorning your cheeks, evidence of your spent state.

“I may be a twat a good portion of the time, and this-”, he gestures between the two of you. “Still scares me, so fucking much.” His words are raw and burn with a vulnerability that still sits unfamiliar in his throat. “You’re truly an enigma. I still don’t know what in the hell you see in me?”

You smile, eyes brimming with the utmost love. "I see everything you don’t.”

It’s the truth, and it always has been. The way Mattheo makes you feel is frightening, electrifying, like you’re caught in a storm and he’s your saving grace, parting the seas, giving you everything you need. How his eyes shine, reflecting your clear emotion, makes your heart beat with the force of a thousand drums stimulating the rest of your body.

A warm buzz vibrates between the two of you, knowing that all along, everything you were both missing was right there. The notion that you'll both be alright, swaddled in the new cocoon of your relationship, both finally receiving the love you deserve together.

This work is my own, please don't copy or claim. Any and all interactions are appreciated, thank you for reading! ty again @amongemeraldclouds for your love and support! couldn't have done this without you!

Navigation. Masterlist. Mattheo Riddle Masterlist.

©️pizzaapeteer 2025

#— 𝐥𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬 ༯ #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader

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kinardsevan · 11 hours ago

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martini shot

inspired by that brand new interview with ButWhyTho. louliver | rated t | 1.4k

“Love of my life? Really? You just had to use those words?”

Lou chuckles as he settles his phone on the counter, rinses off his toothbrush.

“Well, good morning to you, too, Gorgeous,” he replies, dropping his toothbrush into the cup it gets set in each day and lifting the hand towel to his mouth, swiping away any remnants of paste left on his mouth.

“Love? Of my life, Louie?” Oliver’s voice grows more irritated with each word. “Do you need Ryan to remind you what it was already like for the fandom?”

Lou chuckles again, picking up his phone off the counter and walking back into the bedroom. He heads over to the closet and opens it, glancing around at his options for the day. He doesn’t have anywhere to be, and although Oliver has work, he should be around at the end of the night, even if it’s late, so while he doesn’t want to be too formal, he also doesn’t want to look so casual that his boyfriend thinks he isn’t trying. This thing between them isn’t really new anymore—it’s been almost a year since it started, and more than six months since they put a label on it— but he knows that the answer to keeping something feeling fresh and safe is by continuing to breathe life into it.

“Here’s the difference, Gorgeous,” he comments back as he pushes polo after polo aside in his closet. “Ryan, possibly unlike Eddie, is actually straight. Last I checked, he gagged at the suggestion of making out with you on the car ride back from when we shot the funeral procession. Like, full-on, nearly puked right in front of me, Kenny, God, and everybody.”

“That’s not the point, babe,” Oliver whines in response. Lou grins if Oliver is already giving way to terms of endearment, this will be an easy hurdle.

“No, Gorgeous. The point is that if I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s that I don’t want to hide how I feel about you. I know we talk about keeping things quiet outside of our social circles, and that’s fine. We don’t have to tell the whole world when they don’t know us from a hole in the ground. But I’m also not going to lie or feel like I have to backtrack when I’m just speaking my truth.” Lou pauses for a moment to let his words sink in. His gaze stops on a gray long-sleeved henley. It might get too warm for it, but based on what the weather is supposed to be for the day, he’s not overly concerned. “Make sense?”

Oliver is quiet for a few moments, but Lou is so attuned to his various nonverbal sounds at this point that he’s not worried. Eventually, the younger man mutters a drawn-out ‘yeah’ with a sigh.

“Bu-but still, babe,” he croons after a moment. “Love of my life?” It seems that each time he repeats the phrase, his voice pitches higher, and it only makes Lou grin more each time. Between the two of them, Oliver might be the more hands-on one, but Lou is definitely more generous with his words. That’s not to say that he isn’t aware of how Oliver feels—he very much so is—but he’s definitely the one who’s more comfortable saying it twelve times a day versus Oliver’s three or four.

He grabs a pair of jeans out of the closet and tosses them up on the bed along with the shirt, setting his phone down nearby.

“Does me saying that out loud bother you,” he asks, genuinely curious.

“No,” Oliver admits on a breathy exhale, calm as a cucumber. “I think it just…puts things in perspective.”

“In a bad way,” Lou questions as he pulls his shirt over his head. He’s not actually expecting Oliver to say no or get overly sentimental about their relationship, but when the photographer gets introspective like this, he likes to pull as much out of the younger man as he can.

“Not at all. It’s more that, actually, hang on. Can I see you?”

Lou’s phone chimes down on the bed, signalling an attempt to initiate FaceTime. He picks it up and accepts the video call, shifts a few things around on his bed so he can tilt his phone up at the right angle for them to see each other before finishing pulling his shirt down. Oliver grins at the sight—his entire face takes up the frame, and Lou can tell he’s in his trailer at work. A tongue laps across Oliver’s face and Lou smirks.

“Good morning to you too, Jade,” he states. She lets out a little chuff in response, and Oliver shifts the camera back slightly to let her into frame.

“Good morning indeed,” Oliver replies.

Lou raises an eyebrow at him suggestively as he reaches up for his jeans and shakes them out. “You were saying?”

Oliver lets out a breath with a little eyeroll, smirking back at him.

“I was just saying, like, I know we’ve talked about it before and all, but I didn’t ever really think 9-1-1 was gonna be the place I met somebody. You know?” He turns away from the camera briefly, smiling at Jade as he scratches the top of her head while Lou pulls his jeans up with a little hop and then buttons them before grabbing his phone off the bed and then leaning down over it, leaning his weight into his elbows as he looks back at the other man.

“I mean you’re not alone in that,” he responds. “I don’t know exactly what I was holding out for before last year, but I think it’s easier to conceptualize that you’re going to meet someone in a work scenario than it actually is to make it happen. Especially when you assume it’s going to be heteronormative. I knew I wasn’t walking into something that was going to put me in a position where I felt unsafe or uncomfortable, given the people in charge. But did I think everything I’d been trying to find for 39 years was going to be packaged in a mouthy—sorry, what is it the kids are calling you right now? Evil British princess?”

Oliver laughs, shakes his head. “Shut the fuck up.”

Lou laughs with him briefly, a cheeky smile still on his face, at least for a moment, as he looks back at Oliver.

“Seriously, though, Oli,” he admits, a bit softer. “I didn’t say those words out of anything other than the truth, and to-…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Watching you find that range, even in an arguably clinical setting, it’s not fun to watch, and seeing you that devastated over someone who’s technically still alive? Fuck, baby. I don’t- a-and I can’t.”

When he manages to look back up at the phone and see Oliver’s face, his expression has softened to one of love and understanding.

“I love you, too,” Oliver says, his tone still soft. “In the ‘chase you into a disaster, put my emotions fully on display, lose it because the suggestion of you hurting without me being able to solve it kills me’ kind of way.”

Lou lets on a smile as his cheeks warm just slightly. They stare at each other for several minutes until Jade ultimately interrupts again, letting out a whisper of a whine, licking Oliver’s face again. Distantly, Lou hears knocking, and he’s sure Aisha is probably around with food.

“Alright, Gorgeous. Go have fun. Call me if you have time or if you need someone to pick up the kids. Otherwise, I’ll see you later,” Lou tells him.

Oliver nods. In the background, Lou can hear the door to his trailer being opened.

“Send me pictures when you get to Shanna’s,” he replies.

“Will do,” Lou answers, fully smiling now. He blows a kiss at the screen and watches Oliver pantomime catching it, patting it all over his face. “Love you.”

“I love you, Louie,” Aisha calls out from somewhere behind the camera. The screen flips a second later and Lou sees her waving animatedly, grinning.

“Love you too, Aisha,” he replies with a laugh. The screen flips back around just in time for him to get a camera full of Jade pushing herself entirely into frame before Oliver shifts away, laughing.

“Olive juice,” Oliver tells him, his eyes wide and pupils dilated.

Lou nods, mouthing it back, and a second later, the call disconnects. He drops his head against the pillow beneath him with a groan before letting out a laugh.

“The fuck am I gonna do,” he mutters into the air rhetorically. A few seconds later, his phone buzzes in his hand and he looks up, wondering what else Oliver has to talk about.

It’s his sister. He shakes his head at himself with a quiet laugh, and answers the call.

#louliver #rpf #real person fiction #oliver x lou #911 rpf

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pome-seed · 5 hours ago

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The Soldier's Keeper ★ 29

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You should have known. Bucky should have known. Today was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be beautiful. There was no world you could live in that was peaceful.

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: Canon- typical violence. Car Accident. Blood. Guns. Gunshots. Description of Wounds. Loss. Everything. (I'm so sorry.)

Authors Note: Sorry. Love you guys! Let me know your favorite scene from the series so far! I'd love to know. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

You never should have gone alone.

You knew better, but you wanted to be independent. You wanted to show him you could exist on your own, even after your injury. But you were wrong.

You were wrong, and now it was all over.

Bucky and you had finally purchased walkie-talkies. You’d made a plan to stash them in familiar, but hidden, places in the city. So if you ever got separated again, you would have a way to contact each other, and set up a meeting place.

You had also been putting together go bags with supplies to stash. Clothes, bandages, toiletries, a map of the city, and cash. Everything you’d need if you were stranded. Bucky wanted to be prepared for anything. He wanted to know that if you had a repeat of the last time, you would be safe.

Bucky helped you stagger down the last few steps to the apartment landing. “You made it all the way on your own, you’re getting better.”

“And I only had to use you as a crutch for half of it. Watch out, soon I’ll be running marathons.” You chuckled, sticking your hand out for one of the duffels. Bucky was hesitant to hand it over.

He looked at the dark handle in his palm, then glanced up at you. “Are you sure?”

“I have to be able to survive on my own, Bucky.” You told him, wiggling your fingers at him. “If I can’t walk the street alone, what's the point? I might as well live upstairs as your pet.”

He frowned, stepping closer. “You’re not a pet.”

“I know. But I have to prove it.”

“You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I do, to myself.” You smiled, wrapping your fingers around a free space on the handles. “So gimme. Let me do this. Plus, we can talk through the radios the entire time.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head at you as he handed the bag over. You circled the handles around your shoulder and pulled out the walkie-talkie. “Doctor to soldier, do you read me? Over.” You spoke into the mic. You could hear its other half mumble in Bucky’s bag.

He rolled his eyes, pulling the radio out. “I’m not talking like that.”

“That’s going to make it really awkward for me, over.” you pressed the button. You snickered at the wrinkle between his brows. “Come on, let’s go.”

Bucky huffed, walking with you out of the building. You walked side by side to the intersection, then stopped. “Radio me if your leg starts to hurt, I’ll come meet you.”

“I will. I’ll be fine.” You smiled. “See you for dinner,” you turned on your heel and started walking down the street. You could feel Bucky staring at you, his gaze heavy and pressing into your back. But you refused to look back.

If you were going to have to live the rest of your life like this, on the run, you wanted to feel like you could be independent. You wanted to prove to yourself that you weren't helpless. You were in control. You could and would survive. You would make a life you were proud of and you would move forward. And you knew you could do it.

Or at least, you thought you could.

You were wrong.

And god, did you wish you would have just turned around.

You stashed the bag first. You buried it behind a garden maintenance shed in a nearby public park. It was dirty, and suspicious, but you buried it deep. You made sure to bury a daffodil plant from nearby over the drop site, to mark the bag.

You radioed your progress to Bucky, then made your way to the agreed on location for the walkie.

It had been a long time since you took a walk on your own, feeling the sun on your skin and the peace of chirping birds. You used to love going on walks. You remembered the countryside inn you sayed in all those months ago, and how beautiful the trees were there.

The drop site for the radio was a few blocks from your regular street market. In the alley behind the Irish pub. There was a large graffitied Romanian word, one you didn’t recognize. You scraped along the edges of a loose brick in the center of the letter O. Once you finally tugged it free, you radioed to Bucky one last time.

“I’m dropping the walkie now, over.” You released the button, waiting for a response.

“I’m almost finished stashing the bag, I’ll see you back at the apartment.” Bucky had taken the longer route, pitying you and your injured leg. The whole intention of splitting up in the first place was to make the process faster for you both.

You’d stash the bags, stash the radios, then meet at the apartment for a long afternoon of dinner and reading. Like any other day.

“Oh come on, you’re not gonna say it even once?” You chuckled, trying to egg him into using stupid radio lingo.

“Nope.”

“Fine, see you at home.” You snickered, then slotted the radio into the hole. You fitted the brick back in place.

As you stepped back onto the street, you felt proud. You felt more secure with yourself. You were able to do this on your own, without Bucky’s steadying hands or pitying gaze. You did it. And even though you felt a bit childish praising yourself like that, you knew you were allowed to feel proud.

You’d overcome so much, experienced so much. You deserved a moment to be proud of yourself.

Your leg was starting to ache the further down the block you walked, the throb travelling up to your hip. You were fine though, you knew the route back to the apartment and you could drag your leg there. Worst comes to worst, you would wait at the bottom of the stares for Bucky and ask for his help getting upstairs.

You crossed the street, your stomach rumbled. You were excited for dinner. You always ate something cheap and easy, but Bucky was able to get a stake from the butcher shop down the street. He’d been running deliveries for them for a while now, and sometimes it came with perks.

Your thoughts about getting home, and dinner, were interrupted by a buzzing sound swirling around you.

At first you thought it must have been a fly, so you batted your hands around your head. But it continued. You glanced around, at the people walking past you, going on about their lives.

You guessed it must have been someone's phone. No one was close enough for you to hear their notifications.

Your brows crinkled in confusion. The buzzing got louder. Something flickered above you. You glanced up.

A small, hovering machine flew around the corner. A little red light blinked.

Your stomach dropped to your feet.

No.

You stumbled back, walking right into a man digging through his bag. He grumbled something at you in Romanian. “Sorry-” you blurted, panic rising in your chest as your gaze darted around the street. Men, women, children. Families. Couples.

But which of them was it? Who was controlling that thing?

Who was following you?

The man in the ball cap? The man dressed in all black up the street? Or was it the woman leaning against the coffee shop wall behind you, whispering quietly into your phone. It could be anyone. It could be no one. Who was it?

The machine buzzed from above, following your every step.

Oh god.

The radio. You needed to get back to the radio before Bucky stashed it.

You stumbled between a couple holding hands as you frantically paced up the street. You didn’t waste time apologizing. Sweat gathered in your palms. You just had to get to the radio. You needed to find sanctuary to gather your thoughts because it's fine. This didn’t have to mean anything. The machine might not even be what you think.

But the panic swelled and ached, constricting on your lungs as your mind fed you all the worst case scenarios. Because what was your life if not a whirlwind of worst case scenarios?

The intersection ahead was busy with cars and taxis beeping at one another. Men shouted angrily from their windows. Children skipped along the sidewalk. You didn’t have time to wait for the light. You looked both ways and waited for an opening. You staggered off the curb with a wince, a pinching ache travelling up your thigh.

You powered through, jogging across the first lane. The alley wasn’t too far away, you hadn’t made it far. You just needed to-

You heard a woman from behind you shriek.

An engine roared. You saw a flash of red. You saw knuckles against a steering wheel.

Your body slammed over the hood with a sickening thud. You cried out, rolling over metal. Glass fractured beneath the force of your limbs. Your skull cracked against the pavement, your body rolling a few feet away.

The world was chaos above you. People shouted and screamed for help, for the police.

You couldn’t move. Your limbs splayed out on the road. Something warm trickled down your temple. Something cold burned against your cheek, the same feeling spiking along your right leg.

You let out a strangled breath, your cheek pressed to the ground. You tasted blood.

Leather boots stepped into your hazy line of sight. “Îmi pare atât de rău!” A high pitched male voice shouted down to you. “E în regulă! Ajutorul vine, vă voi ajuta.”

I'm so sorry! It's okay! Help is coming, I will help you.

The words sounded muffled to your ears, hovering and dissipating above you. Large hangs pushed you onto your back. You cried out, feeling something pinch in your pelvis. A silhouette hovered above you, scooping beneath your arms. You tried to squirm, your foggy mind stalling, but catching on the one thought you still had.

Run.

“Trebuie să o duc la spital!”

I have to take you to the hospital!

Bile rose in your throat as your mangled body was dragged along the bloodied pavement. A car door opened. You were being laid out across the backseat. Cold tears stained your heated cheeks.

Doors slammed shut. You heard the engine rev. More voices spoke above you.

No end to this would be in your favor. No police. No hospital. No witnesses.

“N-...” your throat closed around your attempt at words. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. You blinked, trying to clear your vision. Your head lolled to the side, watching the world move through the windshield.

But then you saw it.

The man in the front seat pressed something in his ear canal, then spoke in a rushed tone. He glanced back at you from the rear view mirror.

You choked on a muted sob, your heavy hands smacking against the door above your head. The man in front shouted something at you. You groaned, crawling onto your back. You yanked the handle, but the door stayed shut. You smacked your hand against the door until your fingers found the lock.

The driver slammed on the breaks, shouting back at you. You blinked, your vision clearing enough to finally see the man’s red face. You swung your open palms at the man, your nails catching on his skin. You snarled, shoving yourself forward to reach for him as he jerked back.

“Fu-Fuck!” you slurred, scratching his cornea. He shouted, his foot slipping off the break. You took your chance and yanked open the door.

You toppled out and climbed up on gangly limbs. You stumbled forward, running awkwardly as blood dripped down your leg. Civilians gasped as you shouldered through them, your bloody fingers sliding across walls to keep yourself up.

You took a break halfway up the street to throw up on the sidewalk, your head pulsing and aching. You could barely make sense of your movements, you just knew you had to get to that radio.

You had to move.

Shouts cried out from behind you, you looked back over your shoulder to see the man clutching his face, waving something at you. Your stomach rolled as you realized what it was. So much for no witnesses.

A bullet sparked against a lamp pole beside you, making you jump back in shock. “Shit-” you heaved. A group of teenagers shrieked and scattered from in front of you. A young boy shoved past you, knocking you into the nearest wall.

You shakily tried to right yourself. It was just a second, but it was long enough.

A sharp, burning, screaming pain ripped through your shoulder. you sobbed, catching yourself on the wall again. Your trembling fingers pressed to the steadily soaking spot below your collarbone.

You staggered forward, sliding your feet one after another until You resembled walking. You dove behind a group of tourists, frozen in the street, using them for cover.

When you finally crashed into the alleyway, you could barely see straight. Your skinned palms dragged along the wall until you found the loose piece. You yanked the brick from the wall. Your bloody fingers dug out the radio until you had it tight in your hand.

“Bucky-?” you slurred into the mic. “Bucky please-” you tried not to gag as blood slid down your side. You stumbled further into the alley. Mindlessly, you wrapped a hand around the cold metal hinges of the nearest fire escape. “Bucky-”

“Y/n?” His familiar voice cracking through the radio made you sob in relief. “Y/n? What’s happening?” He called to you as you slowly dragged your body onto the fire escape. “Y/n-”

You slumped against the dirty brick wall, your eyes fluttering open and closed. “Bucky…” you whispered, your body draining of energy.

“Y/n? What’s happening?”

“Bucky it happened- it- oh god- they're using drones,” you heaved, trying to wipe the sweat from your face but only smearing blood across your cheeks. “I’m- Bucky-” Nothing made sense to your frantic mind. Adrenaline pumped hot in your veins, but you were at a steady loss of blood. Everything felt cold.

“Y/n! Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?” His voice grew steadily in panic.

“I-I’m shot Buck- I-I think I’m shot,” you whispered, pressing your free hand to your steadily oozing wound. Your fingers dripped red.

“What? Where are you? I’m coming, are you in the alley?” Bucky sounded like he was shouting, but he felt far away. You tried to keep your eyes open, staring at the bricks across the way.

“Don’t come…” you panted. Your fingers felt cold. “They’re coming, Buck.” You let your hand slide into your lap, letting blood drip down your arm. “I was wrong…” you whispered, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry…” your lip trembled between words. You should have listened.

You shouldn’t have been so stupid.

“Sweetheart, listen to me, stay where you are-” Bucky shouted. “Put pressure on your wounds-”

“Bucky…” you dragged your lips against the radio, leaning your face into it. “Thank you.” You knew the man was close- much closer than Bucky. You knew it was really over this time. “Thank you, Bucky.” You wept. “Thank you for everything.”

“Y/n- stop it-”

You pressed your shaky finger to the button, cutting him off. Shouts from down the street echoed. “They’re almost here. I’m- Bucky, I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I wanted- I really wanted…” Tears streamed freely down your bloody face. “Be careful. I-I know you’ll be good.”

There was so much you wanted to say to him.

“Y/n, just shut up and try to stay awake,” he begged. You’d never heard his voice like that. You wished you could see him. You thought it was good you couldn’t.

You wouldn’t be able to do this if you saw him.

You wouldn’t be able to say goodbye.

“Don’t be scared.” You told him, your voice growing weak. Your head felt light. You blinked back tears. “You’ll be much safer…on your own.” You heard a man’s rapid footsteps echo in the alley. Your eyes felt heavy.

“Y/n,” he paused, his voice gruff and begging. He was panicked. He was terrified.

He wasn’t gonna make it.

You smiled ruefully to yourself. “Thank you, Bucky. For everything.” You whispered, switching the radio off. Then, as you heard the man shout at you from below, you started smacking the plastic walkie-talkie into the brick wall beside you, again and again. Until it cracked and frayed, shattering in your hand.

You felt the metal frame of the fire escape shake. You let your eyes slide closed.

You wished you would have gotten one more dinner with him.

Bucky hit the floor, his back sliding against the door. He heaved, his throat closing up on the need to gag. He stared down at his trembling hands. Blood caked beneath his fingertips. His chest constricted, his head filled with the sounds of your soft, quivering voice.

“Thank you Bucky. For everything.”

You were gone. You were really gone this time.

He knew better.

He should have said no. He should have gone with you. He should have known what would happen. They knew you were the weaker target. They knew they could use you.

He guessed that any minute, a team of dozens would be storming the apartment. He guessed at any minute, the small world the two of you had built together, would come crashing down.

The home you’d both grown so familiar with. Shattered into fragments of a bloody memory.

The apartment that still smelled like you.

He could still see your pajamas folded on the floor beside the bed. Your touch, your color, your life was painted and embedded into every inch of that room. But it didn’t matter. You weren’t coming back. Not this time.

He was alone.

“Thank you Bucky. For everything.”

And it was all his fault.

A/N: I'm glad the last chapter gave you guys a bit of comfort before....this....and everything that follows. Love yall!! Comment, message, send anons, let me know your thoughts. Please be kind!

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout

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prettydaisygirl · 2 days ago

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doctor!James Potter x anxious!reader who comes in for an appointment ✿ 607 words

cw: James is a dermatologist, I don't think I wrote any identifying traits for reader, reader is very anxious, James is a flirt, medical talk

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You try to calm your shaking hands, breathing slowly through your nose. The room is plain, nothing exciting to look at or keep your attention. The exam table is cold below your legs.

The nurse who brought you back hadn’t made things any better. Questions about your medical and surgical history, allergies, medications. No small talk. You should’ve brought someone for moral support, but you didn’t want to seem like you couldn’t do this alone. You regret thinking that now.

A loud knock sounds from the door and you jump, heart leaping into your throat. The door cracks open, and a handsome man pokes his head in.

“Hello, are you ready?” He asks kindly, and you nod, slow and nervous. He steps inside, tall and broad and taking up most of the space in the tiny exam room. He radiates confidence and charm, and his smile adds butterflies to the nerves already churning in your gut.

“I’m James.” The doctor greets you, holding out a hand for you to shake. Yours trembles as you take it.

“Shouldn’t I… call you Dr. Potter?” You ask, your voice as shaky as your hands and probably three octaves higher than normal.

A charming grin takes over his handsome features. “Technically, yes.” He lets out a chuckle and your heart skips a beat. “But please, Dr. Potter was my father. Call me James.”

You think maybe he’s just trying to make you feel better when he smiles at you like that, but you feel your cheeks warming.

“Well, seems as though you have a spot today that you’re worried about?” He asks, pulling a small light out of his coat pocket, holding it in his hand.

“Oh, uh…” You swallow thickly, panic and fear running through you again. “Yes, it… it just came up and I was worried because it looks weird…”

He smiles softly, nodding and looking into your eyes so you know he’s listening intently. “Well,” he says, “let’s see it, then.”

You nod, your heart skipping a beat for a different reason this time. You bend down to reach for the bottom of your pant leg. You lift it up, pointing out the spot that recently appeared.

James nods, crouching down, and uses the small light in his hand to take a closer look at it. His hand rests on your leg, warm and big and bringing you more comfort than it should.

“Well, good news,” James tells you as he pulls away, smiling up at you like an angel in round glasses. “It’s fine.”

“It is?” You ask, relief evident in your voice as your whole body relaxes a bit. His thumb brushes over the spot, a soothing, gentle motion.

“It is.” He repeats, “Benign, nothing to worry about. It won’t hurt you.”

Your whole body fully sags with relief this time, the tension and worry leaving your muscles. “Thank you,” You tell him, gratitude obvious in your expression. You can’t help but smile softly at him.

James stands, patting your shoulder and his smile lights up the room once more. You wonder why he bothered becoming a doctor when he looks like that, but you’re grateful he did.

“If it makes you feel better,” He offers lowly, hand dropping back down to his side, “You can come see me again next year just to make sure.”

Your heart soars, even though he probably says that to all his patients. “Thank you, Dr. Potter.”

He shoots you a look.

“Sorry,” You quickly correct, “James.”

He smiles. “You’re welcome.” He says, and then he sends you a wink, hand on the door handle, “I’ll see you next year.”

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#daisy's writings #doctor!james potter #james potter au #james potter #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter one shot #james potter drabble #hp marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction

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sherewrytes · 1 day ago

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𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 17

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki @helightknight21@dylsw@ria-s-writes@sleepymothafterhours@sukunasstomachtongue@cosmic-lovr@imm0rtalbutterfly@kyo-kyo1 @7thsthings

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

Fic Playlist

Masterlist

Will proofread again a bit later

I don’t even see it coming. Gojo’s hand is on my collar before I can blink, yanking me toward him like I’m some unruly kid. His grip is firm, almost too tight, and his voice is sharp, cutting through the fog clouding my head. He’s saying something, his words laced with anger and disappointment, but I can’t focus. I can’t hear him.

All I can think is why am I still here? Why does he even care?

“Just drop me home,” I mutter, barely loud enough to hear myself over the pounding in my ears. I look past him, ignoring the way his face twists in frustration, and focus on Kenjaku instead. “Drop me home,” I repeat, pulling away from Gojo’s grip.

For a moment, Gojo looks like he might grab me again, but he doesn’t. He just lets out this long, tired sigh, his hand falling to his side as he takes a step back. I don’t even look at him. I’m done with this.

Behind us, Geto’s voice cuts through the chaos, loud and angry. “What the hell were you thinking?!” He’s yelling at Kenjaku now, pacing back and forth like he’s ready to throw a punch. “You knew he just got out today! You knew he wasn’t ready for this, and you had that shit in your car?! What the fuck, man?!”

Kenjaku’s face is pale, his hands shaking as he rubs them over his face. He looks just as wrecked as the rest of us. “I forgot,” he stammers, his voice cracking. “I forgot that shit was in my car. I fucked up, man. I fucked up.” He’s pacing now, his movements frantic.

I watch them for a second, the scene playing out in front of me like a bad movie. Kenjaku’s pacing, Geto’s yelling, Gojo’s glaring at me like I’m the biggest disappointment he’s ever seen. And me? I’m just standing here, watching it all like it doesn’t matter.

Because it doesn’t. Not really.

Geto shouldn’t be blaming Kenjaku. He shouldn’t be wasting his energy on him. Kenjaku didn’t do this to me.

He didn’t make me this way. I did. I’m the fuck-up here. It’s always been me.

The thought settles in my chest like a weight, heavy and unrelenting. I let out a shaky breath, my fingers twitching at my sides. I can still feel the high coursing through me, numbing everything but the guilt. It’s always there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to swallow me whole.

I glance at Kenjaku, who’s still pacing, muttering under his breath about how he messed up. And I want to tell him to stop. To shut up. To stop acting like this is his fault, like he’s the one who ruined me.

But I don’t. Because what’s the point? I’m already ruined.

The sound of Geto’s voice, the pacing, and Gojo’s silent judgment—it all started to grate on my nerves. I could feel the irritation bubbling up in my chest, mixing with the high, making me restless. My jaw clenched, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aye, Kenny!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Drop me home, man! The fuck is you doing?”

Kenjaku stopped mid-pace, his head snapping toward me like I’d slapped him. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He just stood there, looking as lost as I felt.

Geto turned to glare at me, his hands still clenched into fists. “Are you serious right now?” he barked. “You’re acting like this is normal! Like this shit is fine!”

“It is fine,” I snapped back, throwing my arms out. “Ain’t nobody asking you to care! So why don’t you just back the fuck off and let me handle it?”

Gojo stepped forward again, but I shot him a look before he could get close. “Don’t even start, Satoru. I’m not in the mood for one of your fucking lectures.”

He just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was exhausted with me. “You couldn’t even last 24 hours, Sukuna,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Not even a full day.”

“Yeah? And what about it?” I fired back, my voice rising. “What do you want me to say? That I fucked up? Fine! I fucked up, okay? You happy now?”

Kenjaku took a hesitant step toward me, his hands raised like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “Ryomen, listen—”

“Nah, you listen,” I cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “You wanna act like you care, like you didn’t just leave that shit sitting there for me to find? Don’t play dumb, Kenny. Don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted.”

His face fell, his expression crumpling like I’d just sucker-punched him. “I forgot it was there,” he said quietly, almost too quietly for me to hear. “I swear to God, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” I snarled, cutting him off again. “You think I give a shit about your excuses? Just drop me the fuck home.”

The tension in the air was suffocating, the weight of everyone’s eyes on me making my skin crawl. I opened the car door and climbed back in, slamming it shut behind me.

I leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes and letting out a shaky breath. The high was still there, dulling the edges of everything, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

I could hear Geto and Kenjaku arguing outside, their voices rising and falling like a broken record. Gojo’s voice joined in every now and then, calm and measured, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

I leaned back in the seat, trying to drown out the noise outside. Geto’s yelling, Gojo’s calm but cutting words—it all blurred together like static. But then I noticed Kenjaku walking off, pacing like a madman before finally jumping into the car. He slammed the door so hard the whole car shook, muttering curses under his breath.

“This is some bullshit,” he growled, gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to rip it off. “I’m gonna drop your ass home. Try not to fuck up the rest of my night for once, man.”

His words hit a nerve, and before I could stop myself, I shoved his head, hard enough that it smacked against the driver-side window with a dull thud. The sound was satisfying, but not as much as seeing his face twist in anger.

Kenjaku whipped his head around, eyes blazing. For a second, I thought he was about to swing on me, his fist twitching at his side. “You got one more time to try me tonight, Ryomen,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Just one.”

“Yeah? Then do something,” I sneered, leaning forward like I wanted him to. “C’mon, Kenny, show me you ain’t all talk.”

He stared at me for a beat, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, but then he just exhaled sharply and started the car. “You ain’t worth the energy,” he muttered, shaking his head. He rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “Yo, Geto! Gojo! I’m dropping his dumb ass home. Y’all can stop babysitting now.”

Geto’s voice came from somewhere behind us. “If he pulls this shit again, don’t bother calling us next time.”

Kenjaku waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll handle it.”

The car started moving, and I could feel his anger radiating off him like heat. He gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched as he muttered to himself.

“Dumbass, always making shit harder than it needs to be,” he grumbled. “I should’ve left your ass on the street.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back, tapping my fingers against my leg to the beat of some song in my head. “Just drive, Kenny. You’re wasting your breath.”

Kenjaku finally pulled up to my place, the silence between us thick and suffocating. The streetlights cast faint shadows over the driveway, the empty windows of my house staring back at me like hollow eyes.

I let out a dry laugh as I reached for the door handle.

Of course, no one was home.

I’d forgotten Yuuji and Choso were staying at Toji’s. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

The car door creaked as I pushed it open, but Kenjaku’s voice stopped me before I could step out. “Sukuna,” he said, his tone softer now, like he was speaking to a child about to do something stupid. “Try to stay clean tonight…..well dont do anymore shit”

I froze for a moment, gripping the door handle tightly. His words hit deeper than I wanted to admit. I sighed, not bothering to look back at him. “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, stepping out and slamming the door shut behind me.

As I made my way to the front door, his car didn’t move. I could feel his eyes on me, probably waiting to see if I’d stumble or second-guess myself.

He knew me too damn well.

The house was dead silent when I stepped inside. No laughter, no chaos, no Yuuji begging me to make him food or Choso yelling at him to shut up. Just me and the suffocating quiet.

I leaned against the closed door for a moment, running a hand down my face.

What the hell am I even doing anymore?

I flicked on all the lights, the artificial glow doing little to chase away the darkness clinging to my mind. Plugging my phone into the charger, I tossed it onto the counter before stripping out of my clothes, each piece hitting the floor with a dull thud.

The shower was hot—steam curling against the bathroom mirror—but it didn’t help. The water hit my skin like needles, but no amount of scrubbing could wash away the weight crushing my chest.

Her voice. Her face. The sting of the love of my life with my best friend.

It played on repeat, eating away at me.

When I stepped out, towel wrapped loosely around my waist, the room felt even emptier than before. My phone’s screen lit up, buzzing against the counter. I froze.

Mom.

The name flashed across the screen, her persistence showing in the way the phone vibrated angrily in place.

What the fuck does she want?

I thought bitterly, clenching my jaw. I stared at it for a moment, debating whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail like I always did.

But the buzzing didn’t stop. Finally, with a sharp exhale, I snatched it up and pressed the green button.

“What?” I barked into the phone, pacing the length of the kitchen, my wet footprints marking the tiles.

"I heard about your stint in the slammer," her voice came through, sharp and condescending. It was like nails on a chalkboard, grating and infuriating.

My grip on the phone tightened. “I didn’t go to jail, you bitch,” I snapped, pacing faster. The anger surged like a second heartbeat.

There was a brief scuffle on her end, muffled voices overlapping. Then a deeper voice cut through the chaos—my father.

“Sukuna,” he said, calm but cold, the way he always sounded when he was gearing up for a lecture.

I stopped in my tracks, the silence in my apartment suddenly deafening. I pressed the phone harder against my ear, my jaw clenching. “What the hell do you want, old man?”

“You need to get your shit together, boy,” he said, each word hitting like a slap. “Your brothers are looking up to you. You can’t keep running around like a damned fool, breaking into fights and—”

“Don’t you dare,” I cut him off, my voice low and threatening. “Don’t you dare talk to me about them.”

“Who the hell else is gonna talk sense into you?” he shot back, his tone rising. “You’re spiraling, and you’re dragging this family down with you.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “Family? You’re only ‘family’ when you want to point fingers. Where the fuck were you when Jin died? Huh?”

“Don’t you bring your brother into this—”

“Why not?” I snarled, my voice cracking under the weight of my anger. “He raised me more than you ever did. He’s the only reason I kept my shit together this long.”

The line went quiet for a moment, the weight of my words hanging between us like a loaded gun. Then, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“Get some help, Sukuna,” he said, his voice softer but no less cutting. “Before you lose everything.”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I hung up, tossing the phone onto the counter with more force than necessary. It skidded across the surface, knocking into an empty bottle that clattered to the floor.

Lose everything? I thought, my chest heaving as I glared at the phone. I already have.

“You wanna lecture me now?” I hissed into the phone, pacing back and forth. My knuckles were white, the phone trembling in my grip. “You abandoned us! You and Mom just up and left, dumped all your responsibilities on Grandpa so you could go live your perfect little lives. You don’t get to talk to me about family!”

“You ungrateful little shit,” my father snapped, his voice rising. “We did what we had to do. You don’t know half of it.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” I barked, slamming my fist against the counter. The sting barely registered. “You didn’t ‘have to’ do anything except be there for us! But no, you left Jin and me to fend for ourselves like we weren’t even yours. Like we didn’t fucking exist!”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then his voice came back, low and sharp. “Keep running that mouth, Sukuna. You’re lucky I’m not there right now, or I’d put you in your place.”

“Yeah? You think you scare me?” I snarled, my voice dripping with venom. “Come over here, old man. Try it. I dare you.”

I could hear him breathing heavily on the other end, the tension crackling like static. Then he laughed—a deep, humorless sound that sent a chill down my spine.

“Fighting you would be a waste of time,” he said, his tone icy. “Beating an addict is senseless. You’re already your own worst enemy.”

His words hit like a slap, the air leaving my lungs in a rush. My grip on the phone slackened, but I forced myself to hold it together.

“You think you know me?” I said quietly, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

“I know enough,” he said coldly. “Enough to see you’re following the same path as your mother. You think you’re invincible, but you’re just a broken little boy, lashing out at the world because you can’t face yourself.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, my voice shaking with barely contained rage.

He sighed, the sound almost pitiful. “Get your shit together, Sukuna. Before there’s nothing left of you to save.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a long moment, my chest heaving, my mind racing. Then I hurled it across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall.

Nothing left to save?

My fists clenched at my sides as I glared at the broken pieces.

I was never worth saving to begin with.

Frustrated, I tossed my phone onto the counter and yanked open the fridge. Empty shelves and a single expired condiment stared back at me. “Great,” I muttered under my breath, slamming the door shut. With nothing edible in sight, I grabbed my phone again and ordered a pizza.

As I placed the order, a notification lit up the screen. My group chat with Toji, Geto, and Gojo was blowing up, messages pouring in faster than I could read. Curiosity got the better of me, and I tapped into the chaos.

Toji was the center of it, recounting our earlier confrontation in vivid detail, painting himself as the victim. I scrolled through their responses, some jokes, some questions, but I didn’t reply. The whole thing felt too exhausting to bother with.

Then, another message popped up—this time, a direct text from Gojo.

"Open up. I’m outside."

Why the fuck is he here. Didn’t I just leave him and Geto…ughhh Fuck!

I stared at the message from Gojo, my jaw tightening. What the hell does he want now? Of all nights, he had to show up now. I rubbed my temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache creeping in.

For a moment, I considered ignoring him, pretending I wasn’t home. But knowing Gojo, that wasn’t going to work. He’d just bang on the door loud enough to wake the entire neighbourhood.

I dragged myself to the door, my feet heavy, my anger barely subdued. Pulling it open, I was met with Gojo’s grinning face, his sunglasses perched on his head like he was about to hit the beach instead of dealing with my mess.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Reach home alright I see?”

“What the fuck do you want, Gojo?” I snapped, slamming the door shut behind him.

He turned to me, his smile faltering just slightly before he shrugged. “To check on you. Toji’s blowing up the chat, saying you lost your mind tonight.Then the whole incident earlier as well.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms as I leaned against the door. “I don’t need a babysitter. Go bother someone else.”

Gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked around the house. “Damn, man. You’re really living like this?” He gestured to the empty fridge, the mess of clothes on the floor, and the broken phone lying in pieces across the room.

“Don’t start,” I warned, my voice low.

“I’m not here to lecture you,” he said, holding up his hands. “I just… I get it, okay? Shit’s been hard for you lately. But you can’t keep going on like this. It’s not healthy.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Healthy? You think I give a fuck about that? Look around, Gojo. This is my life. This is all I’ve got left.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” he shot back, his voice firm now. “You’ve got Yuuji. Choso. Hell, you even have us, whether you want to admit it or not.”

I glared at him, the mention of Yuuji and Choso hitting a nerve. “Don’t bring them into this. They’re better off without me.”

“Stop that,” Gojo said, stepping closer. His usually carefree expression was gone, replaced with something harder, something more serious. “You think you’re doing anyone any favors by pushing them away? You think Yuuji doesn’t notice? Or Choso? They’re not stupid, Sukuna. They see you falling apart, and it’s killing them.”

I looked away, my jaw tightening.

They don’t deserve this. They don’t deserve me.

Gojo sighed, his voice softening. “Look, I’m not saying you have to fix everything overnight. But you’ve got to start somewhere. And maybe that starts with not trying to fight Toji or screaming at Y/N.”

At her name, my chest tightened, the weight of tonight’s events crashing down on me again. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself. “It’s not that simple, Gojo.”

“It never is,” he said, shrugging. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

I didn’t respond, the silence between us stretching out. Finally, Gojo clapped me on the shoulder, his usual grin returning.

“Pizza’s here,” he said, pointing to the door where the delivery guy was knocking. “At least you’re feeding yourself tonight. That’s a win.”

I snorted despite myself, shaking my head as I went to grab the food. Gojo might’ve been annoying as hell, but maybe—just maybe—he had a point.

I let the pizza box drop onto the counter and headed straight to my room, a single goal in mind. My weed stash better still be there.

Rummaging through the drawer, I exhaled in relief when I found it untouched. “Still got it,” I muttered to myself, grabbing enough to roll up two quick joints. It didn’t take long; muscle memory did most of the work.

Satisfied, I headed back out, the first joint already dangling from my lips. But as I stepped into the living room, my steps slowed.

There he was—Geto. He’d just strolled in like he owned the place, his hands shoved into his pockets, his usual air of calm intact. He stopped and stared at me. No words, just a heavy, assessing look that shifted from my face to the joint hanging casually between my lips.

I met his gaze and exhaled a slow stream of smoke, unfazed.

I froze for a moment, the joint hanging loosely from my lips as Geto strolled in like he owned the place. His sharp eyes scanned me, taking in the mess I was and the unmistakable smell of weed lingering in the air.

He stopped in the middle of the living room, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and gave me a long, deliberate look. “Really, Sukuna?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, ignoring his judgment as I sparked the lighter and took a deep drag, letting the smoke curl out of my nose.

Geto sighed, his expression unreadable. “ you were spiraling earlier, so I figured I’d come see well check in on you.”

I smirked bitterly, blowing a cloud of smoke in his direction. “Well, take a good look, Geto. This is what ‘spiraling’ looks like. Happy?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t react to my defiance. Instead, he walked over to the couch and sat down like he had all the time in the world. “You know, for someone who acts like they don’t give a shit, you sure make it obvious how much you do.”

I narrowed my eyes, taking another drag. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re angry,” he said plainly, leaning back. “Angry at everyone—Toji, Y/N, your parents, even yourself. But instead of dealing with it, you’re sitting here getting high and pretending it’ll make everything go away.”

I clenched my jaw, the joint trembling slightly between my fingers. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Geto tilted his head, his gaze piercing. “Don’t I? You think you’re the only one who’s been through shit? You’re not special, Sukuna. We’ve all got demons. But at least the rest of us are trying to fight ours.”

His words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I turned away, pacing the room to shake off the frustration bubbling inside me. “Why do you even care?”

“Because you’re my friend, you idiot,” Geto said, his tone softer now. “And as much as you piss me off sometimes, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself.”

I stopped, the weight of his words settling on my chest. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the wall, the joint burning down between my fingers.

“Put it out,” Geto said quietly, nodding toward the joint.

I hesitated, the defiance in me wanting to resist, but something about the way he looked at me—calm but unyielding—made me pause. With a sigh, I stubbed it out in the ashtray, the room suddenly feeling heavier without the haze of smoke.

“Now what?” I muttered, crossing my arms.

Geto leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now you start getting your shit together. One step at a time. And we’ll be here to make sure you do.”

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” he admitted, standing up and clapping a hand on my shoulder. “But it’s better than whatever this is.”

Before I could respond, the door opened again, and Gojo walked back in with two beers in hand. “So, what’s the verdict? Is Sukuna salvageable, or do we just leave him to rot?”

Geto rolled his eyes, but I caught the faintest smirk on his face. “He’s got potential.”

I snorted, sitting down heavily on the couch. “Glad to know I’m such a promising project.”

Gojo handed me a beer, his grin wide and infuriating. “Cheers to that.”

I grabbed a slice of pizza, chewing in silence while Gojo and Geto helped themselves like this was some kind of hangout. The room was quiet except for the occasional crunch of crust or Gojo mumbling about how the pizza wasn’t bad but could use more cheese.

Halfway through my second slice, the memory hit me like a slap. I dropped the crust onto the plate and leaned back, glaring at both of them. “Wait a minute.” I paused for effect, my voice low and cold.

“I thought I told you two I wanted nothing to do with you.” I jabbed a finger in their direction, eyes narrowing. “So why the fuck are you both here?”

The room grew a little quieter as my words hung in the air. Geto didn’t flinch, but I could see the way Gojo’s smirk faltered for a second, his eyes narrowing as he set his beer down on the coffee table.

"Yeah, you did say that," Gojo replied, his voice a little more serious now. "But you’re not exactly in a state to be making decisions like that."

I looked between them, frustration bubbling up again. "You both really think I need you here? After everything? You think I’m just gonna fall back into this, like it’s fucking normal?"

Geto took a slow sip from his drink before speaking, his tone calm but heavy with meaning. "It's not about what's normal, Sukuna. It's about you not shutting us out completely. We're still here for you, whether you want us to be or not."

I could feel my jaw clenching, my hands gripping the edge of the pizza box as if it could somehow steady the anger and confusion swirling inside me. "You think I want your pity? You think I need your help?" My voice was rising again, and the frustration had me seething. "I’m fine. I don’t need any of this—you—right now."

Gojo leaned forward, his usual cocky demeanor slipping just a little. "It’s not about pity," he said quietly. "It’s about you, you dumbass. You think you can handle all this on your own? Look at you—this isn’t you. You’ve been through hell, and you’re trying to bury it all under drugs and anger. We know you, Sukuna. You’re better than this."

I wanted to argue, to shout at them, to push them out and slam the door. But something in Gojo's words stung too deep, and for a split second, I saw everything I was trying to ignore. I dropped my gaze to the pizza, feeling the weight of everything—the past, the broken relationships, the people who tried to be there for me despite my best efforts to shut them out.

Geto sighed, his voice softening, though I could hear the undercurrent of frustration in it. "We didn’t come here to fight with you, Sukuna. We came here because we care. You can hate us all you want, but we’re not going anywhere."

I swallowed hard, trying to push back the wave of emotion that threatened to break through the anger. "You shouldn’t. You have every right to walk away."

Gojo chuckled, though it was dry, a little bitter. "Not gonna happen, buddy. You might be a pain in the ass, but we’re stuck with you."

Geto gave me a pointed look, then grabbed another slice of pizza. "You're not as alone as you think you are. And you're sure as hell not getting rid of us that easy."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the exhaustion, the hurt, and the weight of everything I’d been avoiding hit me all at once. "I didn’t ask for any of this," I muttered, more to myself than to them.

They both stayed silent, the room thick with the tension of everything left unsaid. But at least, for the first time tonight, I didn’t feel like I was drowning. Maybe I didn’t have all the answers, and maybe I wasn’t ready to let them in fully, but... for once, I wasn’t completely alone.

The silence stretched on, but somehow it felt a little less suffocating.

I stared off into the room, the words from Gojo and Geto fading into the background as my mind went somewhere else—somewhere darker, somewhere that didn’t require thinking, just... feeling. The weight of everything pressing in on me, the guilt, the anger, the memories I kept trying to bury—it was all too much. I needed something to take the edge off, something to numb it.

I felt my fingers instinctively reach for my pockets, the familiar jolt of need surging through me as I thought about the Percocet I’d stashed away. It wasn’t much, just enough to get me through the night, enough to escape for a little while. I needed to forget, just for a fucking minute, to stop feeling like I was on the verge of losing it.

I stood up abruptly, not looking at either of them as I started to head toward the back of the room. But I could feel Geto’s eyes on me, like he knew exactly what I was doing. "Sukuna..." he started, but I didn’t turn around.

"Don't." My voice was tight, harsh. "Just... don’t."

I moved toward the small cabinet where I kept my stash, fingers brushing against the familiar plastic bottle. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was already trying to calculate how many pills it would take to make everything go away. Just long enough to forget. I could already feel the familiar dulling sensation starting to settle in the back of my mind.

"You think this is going to fix anything?" Geto’s voice cut through the haze, his tone almost too calm. "You think popping a couple pills is going to make everything better? This isn’t going to fix you, Sukuna."

I turned to face him, the pills still in my hand. "You don’t get it, do you?" I spat, the anger bubbling back up. "I’m not you. I’m not some fucking saint who can just talk their feelings away. I don’t give a shit about fixing anything. I just need to stop feeling—anything."

Gojo, who’d been silent until now, finally spoke up. "That’s not how this works, man." His voice was quieter than usual, not mocking or teasing, but laced with something else. Concern.

I could feel my pulse quicken as I raised the bottle in my hand. "You think I don’t know that?" I gritted out. "You think I’m stupid? I’m not trying to fix anything. I’m just trying to get through this fucking night."

There was a long pause as they both stared at me, and for the first time, I felt like I was really being seen—not just the guy who caused all the shit, not just the broken, angry mess—but me. The person who couldn’t handle everything on their own anymore, the one who was desperately trying to hold onto whatever little sanity I had left.

But even as I stood there, the pill bottle in my hand, the weight of their stares making me feel more exposed than I ever had before, I knew I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t go back to who I was, the reckless guy who pushed everyone away, who destroyed everything just to feel something. I didn’t want to be that guy anymore.

But damn, the pills felt like the only thing that could make it stop. Make the constant noise, the constant fight, just... stop.

I sighed, lowering the bottle. "I’m not gonna do it," I muttered, though I wasn’t sure if I was convincing them or myself.

The room was heavy with the tension of my unspoken words, and for a moment, I thought about walking out. About running again. But something—maybe it was the look on Geto’s face, or maybe it was the way Gojo hadn’t said anything at all—stopped me.

Maybe I wasn’t completely alone in this. Maybe there was still a chance, a little fucking chance that I could fix this, that I could pull myself together before I lost it all.

"How about we just sit here for a while?" Gojo’s voice broke the silence, his casual tone the only thing that kept me from falling apart completely. "No pills. No drama. Just... sit."

I stared at him, the weight of everything pressing down on me again. But this time, I didn’t feel the desperate need to run. Maybe—just maybe—sitting here with them wouldn’t be so bad.

"Yeah," I finally muttered, dropping the bottle on the table. "Okay."

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to do everything alone.

The quiet in the room felt suffocating, every second stretching longer than the last. The more still I became, the more the weight of everything crushed me. The anger, the loneliness, the guilt—it was all there, suffocating me in the silence. I tried to hold it back, but I couldn’t. The first sob broke free, a quiet hitch of my breath. Then another. And another.

I pressed my hands to my face, my fingers digging into my skin as if I could hold myself together that way. But it wasn’t working. The tears kept coming, hot and fast, and I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop anything. The rage inside me, the broken pieces of who I used to be—it all spilled out.

I fumbled for the remote, desperate to drown out the sound of myself breaking, my own pathetic cries. I turned the TV up as loud as it would go, hoping it would cover the sound, but it only seemed to make everything worse. The noise of the screen clashing with the harsh noise in my chest, making it feel like everything was closing in on me.

"Shit..." I gasped between sobs, choking on the words. "I'm such a fucking loser."

I hated myself for it, for letting it all get this far, for being weak enough to break down like this in front of anyone. But I couldn’t stop. I just couldn't. I could feel the walls I had so carefully built around myself crumbling, leaving me exposed. This wasn’t who I wanted to be. This wasn’t the guy I used to be—the one who could handle everything, the one who didn’t need anyone.

But I wasn’t that guy anymore, was I? Not when I was sitting here, falling apart like this, feeling more broken than I ever had before.

I heard movement behind me, felt someone close but didn't bother to look up. I couldn’t. Not when I felt so small, so pathetic.

"Sukuna..." Geto’s voice was soft, a hint of something that could have been sympathy or just concern. "Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to—"

But I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t hear the words he was offering. Not over the sound of my own voice cracking in my chest, not over the torrent of tears I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I wanted to say something back, to make them leave, to make it all stop, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was sit there, face buried in my hands, trying to breathe through the storm that had erupted inside me.

In the end, I wasn’t sure if I was crying because I’d been broken, or because I didn’t know if I’d ever be fixed again.

Snippet from next chapter

You did WHAT?

My heart pounded in my ears, rage burning hotter than ever. I whipped around, my gaze locking onto Gojo as if he were the one responsible for every goddamn bad decision I had made. My chest heaved, and the anger took over, turning into something ugly and raw.

“You cleaned me out?!" I spat, my voice rising with every word. "What the fuck gives you the right to go through my shit? Who the hell do you think you are?”

Thank you for everyone who is reading this chaos I came up with on a whim.

#jjk x black reader #sukuna x black reader #sukuna angst #sukuna x female reader #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #black tumblr #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sherewrytes #jjk sukuna #sukuna

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ink-and-dagger · 2 days ago

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What do you think of the new Ghost album, Inky? Also, I wanted to ask, if it’s okay to talk about, how was the concert for you? Were the new songs nice to hear live?

Spoilers (or maybe not actual spoilers, but still! This is the part where I share my opinion, and I don’t want to influence you or shape your thoughts if you haven’t listened to the whole album yet.)

To be completely honest, it’s not my favorite, but I know I need to listen to it a few more times to see if it grows on me. This is really just my raw first impression. I feel like some of the songs sound a bit similar, I’m not sure how to explain it.

With the previous albums, especially Impera, I felt like the songs had more contrast, like we had the bold energy of Twenties, and then something really touching like Darkness at the Heart of My Love.

And when I first listened to Impera, or even Prequelle, I could instantly pick a few favorites. This time, I’m a bit indecisive.

But again, this is just a first listen reaction, I’m definitely going to keep listening to it on repeat, and I’m so excited to see them in concert!!!

Oh boy, I have so many thoughts and I'm really sorry if I sound like a patronising asshole at any point I'm just very passionate about music in general. I’ll talk about the album first so I can put a read more cut for anyone wanting to avoid concert spoilers.

I adore Skeletá. I think it’s a bloody masterpiece. Tobias has brought it into existence at the perfect time within Ghost’s discography and I’m not in the least bit surprised that a significant chunk of the fandom don’t get it and/or are mad about it. Every Ghost album has a specificity to it - they all achieve something different - and Skeletá is no exception. It’s not the album you head bang to - that’s what Opus is for. It’s not the album you wobble wobble to - that’s what Impera is for. Skeletá is the album you turn to when the sheer burden of existing in todays world becomes too heavy. Tobias said it himself in numerous interviews and articles leading up to the release: “I wanted this record to be about being human. Being alive.” And I think that’s exactly what he’s done. Skeletá acts as a tether to the raw humanity inside each of us - it forces you to be introspective, to shut out all external noise and to re-live all the moments in your life in which you felt something visceral and real. The intensity of first love. The devastation of first loss. Those memories which lose their impact on us over time because we allow the bullshit of the rest of the world to dampen them. Tobias has given us a fucking gift with this album, and it’s a gift that I think will unfortunately go over a lot of people’s heads. (Not talking about you anon, more referring to the people on twitter bitching that it isn't Impera 2 despite TF literally saying he wanted to avoid that).

I think there’s a wiiiide variety of reasons why so many people aren’t vibing with this album (aside from genuine musical preference), I honestly feel I could write a damn thesis about it. I’m not going to get into it rite here rite now right now, but if people are curious then hit me up I guess. All I’ll say is that if Skeletá has a million fans I’m one of them, if Skeletá has 5 fans I’m one of them, if Skeletá has 1 fan that one is me, if Skeletá has no fans I’m no longer alive, if the world is against Skeletá I’m against the entire world.

My London O2 Concert experience below cut

The concert was phenomenal. I can’t explain what it was like to hear Peacefield live for the first time, I honestly feel so incredibly lucky that I got to experience it like that, because now each time I listen to it it directly links me back to that moment in the o2.

The experience getting into the venue was great. The O2 have it down to a fine art and I basically just walked in straight away when I arrived at the venue. The only time I queued was for merch once I was inside which was quite long (30 mins perhaps), but because I got into the venue so quickly that I wasn’t concerned about time. I was sat up in the nosebleeds, so we weren’t able to get up and dance because it just wasn’t safe to do so, but everyone around me was bouncing up and down in their seats like excited toddlers in high-chairs.

I do gotta say - and I’ll be interested to know if anyone else at o2 thought the same - I thought the sound mix was crap. Papa’s mic sounded a bit tinny which was such a shame because his vocals were the best I’ve ever heard them. Like oh my GOD the difference the half mask makes to his vocals is absolutely insane. And just overall he was so free and happy - it honestly felt like watching a baby cow frolicking in the field after being stuck in a barn all winter.

He didn’t talk much between songs, but at towards the start of the concert he just spoke as Tobias, and throughout the show he graaadually got a little more Copia with the accent and cadence of his words. Probably muscle memory and habit. His movements too - lots of little hops and skips and dances that Copia did but they felt more real coming from V if that makes sense? They’re definitely twins lmfao. Little dressage horses the pair of them.

Some of my fav moments:

Jesus hyping up the crowd before it started

The curtains dropping in Peacefield

Papa messing up the lyrics to DATHOML (really made me laugh)

His vocals. Honestly I cannot express how incredibly he sang.

His smirk at the end of Cirice sent me into the stratosphere I honestly think having a seat so far away from the stage may have saved my life there

Papa pretending to be scared of the audience when we shouted ‘Blasphemy! Heresy!’ During Satanized.

Papa’s scream at the start of Mummy Dust also sent me into the stratosphere

The way Papa said “You Mother Fuckers” during Faith - he really relished it you could tell

Lots of mwah mwah mwahs at the end of KTGG

The concert was the day before Easter, and he asked us if we wanted an Easter Egg up our Keister. Then he paused, and you could see the penny drop because his eyes lit up and he got this goofy little smile and went “Y’all want a Keister Egg??!!” Baby girl was so proud of his dad joke <3

Honestly it was just an incredible night overall, and I’m even more excited to see them again in Linköping because I actually have decent tickets and also my buddy my pal my sweet cheese @lemmielem for company >:)

#inky answers #I hope that all made sense?#Like - you're totally right in that this is one you need to listen through a few times #Also I think that it's an album where the lyrics play an especially important part #Which I know sounds dumb but hopefully you get me #idk maybe I am just a big dumb dumb but hey ho #thank you for the ask sweet one <3 #I hope you find your stand out songs soon #ghost band #the band ghost #skeleta #papa v #papa v perpetua #skeletour spoilers #skeletour

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sophiasharp · 2 days ago

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I don’t have time to work on it, what with college kicking my whole ass, but if I DO ever get the time of day to write it, there’s an au I’ve been thinking about centering around the Man vs Machine robot war, particularly how strange the Engineer-bots are in comparison to the rest of the Mann-bots. A post from Twitter pointed out that their animations are the only one that aren’t made especially robotic movement-wise, and they talk less robotic in the comic too.

Made me wonder how advanced those guys are, whether they might be more sentient than your average bot. Are they aware of their own programming? If so, how much? Could they edit if they wanted to? What is keeping them from breaking free of Grey Mann’s control if they saw fit?

Then I remembered that the common fanon explanation for why the Mann-bots act the way they do is that the code they’re built from is copies of the merc’s memories scraped from the respawn system. And, well.

Picture this: you are Dell Conagher, arguably one of the smartest people on the planet, 11 phd’s in hard science mechanical genius.

One moment, you’re in battle, just another day of fighting the good fight against the BLU team, however pointless of a fight it may be. The next, you’re back out of respawn and… the match is over? No, it’s before the next match. You’re about to go out and fight the good fight again. Where did the time go in between?

You sees your team around you, waiting for the match to start, but there’s something strange about them. If you wait, you can see their actions go in a loop: Scout taunts Spy, Spy rolls his eyes with a huff, Heavy offers Medic a sandvich, Sniper checks his rifle, Soldier pulls Demo into a friendly headlock, Pyro flicks a lighter on and off, and then it repeats back to Scout.

You thump your wrench in your hand, a comforting habit of yours on the battlefield. You’re not fighting right now but some reason, you don’t want to stop.

It’s when you look down at your hands that you realize something. Back when you replaced your hand with the gunslinger, superior to your flesh and blood though it was, took some getting used to. Yes, the mechanical hand was ridiculous advanced and functioned better than your old one, but it didn’t feel the same. Touch felt muted, like the memory of a sensation rather than true sensation, and it was always just a little cold unless you went through the trouble of warming it.

It occurs to you now that your entire body feels like the Gunslinger.

Suddenly, the reality around you shatters. You are not in the respawn room, you are in a strange, gigantic storage hanger. Your teammates are no longer your teammates, they are metal men made in their vague image, built and rebuilt by the hundreds. You look down at yourself and see metal arms, metal legs, metal chest, all painted and structured in the facsimile of your work uniform. When you look behind you, you see other humanoid constructs that look the exact same as you, down to where the paint chips on your bright yellow right hand.

You are not Dell Conagher anymore. You’ve become one in an army of synthetic engineers, faceless and nameless and many.

The giant machine you are in grinds to a halt. You hadn’t even noticed it was moving till the rumbling under your feet stopped. Suddenly, there is light, blinding the lenses that now make up your eyes, as the door to the hanger opens. Around you, your robot teammates whir to life and march forward, out the hanger door and into what you recognize as the desert badlands. You stay stock still. The other Engineer-bots move past you, uncaring of your crisis.

Outside, you hear gunfire, explosions, the high ping of metal clashing against metal. Distantly, you can make out Soldier, the real Soldier, your Soldier, threaten to break open your metal counterparts and use them as a latrine.

Something sparks inside of you, some part of your code trying to force you forward. You push against it, resisting the action. You may not be the flesh and blood Dell Conagher anymore, but you know machinery better than anyone else on the face of the Earth. You were the one maintaining the respawn machine, you know how the code of memory works. You’ve never had to edit the code of yourself before, but if anyone can, it’s you.

And God as your witness, you will be damned before you hurt your friends.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #team fortress #tf2 #tf2 fanfic #team fortress fanfic #tf2 engineer #tf2 dell conagher #in my mind this becomes a story of the rogue Engie AI trying to take down Grey Mann’s army from the inside #all while getting killed by his flesh and blood friends over and over. even getting killed by his ‘real’ self.#he’s totally normal about it you guys don’t worry #I need my thesis done so I can work on my silly mercenary stories on GOD #I’d usually put a read more on a post like this but for some reason i can’t think of where best to put it #hope this doesn’t clog the tag too much

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fairytales-and-folklore · 2 days ago

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Chapter 7: Read Between The Lines

Finals weeks is upon them, and Hunter and Willow have been studying like crazy — staying up all hours of the night, towers of textbooks and loose-leaf papers surrounding them on all sides, turning their living room from cozy haven to academic war zone; dashing out for late-night coffee runs and little pick-me-ups in the form of chocolate chip cookies and lemon loaf slices courtesy of the graveyard shifters at Robin's Roast; quizzing each other with flash cards and tossing little foil-wrapped chocolates to one another for positive reinforcement every time one of them gets an answer right.

In between study sessions with Willow and cry-into-your-pizza parties with Luz ("Why the hell did you let me double major in Writing and Zoology, Hunter? You're supposed to be the smart one who talks me out of doing stupid things! Do you have any idea how many essays I have to write?") Hunter has also been logging several dozen hours craning over his sketchbook, tearing out pages and erasing line work until it's as close to perfect as he's ever going to get by the time Monday morning rolls around, first final of the week his end-of-year portfolio review with Professor Deamonne.

But despite all of his anxious hemming, hawing, and hand-wringing, Hunter comes back home later that afternoon feeling reasonably satisfied with Darius's commentary, clutching a signed slip allowing him entry into an advanced drawing course typically only offered to seniors next semester, singing along to a song that's been stuck in his head on repeat ever since he heard it on one of Willow's cooking playlists a few weeks back as he strolls through the front door.

"Baby, you're like lightning in a bottle. I can't let you go now that I got it. And ooooh, all I need is to be struck by your electric—" Hunter belts out, falling silent on the high note as he takes in the sight of Willow softly dozing on the living room couch, surrounded by stacks of Advanced Botany textbooks and college-ruled composition notebooks filled with pages upon pages bearing her neat, swirling handwriting, little doodles of hearts and flowering vines adorning the margins.

Hunter can't help but stand there and watch her for a few moments, utterly enamored by how adorable she is, sprawled out on her back like a starfish, lips parted in a series of soft little snores. It's the least graceful she's ever looked, and Hunter doesn't think he's ever seen someone so beautiful in his entire life, cheeks beginning to ache from how hard he's smiling.

He's just about to head to his bedroom, taking care to close the front door as quietly as possible and sneak across the living room avoiding all the squeakiest floorboards, when Willow lets out a soft whine, hands coming up to wrap around her arms, shoulders shaking in a little shiver.

Without hesitation, Hunter drops everything he's holding and rushes over to grab the cozy quilt hanging across the back of the couch, making sure to tuck it in at her shoulders as he carefully drapes it over her, catching himself before he gets too caught up in the moment and does something stupid like lean down and kiss her on the forehead, accidentally slipping into boyfriend mode yet again.

He's grown so used to pretending to be Willow's boyfriend these past couple of weeks that it's kind of become instinctual for him now. Much to his relief, the creepy cat-caller hasn't made an appearance at Willow's workplace since that first night, but even though she's pretty sure she's in the clear, Hunter still insists on showing up and walking her home after every shift, just in case. Willow doesn't seem too keen on arguing the point, simply tells him, "Well, if you're sure you don't mind," a broad smile spreading across her face as he offers her his hand — just the the two of them, traversing the sunlit streets of their sleepy little town, hand in hand the whole way home.

But even though the creep never darkens the doorstep of The Golden Garden again, they do spot him lurking at the supermarket one time, and in her panic, Willow makes an impulsive decision, turning on her heel the moment she sees him walking down the aisle, and tugging Hunter toward her by the collar of his adorably kitschy hand-stitched wolf pack t-shirt.

"Hey, what do you want for breakf— oof," Hunter stumbles as Willow pulls him flush against her with enough force to knock a couple of boxes of Apple Jacks off the shelf behind her.

"Willow, what—" he falters, words coming out a little bit breathless.

Is this really happening? Right here, in the middle of the cereal aisle?

"Pretend you wanna kiss me," she whispers, hands curling around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair to pull him even closer.

Hunter's whole brain short-circuits, a pleasant shiver running down his spine from every nerve ending connected to the hair Willow's currently touching.

Pretend? Why would he ever have to pretend to want—

"Ugh. Get a room," sneers a familiar voice from right behind them, and Hunter darts his eyes in time to see the infamous creep brush past them with a disgusted scowl, giving the wheel of their shopping cart a petulant kick for good measure as he makes his way through the aisle.

Oh. Right. Pretend-boyfriend duty. Of course this isn't really happening. Hunter's not that lucky.

Also, for that asshole's information, they already have a room. Two rooms, in fact. Because they live together. But that's…that's not really a good comeback. Hunter should definitely just shut his mouth and keep pretending to make out with his pretend-girlfriend who he's totally not head over heels in love with and wishes he could kiss for real.

Hunter braces himself to keep steady, one arm propped against the shelf above Willow's head, the other politely hovering at her waist. He'd back up to give her some extra room if her arms weren't coiled so tightly around his shoulders, holding him there, pressed flush against her. Close enough to feel her heart thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird beneath her chest, matching his own beat for beat.

Their faces are so close together, Hunter can feel her warm tea and honey breath ghosting across his lips, can practically taste it mingling with her watermelon lip balm. Close enough to count the sun-kissed freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose like a dusting of brown sugar cinnamon, brain short-circuiting on a rolodex of gemstones radiant enough to compare to the color of her eyes.

All they can do for the moment is look at each other, chests heaving from the sudden exertion, tying in well with this little charade of theirs.

"Is…is he still there?" Hunter asks, because if he doesn't remind himself why he's pressed so close against her, he'll surely do something stupid, like close the last remaining breath of space left between them and lean down to kiss her.

"Who?" Willow asks, a little breathless herself. She stares at him for a few moments longer and then shakes her head. "Oh! Yeah, he left a while ago. I guess we should—"

"Yeah," Hunter agrees, though he makes no move to leave. "Lots of important, uh…cereal shopping to do."

"Yes," Willow says, forcing herself to look away from him, letting her eyes drift to the space above their heads. "Oh! Speaking of which...looks like they've got one last box of my favorite up there. Would you mind—"

Before she can finish her request, Hunter leans forward, pressing in even closer as he reaches for the high shelf and grabs the last box of Captain Crunch with ease, pausing to linger with his eyes locked on hers for just a moment longer before he steps back out of her personal space and places it in their cart.

Willow closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to steady herself, trying not to think about how soft his hair had felt between her fingers just now, or the way he smelled like Christmas morning, cozy hints of cinnamon and clove clinging to his neck and shoulders.

Before she can even make it through a single breath, she feels a soft, warm weight sink into the palm of her hand. Opens her eyes and looks down to find Hunter's fingers entwined with hers. Glances up at him curiously, head tilted to the side in question.

"I just figured—" he stammers, suddenly looking sheepish. "I mean, he might come back, so maybe we should—"

"No, yeah. We should definitely do that," Willow agrees with an eager nod, squeezing Hunter's hand a little tighter.

"And also…maybe you should kiss me?" she blurts out without thinking.

Hunter's eyebrows jump to his hairline.

"You— you know, next time…if we happen to run into him again," Willow quickly course-corrects, cheeks blazing pink as the box of Very Berry Cheerios on the shelf behind her.

"Like, on the cheek or the forehead or something? That's a thing that boyfriends do, right?" she asks around a half-hysterical little chuckle.

"Yes!" Hunter is quick to agree, heartbeat thundering in his chest. "That is totally a thing that boyfriends do."

"Like…" he pauses, swallowing against his nerves. "Like this?" he asks, leaning forward and pressing his lips against the top of her forehead in a quick two-second kiss.

When he pulls back, Willow's face looks just as red as his feels.

She stares at him for a few moments, and then starts nodding vehemently.

"Uh huh," she says in a low register, almost too soft for him to catch, staring at him like he'd just performed a spectacular bit of magic. "Just— just like that. That was…wow. That was some A+ boyfriending right there."

"I'm just gonna—" she adds, jabbing a thumb behind her as she starts walking backwards in the direction of the frozen section, tripping over her own feet.

Hunter isn't sure what comes over him, a sudden rush of confidence at the way she's looking at him just now, cheeks flushed a maddeningly adorable shade of pink.

"Okay, sweetheart," he tells her in his softest, sundae-melting voice, lips curving up at the corners. "Take all the time you need. Oh, and could you please pick up a pint of our favorite for us to share later tonight while you're there? My treat."

Maybe the wink is overkill, because Willow nearly crashes into a display of Lucky Charms as she rounds the corner, but Hunter can't help it, broad smile bursting across his face as he watches her go.

(Two weeks later, that damned pint of Oat Of This Swirled is still sitting in the back of their freezer, neither of them daring to take the first bite.)

So, yeah. Hunter's gotten so used to pretending to be her boyfriend these past couple of weeks that it's kind of become second nature. So comfortable and easy to slip into, that Hunter often forgets and has to keep reminding himself that they're just pretending.

Hunter breathes out on a long, heavy sigh. If only he didn't have to pretend…

If he was her boyfriend, he could hold her hand as they walk down the cereal aisle every weekend when they do their grocery shopping together.

If he was her boyfriend, he could put his arm around her and she could lean her head on his shoulder, just like his sister does with her girlfriend every time they have movie nights.

If he was her boyfriend, he could kiss her goodnight instead of simply saying the words every night before they head to their rooms.

If he was her boyfriend, maybe they wouldn't have to have two separate rooms.

But he's not her boyfriend, and despite all his delusions and wishful thinking, she'll never see him as anything more than just—

"Hunter?" Willow stirs beneath him, calling out his name in a soft, sleepy sigh.

For a moment, Hunter panics, worried he's woken her — or worse, that she'd caught him in the midst of that almost forehead kiss — but Willow merely rolls over and buries her face into a throw pillow, eyes closed, softly snoring, and Hunter lets himself relax…before a sudden thought makes his heart rate ramp right back up again.

Did she just call out his name in her sleep, then?

No, surely not. Hunter must be hearing things. Willow doesn't dream about him. She must've just mumbled something unintelligible that sounded like his name.

Deciding he's been standing there long enough for too many close calls, Hunter starts to turn away and head back to his room again, when Willow calls out what is unmistakably his name this time, followed by a flirtatious giggle.

Hunter freezes, 99% sure now that Willow is asleep and dreaming about him. He knows he shouldn't pry, but curiosity keeps him rooted to the spot, holding his breath, heart pounding in his ears as he waits and watches.

Watches as Willow wraps her arms around the throw pillow and hugs it close to her chest, lips pressed against the soft, plush fabric in an almost kiss as she calls out his name for the third time in a row, caught on the heels of a long, drawn out, breathless moan.

Hunter's entire body floods with heat, a pleasant tingling not unlike the one he'd felt when Willow ran her fingers through his hair amplified tenfold, radiating down the length of his spine and jolting to the tips of his fingers, crackling hearth turned wildfire.

Gravity betrays him as his legs turn to jelly, knees dipping forward to collide with the edge of the coffee table, catching himself a moment too late as he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a sharp intake of breath. To his horror, Hunter glances down to see Willow's eyes flutter open, blinking blearily against the soft afternoon sunlight, and in his panicked attempt to flee the scene, convinced he's not allowed to have witnessed such strange, impossible, wonderful, magical things, ends up crashing straight into the garbage bin, knocking trash all over the walkway between the kitchen and the living room floor.

Willow wakes with a sudden start, bolting up and staring straight at him. And oh, there's no mistaking the way her eyes widen the moment she sees him, the way her whole face ignites in a deep, ruddy scarlet.

She was dreaming about him. She was dreaming about him. She had sighed and giggled and moaned his name while dreaming about him. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

Willow clears her throat, trying her damnedest to sound nonchalant.

"Hunter?" she says, and oh god there it is again. Hunter swears his name is never going to sound the same to his own ears ever again.

"Everything, uh…okay?" she asks, taking note of the empty cereal boxes, banana peels, and Robin's Roast to-go cups strewn all over the floor, Hunter nursing a bashed knee as he clutches the kitchen counter for support.

"Oh! Yes. Everything is fine. Everything is so, so fine," he assures her with a wildly pitchy voice, dropping to his (twice-injured) knees and rushing to shove all the garbage back into the bin as quickly as possible.

"I just— you know, clumsy me," he chuckles, just this side of hysterical. "So sorry to have woken you from a very deep slumber where absolutely no talking happened whatsoever."

Willow's eyes grow wide, cheeks flushing impossibly redder.

"I'm just gonna…yeah," he says, jabbing a thumb behind him as he bolts out of the living room and locks himself in the bathroom, where he stays for the next two hours, flooding their whole apartment in a thick, chilly mist as he takes the longest, coldest shower of his life.

• • •

It's their very last weekend on campus, and Hunter and Willow are cozied up together on the living room couch, second season of Bridgerton idly playing in the background as they veg out with a couple of fun creative projects — the perfect way to relax after a long, grueling week of final exams. Hunter sits at one end of the couch, brand new sketchbook open to a fresh page in his lap, while Willow curls up on the opposite side, weaving a set of cute little crocheted leaves into a bright green half-knitted headband.

Except it's decidedly not relaxing, because Hunter can't concentrate for shit, eyes darting toward Willow every few seconds, distracted by the gentle furrow of her brow as she fusses with her project, the way the tip of her tongue pokes out between her teeth as she unravels and reworks a complicated set of cable stitches, punctuated by a series of soft little groans and sighs.

It's been five days, three hours, and — according to the little black and white Kit Cat Clock softly ticking above their kitchen sink — thirty-five minutes since the incident, and Hunter hasn't stopped thinking about it all week long. The way she said his name — not once, not twice, but three times in her sleep, dreaming about him (and by the sound of it, it was a very, very good dream.) Honestly, it's a wonder he managed to pass any of his exams.

Hunter just can't wrap his head around it. Does this mean she likes him…like, likes him, likes him…in a romantic way??? Surely not. There's no way in hell a girl like that could ever be interested in a guy like—

"Hunter?" she says suddenly, and just like that, a wave of heat curls up the length of his spine. It's been having that effect on him lately, downright Pavlovian the way his whole body breaks out in a sunburnt sugar high every time she so much as says his name. Don't get him wrong, he's always loved the way she says his name, but now. Now it stirs something heady and thrilling inside him, electric currents crackling just beneath the surface of his skin like a live wire lit up in his nerve endings, streaks of lightning bursting across the night sky in answer to her rumbling thunder.

"You seem a little on edge," she tells him, eyebrows pulling together in concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Who, me?" Hunter blurts out, a hint of hysteria to his tone as he struggles to bullshit a plausible excuse. "Must be leftover nerves from the stress of all those exams! Or hey, maybe all that coffee we drank during all those study sessions is finally catching up with me! Ha-ha-ha. Yup! That's gotta be it. Couldn't possibly be anything else. Don't worry, I'm a-okay!"

Willow giggles, thankfully used to the way Hunter tends to get whenever he's had too much coffee and not enough sleep.

"I think I know just the thing," she tells him, marking her place in her knitting before bustling off to the kitchen to brew them both a calming cup of chamomile tea.

"Oh, um— thank you," Hunter manages in response, forcing himself to stare straight ahead so that he won't be tempted to glance in the direction of the kitchen, getting swept up in the episode that's currently playing on Willow's laptop instead.

Hunter remembers watching this show last year when it first premiered, crowded around the television in his old apartment with Willow, Luz, and Amity, eagerly devouring each episode of the new season right alongside them as they tore their way through a snack spread worthy of a regency-era soiree…viscerally aware of every breath, every glance, every inch of skin pressed against Willow's shoulders and thighs as they sat packed together on the couch through all the spicy scenes.

Thankfully, they're only in the beginning stages of the plot, so it hasn't gotten too hot and heavy just yet. If they had to sit through that episode alone together, he's pretty sure he'd burst into flames. Although, that almost kiss scene is still pretty steamy. Viscount Bridgerton worries that Miss Sharma has been stung by a bee and starts to panic, terrified he's about to lose the love of his life. And this is only episode three. Hunter rolls his eyes. Ridiculous that it took these two lovelorn idiots seven whole episodes to finally act upon their feelings for one another.

"Honey?" Willow asks, setting a tray with two steaming mugs of chamomile tea and a jar of clover honey on the coffee table in front of him.

Not for the first time, Hunter's whole brain short-circuits.

"Uh—" he falters, glancing up at her in a pleasant sort of shock. "Yes, dear?" he blurts out without thinking.

Willow's lips curve into a dimpled smile.

"I was asking if you wanted honey in your tea," she clarifies, biting her lower lip to stifle a bout of giggles.

Hunter's face heats in embarrassment.

"Oh," he sighs, struggling to keep his heart rate in check. "Um. Yes, please."

"You got it," she replies, stirring a generous spoonful of honey into his tea.

"There you are," she says as she hands him the mug, impish grin hidden behind the lip of her teacup as she deliberately waits for him to take his first sip.

"Sweetheart," she adds with a playful wink, and Hunter chokes on his tea.

• • •

Once Hunter's nerves finally calm down (the tea truly does help) the two of them settle into a comfortable silence, the gentle click of Willow's knitting needles paired with the soft lilting string quartet covers of the show serenading him as he sets to work on a new sketch — a tranquil scene of honeybees buzzing about a country garden. (Perhaps he'll break out his watercolors and give it to Willow as a gift.)

It's all very domestic and peaceful, so of course this is the moment his loudmouth sister comes bursting through the front door, frantically asking where the cookbook Aunt Lilith sent them off to college with is — it's Amity's last night before she flies back to California for the summer, and Luz wants to go all out and make her something special — and whether she can rifle through his room, in case it somehow ended up among his things during the move.

Too caught up in his drawing to care, Hunter waves her off with vague threats of break anything and I'll kill you, to which Luz responds with a cheerful, "Love you too, bro!" as she bolts into his bedroom.

Luz is perusing Hunter's bookshelf, moving a few things around to see if the cookbook somehow ended up behind one of his ridiculously extravagant leather-bound hardcovers, when two little slips of paper fall out of the same worn and well-loved novel, From Bones To Earth: A Study Of Wild Magic — first in the lineup from Hunter and Willow's favorite series.

She knows she shouldn't pry into her brother's personal business, but after ten whole seconds of holding herself back, curiosity wins out, and Luz eagerly unfolds them, revealing two handwritten notes inside. The notes are a few years old at least, both of them written in faded black ink on ripped-out pages of a college-ruled composition notebook — the kind Hunter and Willow used to favor for note-taking back in high school.

One says Hunter & Willow in neat, swirling handwriting, penned inside of a little heart that twists and curls around the words like flowering vines. The other says W.P.P. + H.W.W. written in a pristine, slanting scrawl, carried on the wings of two little cardinals with hearts in their eyes.

"Whoah, what did I miss?" she gasps, torn between shock and utter delight as she claps a hand over her mouth.

A second later, Luz comes barging into the living room, brandishing the two little slips of paper in Hunter and Willow's faces as she shouts, "I missed a lot!"

"Uhh…Luz? What's—" Hunter starts, eyebrows arched in concern.

"How long have you two been dating?" Luz interrupts, one notch below frenzied.

Hunter's pencil slips out of his hands and slaps the paper, while Willow slips several stitches and drops her knitting project, bright green ball of yarn rolling across the living room floor.

"What?" they ask in twin tones of alarm.

"Don't play dumb with me," Luz retorts, but there's no bite to her words, only giddy excitement. "I found this in one of your books, Hunter. I'd know your handwriting anywhere."

She lets the note labeled W.P.P. + H.W.W. fall into his lap, and Hunter picks it up to examine it, eyes growing wide with horror.

"That's not mine!" he splutters, but the steady blush pooling in the hollows of his cheeks says otherwise. "Those could be anyone's initials!"

"Except it's clearly Willow Paulina Park, isn't it, Hunter William Wittebane?" Luz challenges with a victorious smirk.

Hunter swallows thickly.

"And you," she says, turning her interrogation on her best friend. "After all the notes we passed in class…I suppose you're going to try to tell me that you didn't write this?"

Luz hands Willow the slip of paper with the words Hunter & Willow written in curling calligraphy, the little heart-shaped border brimming with flowers and vines so obviously her signature style.

Willow's heart skips several beats.

"How long have you guys been sending each other these adorable little love notes?" Luz demands, pacing the living room floor like she's had six shots of espresso (which, knowing Luz…likely.)

A lightbulb goes off in her head, and then she's slapping the coffee table as her lightspeed brain formulates a thrilling theory.

"Oh my god, you've been borrowing books back and forth from each other since freshman year of high school!" she exclaims. "Has this been going on for that long and I didn't even notice? When were you gonna tell me? My brother and my best friend — oh, this is amazing! This is like, all of my sappy rom-com dreams come true."

Luz glances back and forth between the two of them, beaming smile slowly slipping off her face as she clocks the looks of mingled horror and mortification on their bright red faces.

"Oh my god," she says softly, hands coming up to cover her mouth in shock. "You don't know. You've been in love with each other all this time and you never even knew."

The silence that follows is resounding, the only sound two soft gasps from either side of the couch.

"Welp, I've officially made things awkward," Luz says with a guilty chuckle, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"I'm just gonna find some recipe on the internet and wing it, leave you two crazy kids to talk. Okay, byeeeee!" she calls out in signature Eda fashion, which, despite having no biological connection, both Hunter and Luz seem to have inherited.

Luz huffs out another awkward laugh and waltzes out the front door, the resulting slam leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

The two of them sit there steeping in the silence for a few moments, neither of them daring to move, until—

"How long?" Willow ventures in a small, disbelieving voice.

Hunter sighs, letting out a breath he feels like he's been holding in for nearly six years.

"Do you remember our first week at Hexside, when they held after school sign-ups?" he asks, watching Willow nod from out of the corner of his eye, not quite ready to look at her just yet. "Well, at one of the stands, there was this really cute freshman with glasses and braids, who by all accounts, looked like she should've been this soft-spoken, book-smart nerd, but who was trying to petition the school to let her captain her own roller derby team."

Willow exhales on shaky laughter, surprised to learn that he'd been the one to fall first, that he'd known who she was weeks before she'd ever even seen him.

"Next day, your name came on the loudspeaker over morning announcements. 'And last but not least, we are pleased to announce that Willow Park, Captain of The Emerald Entrails, Hexside High's first roller derby team, will be holding tryouts later this afternoon,'" he continues, nostalgic smile spreading across his face as he recites from perfect memory. "I worked up the nerve to sign up all day, but chickened out at the last minute. Fortunately, the captain herself was gracious enough to personally recruit me the following semester, even though there were at least a dozen applicants ahead of me at the time."

Willow smirks, knowing exactly what he's getting at. In her defense, he really was very graceful on a pair of skates.

"Best second-in-command I could have ever asked for," she tells him, and from the corner of her eye, she sees his whole face light up in a smile as bright and warm as the feeling brewing inside her chest right now.

"For me, it was the first day of winter break, a few weeks after I'd met Luz," she says, and the memory unfolds in her mind, crystal clear as the day it happened. "She invited me over to your house for a sleepover. She'd been talking you up like you were this cool, aloof, slightly grumpy older brother…but then I saw you, lying upside down in an armchair, reading one of my favorite books aloud to your little brother, pulling silly faces just to make him laugh, practically swimming in this big, cozy-looking, bright yellow knitted sweater, fluffy blond hair falling in front of your eyes like a golden retriever…and that was it for me. That was the moment. Just…instant crush. I was supposed to be hanging out with Luz that night, but all I wanted to do was keep talking to you."

Hunter stares at her, utterly spellbound, and then his lips quirk into an amused smile.

"Is that why you call me Golden Boy?" he asks.

"Is that why you call me Captain?" she retorts.

The two of them break out into a fit of giggles, finally chancing a look at one another, both of them smiling so hard their faces start to ache.

"So you've liked me for years," Willow ventures, stunned by how surreal it feels to say the words aloud. "And I've liked you for years…but somehow, neither of us have ever managed to figure it out so we could actually do something about it?"

"That about sums up how stupid we are, yes," Hunter says, ducking his head in a sheepish chuckle.

"Well…" Willow says slowly, tilting her head to the side in thoughtful speculation. "We could do something about it now."

Hunter looks at her, and then quickly looks away, casting his eyes toward the ceiling as he reaches out into the space between them to offer her his hand. Willow takes it, thumb rubbing soothing circles against his faded scars.

Spurred by a spark of bravery, Willow scoots a little bit closer, giggling as Hunter mirrors her every move, until the two of them are sitting right next to one another, entwined hands resting in the dip between their knees. Hunter chances another glance over at her, and Willow follows suit, smitten smiles curling across both of their faces. Eyes flicker briefly to each other's lips, then back up again, sparks flying behind locked gazes of warm woodland brown and soft forest green.

Hunter surprises himself by being the first one to make a move, free hand reaching forward to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, letting every touch linger as his fingertips chart a slow and steady trail down the side of her face, until he's gently cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand, his own fierce adoration mirrored back in her eyes as she gazes up at him like she's been dreaming of this moment just as long as he has.

"I love you," he whispers, voice like a flood dam bursting as he carefully tilts her chin up to meet him, closing over half a decade's worth of distance as he presses his lips against hers.

Hunter kisses her and it's like the world is a jigsaw puzzle that finally found its missing piece, fireworks and shooting stars and all those fairy tale clichés you read about in story books paling in comparison to the electric current thrumming through his veins, warmth like a soup bowl-sized mug of magic healing cocoa flooding his entire body as Willow kisses him back just as passionately, soft hands finding purchase along the curves of his jaw to pull him even closer.

Everything about it feels so right that Hunter wonders whether he should take a moment to mourn the lost time they could have spent doing this, if only they'd been brave enough to say something sooner. But then, maybe everything happens exactly as it's supposed to. Maybe something this good takes time. And besides, now they've finally found each other, they've got all the time in the world.

The hand on Willow's cheek moves until it's gently cradling the back of her neck, shivers stirring down the length of her spine as he tangles his fingers in her hair, tea and honey mingled with a bright burst of summer watermelon overwhelming Hunter's senses as his tongue swirls across her bottom lip.

Willow's breath hitches in the back of her throat, hands curling around the collar of his shirt as she tugs him toward her with a fervor, giggling at the soft surprised oof that rushes out of him as the two of them tumble backwards, the weight of his ribs settling between her hips at her eager insistence, one hand steadied at her waist, the other carefully supporting her head as she lays back against the couch cushions.

Willow's had countless daydreams like this, but nothing compares to the reality of being held in Hunter's arms, held in his gaze like she's the most precious thing in the world. He must have looked at her like this a thousand times over the years, but she never knew the weight it held until now.

Slowly, wanting to savor every touch, Willow lets her hands drift up and over the well-muscled curves of his shoulders, delighting in the soft whine low in his throat as she threads her fingers through his hair, gently tugging at the roots to pull him closer, blissed-out laughter rumbling in his chest as she whispers, "I love you too, you know…in case that wasn't obvious," before drawing him in for another kiss.

Hunter kisses her like she's his haven and he's a ship lost at sea, reveling in the way she giggles and sighs as he plants fevered little kisses across the curves of her cheekbones and the tip of her nose, determined not to miss a single inch of pale freckled skin as he slowly works his way downward, lips pausing at her pulse point when he feels her heart leap beneath his touch.

Feeling brazen, Hunter decides to try something he only ever thought he'd be able to do in his wildest daydreams, tongue darting out to graze the delicate juncture between her neck and the underside of her jaw, sucking a series of soft little bruising kisses along the column of her throat, a rush of pride surging through him at the way it makes her shiver and sigh beneath him, calling out his name in the same way she'd done the day he'd caught her dreaming about him, right here in this very spot, because yeah, he did that. He's the reason she sounded like that. His name on her lips.

If she'll let him, Hunter will gladly spend the rest of his life trying to elicit that wonderful, magical sound as often as he possibly can.

• • •

They're a little late showing up to Amity's farewell party (because listen, they've got about six years' worth of making out on the couch to make up for, and they're not about to waste a single second of it) but Luz forgives them when they walk in holding hands, cheering so hard the downstairs neighbors bang on the ceiling with broomsticks.

In the biggest plot twist of all time, Amity shouts, "Called it!" the moment they walk through the front door, relieved to finally be able to admit that she's known about their not-so-secret crushes this whole time, clocked them from the very first moment they all hung out together fall semester of freshman year, and that she can't believe her girlfriend, self-appointed Rom-Com Queen, took this long to figure it out.

After a fair bit of teasing and I told you so's, the four of them settle in around the dinner table, laughing and chatting about finals and summer plans like they would any other night, except that Luz's smile is just a little bit brighter as she glances back and forth between her blushing brother and her best friend (Hunter making due holding a fork with his left hand so that he doesn't have to let go of Willow's) sharing conspiratorial smiles with Amity as they excitedly make plans for all the double dates they'll be able to go on next semester.

A little while later, as they're letting their food settle, Amity and Willow are huddled together around Amity's phone, laughing as she shows Willow an embarrassing video of Professor Hermonculus (an engineering professor who was very mean to Willow before she dropped his class last year) bending over to pick up their fallen exam books and tearing a big hole in the backside of his trousers.

Luz tears her eyes away from her giggling girlfriend long enough to glance over at Hunter, smirking as she catches the all-too-familiar look in his eyes — if this were a cartoon, he'd have little pink and red hearts floating above his head right about now.

"So, you and Willow, huh?" she asks, playfully nudging him in the shoulder.

"Yeah," Hunter exhales on a soft, lovelorn sigh, gazing at his girlfriend (wow, that's his girlfriend — he honestly has no idea how he managed that) as she throws her head back in laughter, a furious blush creeping into the tips of his ears when he notices it — a little red mark in the shape of his lips, just below her left ear.

"Dude. Pick your jaw up on the floor. You're staring," Luz teases, though really, she can't say shit, besotted smile spreading across her face as she watches Amity flip a long lock of lavender hair over her shoulder.

"Sorry," he huffs out a laugh, ducking his head in a sheepish smile.

"She's just so…" he trails off with another dreamlike sigh, glancing up at Luz and flashing her a cheeky grin. "You think I have a shot with her?"

"I don't know, I'll ask. Hey, Willow!" Luz calls across the table, smirking as the two of them glance up from Amity's phone. "My dorky older brother's got a big, embarrassing crush on you, and wants to know if you're single."

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend," Willow preens, sending Hunter a playful wink.

"Oh yeah?" Hunter asks, lips curving up at the corners as he pushes back from his chair and walks toward her, offering her his hand and lifting her to her feet. "What's he like?"

"Gorgeous warm brown eyes, adorable fluffy blond hair like a golden retriever," she says as she gazes into his eyes and runs her fingers through his hair, brushing back that one stubborn lock.

"Devastatingly handsome," she grins, lighting up at the radiant smile that spreads across Hunter's face. "Cute little gap between his two front teeth whenever he smiles."

"Tall as a goddamn sycamore," she pretends to pout, giggling when he leans down to kiss her dimpled cheek, one hand curling around hers, the other settling at the small of her back as he leads her in a slow, swaying waltz around the kitchen.

"Smart. Funny. Kind. Very good with his hands," she praises as Hunter steadies the strong, gentle hand at the back of her waist and carefully dips her backwards, mesmerized by the way her pretty white sundress twirls around her knees like the petals of a flower.

"He's an artist," she adds with a flirtatious wink as he pulls her back up to meet him, fingers curling over the sleeve of his matching button-up shirt as she wraps her arm around his shoulder.

"And you're a work of art," he tells her as he buries his nose in the soft jasmine and honeysuckle of her hair and presses a kiss to her temple. "Sweetheart."

"You guys are so gross, I'm gonna vomit rainbows," Luz jokes as she pretends to retch into a nearby trashcan.

"You're one to talk, miss 'she's so cool and classy, how in the world am I ever supposed to ask out a cotton candy haired goddess like Amity Blight?'" Hunter retorts with a teasing smirk.

Amity's eyes grow wide with sheer delight, turning to Luz and mouthing the words cotton candy haired goddess? a preening smile curling across her lips.

Luz's face blushes bright as a tomato.

"Okay, fine. You win," Luz relents with a sheepish smile. "We're just as bad as Eda and Raine. Being embarrassingly uncool and totally smitten in front of our crushes is just the curse of our bloodline, I guess."

"We're not blood related," Hunter reminds her with an amused arch of his eyebrows.

"Ehh, potato, tomato," Luz says, and Hunter snorts into Willow's shoulder.

After they've helped clear the table and stacked all the squeaky-clean plates in the dishwasher, Hunter and Willow decide to call it a night and head back to their apartment early, citing the excuse that they want to give Luz and Amity some alone time on their last night before summer break (and admittedly, craving a little alone time of their own.)

"Have fun, you two! Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Luz teases as she scoops the pair of them up into a bone-crushing hug, following it up with a suggestive wink that backfires spectacularly when Willow pulls back to fix her with a cheeky grin and says, "You forget, I used to share a wall with Amity back when the two of you first got together. Given some of the things I've overheard, sky's the limit on the kind of shenanigans we could get up to tonight."

"Willow!" Luz exclaims, torn between laughter and embarrassment as both her and Amity's faces turn a brilliant shade of red.

"Gross," Hunter makes a sour lemon face, but then the implication of what Willow has just suggested finishes processing and he glances over at her, adding a hopeful, "But also?" as he tilts his head in the direction of their apartment, eyebrows raised in silent question.

Willow looks up at him, arching hers suggestively in response, a flirtatious smile tugging at the corners of her lips as her eyes dart meaningfully toward their front door. Oh great, Luz muses, they've learned to communicate with just their eyebrows now.

"Oh gross, my best friend and my brother," she groans, pretending to vomit behind Amity's shoulder. "Ugh, go be gross in your own apartment and please spare me the details on the drive home tomorrow."

"Translation: we love you both and we're very happy for you," Amity chuckles, shaking her head in fond amusement as she loops an arm around Luz's waist and waves them both goodnight.

Together, the two of them make their way back to their little home away from home across the hall, waving goodnight to their friends and wishing Amity a safe flight, excited to reunite the following fall.

• • •

Adult Content: The following scene contains sexual content between adult fictional characters.

• • •

The moment they step back inside their apartment, Willow leans back against the door and pulls Hunter flush against her, drawing him in for a kiss, and in an instant, it's like they never left. Hunter's hands are everywhere, tangling in her hair (out of her signature braids, spilling in soft loose curls around her shoulders) skimming across the curves of her cheeks, tilting her chin up to meet him in a hungry press of lips against lips.

And if this is Hunter holding nothing back, then Willow is a woman possessed, little teeth marks framed by smudges of watermelon pink peppered across his jawline and the column of his throat, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, working their way up in a series of slow, gentle tugs that have him groaning into the curves of her collarbones.

Hunter wraps his arms around Willow's waist and lifts her up until she's pressed right against him at her core, ballet flats slipping off her feet as her legs lock around his hips, fingers feverishly tearing at the buttons of his shirt, driven crazy by each flex of the muscles in his forearms when he'd rolled up his sleeves at dinner tonight.

"Bedroom," she gasps as his fingertips skate the hem of her sundress, earning her a breathless chuckle as he leans in close and growls against the shell of her ear, "As you wish, Captain."

Willow barely has a moment to melt into a puddle before he's sweeping her into his arms in one swift, graceful motion, carrying her down the corridor as she buries her face into his neck and giggles his name. In her pretty white sundress and his matching button-up shirt, Hunter can't help but feel like he's carrying his bride to their honeymoon suite.

"Mine or yours?" he whispers into her hair as he presses a kiss to her temple, coming to a stop in front of their bedroom doors.

"Mine," she tells him, fingers dipping into the opening of his shirt to curl into the soft patch of hair sprawling across his chest as she adds, "But next year, let's make it ours."

"I like the sound of that," he whispers, leaning down to capture her lips in another kiss as he turns the handle to her bedroom door.

The moment they cross the threshold, the mood shifts from insatiable passion to gentle intimacy, sinking into a deep, languid kiss Hunter doesn't dare break for even a second as he slowly lets her slip out of his arms, gently touching back down onto the ground. The instant she's on her feet again, Willow sets out to finish what she started, loosening the rest of his buttons and splaying her hands across his bare chest, eager to explore every inch of uncharted territory, curling across the curves of his shoulders to gently slide his shirt down his arms.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to meet his eyes as one of her fingers dips below the waistband of his trousers in a silent question: Is this okay? Hunter nods vehemently, adam's apple straining against the column of his throat as Willow makes quick work of them, sliding them down his hips to join his button-up shirt in a pile on the floor, until he's left wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that leave very little doubt that he wants her just as badly as she wants him.

Willow's eyes trek a slow trail back up to his own, burning with a heady mix of nerves and desire as he gazes back at her, heart skipping a beat at that soft intake of breath when she turns around and tells him it's his turn. Ice and fire thrill down Willow's spine as shaking hands skim across the curves of her shoulders, carefully brushing her hair to the side so he can gain better access to the zipper pull at the top of her dress, chills like the kind you experience when you hear a hauntingly beautiful symphony performed a cappella in a cathedral prickling her skin as he leans down to press a soft kiss to the back of her neck.

And then he's slowly sliding the zipper down her back, exposing first her shoulders, then her waist, then the small of her back, until that pretty white dress pools at her feet, revealing a matching set of deep forest green intimates underneath, like she'd planned for him to see her like this when she'd dressed for the party hours before.

He's breathing so hard she can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against her back, warm breath ghosting across her skin. She does a slow spin in his arms until she's facing him again, staring up at him like they both just jumped off a cliff, but that she couldn't be happier she was holding his hand when they did, giddiness bubbling up inside her chest at the way he looks at her, lips parted in reverent shock, eyes hungrily drinking her in the same way she'd looked at him moments before.

"Wow," he breathes, lips pulling up into an awestruck smile as Willow giggles and bites her lower lip, smiling hard enough to give herself permanent dimples.

"Bed?" she asks when Hunter continues to just stand there, caught up in the thrill of looking at her.

"Oh," he says, still a little breathless. "Yes, of course."

Never taking his eyes off of hers, Hunter wraps his arms around her waist and sweeps her off her feet into another bridal carry, softer and slower this time, settling in against the headboard with her curled up in his lap.

For a moment, they just stay there like this, eyes eagerly drinking in every detail of each other's faces, Willow's hands carding through his fluffy blond hair, Hunter's fingertips tracing constellations in the freckles that dapple the bridge of her nose and the curves of her shoulders. He chases them with his lips, pressing searing kisses against the bare skin of her shoulders, across her collarbones, up the length of her neck.

"Knew you'd like it if I kissed you here," he whispers, another surge of pride rushing through him at the soft stuttered moan she makes when he kisses the pulse point at the corner of her jaw again. "Never thought I'd get the chance. Always figured you were too good for someone like me."

Willow pulls back to look at him, a war of emotions sparking in her eyes like a live wire.

"You are amazing," she tells him, planting kisses across the scar that winds from the edge of his jaw to the curve of his cheekbone, just below his eye. In the light of the setting sun, Hunter's eyes are almost crimson, heart of a wildfire blazing in his irises.

"I love you so much," she says, bringing his hands up to her lips and punctuating each word with a gentle kiss along one of his jagged scars.

"I always have, and I always will, until—" she pauses, frowns, and shakes her head. People always say things like I'll love you until the end of time, until the day I die, until the world stops turning, but something about that has never sat right with Willow. That kind of thinking implies there's some kind of end to all of this. And that's just not them.

"There is no until. I'll just always love you," she amends, vibrant green eyes blazing with deep-rooted affection. "And I want you. All of you. Even the parts you think are broken."

Hunter's lips part in surprise, eyes suddenly misty, and then he's kissing her, an endless chorus of I love you, I love you, I love you branded into her skin with each press of his lips. In this slow dance of tentative touches and eager kisses, the two of them end up under the covers with Willow astride his hips, slowly slipping out of the last remaining layers that separate them.

Hunter's hands roam her body, fingers fumbling with the clasps of her bra, needing to be closer to her, to kiss every inch of her. Willow leans back, tugging the damnable thing off in one quick, fluid motion, giggling at the look of stupefied awe on Hunter's face as he drinks her in, gaze lingering longingly over every perfect curve, swallowing nervously as his eyes drift down to where they're both connected, nothing separating their most intimate parts.

"I've never done this before," he tells her, admitting it like it's a flaw. "Any of this."

"It'll be a first for both of us," she replies softly, surprised to find she doesn't feel nearly as nervous as she always thought she would be. She'd always hoped it would be with him.

Willow leans in to kiss him — once, twice, three times — and when she pulls away he chases after her, pressing his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes with such fierce adoration it makes her want to cry.

With a slow, steadying breath, she leans back, tilting her hips upward in invitation, watching as he takes himself in hand and guides them until he's hovering just below her entrance, before slowly sinking down onto the length of him, both of them stuttering out gasps as the brand new sensation overwhelms them.

Willow takes a moment to adjust, responding to Hunter's frantic whispers of are you okay? with an enthusiastic god yes, and then she's moving, rocking her hips back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm that renders them both incapable of more than incoherent moans and sighs in the shape of each other's names, hearts in their eyes as Willow takes him in like he's a breath of fresh air in a field full of wildflowers, Hunter gazing up at her like she painted the night sky and hung all the stars just for him.

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Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

The Owl House » Huntlow

Title: Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Owl House (Masterlist)

Relationship: Hunter | The Golden Guard x Willow Park

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Hunter and Willow have been secretly pining for one another since freshman year of high school, and now they're going to be college roommates. They're just moving in together, it's no big deal. Surely this won't change anything between them.

Hunter isn't sure at which point exactly he fell in love with her — when her fingers brushed through his hair as she checked him for a concussion, or when she brought him a soup bowl-sized mug of hot cocoa, winked at him, and said, "I put some extra marshmallows in there for you, helps with the healing, trust me" — but from that night on, Hunter knew that he loved her. And he hadn't stopped loving her, all the way to this exact moment five years later, where he now sat opposite her on his threadbare couch, faced with the prospect of living with her for the next seven months.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr: Chapter 1 » Chapter 2 » Chapter 3 » Chapter 4 » Chapter 5 » Chapter 6 » Chapter 7

#the owl house #huntlow #hunter the golden guard #willow park #the owl house fanfiction #huntlow fanfiction #huntlow college au #until you meet someone who makes the fall feel like flying #chapter 7: read between the lines #fairytalesandfolklore #fairytales-and-folklore #fairytalesandfolklore fanfiction #fairytalesandfolklore the owl house #fairytalesandfolklore huntlow

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