#will you only feel bad when they find out?

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[webism]

pornstar!shiu who started out as your agent. he’d book your gigs, stand and watch with cigarette in hand as you were fucked on film for a fat check that he’d take a cut of.

pornstar!shiu who would take you out for celebratory drinks after landing larger acts—be it a shoot for a dirty magazine or a collaboration with the current biggest name in adult film. shiu is good at getting you in—and he doesn’t much mind watching your artwork either.

pornstar!shiu who helps you set up a secondary source of income: an onlyfans. he helps you garner an audience, set your prices and start looking for guest stars. he lines a few up, lets you pick from them and even pours them a drink when they come over to film. shiu lets you have privacy with these shoots, but insists on staying in the house just in case anything goes sideways: they never do, though. most of the guys you film with are put off by the look shiu gives them when they first walk in. mean.

pornstar!shiu who slowly starts to get sick of accommodating the men you film with. it's just work, sure, but he doesn't get jealous like this of the girls that his other client Toji works with. he doesn't watch their videos back on repeat to make sure their hands don't wander where they aren't welcome. he doesn't fuck his fist at night thinking about him. it's just a you thing.

pornstar!shiu who gets an email one day from a well known pornstars agent practically begging to hitch up a collab between you and him. satoru gojo is a name shiu has heard plenty times before, be it through the business side of being your agent or through his computer speaker when he's edging himself to mindless porn in the dead of night. he knows he fucks good, seen it first hand.

pornstar!shiu who knows you're excited for this shoot, to finally get to try out the guy known for giving real orgasms in hopes of a more raw shoot. shiu almost feels bad when he tells you, twenty minutes before your shoot, that gojo can't make it. that he's sick with something nasty and you'll have to reschedule if his calendar opens up for you.

pornstar!shiu who listens to you whine about how you promised your online audience something good tonight. nods as you beg for him to find someone else on such short notice. he pretends to scroll through his phone and send a few texts as you stress your pretty mind over leaving your followers hanging. shiu can't help but smile at your desperate pout when he tells you that no one can make it on such short notice... but that he does have another idea, albeit an unconventional one.

pornstar!shiu who, within twenty minutes, has your face pressed into your pillows and his hand forcing your arch so he can fuck you just that little bit deeper. the moans you let out, even though they're muffled by your satin pillow, are nothing short of pornographic. it's fitting, and pulls a smile onto shiu's face because he's hearing better moans from you than he thinks gojo could ever pull. and god you feel better than he'd ever imagined: he wonders how he'll ever lay down for another person again know that he's felt you wrapped around his cock.

pornstar!shiu who insists it's just a favour: just work. he's given you five orgasms and a dirty movie to show for it too. you two fuck for an hour and he showers at your place before helping you edit and post it over dinner. it's casual, nothing awkward, but when the comments start rolling in about this new man that makes you cum like none other has, you swear he blushes.

pornstar!shiu who quickly becomes a regular on your page. goes from being your agent to somewhat of a partner in film. over the course of a few weeks, you have more money than you know what to do with: people keep subscribing to watch you cum on his cock in the mindless way it seems only he can pull from you. your library grows daily, with videos of him fucking you on the kitchen counter, whipped cream eaten straight from your chest, to videos from his perspective as he takes drags of a cigarette while you get your fix from your lips wrapped around his thick cock. he's somewhat of a pornstar himself now.

pornstar!shiu who, for someone who insisted this was just work, gets into the habit of kissing you through your orgasms. or conveniently forgetting to press record so that your marathon sex session on his couch stays for his eyes only. or starts leaving things at your house on the off chance to have someone else over to film with, so they'll see his hair gel or large shoes by the front door and realise you're spoken for, even if he doesn't have the right to speak for you.

pornstar!shiu who's asleep in your bed one night, his cock still nestled deep inside of you after making love to you for the first time. you're littered with lovebites and your mind is hazy with feelings you never thought you'd have for your agent of all people. the night is dark, and as you're cockwarming the man who is much more than just a co-star to you, your phone dings. he stirs, and you check it to find a message from Satoru Gojo, who is asking after you. he says he's upset you didn't get to film together the other week but he hopes you're feeling better. your sickness seemed pretty nasty, from what your agent said when he cancelled on your behalf.

what a shame!

[ventismacchiato]

17 stuck with you — jealousy jealousy !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

content warning: oblivious idiots

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT: YOUR POINT OF VIEW

When you and the others returned from the island, you walked into the dorms to find everyone either drunk or in the process of getting there. When Yae asked what everyone wanted for catering, the unanimous answer was alcohol—until Jean reminded them they’d need food too.

You’d had a drink or two and were playing a halfhearted game of cards on the floor with Venti and Aether. Nobody seemed interested in going to bed. Getting drunk was the perfect way to forget the stress of the show.

Scara sat near the door, absentmindedly pulling out blocks in the game of Jenga Fischl had set up beside him. The atmosphere was surprisingly calm…for now.

Then Mona stood up from where she’d been teaching Yoimiya how to make a drink and plopped down next to Scara. He didn’t look too thrilled by the move.

“So, Kuni?” she slurred.

You froze at the name. Scara had made it clear that nobody but you called him that.

“Don’t call me that,” Scara muttered, his voice flat.

“Aww, why not? I thought I meant more than that,” Mona teased, clearly influenced by the alcohol.

“Can you go bother someone else?” Scara shot back.

“Don’t be like that!” Mona huffed, nudging him with her shoulder. “Want a massage? You used to love my massages.” She said the last part while looking directly at you, her hand casually caressing Scara’s shoulder. You quickly looked away, trying not to make it obvious that you were listening.

Scara removed her hand from his shoulder, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Mona didn’t let it go.

“Why won’t you just pay attention to me?” she whined, leaning closer.

“Can you not?” Scara finally turned to face her, his voice sharp. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

At this point, the whole room was trying to act like they weren’t paying attention, but it was clear they were all watching

“I just wanted to talk—” Mona began, but Scara interrupted her.

“I mean, what are you doing on this island?”

“I came to win you over,” Mona said, as though the answer was obvious.

“You’re the one who broke up with me,” Scara huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Mona took a long swig from her drink, unfazed.

“I didn’t want to,” she sighed, her voice thick with alcohol. “I would’ve stuck it out if your mom hadn’t… well…”

You felt a flush of heat spread across your face at the mention of Scara’s mother. You weren’t the only one who noticed; Childe, Aether, and Kazuha exchanged glances, each looking more uncomfortable by the second.

Scara grabbed Mona’s glass from her hand, his fingers tight around it. “You should shut up.”

Mona, however, was too far gone to be deterred.

“How could I not take the contract? You know how bad my old management was. I had no choice. It was either that or you. You know how it is.”

It was only when she noticed the entire room was staring at her that a little sobriety seemed to return. She clamped her palm over her mouth and stared at Scara, wide-eyed.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to say that,” she mumbled, her voice the most sincere it had been all night.

Scara didn’t answer. He just stared at the ground, his face unreadable, while Mona rambled her apology. The rest of the room shifted awkwardly, unsure if they should intervene or just let it pass. You could feel your heart race, had that been the real reason for their breakup? You had always thought Scara had ended things on his own terms. 

Mona reached out for him, but Scara stood up abruptly, stepping over the scattered Jenga blocks on the floor as he moved toward the door. It creaked open, letting in a cold gust of night air before slamming shut behind him.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then, Mona stood, swaying slightly, and started after him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Kazuha murmured, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the door shutting once again.

“Did you guys know about all that?” Venti asked, turning to Aether.

“Since it’s out in the open, yeah,” Aether sighed.

“We need to stop giving her drinks,” Lumine muttered under her breath.

“I’m kind of worried about Mona going after him,” Childe said, rising from his seat to peer out the window. “Knowing Scara, he might drown himself… or her.”

“I’ll go be a witness to the murder then,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Childe gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you made your way out the door.

You didn’t know why you felt the sudden urge to follow him. It had always been about trying to surpass him before. But tonight…tonight you just wanted to catch up to him. To be equals.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

The bench is cold beneath him and the sea breeze is a sharp slap against his face as he stares out at the crashing waves. It’s quiet but it does little to distract him from the turmoil in his chest. His fingers curl around the cigarette, the thin paper already loose from where he pocketed it earlier. He twirls it between his fingers absently, trying to focus on the motions instead of his thoughts.

The urge to light it is almost unbearable. He can almost feel the familiar ache, the way the smoke would crawl its way down his lungs and quiet everything inside him. It would help him forget. At least for a little while. 

But he promised he wouldn’t. 

Your words echo in his head like a soft, repeated prayer, something that clings to him even when he’s alone. He knows if he takes that drag, it’s one more step back from everything he's trying to hold onto. One more thing he’ll have to explain to you, and he can’t stomach that right now.

So instead, he flicks the cigarette into the sand, watching it settle there like a tiny, forgotten thing, and then turns his gaze back to the sea. His breath hitches in his chest. If it isn’t the lack of nicotine that’s bothering him, it’s something else. Something sharper, older.

Something that happened more than a year ago. 

Mona’s slurred words made the memory hit him with the force of a slap. It wasn’t her betrayal that stung, not really. He knew the two of them were never that serious. But it was the fact that she had chosen his mother over him. The fact that his own mother had paid her off like it was nothing. 

Mona had once been sweet back when they first met. Her determination to be an idol had reminded him of you in a way. Maybe he was just searching for a piece of you in anyone he could find. 

“Scara?”

He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s her. He can smell the alcohol before he hears the soft, slurred voice, and when he finally looks up, there she is, weaving on unsteady feet, her hair tangled around her shoulders, eyes glazed.

She’s drunk.

God, what a fucking mess.

“I—uh—can I sit?” She hiccups, and despite himself, he shifts slightly to make room on the bench, the muscles in his back tense, coiled, but his body obeys the unspoken politeness he’d long been taught.

Mona doesn’t wait for a response. She just slumps beside him, her hands gripping her knees like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says after a long silence, the words coming out in a rush, broken by more hiccups. “I didn’t mean to say it to everyone. I swear, I didn’t. I was just—I was just trying to make you… jealous, or something.”

Scara doesn’t say anything. He can already feel his patience wearing thin, his hand tightening into a fist. He knows where this is going.

“You know how I get when I drink,” she continues, her voice small, vulnerable in a way that makes his gut twist. She leans into him, her breath warm and sour with alcohol. “I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I thought... maybe it’d make you care more. Maybe it’d make you feel something for once, you know?”

He stares ahead, trying to focus on the horizon, trying to avoid the heat of her body next to his, the smell of liquor clinging to her like a second skin. She’s slurring more now, and with every word, the tension in his chest grows heavier, pressing down until he’s almost suffocating.

He can feel her swaying beside him, her body suddenly lurching forward as she clutches her stomach. He reaches out instinctively, used to her being like this, his hand awkwardly rubbing her back just to keep her from falling over. She feels so fragile in his touch, but that fragility doesn’t excuse the way she’s always tried to pull him back into her drama.

She leans in, too close again, her words spilling out in a rush like she's been holding them back for too long.

“You know...” she starts, her eyes dark and unfocused. “I only started acting out because you wouldn’t pay me any attention anymore. You were always complaining about YN. Always.”

She lets out a short, frustrated laugh, and then hiccups, her face flushing. “I know it wasn’t love, Scara. I’m not stupid. It was just a stupid distraction wasn’t it, from whatever you felt for them.”

He looks over at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Even if you didn’t realize it back then, I did. Even if all we had was physical you can’t deny it worked. We were good at that. So yeah, I got a little carried away. But if you hadn’t been so busy chasing them around, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

He can’t even find it in himself to deny it. After he had started dating her you’d started avoiding him for one reason or another. Maybe you thought everyone would get the wrong idea.

But it killed him. 

“That doesn’t mean you can just run off and take the first offer my mom gives to you,” he snaps, his tone cutting. “If you really didn’t like the way I treated you that badly, you could’ve left. You could’ve walked away. No one was holding you here.”

He shakes his head, frustrated they were having this talk now of all time, “But you didn’t, did you? You stayed. Because you knew being with me—even if it wasn’t love—would give you the eyes on you that you wanted so damn badly.”

“You’re right,” she admits, the words coming out quietly. “ But I didn’t know what else to do. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”

Scara scoffs at that. 

“It didn’t look like it. All I saw was someone who was more interested in being the center of attention than me,” He shakes his head, turning his back to her for a moment. Honestly, he could keep going. But they were only having this conversation because she was drunk. There was no point, he was over it. 

He exhales sharply, his tone flat when he speaks again, as if he’s just given up.

"Yeah, okay," Scara mutters, voice distant. "It's fine. It’s not like you’ll even remember this tomorrow, anyway.”

It’s the only thing he says, just to make the whole thing stop. He knows she’s looking for something else. An apology, maybe, or some kind of validation. But he’s too fucking tired to give her that now. And it’s not like he’s going to receive one.

"Really?" Her voice rises in a way that makes him want to shove her away. "You're fine with it?"

He doesn’t respond, though now he’s just waiting for her to puke all over him. The sound of the ocean lapping against the shore is the only thing filling the silence, until she’s leaning in closer, her breath hot on his ear, her face too close.

“You know,” she whispers, her words slurred and soft, “I wouldn't mind going back to what we had. Just for a night.”

Before he can stop her, she’s pressing her lips to his, soft and insistent, her body leaning into his as though this is what she’s been waiting for all along. Her mouth is warm, her hands finding their way to his chest, and for a moment, Scara’s heart stops. 

Not because he wants it, but because he doesn’t.

He’s frozen, a quiet alarm ringing in his head. This isn’t real. This isn’t what he wants. Not from her. 

Even if it was only for a few seconds, the moment stretches too long until he can finally pry her away from him. And when he does finally pull back, his hand is shaking. 

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice tight with something: frustration, anger, confusion, maybe a little bit of pain. “Don’t try to fix this with... that.”

She blinks at him, confused, the haze of alcohol still clouding her eyes. "But... but I thought... we could—"

He stands up abruptly, cutting her off before she can make this worse. "Just... don't." The words hang in the air, heavy with finality.

She looks rather pitiful sitting on the bench like that, and he almost feels bad. Almost.

“You should just go,” he says, his voice flat, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

But then, as he turns to leave, he sees you.

In the distance, walking towards the kitchens, your figure framed by the fading light. Seeing you makes something inside him twist. He starts to wonder why you’d come out soon after he stormed off. The idea of you coming back, walking over to him like you actually care. Just that thought is enough to loosen the tight knot in his chest. He didn’t even realize how much he was holding his breath, waiting for it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine you doing it. He almost expects it, but the longer he stands there, the more he realizes it’s just a fantasy. He watches you for a moment, then his stomach drops when he realizes if you were out there you must’ve walked by him. 

You had seen the kiss.

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

Your feet moved before your brain had a chance to tell you no. It was a strange instinct, one you didn’t quite understand. You’d never been one to comfort Scara. You’d been at odds with him for as long as you could remember, enemies in every sense of the word. 

But after what you’d learned about his mother just the thought of him being alone, struggling with it, gnawed at you. You wanted to check on him. You needed to check on him. 

The island was massive, and Scara wasn’t exactly known for his athleticism, so you figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find him. Still, your mind raced as you walked, trying to come up with something, anything, that would make him feel even a fraction better. What could you say to him that wouldn’t sound patronizing, or worse, awkward? You weren’t even sure you could help him, but you had to try.

And then, there it was.

The beach. The bench. The figure slumped against it. Scara. The cigarette in his hand. You’d found him.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to steady yourself. This wasn’t a time to lose control. But before you could take another step, your eyes caught the familiar outline of someone else. Mona. She was walking toward him, wobbling a little as she approached, and suddenly the moment felt off.

You stopped in your tracks, half hidden by a few tall bushes nearby, your body suddenly rooted in place. You should’ve turned around and gone back to the party. Scara was clearly occupied. He would be okay, right?

But no. Your eyes stayed locked on the two of them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away.

Mona was standing next to him now, her chest heaving slightly from hiccups, and her words were slurred as she spoke. Scara wasn’t saying much, but his hand moved, almost instinctively, it seemed, to rub her back, slow and careful. As if he was...comforting her. You felt your pulse quicken, a strange sense of something building up in your chest, something like a heavy weight pressing down on your ribs.

A normal person would’ve walked away, turned around and walked back to the party, chalking it up to nothing more than two people talking, nothing more than Scara being himself. But you were never normal when it came to Scara. So instead, you stayed rooted in the shadow, just watching like some creep. The words you had rehearsed in your head seemed meaningless now, overshadowed by the confusion swelling inside you. What was happening?

And then, without warning, you saw it.

Mona leaned in, her lips pressing against Scara’s.

The world tilted on its axis. You didn’t even know how to react at first. A cold knot of jealousy, something sharp and unexpected, wrapped around your chest, and you felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. 

Scara, someone you’d considered your mortal enemy, the person you had spent years fighting against, was kissing Mona. She wasn’t even trying to hide it, her hands clinging to his chest. Just the sight was enough to leave you standing there, paralyzed. 

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

It was a mantra you were repeating in your head. But the jealousy gnawed at you in a way you didn’t understand, the sting in your chest a sharp reminder that maybe you cared a lot more than you’d ever let on. You’d always been jealous of Scara throughout the years, that feeling was something familiar. But this was something different. Your stomach is twisting with something you couldn’t name. Something that hurt to acknowledge.

Oh.

Oh.

Without even thinking, you turned away, stepping back into the shadows, your feet felt heavy beneath you. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Or you did, but you couldn’t even voice it. 

Scara was kissing Mona. Your Scara. Your Kuni. And you were standing there, like a fool. 

If you had run after him a bit faster would you be the one he’d be kissing? That wasn’t the problem, though. No. The thing that bothered you the most was the way it made you feel like an outsider. The way it reminded you, in an almost painful way, that you weren’t the one he turned to for comfort. 

That was how it had always been. Always. It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You didn’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you when he was angry, or the way he tried to hide his vulnerabilities. Maybe it was the constant back-and-forth, the challenge. Maybe it was the fact that he was always there, whether it be to hit you with a snarky remark or laugh at you when you fell second to him again. He’d always been there.

But you cared. And that made you want to punch something, or scream, or both. You’d never imagined a day when you would care about Scara in any way other than annoyance, or the irritation of seeing him always one step ahead. 

Suddenly, your feet moved as fast as they could to get you out of there.

The walk from the beach to the kitchens feels like it takes longer than it should. The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. 

You step into the kitchens, the cool air inside a sharp contrast to the warmth of the night outside. The lights are low, casting shadows over the countertops, still littered from the dishes from earlier. A clink of glass catches your attention first, and then a familiar voice. 

“You finally made it in here.”

You stop, looking up until your eyes land on Heizou. His casual smile is the same one he always had, though there's something softer in it tonight, like he’s been waiting. He’s got a glass of water in his hand, and you realize he must’ve been looking for you. He’s the last person you want to see right now, but he doesn’t seem surprised by your presence.

“You didn’t go back to the party,” he continues, setting the glass down on the counter. “I figured you might be hiding in here. You don’t look like you’re in the mood for another drink.”

You’re about to reply, but he catches you off guard by speaking up.

“Are you okay?” 

You pause. It’s a simple question, but for some reason, it feels heavy. Before you even know what’s happening, the words just spill out.

“No, I’m not okay,” you start, your voice a little more brittle than you intended. 

“I just... I just watched him. Scara. I saw him with Mona. It’s like everything I’ve been trying to avoid came crashing down in front of me. I don’t even know what to feel. It’s just... why is everything so complicated? Why does he have to make things so complicated?”

Heizou doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t look at you like you’re insane for spilling everything. He just watches, his calm expression making the chaos in your head even more prominent.

“Is that really what’s bothering you?” he asks softly, the faintest hint of concern in his eyes.

You blink, realizing that you’ve been ranting and completely unaware of how you’ve been projecting everything onto him. Heizou seems to sense it too, because next thing you know, he’s stepping closer, his presence warm and steady as he leans a little into the counter beside you.

“Hey,” he says, his tone gentle. “Come on. You need to relax.”

Before you can protest, Heizou wraps a reassuring arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. He places a hand lightly on your head, urging you to lean into him. You hesitate for a moment before giving in, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His body is a familiar comfort, though you didn’t expect it to be this comforting tonight. In the quiet of the kitchen, you realize how exhausted you are. 

“You know,” Heizou says, his voice quiet but teasing, “I have no chance now, do I?”

You blink, not fully processing his words. “Huh?”

Heizou laughs softly, caressing his hand over your cheek, “Still as oblivious as ever, huh?”

You feel your brow furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Heizou’s fingers brush through your hair gently, like he’s trying to sort through his own thoughts. “It’s him, right?”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your heart beating a little faster. “What? No. I—”

But before you can finish, Heizou cuts you off, a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, I saw you two kiss on the show. The hot tub.” He pauses, studying your face for any shift. “It was... something, wasn’t it?”

You feel your stomach tighten, the thought of the kiss now a distant, uncomfortable memory. “You know that was fake, right?” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”

Heizou’s eyes stay locked on yours for a long moment, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He nods slowly, but there’s a slight edge to his tone. “Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.”

You swallow, the words suddenly feeling sharp. Your chest tightens, and you know you have to say something. You didn’t want to hurt Heizou’s feelings after he came all the way out here. 

“No. It didn’t,” you say, your voice firm but tinged with something that feels more like a lie than you want to admit. “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”

You don’t notice at first, but Heizou’s smile falters just the tiniest bit. “Yeah. Sure,” he says, his voice warmer now, almost wistful. 

He doesn’t say anything else, but the silence between you both stretches out, heavy with unspoken understanding. You feel a little stupid for saying so much, for trying to convince him, or even yourself, that it was all nothing. You knew it was far from nothing.

Heizou finally breaks the tension, grabbing the water bottles he came in for. “Yeah, sure. Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”

You stand there, watching him leave, suddenly realizing you’ve just unloaded more than you intended. But before he walks out the door, Heizou looks back, giving you one last knowing look, then disappears back into the hallway.

You’re still standing there when you hear a soft voice outside the kitchen door.

“Interesting.”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat.

You turn slowly, your breath catching in your throat when you see Scara standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, like he’s been listening the entire time.

For a second, all you can do is stare at him. And then it hits you, the way Heizou’s words must’ve sounded to him. The way you had tried to downplay the kiss. The way you’d tried to convince Heizou that it meant nothing.

Scara raises an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but his eyes were glazed over with something else. “Didn’t mean anything, huh?”

The words stick in your throat, and before you can even try to explain, the hurt in his eyes is enough to make you realize he’s probably already misunderstood.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

Scara barely registered the words Mona was slurring anymore, his thoughts still tangled in knots from everything that had just happened. The sour taste of her lips still lingered. That wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the thought of you seeing him like that. Seeing him with Mona.

He had to get out of there. Fast.

His mind raced as he stormed off, barely even registering where his feet were taking him. His body moved on autopilot, following after you towards the kitchens.

When he reached the door, he paused for a moment, chest tight with a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was a soft clinking sound from inside. The low hum of voices.

And then he heard it.

Heizou. Of course. Scara narrowed his eyes, already annoyed. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.

The door was slightly ajar, and without even thinking, Scara found himself inching closer, the need to know what was going on outweighing the nagging voice in his head telling him to turn around. To leave.

What he saw made his stomach churn in a way he hadn’t expected.

You were standing there, your face softer than he’d ever seen it, as Heizou pulled you into his side. The way your body melted into him like it was second nature to be close to him was unsettling, like something sharp had just slid under his skin.

For a second, Scara froze. His thoughts were clouded with the absurdity of it. You with Heizou? Who didn’t know you like he did? Absurd.

It wasn’t like you owed him an explanation. Yet the sight of you resting against him, affectionate, something Scara hadn’t seen you do with him made him... unseen. Like he didn’t belong in your life at all. The knot in his chest pulled tighter.

His breath caught, and before he could do something stupid he stopped himself. What was he even supposed to say? He wasn’t entitled to anything from you. He wasn’t yours. 

So he stayed outside, watching. Listening. 

He could hear Heizou’s voice, low and teasing, and then yours, soft but firm.

“No. It didn’t,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet kitchen, and Scara’s chest clenched painfully. “You know that was all fake, right? It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”

His heart skipped a beat, the words slicing through the silence like a blade. His stomach churned, and the weight of them hit him harder than any punch. 

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t matter.

But it did.

Scara’s fingers dug into the frame of the door, his knuckles white. The words rang in his ears, repeating over and over. He tried to steady himself, tried to remind himself that it was all a game. The hot tub wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, until it did. 

But hearing you say it, hearing you so casually dismiss the kiss, made him feel like he was choking on something sharp and heavy. It was all fake. He had no right to feel that way.

The worst part was, he didn’t even know what to do with it. With you.

You’d both made it clear from the start that this wasn’t supposed to be anything. A show, a performance. The kiss was meaningless. Just another part of the script. He didn’t expect anything different. But hearing you say it so coldly and without any hesitation made something in him snap. 

Before he could take a step back, Heizou’s voice drifted through the door again, a quiet laugh in his tone. “Yeah, sure.”

Scara could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.” The burgundy haired nuisance continued. 

Scara's breath hitched, his chest tightening even further as he leaned in closer to the door, his pulse quickening. He felt an uncontrollable wave of frustration crashing through him. He could feel the words hitting him, one after the other, like Heizou’s voice was a punch to the gut. But worse was the feeling that came with it. The one that told him Heizou was right. That it had meant something. That he had somehow allowed himself to believe that the kiss between you and him had meant something beyond a simple game. He hadn’t realized how stupid you were making him. 

But then your voice came through, clear and harsh, “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”

Scara’s fingers trembled at the doorframe. The knot in his chest was tightening, twisting around his lungs. You were denying it. Denying him. The kiss, the heat, the rush of it. You were dismissing it like it had been nothing more than a convenient illusion. You weren’t wrong, the rational part of him knew that. That didn’t mean he had hoped you’d thought otherwise. 

Everything he had been fighting so hard to bury flared back to life, hotter than before.

Heizou chuckled, a lighthearted sound, but it only made Scara feel more exposed. “Yeah, sure.” Heizou’s voice grew quieter, and Scara heard him getting ready to leave. “Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”

The kitchen door creaked as it swung open, and Heizou left without a second glance, his footsteps fading down the hall.

He was about to turn and leave, he had too. But just as always with you, he couldn’t help but fight back. 

“Interesting.”

You stood there in the doorway, looking caught between embarrassment and something else, your face pale, your eyes flicking nervously between the open door and him.

Scara stared at you for a long moment, his throat tight, before he spoke, his voice low and strained.

“Didn’t mean anything, huh?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

Scara lets out a dry chuckle, sharp and almost bitter, before walking off. Your heart is still racing, adrenaline surging through you. The confusion is all still a blur.

And yet you follow him. 

Something you’d never do, especially with him. But a part of you still wants to make sure he’s okay. And a bigger part of you doesn’t want him to walk away with the wrong idea. 

“Why’d you follow me here?” you ask, your voice louder than you intended, still thick with that adrenaline.

He stops abruptly and turns around, eyes dark, but there’s something else there, too: vulnerability. 

“Why did you follow me?” he shoots back, his voice low, taunting almost, but you can hear the frustration beneath it.

You stand there for a moment, trying to find the right words, but your thoughts feel tangled. “I just... wanted to see if you were okay,” you say, quieter now, your shoulders sagging. “I know your mom sucks, but...it seems like you were occupied.” You didn’t mean it to come off as bitter as it did.

Scara freezes for a split second, his gaze narrowing into something hard. “She’s the one who came onto me, okay?” His voice is biting, “I shoved her right off. And you can’t say shit, you were all over him back there.”

For a second, you can’t say anything. You feel a hot flush rise to your face. You take a breath, and then the words spill out, almost before you can stop them. “That didn’t even mean anything,” you mutter. “He was just... comforting me. I said that so he wouldn’t feel bad.” You don’t want to explain why. You’re glad he wasn’t there for the entire conversation.

Scara’s eyes flicker with something sharp. “Fine,” he spits out, hands gesturing in exasperation. “It’s all fake, then. Fine! It doesn’t matter. Whatever, you don’t need to explain yourself.”

You feel the words sting, and before you can even think, you’re snapping back. “Fine! Fine, Scara. If that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.”

You both stand there for a few seconds, glaring at each other, neither of you willing to back down. And then, just like that, you both start walking in the same direction.

You glance at him, a little incredulous. “You go first.”

Scara doesn’t even look at you. “No, you go first.”

“I said it first!” you protest, taking a step forward.

“No, you go.”

A beat of silence. Then, in unison, both of you groan.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath. “This is stupid.”

Neither of you says anything else, but you both start walking again. Side by side, but without speaking. The tension between you hasn’t fully dissipated, but now it’s more muted, like you’re both too tired to keep fighting.

By the time you reach the door to the dorms, the adrenaline has started to drain away, leaving only the residual ache of whatever you two just went through. You both stop at the doorstep, standing for a moment in the cool night air.

Scara's eyes drift lazily over to a bottle resting on the corner of the porch, a forgotten drink from earlier in the evening. Without a word, he picks it up, twists off the cap, and offers it to you, his face impassive.

“Want some?” His voice is quieter now, a little less sharp, though the remnants of the earlier tension still hang in the air.

You take it without thinking, your hand brushing his as you grab the bottle. Your throat feels dry, like you’ve just run a marathon, like everything from tonight has left you parched. He’s always left you out of breath.

You take a long sip, the alcohol burning down your throat, and pass it back. Scara drinks, then hands it back to you with a quiet gesture. You both settle onto the steps, the weight of the night pressing down around you, but the silence feels somehow comfortable now.

You’re not sure why, but with each sip, you feel a little less tense, a little less angry. It’s still there, but it's somehow quieter now. Maybe because it doesn’t feel like you need to have all the answers, not right now. Not with him sitting next to you like this.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore and the occasional sip from the bottle between you. You pass it back and forth like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The weight of the argument is still there, sure, but somehow it doesn’t matter so much anymore.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

The quiet hum of the night surrounds you both as you sit on the porch, the sounds of crickets and the occasional hum of the waves filling the spaces between breaths. The bottle you’re passing back and forth feels less heavy now, unlike the unspoken things still floating around like ghosts between you and him.

You break the silence first, your voice quieter than you intended. “So, what were you and Mona talking about?”

He doesn’t answer right away, taking a slow swig from the bottle, his eyes fixed somewhere off in the distance. His lips press together in a tight line, but he finally turns to you, his expression unreadable. “Well, she was talking at me, really. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She was asking if I was ever in love with her…”

You raise an eyebrow, curious, “Well, were you?”

Scara’s gaze shifts. His body is tense. He doesn’t meet your eyes immediately, instead looking off to the side, like he’s searching for something. 

He feels the precipice you're both on. 

He wants to jump. 

“No.”

The word hangs there, and for a moment, everything is still. He can feel the air between you both shift, like the ground beneath your guys’ feet has tilted slightly.

“Really?” you ask, more quietly this time. “How did you know you weren’t in love with her?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He shifts on the step, his foot tapping idly against the wood. He wants to say he just knew, as cliche as that sounds. His eyes are fixed forward now, knowing if he looks at you his words won’t leave his mouth. He takes a swig.

The words come out slowly, like he’s still figuring them out as he speaks.

“I don’t know... I just knew, I guess.” He hesitates, then adds, “What I felt for her is different from what I know love is.”

The silence stretches, and he feels like you’re standing at the edge of something with him. 

He’s waiting. He thinks he’s always been waiting for you.

“And you… know what that feels like?” you ask, voice softer now, almost hesitant, like you’re testing the waters.

His eyes finally rake over you.

“I do now.”

You opened your mouth, and he’s hoping something, anything, comes out of it. He felt like he’d just sliced his chest open and was bearing his heart to you with bloodied hands.

His words hang in the air for a long moment, strange and heavy. Your gaze catches his, and for just a second, there’s a flicker in your eyes, something guarded but knowing. Scara holds your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it’s like everything in him stills. The air is thick, as if the words you’ve both danced around are hanging just out of reach. His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat creeping up his neck.

He knows this feeling all too well. The way his chest tightens when he realizes something he’s been waiting for will never come. His mother’s attention. You. It’s a feeling he’s all but accustomed too. But there you were, just out of his reach. He doesn’t expect you to understand. Hell, he doesn’t even understand himself half the time. But in that moment, sitting next to you, he wants you too. 

The weight of your unspoken words presses on him. But maybe that’s all this will ever be, a weight. The knowledge that he’ll never feel the same way about anyone else and that you’ll never feel the same about him. That thought stabs at him like a shard of ice in his chest, cold and sharp. He wants to say something, but the words aren’t there. Not yet. Not ever, maybe. 

“We should go inside,” he murmurs, breaking the silence, his voice almost a whisper against the night’s stillness. 

His voice drops further, and he shifts slightly on the step, his leg brushing against yours. It’s an unconscious motion, but it feels deliberate somehow. Like he wants to be closer but knows better than to ask for it. 

“Yeah,” you pipe up from beside him, “We should.”

Yet you both sit there for a few more minutes, passing the bottle until nothing is left in its wake. He doesn’t look over at you again, doesn’t dare too. Instead he gets up and goes inside, leaving you behind. 

Something you’ve always said he’s good at.

[00:00:00] POST PARADISE DATE TAKE ONE

YAE: So, do you want to talk about today?

SCARAMOUCHE: Talk about what?

YAE: The kiss, obviously. What else would we talk about?

SCARAMOUCHE: What happened to "Hi, how are you?"

YAE: [LAUGHING] This is a safe space.

SCARAMOUCHE: It absolutely is not, but you want to talk about the kiss? Fine. It wasn't real. I didn't even kiss her back, she was drunk and I don't love her. And I'm not that much of an asshole to take advantage of someone drunk. I'm a terrible person, but not that bad.

YAE: [SPEECHLESS]

SCARAMOUCHE: This is fucking stupid. Why did l even have to explain myself? I have nothing to prove to anybody. [GETS UP]

YAE: Scaramouche, wait—

SCARAMOUCHE: [WALKS OFF SCREEN]

stuck with you!

materlist — prev | next

(typos) *slide 6: feelings wheel / *slide 8: i just had this realization

first update of the year wow!

sorry guys i’m scared to do the keep reading button so…😛

after typing oh. oh. i was like ooh bitch i ate

also ignore how scara lowk littered uhm he picked up his cig after dw! environmentally friendly king!

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — four updates during break ur welcome! my break ends in two weeksish so idk if ill be able post another one before then so let me rest xx

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

[dear-ao3]

friends, besties, worsties, davids, and meow meows of the jury. i have a tale for you. while i claim to be no bard (like saph, the queen of very long dramatic tumblr stories that make your heart weep), i must spin a wee bit of yarn in the form of a story. what story? a story of the green cake.

we shall, as most stories do, start almost at the beginning.

the date? january 2nd.

the time? late.

the occasion? saph comes home the third.

the problem? i have no butter or sugar.

now, saph's birthday was recently, so like any other best bud i said i was making a cake. i believe my exact words were 'i'm making you a cake whether you like it or not."

now, gang, i must level with you. this is the fourth cake i've made in my life. i am a reasonably good baker (i can bake a Mean Loaf of Bread), but i'm not a very experienced baker. 3/4 cakes were reasonably good, and only one was just slightly off. so, my track record is mixed, but i am hopeful.

now, let me take you to the present.

i am sitting at my dining room table, typing this post. i am wearing a shirt covered in flour, the green cake is in the oven.

how did i get here?

well, we won't go to the beginning. we've already seen what was basically the beginning, with me having no butter or sugar. the real story begins the morning of january 3rd. which is today. which is when saph comes home, expecting a green cake. as most reasonably well adjusted people do when their roommates parents are visiting, i stressed cleaned the entire apartment at 4am, after realizing the mice in my walls are fucking. i did not leave them a condom. i did not have one that would fit them. i can only hope they have plan b. so naturally, i went to bed at 6am.

and i still had no sugar or butter for the green cake for saph.

and i needed to get started on this cake before 10am, or saph would be here before it was finished.

and i went to bed at 6am. so naturally i set my 9:00, 9:02, 9:04, 9:06 alarms, and hoped i'd lock in when i woke up.

friends, i hate to admit it, but i did not lock in. nay, i slept through all of my alarms and woke up at roughly 9:45. it was cold, damp, and the mice were still probably fucking. i threw my hair into a messy bun, and ran downstairs, only to find my mom was selling me to one direction.

jk. it was far worse.

because saph said she had sent me something.

what did saph send me?

a full poster of david malukas! do i know why? no! but he lives in my kitchen now, providing me with mental support. thanks david!

so, i begin to make the cake after laughing for about 10 minutes about why david is now in my apartment. it starts off surprisingly well. i have not forgotten the salt.

everything is normal.

until i remember.

the cake needs to be green.

why? idk thats what saph said she wanted so i am just going to do what i was told to do and make this damn cake green.

but its now late in the process, and if there is one thing i have learned in all my years of watching the great british baking show with my mom, it is to never over beat your cake.

and my cake, right now, was perfect. trust me. i ate plenty of dough to know it was wonderful.

so now i am trying to figure out how to make the most perfect shade of nico rosberg green, feeling a bit like an alchemist. david malukas is staring me down. my time grows shorter and shorter with each beat.

and then, gang, i had to give up on this being nico rosberg green. i did not want to kill my cake. my green cake. my now mint-green cake that i am baking for saph. so naturally i'm like, okay, time to pour this.

easy, right?

WRONG.

so one thing to know about me is i suck at cutting things.

it's unfortunately a key ingredient in cake making that you have a stupid little circle on the bottom of your cake tins. i cut it the best i could. which was bad. so i'm already fighting demons trying to get the stupid parchment paper from sliding every which way, and then, my friends, i realized something horrible.

the batter had not mixed at the bottom. so now i was fighting even more demons and trying not to get loose flour in my cake.

i think i succeeded. only time will tell. david is watching. the cake is almost done.

i am setting the green cake free.

look upon him now, and weep. the green cake prevails! even though he doesn't look very green yet.

and now, for the hardest part. frosting.

let's see how that goes.

david still watches.

[lowkeyerror]

Congrats on Your Divorce

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Notes: Requested, fluff & smut, librarian!reader, divorced!Wanda, smut, fingering, thigh-riding, cunnilingus

Summary: You befriend Wanda, a regular at the library you work at, after learning about her divorce. The friendship becomes something more one day when you come over to help her with her sick kids. As your relationship progresses you even talk about buying a home together, which leads to a physical manifestation of how much you love each other.

An: It took me awhile because I got a little carried away. I hope I did your request justice 🙇‍♀️.

Masterlist

You enjoyed the mundane lifestyle that came with working at the library. There was a comfort that came with knowing that you worked in something of a community center. Being able to provide a service that for some was the highlight of their day. In this day and age having regulars at the library was a rarity, especially the adults. Kids would come after school for homework or for research purposes, but the adults were few and far between.

Technically it may have been weird that you had a favorite but you couldn’t help yourself. There was a woman named Wanda, she’d come once a week ask for a recommendation and sit there the whole day and read it.

She’d always make a comment or two on the book on her way out and it made you smile. It was good to know she appreciated your picks. Though there were other staff members she only really asked you.

When she missed one week, you found yourself discouraged. One week turned to two and so forth until it had been a month since you saw the woman.

“Y/n, it looks like your regular is back. She might need a little assistance,” one of your coworkers approaches you.

“What are you talking about?”

They give you a look that says ‘seriously’, “Ms. Recommendations, she’s in the non-fiction section looking a little worse for wear.”

You nod and make your way over to the section. There you find Wanda. Your coworker was not exaggerating. She looked so fragile as if she was just waiting for the tears to fall. She was staring at the books, but it was easy to tell that she wasn’t really reading anything.

“Looking for anything in particular,” you say softly, trying not to startle her.

She seems to snap out of her trance enough to try and answer you, “No, not today.”

It felt like she was speaking on autopilot. If it were another guest, you would’ve let her be, but this was Wanda. Perhaps it was a bit para-social but it felt like you knew her better than the average customer.

“I- I don’t mean to overstep, but are you alright?”

She lets out a tired sigh, “That obvious?”

You attempt to back track, “No… uh it’s just I haven’t seen you around in a while."

She looks away for a moment, “ Yeah, I um got a divorce. So I’ve been a hermit as of late.”

“Oh, congratulations.”

Wanda can’t help but laugh at your words, “Most people have been saying they’re sorry to hear, but congratulations? It’s kind of refreshing.”

You shrug, “Well I don’t think divorce is always a bad thing. It’s hard for sure, but it’s better than staying in a situation you don't deserve.”

“What if I was in the wrong?’ Her eyes are glued to the floor as she speaks.

“I may be overstepping again, but I doubt that's the case. You don't seem like the kind of person,” your tone doesn't make her argue, instead a look of relief crosses her face.

“I'm not,” she says taking a deep breath.

You smile at her, “Then it’s their loss.”

She smiles back at you, “I guess you’re right.”

Glad to have made her feel even a little bit better, you begin to leave the aisle she's in. You dint get far before there’s a gentle tug on your wrist. You turn back to stare into Wanda’s warm green eyes.

She’s nervous as she speaks, “I don’t know if I’m too old to be doing this, but fuck it. I could really use a friend right now and I was wondering if you’d be open to getting coffee or something, whenever you’re free.”

You stare at her for a few seconds before nodding, “I’m off in about 15 minutes, there’s a café a few blocks over that I think everyone should try at least once.”

Her excitement builds up in her features. She clears her throat to hide it, “I’ll wait for you by the YA novels?”

“Sounds perfect.”

From that day on Wanda wasn’t just a regular customer anymore, she was your genuine friend. She was also one of the sweetest people you had ever met in your life. She was unbelievably strong too.

The details of her divorce were quite messy. A touch of infidelity here and there, mixed with a custody agreement was a recipe for disaster.

You always offered to be there in any way you can’t for. She usually turns down your more serious offers for help, and sticks to fun small outings. You can tell that she’s somewhat embarrassed by her situation, but you don’t think there’s anything she should be embarrassed about.

“Y/n, I know I said I was free to go out today, but Tommy is sick and Billy isn’t doing that great either, can I give you a rain check?”

She called you and you could hear the tiredness and distress in her voice, “Let me come over and help you, Wands. Two sick kids is rough work, I know you could use a hand.”

She’s silent on the line, but the coughs and sinus filled conversation doesn’t stop.

Wanda sighs, “Okay, do you think you can bring me some medicine? I’ll text you some ingredients I need for soup too if that’s alright?”

“Whatever you need, I’ll see you in a bit,” you say simply.

You follow through on your word picking up various cough, cold, and fever medicines along with some cough drops. You nearly forget about the stuff for the soup, until Wanda texts you something she left off the ingredient list. After picking up everything you head to her house.

You’d been to her house before, but never when her kids were there. You had seen them with her a few times at the library, but back then you didn’t quite deduce that they were her children. It feels so obvious now, but Wanda was definitely a young mom in your opinion, or at least she looked like one.

You rang the doorbell and waited with the groceries in your hand. It took a moment but eventually the door swung open revealing Wanda. Though your hands were full, she’s the one who had bags under her eyes. She looked as though she would fall over any second.

“You’re a godsend Y/n,” she tries to take the bags from your hands but you don’t let her.

“And you’re sick too, here I figured this would happen,” you rummage through the bags and pull out a medicine that’s for adults.

“It’s drowsy.”

You nod, “I know, I figured you need the rest anyway, let me handle its.”

Wanda shakes her head, “Are you crazy? You think you can handle my two kids and me on your own?”

You smile at her, “You underestimate me, Maximoff. Let me show you what I can do.”

“We’ll see, but first come meet them properly.”

You sit the bags down in the kitchen, opting to take the medicine upstairs with you. She takes you to their room.

Tommy is propped up in his bed watching as Billy plays videogames from his spot on the floor.

“Tommy, Billy, this is my friend Y/n. She’s going to help us out today,” Wanda introduces you.

“The library lady,” Billy sounds congested as he speaks.

You nod your head enthusiastically, “ Yep, that’s me. I heard you boys were sick, so I brought some stuff to make you feel better.”

Tommy gags, “Ew medicine.”

You sympathize with him, “Ew is right, but it’s worth it I promise. In fact, I’ll sweeten the deal, you guys take your medicine, and I’ll make you the best soup of your life in return.”

“Better than mom’s?” Billy questions.

“ 1 million times better,” you egg him on.

Tommy is more hesitant, “I don’t know.”

You get closer to him, crouching so you can meet his level, “How about when you’re feeling better, we go out to the arcade and get some ice cream too.”

That seems to be enough for the boy, “That sounds awesome.”

While you’re chatting with them Wanda starts to prepare the medicine cups for the boys. They take the medicine with all the dramatics that children do.

“Ok, we’ll be back to check on you guys, shortly. Billy, get some socks baby. Tommy stay under the covers sweetheart."

The both of you exit the room and head back down the stairs. Wanda moves to start unloading the groceries, but you stop her.

“If you’re not going to fully rest, at least sit. I can make the soup,” you point to the barstools she has in her kitchen.

“Are you sure? I can help-"

You block her from opening the next bag. She looks into your gaze, which holds no feeling of malice or resentment. Instead she finds a warn and tender look behind your eyes.

“I’ve got it.”

She listens to your directions and takes a seat

She watches as you prep the ingredients, ever so often asking where she keeps certain things. Otherwise there is a fluid motion to your movements in the kitchen.

“You know you don't have to take them to the arcade just because they took the medicine, right?”

You pause slightly from chopping vegetables to look up at her, “I probably should’ve asked if it was okay with you first, but I don’t mind taking them. They seem like good kids, which isn’t a surprise at all considering they’re your kids.”

She beams at your words, “They’re a little more docile in this state, but they can be a handful at times. We haven’t really had a big outing like that since the divorce, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

“Then consider it done, as soon as they’re better let me know. We can all go out and have some fun.”

Wanda can’t help the feeling she gets hearing you talk so nonchalantly about going out with her kids. It’s something like a spark, that she hasn’t felt in a long time. She takes this time to really look at you, you’re stunning. Truth be told Wanda had always found you a little attractive, but she wrote it off as you just being conventionally good looking. However now, with you standing in her kitchen cooking for her and her kids. She’s starting to think it’s more than that.

“Do you like children, Y/n?”

“I have a soft spot for kids, it’s partially why I chose to work at the library. I had kind of a rough upbringing as a kid. It was just me and my mom, and money wasn’t all that great, but I remember her taking me to almost all the community events they hosted at the library. We spent a lot of time there. When I was old enough to go on my own, it was rare that I didn’t go. The library is such a haven for kids it’s one of my favorite things about it.”

Wanda felt herself melting under the sincerity of your words, “That’s really sweet.”

You start cooking down the vegetables before you answer, “Yeah, if I wasn’t so crazy about the library, I would’ve been a chef. I actually applied to a few culinary schools in high school, pretty ambitious but I had won a few competitions. I had offers and full ride scholarships to some of the best schools out there, but I chose to become a librarian instead.”

Wanda tilts her head to the side playfully, “So you weren’t just talking shit when you said you’re going to make a soup 1 million times better than mine.”

You laugh, “Technically I’m using the ingredients that you told me to get, so it’s more like our soup. I’m just tweaking a few measurements and cooking it a little different. It’s like a group project, if you will.”

Wanda laughs even harder, “You’re so full of shit.”

“Language, there are children present.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, “They’re upstairs."

“Children have super good hearing Wanda, trust me, I’m a librarian.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle. She watches as the soup comes together a lovely aroma fills the kitchen, her mouth waters at just the smell.

“It smells delicious.”

You motion her over to the stove next to you. She scurries over, which makes you smile. She looks utterly adorable and ethereal at the same time. You began to notice it over the last few times you had hung out. Wanda was simultaneously the cutest and the most beautiful woman, you think you’d ever met in your life

“Taste,” you hold a spoon full of soup up for her.

She hesitates a little, but decides to just eat from the spoon while you hold it. Her eyes close as the flavors dance on her tongue. She lets out an involuntary moan, that has her blushing as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“Oh my god, that’s the best soup I’ve ever had in my life,” Wanda stares at you in awe.

“I hope the boys think so too.”

Wanda helps you fill the bowls for them, “They’re going to love it.”

True to her words the boys devour the soup going as far as to ask for seconds. Neither of you can deny them another bowl. Once they eat, you can see the food working in tandem with the medicine to tucker them out. Before they’re completely out of it you and Wanda get them ready for bed.

It feels more normal than either of you expected. By the time you’re done, both twins are now in bed. The tv plays something at a low volume, but you and Wanda are both aware that the kids will likely be asleep as soon as you leave the room.

When you leave you head back to the kitchen fixing 2 more bowls of soup for Wanda and yourself. You eat amongst each other with small chatter, but it’s comfortable. When you’re done, you almost have to fight Wanda to allow you to do the dishes.

She pouts, once again sitting at the barstool watching you clean.

“You haven’t let me help this whole time,” she whines.

“I’m here to help you, not the other way around,” you remind her.

Wanda places her hands on her hips, “But if you’re doing everything, what am I supposed to do?”

“Just sit there and look pretty,” you say without thinking.

Wanda feels her face heating up, losing track of how many times it has happened today alone, “Look pretty, huh?”

You can feel your ears heating with embarrassment, “oh I- well.”

“Oh my god are your ears turning red, that’s literally adorable. Are you flustered, Y/n?” Wanda teases.

You glare at her with faux-anger, “My ears? Your cheeks are just as red.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

You wash your hands, quickly drying them before approaching her. You keep walking until there is virtually no space between the two of you. You look down at her, you don’t stop your eyes from dropping to her lips.

“Oh really?”

She looks up at you, her cheeks indeed, red like you had mentioned.

“And if they were?”

“Maybe I’d say that it’s adorable,” you use her words against her. “Or maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Her eyes dart to your lips.

You look back into her eyes, “Maybe, I’d kiss you.”

“I’d like that.”

That was all you needed to hear. She met you halfway and, in an instant, you were kissing. Your hand rested on the small of her back, while her hands locked around your neck. It was cliché but it was cute. The kiss itself was respectable, but still filled with a feeling of longing.

Wanda’s hands drop from your neck to lightly push you back, “I’m divorced with two kids Y/n-"

You stop her before she can even rant, “I know, Wanda. I’ve been here, maybe not the whole time, but most of it. I don’t care that you’re divorced and I’d love to get to know your kids. I’d love to get to know you better.”

“I feel like you already know me, Y/n. We’ve been friends for over a year now. We’ve spent so much time together, I’m just surprised you’re not tired of me yet.”

You take her hands in yours, “I could never get tired of you. I’m quite literally asking for more. Let me take you out some time.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s bold, but you place a quick kiss on her lips, “Positive."

From there things just seem to fall into place. You kept your promise to the boys, taking them out when they recovered from their sickness. Wanda was impressed by how well you mingled with them considering her ex always seemed to struggle to relate. However you, had no problem tapping into that childlike like amazement that the kids felt.

Soon after that outing, you and Wanda went on your first real date. You took her out to a nice restaurant. It was an upscale establishment, the prices weren’t even on the menu. Wanda tried to fret about how she didn’t know if she deserved this kind of treatment, but you always reassured her.

You believe she deserved the best and as long as you could give it to her you would.

It only took 4 dates before you asked her to be you girlfriends, not being the best at waiting. Luckily for you she agreed and truth be told if you would’ve asked her on the first date she probably would’ve said yes then.

At this point you’ve been dating for a little over a year. The twins are with their father for the weekend, and Wanda is staying over at your apartment.

The two of you are on the couch. She’s resting in your arms as you watch tv, “Wanda.”

She looks up, “Yes, detka.”

“How attached are you to your house?”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Why?”

You hold her gaze, “Is it crazy if I say that I want us to live together?”

Wanda plays with your fingers, “No, I don't think so.”

You kiss her forehead, “It’s just a thought.”

“You want to buy a house?”

You nod curtly, “We don't have to leave the area, I know the boys have school and I wouldn't want to pull them away or make them start fresh or anything, but I’ve been looking at some homes in the area. Something a little bigger, Billy and Tommy could both have their own room and a huge backyard. Maybe a dog, in the future.”

Wanda cups your face gently, pulling you down to kiss her, “I would love to buy a home with you Y/n.”

“Really?”

Wanda kisses you again, “Really.”

“I love you,” your eyes softening as the words fall from your lips.

“I love you too.”

Your lips are connected again, this time neither of you break the kiss. Instead Wanda shifts in your lap to straddle your waist. Her hands playing with the tiny hairs on the back of your neck. Your hands start at her thigh but end up sliding up to her hips, and soon your fingers are in contact with the cool skin of her stomach.

You aren’t able to stop yourself from kissing down her jaw. She moves her hair and cranes her neck to give you more access. Your teeth sink into her neck only for your tongue to soothe the skin. You suck the spot tenderly, causing little whines to emanate from Wanda.

“Y/n,” your name is breathless on her lips.

She doesn't have to say anything else for you to stand up with her still in your arms. You carry her to the bedroom. Once you’re in there and her feet are on the floor, you pull her shirt off. Yours follows after.

Wanda feels herself getting wet under your gaze. The way you take in her bare chest, eyes blown with want. While you stare she gets rid of the rest of her clothes. You eagerly do the same.

You pull her flush against your body. Skin heating upon contact.

“You’re perfect,” your thumb toys with one of her nipples.

Your head dips to take it into your mouth. You suck lightly, ever so often slowly fanning your tongue over the nipple. You do the same to the other nipple, while your hand cups her warmth. You moan at her wetness.

“ I need you,” she whispers.

You kiss her tenderly, backing her onto the bed. You’re gentle as you ease two fingers into her. She arches her back slightly, and her kiss becomes sloppier.

You’re in no rush as you slowly build pace. Her finger nails dig into your back.

“More please,” she buries her head in your neck.

You begin pumping at a faster pace, using your thumb to stimulate her clit. Her ragged breaths in your ear only turn you on even more.

You jolt as you feel her hand in-between your legs. Her fingers play through your folds and you hear her gasp in your ear.

“All for me baby?”

You nod, “All for you, Wands. Can I taste you, baby?”

“Fuck,” Wanda murmurs.

She pulls her fingers from you, signaling for you to suck them. You take them in your mouth, swirling you tongue around the digits, high off of your own taste.

Once her fingers exit your mouth, you maneuver down her body. You momentarily take your fingers out of her. She doesn’t have time to complain before you’re sucking on her clit.

“Holy shit,” she entangles her hands through your hair.

You keep eye contact with her as you lick, suck, and slurp her pussy. She throws her head back, taking her lip between her teeth. You can see sweat illuminating her body.

Soon you add your fingers back and you can feel her approaching her edge.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she keeps repeating the mantra as she reach her peak.

You don’t stop when she cums on your tongue, only slowing your motions, to help her come back down.

“You did so good for me baby,” you say kissing up to her lips.

She shifts so her thigh is against your dripping cunt, “Your turn, my love. Use me.”

You see her flex her thigh, which causes you to moan, “Fuck, Wanda.”

Your hands rest on her shoulder as you begin to grind down on her. Her hands are on you, but the movements are all yours. Wanda watches with blown eyes as you fuck yourself on her thigh. Her hands climb up your sides to massage your breasts. You bite your lip as her fingers play with your nipples.

Wanda sits up slightly, just enough to get her mouth on your body. She sucks on near the top of your breasts, trailing hickeys across.

“I love it when you make a mess on my thigh, cum for me, moya lyubov.”

You cum all over her thigh. Her arms wrap around your midsection holding you steady as you shake. Her head rests against your chest, listening to your wild heart beat return to normal. She places a delicate kiss on your shoulder.

“I love you.”

You kiss the top of her head, “I love you too.”

Once you’re both cleaned up, you settle in bed for the night. You’re start out as the big spoon but soon Wanda turns to face you.

“I was so scared before you came into my life,« she admits.

“Wanda-"

She shakes her head, “Let me finish. I was so lost, I didn't know what to do, if there was anything I could do to feel like myself again. There were so many days I went through thinking I was unlovable. Then you show up, and all of those feelings and thoughts just leave. I’ve never felt so cared for. You make me remember all of the things I love about myself. You make love seem so easy, it feels obvious when you’re with me. I’ve never experienced a love like you’ve given me and I need you to know I love you too. I’ve never felt what I feel for you with anyone else.”

Wanda starts out loud and sure, but by the end her voice is quiet. She doesn’t break eye contact, fighting against her insecurities.

There are no more words shared between the two of you. Wanda kisses you with everything she is feeling and you return her fervor. She pecks you again before burying her head in your chest. You hold her tightly in your arms wondering how you ended up being so lucky.

Her words make emotion swell inside of you. Your voice cracks when you speak, “You are the love of my life. I was doing alright before, but you and the boys are truly everything I’ve been missing in my life. Getting to be with you, a part of your family, it means everything to me Wanda. Thank you, for letting me love you.”

[oceanicwriting]

my shirt.

summary: you and theodore have been dating for a few weeks now. one afternoon, he walks into your room without knocking, finding your body stretched out on the bed. what's so bad? you're only wearing his t-shirt and black underwear.

pairing(s): theodore nott x fem!reader

a/n: i was working on something a little more fun (theodore nott x vampire is coming), but it's taking me a little longer to write, so i brought something shorter for now. enjoy!

+18 smut, cowgirl, praising, cursing

ㅤㅤㅤ your body feels heavy, dragging your feet around the room as you lazily take off your uniform. you're not careful where the clothes fall, but that herbology exam had consumed any trace of energy left inside your body, and you just wanted to take the longest nap ever.

ㅤㅤㅤ you search for some pajamas in the dresser, but you can't find any clean ones. then, you spot the shirt theodore had forgotten the last time he slept with you. when you take it in your hands you can smell the soft notes of his cologne and decide to put it on to lie down in bed with your walkman headphones playing the music tape your boyfriend had given you.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore, on the other hand, was on his way to your room after finishing his quidditch training. he really wanted to see you because he knew how exhausting your last Herbology exam had been. when he gets to your door, he makes a move to knock. however, he stops suddenly, thinking... after being in your bedroom so many times, would he still knock on the door? and maybe just for that one time, he should have knocked.

ㅤㅤㅤ you're lying on the bed wearing one of his t-shirts and black panties with a thin line of lace embracing your butt. even though he had seen you in skimpy clothes more than once, he had never seen you wearing one of his clothes and, for some reason, his body reacts to the attraction of your figure like never before.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore leaves his bag next to the door, approaching you with stealthy steps. when he notices that you have the walkman headphones on, he carefully takes them off and gently moves your body to wake you up. it wasn't difficult because you're not a deep sleeper.

ㅤㅤㅤ —theo —you greet with a sleepy voice—. what are you doing here?

ㅤㅤㅤ he smiles, making your heart race at the tender gesture.

ㅤㅤㅤ —just checking on you. —theodore makes room on the bed, hugging you and kissing your face carelessly—. so?

ㅤㅤㅤ —it was exhausting, —you say, playing with his hair as his kisses move down your neck, making you laugh between your words—. you’re a little more affectionate today, aren’t you?

ㅤㅤㅤ you can hear the small growl that leaves his lips, feeling his hands move down to your waist.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what’s wrong?

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore pulls out from the crook of your neck, showing off his disheveled hair and pleading gaze. you can’t help but smile at the way his hands tangle in his shirt, pulling you until you crash against his pelvis and feel the hardness of his crotch.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you’re wearing my shirt. —you nod slowly, rubbing yourself against him—. and it looks so fucking cute on you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you think so? —you whisper against his lips—. or are you biased by something else?

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore laughs.

ㅤㅤㅤ —biased by your beauty. nothing more.

ㅤㅤㅤ you hug his neck, pulling him towards your face to kiss him softly. the movement of his mouth against yours is as calm as you had expected, slowly deepening the feeling of butterflies exploding in your stomach at the simple contact. your entire body itches at the way his hands press on your waist, demanding and strong.

ㅤㅤㅤ then, straddling one leg over him, you turn to straddle his bulge. theodore cups your cheek with one of his hands, preventing you from pulling away when he intensifies the kiss with the intrusion of his tongue. your hips, on the other hand, begin to move against him.

ㅤㅤㅤ there’s a wave of soft moans and gasps colliding every time you part to catch your breath. theodore pulls off his shirt shortly after he sits you on top of him, breaking the kiss with ragged breaths. he moves his hands up from your waist to the softness of your breasts, squeezing and playing with your hardened nipples.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i think if you wore my shirts more often i’d lose my mind, —he whispers, as you moan at the feeling of his cold rings hitting your skin—. my girl.

ㅤㅤㅤ you make a move to take off the garment, but he stops you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i want to fuck you with this on.

ㅤㅤㅤ the simple comment sends a heat to your wet core, and you unbutton theodore's pants to free his erect member.

ㅤㅤㅤ —come here, —he says, lifting his hand for you to lick two of his fingers—. come on.

ㅤㅤㅤ you shake your head, settling yourself on his lap and grabbing his cock to guide it to your entrance. theodore is perplexed for a moment but helps you by holding your panties to the side of your entrance, where you begin to take the length of his member between soft moans.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i just want you inside me, theo.

ㅤㅤㅤ he holds your body to help you carefully take the last bit of his member, gasping at the tight feeling of your hole and losing his mind at the way your weight presses against him. his hands travel over your body, which is adjusting to his size for a while, sending thousands of electrical signals to your brain.

ㅤㅤㅤ after a while you start to move in slow circles, going up and down little by little with the help of your legs and theodore's hands, who grunts every now and then at the feeling of your panties scraping his member already soaked with your liquids.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you're doing well, baby. —one of his hands travels to your ass, squeezing it and helping you keep a rhythm that manages to stir every part of your interior—. you're doing it perfectly.

ㅤㅤㅤ the feeling of theodore filling your insides feels like touching heaven itself. it's one where all the vibrant colors dye green and happy meadows, so happy that it's impossible not to want to stay there forever.

ㅤㅤㅤ from one moment to the next, your ups and downs become faster, always being held by the strength of your boyfriend who looks at you in ecstasy between his darkened eyes. the sound of your ass crashing against his pelvis was so delicious that you couldn't stop now that you heard it louder, feeling his cock sink deeper into you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —good. just like that, —theodore says, approving the way your body shudders even more on the length of his member—. you are doing it so well.

ㅤㅤㅤ your hands must rest on his chest from the increase in speed. suddenly, theodore’s free hand grabs the bottom of your shirt to bring it to your mouth. you look at him in confusion.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i just wanna see your breasts bounce, —he says, making you giggle and agree to take the bottom of the garment between your teeth, revealing the way your breasts move with you—. shit, you’re so cute.

ㅤㅤㅤ your movements haven’t slowed down, and theodore begins to pound upwards, drawing gasps from you that flush your cheeks in embarrassment. the sensation now begins to touch every part of your body, increasing a flame of pleasure that begins to burn everywhere.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore brings his own thumb to his mouth, licking it and directing it to your clit, applying pressure and massaging quickly. you scream against your closed mouth, moaning and sighing at the wave of emotions traveling from your pussy.

ㅤㅤㅤ you could feel it, seven strokes later, his cock twitching inside you at the imminent threat of cumming. your body was close too, clenching your muscles and gasping for air. theodore hasn’t stopped stimulating your clit, while his hips meet your movement to deepen your sounds.

ㅤㅤㅤ —so perfect, love. just a little more. just give me a little more...

ㅤㅤㅤ —t-theo, i need you to kiss me —you say, letting the shirt fall from your mouth.

ㅤㅤㅤ you don’t know how, but theodore manages to sit up while he continues to help you with the thrusts and stimulates your clit, kissing you with difficulty at the lack of stillness. the kiss is what was missing so you could feel the sensations of your body reaching their point, shaking against his cock and clenching it as you feel his hot liquid fill you completely. you were done together.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i love when you do that, —he says, kissing your face as you catch your breath—. cumming in the middle of a kiss.

ㅤㅤㅤ his mouth leaves a soft peak that makes you laugh.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i just really love your kisses.

ㅤㅤㅤ he smiles, cleaning everything up with his shirt thrown on the floor.

ㅤㅤㅤ —will you stay with me? —you ask, letting yourself fall onto the bed as theodore leaves his shirt in the laundry. a shirt that would soon stay with you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —of course, do you think i would miss the opportunity to sleep with you in those pajamas? never.

ㅤㅤㅤ he throws himself next to you on the bed, pressing you against his chest as he forces you to tell in great detail the herbology exam, listening attentively and leaving soft kisses every now and then. that was the life you wanted to have forever.

[floatyflowers]

May i request Dark Platonic Father Front Man/001/Hwang In Ho x Reader except the reader is just some 18 year old player who’s in the game because her biological father spent all her money and got her in dept. then left her. She joins after red light green light. And she’s talking to in ho and she’s like “you remind me of my father” and he somehow gets it in his head that wants a father figure so bad. And at the six legged race when player 222 comes up reader says she will find a new group but there was nobody left so they just let her play the game by herself without a timer? And at the end where they are all fighting the guards take her to this room and the “frontman” comes in talking about “my sweet daughter”

Your father ran away like a coward after leaving you with a huge debt, and to pay off such a debt, you found yourself entangled in the Squid game.

Even though, you arrive later into the game, you find yourself making friends, especially with 001, however, you felt that there is something off about him.

You had many friends and was on good terms with many people 001's age.

And you know for a fact that he is exaggerating for someone his age even if he is just being kind and playful.

For example, you are feeling like he is being manipulative to the point where you accidentally say out loud that 'you remind me of my father' because your father is like that.

In-Ho only gave you a smile.

Huge mistake, like that's a huge mistake because Front Man misunderstood you, and thought your father was a good man.

And from then in the game, you realise how easy the tasks has become easy for you.

To the point where some of the masked men help you.

But you understood why all of that was happening.

As you found yourself sitting on a leather chair with your hands and legs tied together with ropes.

And the Front Man, kneeling, in front of you, placing his hands on your cheek, as you shiver in fear.

"You are him...you are the reason why they are dead." you stress out, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks.

"My sweet daughter."

You frown in confusion at his words.

"My wife wished to have a daughter with your beautiful features, unfortunately she died before that could happen, but you are here now."

You remember Hwang In-Ho speaking about his wife, and now that he wants you to be the child he wished to be born.

The feeling of discomfort successfully defeated the feeling of sympathy for that man.

"I don't want to, I already have a father and he's as horrible as you." you exclaim.

"You have no choice, it's rather that or death, something I know you don't want to experience at the moment."

Your heart beats, gulping down the insults you wish to throw at him.

"I want you to call me Appa from now on, and if you do forget to address me as such, I might forget that you are my daughter and end up killing you."

[bluemerakis]

─────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ this one’s on me ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ s4!spoilers, cussing, dean’s really just suffering omg, and he’s also like, secretly smitten over reader; small age gap, a slow-burn build up to car sex, grinding, nip sucking, oral f receiving (he’s such a tentative munch pls), unprotected p in v, fluff. lmk if I forgot any :))

synopsis — dean’s physically free of hell, but he finds that his own demons have never really left him. having already made his fair share of bad decisions, he figures that it couldn’t hurt to make one more—the pursuit of you.

word count ~ 10.5k (i’m done apologising y’all know how carried away i get 🤟)

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Rowdy occupants teetered throughout the local bar, their cheers and protests slurred by this evening’s two-for-one special on all drinks. The bar was lively enough on most nights, but always in a manner sophisticated enough for Dean to enjoy a glass or two in comfort. Now, the space had become a raging fest of body against body, and the music was so loud that he could feel the ringing of his ears pressing all the way into the back of his eyes. The abrupt change in atmosphere felt personal, like it’d been specially planned to further tug at Dean’s gradual undoing.

His elbows were propped onto the bar top before him, fingers restlessly tapping at the sweaty, glass keep of his beer. All around him, barmaids wove frisky lines to tend to drunken groups seated along either side of him. Occasionally, one of the girls would attempt to cast their hook into him with an overzealous offer to top up his drink, and a candid nibble of their glossed lips, but he’d nicked their lines at the ready.

Any other night, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to show those gorgeous barmaids a time to remember, but as of now, he had other company to entertain—the unwanted and persistent voices in his head. Sounded insane, huh? Quite frankly, he was starting to feel the part. It was making him a bit of a downer, and that wasn’t much his style with the ladies.

Dean’s head lolled between his hunched shoulders, where he glimpsed his lonely reflection in the bubbling amber of his drink. He realised he must’ve stood apart from the bar’s bustling and cheerful atmosphere like a sore thumb, sat in broody silence as he indulged his second beer with a hefty frown on his brows.

He could have scoffed at the idea of being alone. If only onlookers had the ability to peer into the depths of his tainted mind, then they’d know that he was anything but alone.

True silence was a luxury Dean had long since been robbed of. It was a concept that held hands with peace, but there was no peace to be found in a soul as wretched as his. He didn’t deserve it—not after everything he’s done.

Those years he’d spent wrapped up in hell had remade his psyche in all the worst ways. And even now, as he walked amongst the living once again, it felt as though a fraction of the underworld had carried through and engraved itself in his very DNA.

He felt tainted by its touch—heard the way it mocked him with the voices of all the strangers he’d tortured to spare himself the same turmoil. It looped in his mind like a sadistic ear worm. Every hour, every minute, every damn second of the day. And to top the icing on the screw you cake? He had no idea how to make them shut the hell up.

It hadn’t always been that way, though. The first time it happened had been a rough week or so after his return. He’d taken on a rather grim job with his brother—a chain of victims that had been tortured to the death by a rogue demon. Dean had let out a wry scoff when Sam had first told him the details. He had a hunch on what that was about.

The demons hadn’t had any say in Dean’s release from hell. If it were up to them, they’d have kept him in a glass display for all eternity. When Cas had pulled him from the fiery depths, the angel had just about pissed off every single demon down there. They knew they couldn’t lay hands on Dean and drag him right back down to his eternal misery, so they’d taken to doing what they did best—causing havoc. And they’d found just the way to make it personal.

Each victim the brothers had found had been tortured in a different way—methods that were all too familiar to Dean. Methods that he’d invented. He’d had years to become creative. Each sighting had mortified him, and he’d had to swallow several times to suppress the bile adamantly reaching up to strangle his airways. What hurt him the most, though, was having to put on a detached facade for Sammy. His brother had no idea what Dean had been through down there. . . what he’d done down there—and why should he? He’d be more than eager to offer up a steaming fest of pity and guilt if he knew the truth, but Dean didn’t deserve any of that. It was all his own doing. His choice.

Cas might’ve liberated him from his physical hell, but he’d never truly been liberated from anything. Most of the suffering had always come from within, anyways.

They’d never found the demon responsible for the murders. It almost made Dean believe that he’d reverted back to his primal nature and killed all of those people himself. He’s hurt people before, so what was stopping him now, right? Maybe he’d done it in his sleep. Maybe, as soon as he’d let his head hit the pillow and dull his battered mind into a much needed deep sleep, all the worst fragments of his subconscious would pull together into some twisted alter ego that came to kill at his unspoken will.

Had Cas freed an innocent that day, or had he just unleashed another, wretched demon into the world? Boy, if it was the latter, Lilith surely had nothin’ on him.

The voices had started ever since that disturbing case, and they were yet to leave him alone.

It’s almost as if that cheap, goddamn knockoff on the real events of his life had been last switch that needed flipping to tune his mind into hell’s channels. Now, he heard them all—the voices—at every frequency and at every volume. And it didn’t matter how hard he cranked up Baby’s radio, their agonising pleas would always pull through in a haunting backtrack. One time, while he and Sam had been on the road, the voices had grown so loud that it made his eardrums feel as though they’d implode. It had hurt like a bitch, pushing him to the brink so that he’d lose control of the wheel and swerve into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, dear ol’ Sammy had been quick enough to grab ahold of the wheel and steer them clear of the looming truck they were en route toward.

The truck’s bellowing hooter had set him straight again as it whipped past the rear, almost as though it were the stern chiding needed to pipe those asshole voices right back down. His brother, bless his soul, had offered to drive them for the rest of the day, quiet concern alight on his features. But Dean had declined almost instantly. Sam hadn’t pushed to know what had overcome his older brother in that very moment; he’d known enough to pin it onto the aftermath of hell.

For the rest of that day, the younger brother had said nothing about it, but he did cast a few, fleeting glances with those damned puppy eyes of his. Dean pretended not to notice. Furthermore, he’d chosen to forget that that instance had ever happened. Fake it til y’make it, right? He didn’t need to look worried—didn’t need to make Sammy worry.

How his brother had grown up unmarred by Dean’s personal shit was beyond him—but he was thankful for it. And he’d continue to withhold that burden from his brother for as long as he could. This hell business? It was his alone to bear. Sammy needed no part in his suffering, and Dean doubted his brother could do much about it, anyway.

Man, the younger Winchester could do no wrong. It almost sickened Dean to know that they shared the same blood. He supposed it created a balance in nature, like how a coin had two sides—one lucky, and the other anything but. It wasn’t hard to know which side was his. Wasn’t much fair, but which aspect of his life had ever been? No matter. For Sammy, he’d keep on flippin’ that damn weighted coin if it meant that he could keep his brother safe.

Dean shifted atop the uncomfortable bar seat and sniffed away his restless thoughts, bringing the thawed beer to his lips. His nose dipped into the glass as he downed an eager gulp, the lukewarm beverage engulfing his tongue with a warmth he would’ve rather claimed from a skimpy barmaid. But alas, he’d made himself the promise to keep any and all contestants from playing this whirlwind of a game that was anything remotely related to his life.

Was this how celibate priests felt? ‘Cause man, it sucked. Not that they’d know the feeling of that, either.

He lowered the partially emptied drink back onto the bar top with a bitter scoff, eyes downturned to where he twirled the glass base within the ring of moisture it had bled onto the wood.

“Something funny, or have you just finally gone insane? Called it, by the way.”

Now that was the last voice Dean had expected to hear tonight. And in a bar, of all places—somewhere your holier than thou self had once sworn to never set food in outside of hunts. Granted, you were probably just being dramatic, but the thought still amused him.

He needn’t turn much to witness your figure. You slunk into perfect view as you took up a seat beside him. “Fancy seein’ you here,” he greeted through a lazy half-smirk, lifting his glass in a one-sided cheer.

You shot his drink a pitiful glance before returning his curious stare with an amused smile. “And I’m sure the bar hates to see you coming,” you retorted lightly, averting your gaze as you lifted your hand to wave over the bartender. “Whiskey, neat, thank you,” you said sweetly once the man had approached.

Dean risked a quick sweep of your figure—adorned with a dress so simple and casual, it shouldn’t have beckoned for his attention the way that it did. But honestly, this was one of very few times he’d seen you in anything other than your hunting or roleplay attire. And to be a little more honest, it was a view he could get used to watching.

Your head swivelled to face him for a brief second, which was enough to pluck his eyes away from what could be considered leering, if he’d made a point to stare any longer. And he was oddly tempted. But you quickly turned to face the bartender once more, initiating friendly chatter while he poured your drink with an extra chirp to his tone. You tended to have that effect on people, making bonds both meaningful and meaningless wherever you trod. Shit, look at the way you’d so easily strolled into both Sammy and his life. He wasn’t one to let strangers linger around, but for you, he’d made some sort of exception.

Dean lowered his head to study his glass once more. It was a view he’d long since grown tired of, but it was for the best. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that, anyway. You were Sammy’s friend first, and with that connection came the unspoken obligation of keeping his destructive hands off of you.

Sam had met you all the way back college. You weren’t the brand of friendship Dean would’ve expected his former anti-hunting brother to delve into—being a hunter and all—but that fact had only been disclosed after an unfortunate day of you being caught in the crossfire of one of their cases. It was a day Dean had thought you done for, for sure, but then you’d gone and surprised the both of them with your hunter’s wit, immobilising the threat like it’d been nothing of a challenge.

Dean would never admit it to your face, but you were a whole lot more knowledgeable than himself and Sam combined—and that’s considering that his brother is a colossal nerd before anything else. Since then, you’d stuck around, always helping Sammy with the nit-picky bookworm bullshit that Dean had never had much desire to do. He’d thank God himself for the lucky find that was you, if the big man in the sky really existed to begin with. Even after having met the angels, who were by no means impressive (save the girth of their dick nature), he couldn’t be convinced that there was a God who’d sent them here.

His attention strayed back to you as you reached across the bar top with a cash tip in clutch, which the bartender drank in with slightly flustered eyes before refusing it politely. Dean found himself huffing softly at the sight of it—not long after he’d come in, he’d seen that same bartender lay a fit on one of the occupants who’d refused him a tip after wrapping up the bill. He could’ve guessed that the demanding air you brought to the place had something to do with it. You didn’t mean to do it—demand things your way—it was just a string of events that always managed to fall into place whenever you showed up.

It was a quiet allure you’d always had to you. Dean could call you a good-luck charm for it. It made him want to hold onto you, just a little tighter, but he’d be selfish to do it. And whatever found it’s way into his grasp always seemed to shatter.

You reached for your glass almost shyly, as though you felt some slither of guilt for not being able to compensate the bartender’s effort, before turning to face Dean more directly. You tilted your head in the slightest manner, free hand brought up to cradle your cheek in poise as you gazed at him. “What did you mean by that, anyway?”

He frowned lightly. “What did I mean by what?”

“Fancy seein’ you here,” you mocked in a tone far too deep. A shameless grin spread your lips before you lifted your glass to take a sip—your eyes holding a glint he couldn’t quite decipher. And he didn’t try to linger on your stare for long enough to find out. There was some pull to it—like a getting caught in the sea’s rip current, and it made him feel something he couldn’t quite place. Or wouldn’t place, for the sake of keeping things unattached.

He glanced off to the side with a simple shrug. “Nah, I mean, you’re always off chasin’ some fairytale with Sammy. Just figured the two o’ya woulda found a fresh tail to nip by now,” he said nonchalantly, glass brought to his lips as he took a tense swig that finally emptied his glass.

“Well, yeah, but it’s after hours now. And I need a break, just like you,” you laughed. “Besides, I think you of all people could take the biggest break from chasing anything for the time being—which I’m glad to see you doing, by the way.”

He offered a simple nod of acknowledgment before lowering his glass and swirling the beer around his tongue, racking his tired brain for the next thing to say. It irked him a bit. Part of his charm was that chatting it up with the ladies always came easy. Who the hell would be be without it? But something about tonight—about you—had him feeling like a gawking numb-nut with a desperate need for a wingman.

He swallowed his sip and cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously, finally mustering up the courage to face you again. You had your fingers wrapped around your glass now, your eyes narrowed in eager focus and the corners of your lips slightly upturned—all while you sat waiting for him in patient silence. A silence that had no reason to make him feel. . . anxious, but it did. Were you doing it on purpose? Did you even know what you were doing?

Get it together, man, you’re blowin’ it, he said silently. You always do. Where do you think this’ll go? Nowhere. It’ll all crash and burn. Burn. Burn, the voices taunted. They’d become far too comfortable in his head, and now they had no shame popping up during his any and every conversation. Whenever the hell they pleased.

Mouthy bastards.

He ignored their jeering and settled for poking at the past, hoping it would invite you to carry the conversation he was so clearly dropping. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you sayin’ somethin’ ‘bout how bars are home to sad men and madly horny men. So, that begs my earlier surprise that the Judgemental Judy herself showed up at the weepin’ whorehouse,” he said with a light chuckle.

You seemed more than happy to perk up at his teasing, a sight that made him ease off the clutch on his glass. “Well, maybe—just maybe, I have the guilty pleasure of making fun of sad sobs like you afterhours. I mean, the job gets so dull sometimes, you’ll forgive a girl for having a stupidly fun hobby.”

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. “You callin’ me a loser?” He asked through a grin.

Your shoulders lifted in the most dramatised shrug you could’ve possibly mustered. “Dunno, Dean,” you sighed. “Are you?”

He shook his head through a weak grin—not as a response to your question, but at the way you always found it in yourself to tease him with thinly veiled insults. He could’ve gotten mad over it, but it had become something like a tradition between the two of you—the very soul of your friendship. Now, he’d let you compare him to every depicted loser in the literature of insults if it could have you both sharing a hearty laugh by the end of it. If it would buy him a second longer of your presence.

You can’t have her. Not yours. She’ll break if you touch her, the voices pressed on. He never could place any of them—not to a face, not even to a name. But he must’ve known them, must’ve met them face to face when they’d been strung up for a beating by a weapon of his choice. The voices were right, too. Dean could tell himself he was a blacksmith, that he’d have the power to handle you in a way that would only make you malleable without breaking. But at the end of the day, he always managed a slip up. He knew he’d swing a little too hard, or bend you a little too far, perhaps even just hold you with a little too much force.

He’d break you the way he’d broken everything else. The way he’d broken himself.

“Are you okay?” Your slightly concerned voice broke into the chasm of his torment, causing him to raise his brows with a growing awareness.

“Yeah, no, I’m all right,” he attempted to say casually, coaxing forward a smile to reinforce his statement. But you didn’t look convinced—and why would you be? You knew him better than that. If anything, you might’ve been the one person who knew him better than Sammy. Not because he’d necessarily allowed it, but because you were scarily observant. He didn’t like how vulnerable that made him feel, but he couldn’t deny the facts, either. And he’d rather be faced with the hard truths than entertain myths forged for his own comfort.

“Come on,” you sighed all-knowingly before your leg crossed over the other, your whiskey pushed aside as you leaned yourself in a little closer to him. “What’s wrong, Dean?” He held his breath at the sudden closeness, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the sweet caress of your perfume. It wafted beneath his nose like a taunt, and it fuelled the voices in his head even further.

Run away now, Dean. Save her. You’re doomed. Don’t doom her to the same fate. Don’t be selfish. Those words bit at his chest. Shut the hell up, he seethed silently, but they’d never listened before, and they wouldn’t listen now. You can’t shut out the truth, one sniped back.

He turned his head to the side. “Nothin’s wrong. Been a long day, that’s all. Sammy’s been wearin’ me down with all the hell crap. I just need a damn break.”

“I think that’s what you call brotherly concern,” you said, inching forward in your seat so that you nudged at the corner of his vision. “Is it so bad having somebody check up on you from time to time? Can’t do everything on your own, Dean, even if you like to think so.”

Dean released his glass and pushed it away from him, wringing his fingers out before he began to play with his ring. How could he tell you—tell anybody that this was something he could only do on his own? There wasn’t a single thing you or Sammy could do. It wasn’t the sort of thing that the books you skimmed through for hunts had an answer to. Traumatised man struggles to confront his tainted past. Now that’s a book that might’ve come in handy. But he wasn’t about to take a stroll through the local library’s self-help section, and reading it would only feel slightly validating if it’d been assigned by somebody with the degree to back the premise.

Besides, even if he’d been willing to talk to somebody who could help him, he’d surely be given a one-way ticket to the looney bin after the first session. Which wacko got to spew tales about the voices in their head without waking up between four padded walls the next day?

Dean cleared his throat dismissively. “Hey, uh, how’d you get here, anyway? Sammy drop you off?” He asked, eyes still glued to his fiddling fingers before he lifted his head to try and scout out the bartender. He could use another drink to drown the nerves he felt lingering within, and hopefully also drown out the voices while he was at it. You know, kill two birds with one stone and all that.

“Took a cab,” you answered hastily—a clear indication that you had no intention of entertaining his bullshit small talk. “I notice things, you know?” You added more earnestly, something that told him he wasn’t getting out of this one so easily.

Oh, trust me, I know, he remarked silently. He could’ve said the same about himself, especially when it came to you.

For instance, he noticed the way you’d never been a big drinker—how you’d only order something whenever he did. Obligatory pressure? Maybe, but he also noticed the way you always ordered the same whiskey. It was a whiskey he’d chosen for you the first time you’d gone to a bar together, and it was the same one you currently nurtured so gently between your fingers.

He noticed that you tended to care from a distance that didn’t feel suffocating, like making him that piping hot cup of coffee in the mornings he’d be too tired to pluck himself from the sheets, or all the times he’d gone days without eating and then woke up to a breakfast you’d prepped and plated at his bedside table. Hell, even all the times he’d left the motel in a scramble and forgotten essential equipment or some personal belonging, and you’d been right by his side, calm as a cucumber while you procured the items from your backpack.

Even now, you’d come all the way out here to keep him the company he’d never asked for, but that you must’ve known he needed. It was slightly more transparent than the rest of your previous acts of care, but he didn’t mind it, especially because you never tended to hassle him about his problems the way Sammy did. Up until now, at least. It was the little things like that that defined you in his eyes, things he’d come to admire about you.

Honestly, when it came to you, Dean couldn’t do anything but notice. You gave him the sort of impression that there was nothing you couldn’t try and fix. But she can’t fix you, a voice barked at him. You can’t be fixed.

Oh, piss off, you ass-probing sons o’ bitches, he spat internally. I’m not tryna get fixed. He wasn’t naive.

He shifted slightly in his seat as he grew more desperate for a numbing release, his eyes searching the bar frantically. But the bartender seemed to have disappeared entirely, and he gave a barely audible huff at tonight’s rigged luck. There goes the fuckin’ rescue. If he had to endure whatever mushy heart-to-heart was about to come next, he’d rather have done with some more alcohol to cull the consequences.

Almost as though you’d read his mind, the glass you’d been savouring was pushed in his direction. He glanced at you with slightly widened eyes, then gave a tiny dip of his chin.

“Thanks, but I prefer mine on the rocks,” he said thickly. Nothin’ like an icy gulp to remind me where the hell I am. That’s right, Hell. You’ll be back there in no time.

“Oh, I know, but if we’re gonna have this conversation—and we both know we will, you’re gonna need something stronger.” You nudged your glass another inch in his direction, modelling a clear-cut expression that told him not to argue any further. “Take it. This one’s on me,” you added with a cheeky smile. It was on you, only, it hadn’t cost you a dime.

Dean watched you for a few seconds longer, his tongue poking through to drag along his lower lip in silent debate. She’s not going to stop. She’s going to find out who you are. She’ll leave you. Just like everybody else. You’ll be alone. All alone. Alone. Again.

Neither of you moved to claim the drink—you out of protest, and him out of something far darker. All you did was cross your arms onto the countertop as you shared his silence, watching him through those calculating eyes of yours that made him feel a little too seen. Just what was going on inside of your head?

“All right,” he relented, slowly reaching across to clutch the glass. He brought it toward himself before lifting it to you in good gesture. “Cheers,” he said, then with a pause, his head tilted in silent consideration. “Again,” he added wryly.

You gave a tiny smile of victory, and the sight made his heart skip a beat. He immediately dropped his attention to the drink, where he brought it in for an eager drain. But his hand hesitated midway when he spotted the evidence of where your lips had settled for its first sip—the coloured print of your kiss overlapping the rim he’d planned to taste just seconds before.

“What, a little lipstick scare you?” He glanced up in time to see your eyes lifting from the same print on the glass rim, only to fix him with a slightly daring grin.

“Nah,” he answered almost too eagerly. He could’ve cursed himself for acting like a rattled school boy. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, hearty gulp of the whiskey. It seared every inch of his insides for the entire trip down to his stomach, but the burn was something different and oddly welcoming. With a smack of his lips and a sigh of relief, he set the remainder of the drink down and flashed you a content smile.

Suddenly, you were leaning toward him, your hand reaching for his face. The sight made his heart race, and all he could do was lean back an inch in his seat, as though you had a case of cooties he was trying to avoid. “Hey, uh—woah,” he laughed nervously, and then he didn’t make any sound at all. Your thumb was pressed against his lips, but it didn’t hover for long before it did a brisk swipe and your arm retreated back to your side.

“Lipstick smudge,” you told him innocently, but he caught that delighted look on your face, and he knew then that you were perfectly aware of the effect you seemed to have over him.

Dean’s head buckled to conceal the heat in his cheeks—hoping that it hadn’t reached your attention the way everything you did reached his. “Yeah, well, at least buy a guy a drink first,” he chuckled hoarsely.

“Technically, I already did.”

He gave a series of minuscule nods that depicted his defeat. “Touché.” Technically, you hadn’t bought anything—you’d gotten a freebie. But he supposed it was the sentiment that counted.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” you continued your earlier agenda. “I notice things, Dean.”

She’s going to find out exactly who you are.

“Oh, yeah?” He muttered half-heartedly, the heat in his cheeks vanishing only to be replaced by a feeling of dread. His chin perked up when he caught sight of the bartender creeping into the corner of his eye. There you are, ya prick. He lifted his hand to wave the man over, before he finally turned to face you. “Like what?”

He knew exactly what, and so did you. Where to begin was the real question.

Luckily, the bartender appeared just in time to offer a preparatory interlude, which he gratefully seized at the throat. Turning to the man, he leaned onto the counter. “Hey, man, could you fix the gal over here with a. . .” He trailed off with a questioning glance in your direction.

“I’m good, thanks,” you refused politely, but Dean could make out a hint of impatience peering through.

He cocked his head slightly. “Suit y’self,” he murmured, then faced the bartender again to order himself another round to down after he finished the whiskey—drown your sorrows, or whatever it is they say. But your hand reached into his space with far more sense than him, silencing his impulse before his lips could even split to give the order.

“He’s good, too,” you told the drinks master, and the man glanced between the both of you before settling on you with a knowing smile and taking his leave.

Dean turned to you with a slight pout and a ruffled frown. “Man, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” you retorted bluntly, hand retracting back into your own vicinity. “I’m not carrying your drunk ass out of here. And neither is Sam,” you added when Dean attempted to argue his brother onto his case.

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” he mumbled, reaching for the singular, remaining drink he was apparently being limited to for the rest of tonight. But he didn’t take another sip just yet. Instead, he used the glass as more of a coping device, his fingers wrung tightly around its fragile body. And he couldn’t look at you while he waited for you to say whatever it is you had to say; he wasn’t strong enough to confront that particular Pandora’s box head on.

“You haven’t been okay for a while now,” you began. His teeth reached to bite the already-raw skin of his cheek. “And I know that it’s because of. . . you know—” he did, “—the things you’ve been through during your time in Hell. I mean, I can’t imag—”

Dean already knew the ending of that sentence before you finished it, and all the spite he’d garnered within drove him to face you with unintentional hostility. “No, you can’t,” he snapped gruffly, but he came to regret it shortly after seeing the hurt creep into your expression. With a sigh, he turned away from your crippling stare, his head shaking lightly in defeat. “This is why I don’t wanna talk about it. . . you and Sammy, you can’t understand what I’ve been through down there—what I had to do down there.” Go on, tell her. Tell her about the monsters in hell. Tell her about the biggest monster of them all.

“You still need to talk about it, Dean,” you urged gently. He noted how soft your tone was, almost as though you were afraid to push him too hard, whether it be with your choice of words, or with a single, harsh pitch in your voice. “If not to me, then to Sam, at least. I mean, he’s your brother, I’m sure he understands most things that other people wouldn’t.”

“Nah. . .” Dean murmured, his voice trailing off as he picked at his battered brain. He brought the whiskey to his lips and took a sip, savouring the burn in his chest. He hovered the glass in the air. “Sammy. . . he can’t help me with this. He shouldn’t have to, anyway. I’m the big bro, I gotta keep my head on for ‘im, y’know?” He glanced at you finally, and he didn’t realise how shattered he must’ve looked until he saw heartbreak soften your eyes.

His attention flickered down to where your crossed arms faltered, your hand briefly reaching forward as though you’d wanted to offer some slither of physical reassurance, but something else had kept you from engaging. He wished it hadn’t.

“Well,” you murmured, that same hand rubbing tender patterns along your forearm. “You don’t have to keep your head on for me.” Dean glanced up at you in surprise. “You’d be stupid to try, anyway. You’re not fooling me, Dean.” You gave a light laugh of defeat. “You’re not even fooling Sam. But the difference is that you don’t have to share that burden with him if you don’t want to. . . but you can share it with me.”

Could he, really? He couldn’t help but feel as though once he did open up to you, you’d realise the true magnitude of his shit. Only then, you wouldn’t be able to back out. You were too kind for that sort of rejection. But you’d both become miserable, and he didn’t think he could do that to you of all people.

With a slight jerk of his chin, he said, “‘fraid I can’t,” and gulped down the last of his drink to flush away the guilt of the mere sound. He hissed through gritted teeth as he placed the glass down with a bang, something that caused a few loiterers to glance his way, but he ignored them as surely as he’d been doing this entire night. “We should get back to the Motel. Bet Sammy’s startin’ to wonder if he should give me a call and chew me out over missin’ your curfew.”

“Dean—” you started, but he stopped listening.

He reached into his jacket pocket and plucked out his wallet, fingers prying the worn leather to slip out a hefty note. He folded and plopped it onto the countertop, his chin dipping in a brief thanks to the bartender who’d begun to saunter over and claim the bill. “Thanks, man,” he murmured, rising from his seat as he buried his wallet once more.

When he did finally make eye contact with you again, you had this sullen look to your features, but he tried not to show the way it made him feel. Feeling guilty? Like a douche? A prick undeserving of her time? After she came out all this way to speak to you. Tsk, the voices sneered.

Piss right off to hell. You first.

“Come on.” Dean jerked his chin at you, averting his gaze almost immediately when he saw your eyes narrow. He half expected you to start arguing, or to continue sitting there in a determined protest, but much to his relief, you rose up before him in a nerve-wrecking silence.

He glanced back at you, noting the light shake of your head before you let slip a hopeless scoff. Before he had a chance to prompt you further, you pivoted on your heels and whipped off into the busy bodies suffocating the bar. Behind you, your perfume lingered like a tantalising trail of candy, one that he knew he’d have no return from if he followed. But he did, anyway—the same way Hansel did Gretel because something about you had always felt like the home he’d never had. Even if he might burn it all down eventually.

He kept you in his sight all the way until the bar’s entrance, where you both eventually slipped out into the cool, unwelcoming air of the night. Dean drew up beside your hovering figure, his hand brought up to cradle your back and guide you to where he’d parked the Impala. He tried to catch your eye to ask whether you’d like his jacket because he felt your faint trembling beneath his hand, but you seemed to stop noticing he existed. Maybe that was for the best.

When you reached the passenger’s side of the car, Dean released you to reach for the handle. It clicked open, and he widened the door with an usher for you to climb inside. But all you did was stand there, tussles of your hair carried in hypnotising whisks by the night’s nipping breeze. He caught the scent of your shampoo, the same one he often found himself breathing in too deeply whenever he’d man the shower after you. And he could still remember it’s name—some limited edition crap he’d forced himself to memorise so that he could find another bottle like it and gift it to you on your next birthday. You’d been complaining for a good month that your current one was running dry.

He didn’t much like the idea of gift-giving, it wasn’t exactly his forte. But he knew the way you and Sammy both lit up at the mere thought of it. Besides, he’d be rude not to return the favour after having received gifts for his birthday from the both of you. Who are you fooling, boy? The best gift you could give her is to get out of her life. Don’t bother playing pretend with anything else.

You finally turned to face him, which instantly halted any and all thoughts he’d slowly been drowning in. There was some new resolve furnishing your features—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted and nostrils flaring with the weight of your own thoughts. But before Dean could ask the first thing about it, your hands came to wrap around his jaw, your lips pressing against his in a firm kiss.

Your lips were so warm against his, so soft that he could’ve fallen deeper into their padding. And he wanted to, so desperate for their welcome that he had to bring his hands up in a gentle bracket of your neck to keep himself from falling prey to his deepest desires. He pulled his lips from yours almost regretfully, keenly aware of your lingering warmth. There was so much emotion brimming in your eyes as you gazed up at him, but he saw uncertainty glare the loudest. He wished he could’ve said something—done something to displace it, but he had to remember where his priorities lay. In keeping you safe. Away from everything that was him.

“We can’t,” he murmured softly.

“Why not, Dean?” You answered with equal volume. He felt your thumb stroke across his stubble.

His lower lip fell loose with a heavy sigh, his head buckling in your hold. “We just can’t,” he repeated.

He waited for a reply, for any sound that echoed your frustrated with him, but you said nothing as your hands fell away from his jaw. He was forced to release his hold on you when you backed away from him and ducked into the salvation of the car’s privacy, his hands collapsing to his side in regret. He lifted his head to the sky with a brief breath of strength before he reached to shut the Impala’s door and tensely made his way around the fore. When he slipped into the driver’s seat, you’d already taken to the view of your window, hand cupping your cheek as you stared at anything that wasn’t Dean.

Fair enough.

He got Baby up and running, carefully picking his way out of the bar’s crowded lot before they hit the road winding toward their motel. The drive’s scenery was quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier atmosphere, and it made the air between yourself and Dean a whole lot tenser. There weren’t many cars, or people, found wandering by at any point of the trip, so it truly felt like the two of you had been locked alone in a room to confront the unspoken elephant. But he wasn’t so eager to pick at that fresh scab. Besides, what else more did he have to say that wouldn’t end up hurting you?

It felt like a lifetime had passed when he pulled up at the motel, the lot desolate save another car somewhere down the line. You finally shifted from your position of gazing out the window, but it wasn’t to look at him. It wasn’t even to reach for the handle that’d free you from this suffocating place beside him. Instead, your head was turned forward as you gazed through the windscreen.

“You’re one stubborn shit, you know that?” You said suddenly.

Dean followed your lead and decided to focus on the bug stain streaking the windshield just above the view of his wheel. “Yeah,” he scoffed knowingly, his fingers restlessly tapping the wheel’s rim.

“You’re just so determined to let yourself suffer alone—as if it makes you righteous in sparing us the hurt. But in reality, we’re already suffering. I mean, we’ve all got our own shit going on, right? The only thing making it worse is that somebody we care about is going through something unimaginable, but we don’t know how the hell to help him because he just won’t talk about it. Because he’s scared about—I don’t know—making us accomplices to his problems, I guess.”

Dean’s head buckled to the view of his lap as he listened to you talk, gripping the wheel’s rim a little tighter as he strangled the emotion threatening to take ahold of him. He heard you shift in your seat, noting as your knees turned toward him for a more direct confrontation. He didn’t think he could endure your frustration for any longer without finally cracking, and that scared him.

“When will you stop being so selfless, Dean?”

He allowed that question to linger in the air. Him, selfless? He wasn’t sure he’d call it that. To tell the truth, though, keeping his mouth shut had slowly been wearing him down. And it was almost as though walling off both you and Sammy had allowed the voices in his head to get as bad as they did. He knew all of this, but still he couldn’t find it in himself to open up. He’d never been good with rationalising his emotions, or with asking for help to do so. After all, growing up, he’d had nobody to ask. So he’d done the only thing he knew how to—suck it up and act the steadfast parent so that he could take care of Sammy. And ever since, he’d never quite learnt how to step out of that role, or how to take care of himself.

“I guess I’m just not ready to talk about it, yet,” Dean admitted in an unsteady murmur. His lower lip began to quiver, and he hated the way no amount of clenching his jaw seemed to quell it.

The hand he’d hovered on the wheel moved hastily to wipe the moisture he felt brimming on the cusp of his eyes, and he swallowed hard to fight his urge to flee the car. There was a loud silence from your side that made his ears ring; he wished you would say something—anything—before his voices did.

“I get that,” you said eventually. It made him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Your hand came fourth to rest on his shoulder, which made him drew a sharp, shuddering breath, despite your warmth seeping through his layers in a way that should’ve soothed him entirely.

“I just need you to know that you don’t have to do everything on your own,” you continued. “It gets exhausting. Trust me, I’ve been on my own for practically my entire life before I met you and Sam.” You paused when Dean turned to face you. “You wanna know something? Humans weren’t made to be alone—to do things alone. We’ve never been strong enough. That comes back to bite some people in the ass, but I’d say for people like us, it’s a blessing. So count them, Dean.”

And finally, as Dean sat stewing in his vulnerability, held hostage under your intense stare, he understood what glint had been in your eye all along. He couldn’t look away from it anymore. As if you seemed to witness his change in demeanour, the hand on his shoulder began to trail down the sleeve of his jacket in a suggestive caress. It set a fire to his chest, one that made him breath a little deeper for the air you seemed to be stealing from his lungs.

“Listen. . . you’re Sammy’s friend,” he pushed out weakly, an attempt to reason against his pressing urges. He hoped that by saying it aloud, he’d be able to silence the part of him that craved the pursuit of you. But for once, amongst the many voices in his head, he could hear his own—loud and clear in it’s true hopes that you’d be braver than he felt and make nothing of his poor argument. That you’d be brave enough to give him the permission he’d been withholding from himself.

You gave him this subtle squint—he caught it briefly in the thinning of your lashes. And then there was the slight hitch in the corner of your lips. The sight made his heart flutter up an inch. For all the voices in his head, he wished he could hear yours right now. Did you want this as much as he did?

Eventually, he caught you leaning closer to his yearning self. “So?” You murmured, the challenge accentuated by the purse in your lips. “I’m my own person before I’m Sam’s friend. I think I’m pretty capable of making my own decisions and dealing with the consequences that come after.”

Dean’s lower lip sank open at that, his brows quirking on anticipation. “I can’t promise you that. . . this, whatever it is, will be an easy ride,” he said. That I’ll be easy to love, he added silently.

You fixed him a long stare, your lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “I told you, Dean, this one’s on me,” you murmured.

This time, he knew that you weren’t alluding to the drink.

You’ll regret this, the voices barked. That’s my own damn decision.

Slowly, he began to lean in toward you, holding your stare and feeling further encouraged by the eager glint that seemed to grow in their breath-taking depths. The voices in his head blared a united jest. She doesn’t want you, she only pities you. You’re going to ruin her, just like you ruin everything else. You think Sammy’s going to forgive you when you break his closest friend? Traitor. Some big bro you are. You’ve always been selfish. He pushed back a mental answer. Shut. It. They didn’t listen.

He felt his heart begin to thud a little harder at his chest, but he gave a hefty swallow to dampen the feeling, and before it had a chance to return reinforced, he pushed his lips to yours.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like ages, there was silence. Blissful, unequivocal silence. As if your touch was the antidote he’d needed all along to quench the fire hell had set alight to his brain. As if you’d been the missing incantation he’d needed to chant to keep all his demons at bay. And it made him greedy—this taste of peace you seemed to offer him. So he claimed more of it, the kiss deepening as he brought up his hands to cradle both delicate curves of your jaw. In turn, your hands flew up to bracket his neck, before drawing sensual lines all the way to his nape. Your touch was as gentle as he’d imagined, and as kind as he knew you to be, and he craved more of it. More of you. All of you.

Goddammit, he shouldn’t, but he did. He was only human, after all—even if he was all the worst parts of one.

He pulled away briefly to take the view of you in, lips parted in a slight pant. You mirrored him well, the gentle glare of the lamppost light reflected across your slicked lips. The sight made him burn with a more feral desire. He just had to have you. He was far beyond fending off his selfish desires now.

“Dean?” You called softly, an unsure twinge to your tone. You must’ve thought that he’d begun having doubts about pursuing this because there was a sudden, anxious furrow to your brows. But your hands didn’t falter from his neck, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go, either.

“C’mere,” he breathed softly, releasing your jaw only to slide his hands down your waist and to your hips, where he settled a firm grip to encourage you onto his lap. You followed his flow so naturally, hands sliding along the toned slope of his shoulders to grip there for support. You manoeuvred across the conjoined seat and reached the first leg over his lap, which Dean cupped at the thigh to steady you onto him. “Yeah, there ya go, you got it,” he murmured encouragingly, and your other leg followed shortly after until you comfortably straddled him.

You tilted your head up to drink in the impala’s ceiling, which could manage a graze of your nose if you lifted yourself any further. “Bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?” You giggled, glancing back down at Dean. He wanted to bottle the sound.

“Hey, she’ll do plenty fine,” he chuckled huskily, his hands comfortably settled at the meat of your hips. His thumbs rubbed tentative circles across your clothed skin, and he watched the way your lower lip drew into a subtle bite. It drove him nuts. He found himself leaning up to reach for your lips once more, but you held him back with an index finger to his chin.

“And just so we’re clear, I don’t have a curfew,” you said pointedly. Dean knew you were alluding to what he’d said back at the bar.

His lips split with a thankful grin. “Hallelujah to that,” he drawled huskily before lowering his lips to deliver a playful nibble to your finger. You let slip a giggle the most bubbly he’d ever heard before plucking your finger away and replacing it with your hungry lips.

His hands found their way below the hem of your dress, where he rubbed a firm line up your thighs. The touch coaxed a moan from your lips, poured into his mouth like the drizzle of honey—he couldn’t help but lap it up. Your hands wandered messy lines up and down the expanse of his neck, even going so far as to tousle his hair. The stimulation drove him crazy and sent a jolt down to his core. The longer your lips spent entangled, the more he felt his jean begin to strain beyond his control—but he didn’t have much adoration left to conceal. If anything, he wanted you to know exactly how you consumed every part of him.

He pulled away from the kiss, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ this,” he husked. “Wantin’ you.”

He could see the way the kiss had left you breathless, too, and strands of hair had fallen from the keep of your ears to messily frame your face. God, you looked beautiful. “Your damn fault for taking this long to pursue it. I’ve given all the signs, Dean Winchester, but you are as naive as boys come.”

He reached up to tuck the hair behind your ears, making a point to trail his fingers along the contour of your jaw as a knowing smirk felt out his lips. “Nah, just a good ol’ case of self-restraint,” he murmured.

“Oh because you know what’s so good for you?” You teased. Even under the dim lamplight, he could make out the rosy tint to your cheeks.

“I damn well do now.”

“Then show me.”

Dean grinned at your blatant challenge, hands moving to grab at your hips. He slowly began grounding you against his erection, which plucked from your lips a series of noises that began to grow more and more lewd with each passing second. He felt your nails digging into his shoulders, the padding of his jacket cushioning the sensation into gentle kneading. He couldn’t help but grunt with each blissful stroke against him—god, he could do this all night. It wasn’t long before you’d taken over the job entirely, your hips stirring back and fourth across his lap to a slow, tantalising rhythm that made his head loll back against the seat.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his teeth grit as he endured the waves of pleasure riding its way through every nerve of his body. His fought the urge to flutter his eyes closed, to drown in the darkness of his euphoria because there was no way in hell he was missing a single detail about you—lower lip nibbled, fluttering lashes, heaving chest, a show all for him.

“You like that?” You asked thinly, your eyes fluttering closed as you threw your head back with a single, harsh push of your hips.

“Like it? You’re killin’ me over here,” he pushed out—a gruff, strained sound as he battled the heat accumulating in his groin. The demons, the angels, every asshole out to get him could go stuff it. At the end of the day, it was you that was going to be the sure death of him.

You let out an impish giggle, your hands releasing his shoulders to plough through your hair in the most seductive manner you could manage. It made him clench his jaw, made his grip on your hips a little firmer than before.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he praised breathlessly, eyes fluttering through his lashes as he gazed up at you. You were mesmerising, in everything that you did. You didn’t ever have to be doing much for him to want to stare. Existing was enough. Doing more than existing was a bonus.

He saw the way you lit up at that compliment, and it made him want to shower you with many more like it. Hunting had its kicks, but fuck, this—you—he could find himself addicted. That should’ve made you dangerous, especially when you were all he needed to take to stifle the voices. But he couldn’t pull away from you now. He wouldn’t. In fact, it only made him want to hold onto you more fiercely.

Your hands reached back for the steering wheel as you sought out just the angle to intensify your movements, and that’s when you accidentally struck the hooter. The both of you jolted with the noise, which made your hands fly up to cup your mouth in both horror and amusement, your hips stilling against his lap.

Instinctively, both Dean and yourself turned to glance through the windscreen, zoning in on the door that lead up to the three bed motel you’d been renting for a good month or so. A few tense seconds passed, but the door never opened to reveal an inquisitive Sam, and you both let out with a breath of relief. You collapsed onto the crown of Dean’s head with a fit of laughter, practically hugging his head. He burrowed into your chest with his own chuckle as his hands dragged up your body to wrap around your waist in a hug.

“I’m thinkin’ maybe we should move this party to the backseat,” he murmured against you.

You pulled back to face him, hands entangling at the nape of his neck. “I think that’s for the best,” you giggled, leaning down to place a tender kiss on his lips. He loved how gentle your touch felt, like he was being admired more than desired—something to savour and not to lap up like a greedy, guilty cheat meal. It made him feel valued, and he’d take every damn second of this night to return the favour.

He received your kiss eagerly, eyes falling shut as he basked in your soothing warmth. He found himself breathing a little deeper, your scent streaming in to envelop him further in your essence—as if he craved to be remade in your image. Then, much to his disappointment, you pulled away and left his lips bare as you began to shift from his lap. He watched as you reached past his torso to bend yourself over the seat, and then with a few noises of effort here and there, you heaved yourself over—your flailing foot nearly striking his eye in the process.

“You good?” He called back, twisting in his spot to catch you sprawled on your back along the seat. Oh, you were comfortable, all right.

“Just get over here, Lover Boy,” you giggled, hands grabbing the empty air.

Dean chuckled and shifted onto his knees with a grunt, carefully reaching over the seats to place his hands on either side of your torso. He got the last of himself over so that he towered over your waiting figure, the necklace permanently wrung around his neck slipping his top to dangle toward you. Your eyes latched onto it curiously before you reached up to hold it between cautious fingers. He half expected you to ask about it, but instead, you released it and wrapped your hands around his neck, as if nothing other than him mattered in that moment.

Before he knew it, he was pulled down into a kiss, and he leaned down even further to get lost in the taste of you. His hands lowered along your body to find the hem of your dress, where they fastened around the material and began dragging it up and over the curves of your legs. When he’d gotten to your torso, he broke off the kiss to lift himself a fraction, your hands coming up to aid the removal of your dress. He slipped it over your head and tossed it onto the floor before moving to shed his own jacket and layered shirts. The clutter of your shoes falling to the floor sounded some ways behind him, and he took a moment to do the same, shrugging off his boots into the oblivion below.

He took a moment to glance you over, almost naked save the pretty set of lace underwear. He’d pictured this moment far too many times than he’d like to admit, and now he drank in your every curve, scar and blemish, and marvelled at the soft sheen of your skin to the point where he hoped he’d come to memorise you. Somewhere in the mix, he picked up the sweet tang of your lotion.

“God,” he pushed out absentmindedly, his hands moving to rub soft lines down your waist.

“A believer now, are we?” You poked, your back arching an inch off the seat as you bathed in his endearing touch.

Dean jerked his chin. “I mean, come on,” he grinned, doing another sweep of your body before he leaned down to litter soft kisses along your neck. Your head caved further into the seat, broadening the horizon for his appreciative lips to explore as they pleased—and they did.

He drew passionate lines all over the curve of your neck, even managing a sneaky trail up to your ears, where he nibbled lovingly at the lobe. You giggled, the sound pure music and bliss to his ears. He wandered all the way down to your collarbones, experimenting with light nibbles along the tender anatomy before he soothed it with a slow kiss. You let out a passionate moan that spurred him on, the strain in his jeans becoming far tighter than he could bear, but he couldn’t stop himself from exploring every inch of you just yet. He intended on pressing all of your buttons—desperate to know just how many sounds he could coax from you.

He dipped down to place a kiss on your breast, so perfectly hoisted by the bra he sought to slip from your body. He pulled back in a light pant, his hands coming up to fulfil his wishes. Thankfully, it was one of those that unhooked in the front. It sure as hell would save the extra effort. While he reached for the clip, your hands wandered up his muscled forearms, thumbs tracing over the veins of your choice. He stole a glance from you, noting how you seemed as enticed by him as he felt by you, before he turned his focus back to your bra with a sheepish grin on his lips.

“What’s got you more flustered than a frat boy with a serious crush?” You asked, your hands straying from his arms to trail down his toned abdomen.

Your touch stopped just shy of his navel, but the heat carried all the way to his groin. “Don’t you play games with me,” he warned through a smirk, the bra’s clip coming undone. Slowly, he parted the cupping, his breath usurped by the view of your spreading breasts. “Y’know what, play as many games as you’d like—but keep the damn view, will ya?” He chuckled, aiding your efforts to shimmy the bra straps from your shoulders.

Your hands hovered half-way over the hem of his pants, framing his gently carved v-lines in admiration. And then you began to undo the button of his jean, the zipper splitting downward in a slow and steady whir that hoisted his primal urges. You made a point to simultaneously tug at the hem of his underwear as you pulled down his jean, which he shifted to help aid the removal of. He felt mildly embarrassed at the way his manhood bowed with eager anticipation, but you drank in the view with flustered eyes, lips thinning with an exhilarated grin that told him you were marvelling in the spell you’d cast over him.

When you met his gaze again, there was this almost pleading look to your eyes. He answered your silent prayers by bowing down to place tender, thorough kisses all around the curves of your breasts, even taking a moment to adorn your hardened buds with a hot swirl of his tongue and a gentle toying of his teeth. This action alone seemed to tug at your last thread until you’d unravelled into a mewling mess, slurring his name in a manner that made him never want to stop. His hands came up to squeeze your breasts a little harsher than he’d intended to, but you let out an approving groan that left his grip steadfast as he continued his toying.

The hands you’d settled into his hair was the last straw he needed to finally drag his attention lower, where he instilled sloppy, hasty kisses all along your stomach. He reached the hem of your delicate lace, hands gliding over the meat of your hips to hook his fingers under the waistband and yank it down your legs. You discarded the undies eagerly, and with his newfound access to your womanhood, he gave you a content smile before dipping between your thighs to drag his tongue through your slicked folds. He curled his arms around your propped thighs, his nose burying against your clit as he lapped up your core at slow and steady pace. He deliberately took his time to draw all manner of patterns along the tender skin, keenly listening for any hitch in your moans that indicated he’d found a sweet spot. The sound of your undoing? Now that was a voice he’d gladly allow to plague his mind—all day, all night.

He could tell by the progressive loudness of your moans and the more frantic jerking of your lower half that were close to your limits, so he intensified every flick and whisk of his tongue to help carry you to that point.

“Dean—stop,” you breathed out suddenly. Immediately, he withdrew from your proximity with a concerned glance in your direction.

“You all right?” He asked, releasing his grip on your thighs to rub calming circles along your sensitive skin. “If I pushed too far, I’m sor—” he attempted to apologise, but you were eager to cut him short.

“No, it’s not that!” You said quickly, propping yourself onto your elbows to take the view of him in better. “You’re doing amazing—you’re amazing,” you said through a soft smile, your cheeks blown red by a combination of your stimulation and your almost undoing. “But I don’t want to finish just yet. I want to feel you—all of you,” you explained.

Dean caught on quickly, his heart lurching a short distance. “Yeah—yeah, of course,” he murmured, inching his way back up toward you, where he leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly before he dipped to place his yearning kiss onto your lips.

“I want you so bad, Dean,” you murmured between kisses—a sweet, breathless sound that cooed into his ear.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how mutual the feeling is,” He breathed, answering your plea by reaching down to grab ahold of his manhood. He delivered a quick, preparatory pump along the length before he pressed it to your slicked folds and dragged it down to your entrance. You let out a sharp moan at that, the kiss temporarily seizing.

Slowly, he began to insert himself into your warmth. You drank him in so eagerly that he couldn’t stop a strained moan from slipping his lips.

“Oh, man,” he mumbled huskily, head collapsing just past yours as he drove himself into the first pump—so controlled and calculated as though he were afraid to hurt you. You seemed appreciative of his pace, your hands coming up to wrap around the toned contours of his back. “You still good?” He checked in as his hips retracted for the second stroke, angling himself to achieve just the right curve that would boldly reach your sweet spot.

You mumbled a feeble mhm, your fingers burrowing little divots into the muscle of his back. That confirmation cemented him, and he took on a steady pace within you, one hand reaching down to grip your thigh in support. It wasn’t long before the impala began to sway under his growing pace, each powered thrust of his hips against yours providing all the momentum needed to rock the steadfast steel. The mingled tune of your moans and grunts filled the isolated air of the car, the windows tinted with a secretive sweat bled from your combined body heat. It carried on for a while, and he could only hope that nobody was around to witness it.

His high came on strong—and embarrassingly, a lot more quicker than yours. He’d blame it on his infatuation with you. That, and the fact that he’d practically cleansed his brain of the mere thought of you. It’d all been necessary to spare himself the torment of fawning over every aspect of your existence, but now that he was finally afforded the opportunity to truly taste you, could he have blamed himself for being greedy? Still, he throttled the urge to scatter his pleasure, straining and waiting as you reached your own breaking point. He knew you were near when he felt the twinge of your nails against his back, and he brought both arms up to straddle your head as he pressed a desperate kiss to your lips.

With a single, deep thrust of his hips, you both spluttered a weepy breath. The knot in his core dissipated into an elated, white haze that consumed his every sense. For a moment, all he could do was hover himself over you, his lips splayed against yours as he grunted into you. Your lips tangled in breathless bouts of air, occasionally snagging in a weak kiss.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed against your cheek, placing a kiss onto the flushed skin.

Your hands came up to cradle his face and push him just far enough to drink him in. “I adore you, Dean Winchester,” you whispered lovingly. “I always have.”

The way you gazed at him was enough to throb his debilitated heart, and suddenly he felt rejuvenated within—as though you were all the motivation he needed to keep on powering his way through this cruel experience he’d come to call surviving. You made him want to do more than survive. You made him want to live—if not for himself, then for you. You were the type of person he’d have fought himself free of hell to return back to. And now that he was back, one thing was for certain—he’d keep on fighting to ensure his place on this earth. To remain beside you.

Dean had never been too good with words out loud, so he gave you a soft smile that he hoped could convey a fraction of what he felt for you. He removed your hands from his jaw, crowning each with a kiss before he shifted your bodies into a comfortable spooning session. Your back curved into his chest, your lower half perfectly conforming to his as he held you against him like you’d slip away if he relented for even a second. And you laid like that until a gentle, shallow rhythm of breathing overtook you, sleep coming to claim you with a haste he envied. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slipped into dreamland as quickly as that—and when he did, his nightmares would turn up like an eager workaholic reporting for dawn duty.

Now, with you nestled between the arms that had come to memorise the shape of loneliness, he didn’t mind laying there in wake. He listened to the gentle whisper of your flaring nostrils, taking in a fraction of the peace etched across your partially concealed face. He was glad that somebody else could draw peace from him and claim it in the way that he’d never been able to claim for himself. He was glad that somebody was you.

It had always been you.

He’d been the biggest fool trying to convince himself otherwise.

────────────────────────

a/n: trying out a new format here bc the old one is exactly that. old. n e ways. first Dean fic—be kind to me!! :’) this was so daunting to write, but boy did I have my fun with it. i hope y’all enjoy this piece, i haven’t been able to get this sad sad man out of my mind. i just want to hold him close at all times. also i’m not responsible for any typos i’ve missed bc it’s currently 2 am and i’m scrambling to get this out. the drafts are sick of it.

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

tags — @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind

comment/message me if you’d like to be added to/removed from the taglist of any future dean winchester works!

other works — supernatural masterlist

[shoresoftheshadowlands]

Treat oriented goals. Break your project down into sections, or short scenes, or word counts.

Remember that any progress, even a few words, is more words than you had. If you're in it bad, give yourself a tiny tasty treat after a couple sentences. These treats are ONLY for progress, or for completing a task, any task.

When it becomes a little easier to do a few sentences, aim for 250 words. then 500. Keep the goals bite-sized at a time.

-Remember that you can always go back and touch up things when you feel better later, so even if this draft isn't your best, it's still better than nothing at all, and future-you will have something to work off of when it comes time to edit, if it needs it.

-Treat yourself kindly and give yourself a treat. You deserve it.

-REST! REST! REST! TAKE NAPS! Struggling with writing? Been staring at it too long? Lay down for an hour. You don't even need to fall asleep. Just rest your eyes, get a little reset for your brain and try again later.

-Forcing it won't help, if you simply do not feel like writing, watch something, read something, listen to music, play a game. Sometimes your brain is just tired and the wheels need time to repair.

-If writers block has gone on an unusually long time, please take note that it can be a symptom of depression, loss of interest in your interests is a major flag. If you need help, AVOID GenAI 'therapists' or BetterHelp. Talk to your friends. I know we can't all afford professional help, but sometimes having a friend to talk to can help until you can.

-Depending on the season, certain lights can help with the seasonal depression, though this may be more oriented towards winter type, not summer type.

-Sometimes visiting the seashore can be beneficial, though it isn't affordable or viable for some people. A reputable aquarium that does not house cetaceans or whale sharks may also help, if you can find one. Also not viable for some persons (Which is why it is lower on the list)

-Hang out in artists streams on twitch or wherever. Sometimes watching others being creative can help spin your own wheels and inspire. It can also be nice to write with a streamer on in the background.

-Never give up and never be tempted by GenAI. That is the devil talking and not the fun kind.

Some of my writer’s block cures:

Handwrite. (If you already are, write in a different coloured pen.)

Write outside or at a different location.

Read.

Look up some writing prompts.

Take a break. Do something different. Comeback to it later.

Write something else. (A different WIP, a poem, a quick short story, etc.)

Find inspiring writing music playlists on YouTube. (Themed music, POV playlists, ambient music, etc.)

Do some character or story prompts/questions to get a better idea of who or what you’re writing.

Word sprints. Set a timer and write as much as you can. Not a lot of time to overthink things.

Set your own goals and deadlines.

Write another scene from your WIP. (You don’t have to write in order.) Write a scene you want to write, or the ending. (You can change it or scrap it if it doesn’t fit into your story later.)

Write a scene for your WIP that you will never post/add to your story. A prologue, a different P.O.V., how your characters would react in a situation that’s not in your story, a flashback, etc.

Write down a bunch of ideas. Things that could happen, thing that will never happen, good things, bad things.

Change the weather (in the story of course.)

Feel free to add your own.

[lilghostiequinni]

Was Never Just You

Main Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Single Mom!Girlfriend!female reader x Lando Norris

Warnings: Fluffy,

Summary: Somethings just start in a crisis, but it's not always a bad thing.

Requested: NO / yes

When you met Lando it was by complete accident.

The day started out normal and then later turned into a disaster.

Your sons, well, they wandered off.

It was the first winter vacation for the ski lodge you normally go to that they could come with, the boys were 3, having turned three the day you left for the trip.

But your mom didn't ski or snowboard and volunteered to watch them while you, your siblings, siblings-in-law, and your father had hit the slopes.

You snowboarding and racing two of your three older brothers, both also snowboarding, down one of their bigger slopes, you won, of course, maybe using some blackmail tactics, maybe.

When you got to the bottom of the slope after the fourth or fifth time, you went to see your boys and also got a warm drink.

You found your mother and your eldest brother's wife, who ended up staying behind because she wasn't feeling good, searching around the lobby; when your mom saw you, you could see the panic and fear in her eyes.

When you asked what was wrong, she told you that they and the boys were playing hide-and-seek, but they couldn't find the boys, and they had searched the whole inside of the resort.

When she told you how long she had been looking for your two sons, over an hour and a half.

You shred your winter gear faster than ever, leaving everything in the lobby, running around the hotel in just your socks, and having no shoes or slippers in the lobby to wear from leaving your boots there.

You ran through every floor calling your sons' names, "Theodore. Sebastian." You would knock on doors, holding up a photo of your two trouble twins if someone answered the door, asking if they had seen them.

You went from floor to floor and back down again.

On you, probably the third pass on the third floor, you ran into someone, expecting to feel the floor but instead feel the body of the person you ran into.

"I'm so so sorry." You apologize as you stand up, before trying to help the person you knocked over.

"It's okay," The man says as you help him stand and he takes off his hat and goggles.

"No, it's not, I'm sorry. I'm just looking for my twins, Theo and Seb. They were playing hide-in-seek with my mom and they... Well, they hid a little too good, and they have been missing for a couple hours." You explain, worrying even more when you realize the time.

"Maybe I can help. Let me change, and we will look together. Two sets of eyes are better than one, I can even get my girlfriend, she's just in this room." The man told you.

"You want to help me?" You were so distraught that you couldn't fathom that someone other than your family would help.

"Yeah, it's just kids. And I'm sure that my girlfriend will say the same. Just breathe and give me like ten minutes." He says, then goes into his room, and you start to take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your overactive mind.

Before the ten minutes are even up, you hear the door open and look up, it's a blonde woman who comes out and gives you a hoodie.

"This is one of our friends, I'm Pietra, and this is Max." She says as Max comes out of the room.

"Everyone just calls me Cookie. My boys, they're only 3." You say as you show the two a photo of them from your phone, tears in your eyes.

Max's eyes widen a little. "I think I know where your boys are."

"Really." You ask, your eyes widening.

"Yeah, I think they're downstairs with my friend, in the restaurant," Max tells you as Pietra grabs hold of your hand as MAx leads the two of you downstairs.

When you do get back downstairs and into the restaurant, you look around and then see Max pointing in a direction that you follow with your eyes and you see your boys.

"Theo! Seb!" You cry out and run toward them.

Your boys whip their heads around and yell out, "Mommy!" getting up and then running to you, not making it far from the table, though.

The friend of Max's following behind, just in case.

You fell to the ground to hug your twins, tears in your eyes as you hugged them.

"Where did you go?" You asked them.

"We was play seek with Gramam and Celi."

"Then we was hungry an fogot."

"Den Lanwo saws us and we gots food."

You knew their explanation was too little to be something for them to be missing just shy of three hours.

You must have looked in the restaurant three times.

But you just smiled at them and hugged them again, before standing up.

"Hi, thank you for looking after my sons." You say to the man who had also been at the table with them.

"It's no problem. I saw them on my way to my room from outside, and I figured that their mom would be with them soon. When I came back down for some food, I saw them close to the door looking out the window. One was trying to open the door, and I stopped them from going outside and offered food until you got here." He explained himself.

"Thank you again...."

"Lando. Norris. Lando Norris." He said as he offered his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lando, everyone calls me Cookie." You said taking his hand.

That's how it started.

One singular mishap that had led to the best years of your life.

The fans were skeptical at best at first, but when they seen the smile that your sons brought to Lando's face, that you brought to him.

How you helped lift the weight off his shoulders.

At the end of the 2025 season, you basically jumped over the barrier to get to Lando after he won the championship.

He picked you up and spun you around.

He had to leave to go to the podium and do other after-race debriefs and media duties.

During December, not long after the end of the season, you and Lando both post a post on Instagram with two photos, one an engagement photo, the other a pregnancy annoucement.

Just like the year before with Max, there were retirement rumors the year before.

But when Lando came back in 2026, the rumors died out.

Life continued on, and the season was one of the best for him, only after his first wins.

A/N: First in the 100 Follower Cele Driver poll, I feel like I wanna redo this and make it longer but at the same time, most of my celebrations are usually just drabbles. But let me know if you'd want a longer fic using this idea

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @barcelonaloverf1life @tallrock35 @ellen3101 @llando4norris @mcmuppet @issi-loves-dannyric @1800-love-me @barcelonaloverf1life @scopeiguess @01rrdbull @charli123456789 @smashcrabsblog @hadids-world @amz824 @taetae-armyyyyy @watermelonslut @gigicisneros @hellothere9597

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

[pastryfication]

Could you write a Lando or Oscar fic where the reader is on her period and accidentally bleeds through onto his sheets (cuz it’s his apartment) and only finds out when she wakes up w bad cramps in the middle of the night and then proceeds to try and fix it without them knowing but the driver wakes up in the middle of their struggle?

i’m always looking out, oscar piastri

warnings: mentions of menstruation

note: writing this to manifest my period coming soon 🙏 (it’s a week late and i’m kinda panicking…)

your mind was instantly in panic mode the moment you awoke to a sticky feeling between your legs. this was your worst nightmare. it could not be happening. it just couldn’t be happening.

lifting the sheets a bit, you almost cried when you spotted to big red splotch on your boyfriend’s sheets. as carefully as possible, you pried away the duvet completely and swung your legs over the side. the movement was surprisingly smooth, but the moment you stilled, a painful cramp moved through your body and you had to bite you lip harshly to prevent yourself from whimpering out loud.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you took a deep breath before standing. your whole body was screaming for you to lay down again and curl into a ball until the pain subsided, but you couldn’t. you needed to fix this first.

you took tentative steps towards the bathroom, taking a pair of clean pants with you so you could clean up yourself first. every step felt like a thousand shapes knives stabbing your uterus, and as you lowered yourself to sit on the toilet, you almost sighed out loud from the relief.

you had no idea how you were gonna get the sheets clean without waking oscar, but you were determined to try. he had been so tired since the season ended, and you wanted nothing more than to give him the peaceful sleep he deserved without interrupting him with your problems.

quietly slipping from the bathroom, through the bedroom where your boyfriend was still sleeping peacefully, completely obvious to your current panic, you made your way to the kitchen. you knew he kept his detergent under the kitchen sink, so you tiptoed over there, very careful as you opened the cupboard.

you dropped to your knees, your stomach aching painfully as you did so, to look for the right one, but the dark made it hard to see what you were doing, and in your quiet haste, you accidentally knocked one over, causing all the hidden away soap to clash together.

immediately stilling, your eyes flew up to carefully observe the doorway. your heart was beating out of your chest, your cheeks blooming red from the thought of being caught alone. for ten seconds you waited, but when no sounds were heard from the bedroom, you let out a breath of relief and got to your feet with the white cloth detergent clutched tightly in your hands. you couldn’t put the sheets in the washer, not when oscar was laying on them, but you could try to remove the spot as good as possible before he woke up, and then wash them properly in the morning when he was out for his daily run.

it was a fool proof plan, one that could hardly go wrong, but as you opened the door to his bedroom once again and was met with the light on and your boyfriend tiredly—but with obvious concern—missing with his eyes up at you, you almost broke down. his gaze held so much tenderness and when he said your name, his voice was filled with so much love that your knees almost gave out.

“what are you doing up, baby?” his voice was scratchy from sleep as he tried to survey the situation.

“i— uhm— i was just—“ you tried to find the words, but you were too tired, too groggy and in too much pain to come up with a lie.

“and why are you carrying laundry detergent? what’s happened, honey?” he was on his feet surprisingly quick, considering how tired he looked, but the look of fatigue on your face was enough to alarm him.

“i— i was just—“ you looked helplessly at your abandoned spot in his bed and he followed your eyes.

“did you drop something on the sheets? you know i don’t care, right?” he moved to your side to check the sheets, and the moment he spotted the red splotch, his face fell. you stood nailed to the ground, a feeling of horror filling your body as you watched him.

“oh, baby,” his voice dropped with sweetness and he was by your side in two long strides. “why didn’t you wake me?”

his hands went to your shoulders, holding you so carefully that you couldn’t keep yourself together anymore. “i don’t know.” your voice cracked and tears gathered in your eyes, the last 20 minutes finally catching up to you. “i guess i just— i mean it’s your bed! and i’m so embarrassed… but it just hurts so bad! i’m sorry, osc. i’m so sorry, i ruined your sheets, and your sleep, and—“

“woah, baby, calm down.” he stopped your nervous rambling with a gentle hand to your cheek. “we’ll figure this out, okay?”

you nodded as he led you out of the bedroom and into the guest room next door, where a clean bed was waiting. “have you put on clean pants? or should i find you some? and a pad?” he was so eager to help that you couldn’t help but smile.

“no, i already changed,” you mumbled, looking down your hands as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“alright, perfect.” he smiled softly as he stood himself directly in front of you. “now, let’s get you back in bed and i’ll get you some painkillers and a heating pad, yeah? and then i’ll figure out the sheets.”

your head shot up, meeting his tender gaze as you tried to protest. “no, osc, you don’t have to do that. it’s my mess, you shouldn’t have to—“

“stop.” he cut you off. “i don’t care that you woke me. i want you to wake me every time you need help, okay, love? because i love you. i love you so much, and i hate seeing you in distress, so i want to help you all that i can. i don’t care if it’s 2 in the morning or in the middle of the day. i want to help, okay?”

tears gathered in your eyes at his words and you couldn’t do anything but nod in reply. “i love you so much. you’re too good to me.”

“no. you deserve the world, baby. nothing is too good for you.” he leaned down to press a warm kiss to your lips, and you smiled as he pulled back and helped you get comfortable in his guest bed.

“i’ll come join you in just a minute,” he promised as he softly padded out the room, and you sighed contentedly and snuggled into the soft duvet. oscar’s words echoed in your mind, and as you fell asleep, a soft smile was gracing your lips.

[pucked-bunnie]

never have i ever ⎜l.hughes

pairings: luke hughes x reader genre: romance ⎜angst ⎜ college AU ⎜ warnings: mentions of a bet ⎜hurt/comfort ⎜ luke is a silly boy ⎜ none tbh ⎜ unsatisfying ending ⎜ synopsis: when his friends spot the new girl at the teams halloween party - luke agrees to a bet he know he shouldn't be making. word count: 7.6k authors note:  this was requested and ended up a little longer than anticipated! I hope everyone enjoys.

+

+

Luke had been watching you for an hour now. 

Not in a creepy way. 

He was just entranced by the way you weaved through the crowd - being welcomed into each group you passed as you say a bight hello to anyone who looks your way. Your bright yellow raincoat had caught his attention as soon as you walked through the door - shining like a beacon as you made you way straight for the house kitchen, carrying around that small bottle of water as you started to mingle. 

“Who you so enamoured by, Lukey?” A slightly slurred voice says as the body of his friend and teammate slides into his personal space - Ethan’s shoulder rubbing against his, their matching costumes a joke to anyone who looked over at them. 

“A Weather-Girl.” Luke says shortly, taking another sip from his half flat soda - nudging the hood off his costume off his head. 

“Weather-Girl?” Ethan repeats to himself skimming over the crowd trying to find the described person. “I don’t see a Weather-Girl.” 

Luke doesn’t elaborate, his eyes still fixed on you as Ethan follows his gaze.

“Ohhh,” Ethan drags out the word, spotting the unmistakable yellow coat bobbing near the living room couch. You’re laughing at something one of the senior players said, your head tilted back just enough to catch the low, golden glow of the decorative Halloween lights strung up around the room. “Weather-Girl, huh? That’s new.”

Luke just shrugs, feigning indifference. He doesn’t need Ethan making this more of a thing than it already feels in his head.

But Ethan being Ethan, the subtle hint of interest is like blood in the water. “You know, Lukey, I think we should introduce ourselves. Friendly team spirit and all that.” He’s already grinning like a devilish accomplice in a bad crime movie, and Luke knows nothing good can come of this.

“No.” Luke’s voice is flat, firm. But he doesn’t move to stop Ethan as he leans in conspiratorially.

“C’mon, what’s the harm? You’ve been staring for what, an hour? Two? Don’t be a coward.” Ethan’s smirk widens as he straightens up and crosses his arms. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to make things interesting.”

Luke sighs, already regretting whatever’s about to come out of his friend’s mouth. “What do you want, Ethan?” Luke’s gaze flickers back to Ethan, who’s watching him with the kind of grin that only spells trouble. It’s a setup, Luke knows it is, but he also knows Ethan won’t back down until he’s either embarrassed himself or dragged Luke into some ridiculous scheme. That’s just Ethan.

“You know,” Ethan starts again, his tone sly, “I think this is fate.”

Luke arches a brow. “What are you talking about?”

Ethan leans in, lowering his voice like they’re plotting something top-secret. “The new girl. Weather-Girl. I bet you couldn’t even get her to go out with you if you tried.”

Luke blinks, his head snapping back. “What?”

“You heard me,” Ethan continues, his grin widening. “She’s got this whole sunshine-and-rainbows vibe, and you’ve got… well, you’ve got ‘quiet, brooding hockey guy’ energy.”

“I wouldn’t really say quiet and brooding.” Luke says taking another sip of his drink, “more like quiet and anxious.” Ethan just shrugs as Lukes correction, watching you move with an equally appreciative look. 

“I mean it’s not like you’re her type anyway.” 

Luke glares at him. “And you’d know that how?”

“I’m observant,” Ethan says smugly. “Like I said, she’s sunshine-and-rainbows and you’re you. But hey, prove me wrong. I’m willing to make this interesting.”

Luke sighs. “I’m not playing your games, Ethan.”

“Not even if there’s something in it for you?” Ethan’s eyes gleam with mischief. “If you get her to go out with you and be the first one to say she has feelings—even just an I like you—I’ll do all your house chores for a month. Every single one.”

Luke hesitates. 

That’s… tempting. 

Too tempting. 

But then he shakes his head. “And if I don’t?”

Ethan leans back against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Then you buy dinner for the whole team after every practice. For a month.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s fair,” Ethan counters. “Besides, you’ve been staring at her all night anyway. Might as well make it worth something.”

Luke doesn’t respond, but his jaw clenches. He knows this is a bad idea—knows Ethan is goading him on purpose. But then his eyes drift back to you, and he catches the way you’re laughing at something, the way you light up the space around you without even trying. It’s magnetic, and he hates that Ethan noticed too.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Luke mutters, “Fine.”

Ethan’s grin could rival the devil’s. “Fine, what?”

Luke glares. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Ethan claps him on the shoulder. “Atta boy. Just don’t forget—one date. Real effort. No half-assing it, Lukey.” Luke mutters a curse under his breath and shakes Ethan off. The smugness radiating from his friend is almost enough to make him back out, but then he glances at you again. You’re standing by the couch, the yellow raincoat still draped over your shoulders, your head tilted as you listen to someone talking. There’s something about the way you seem so at ease, like the party could crumble around you and you’d just smile through it.

Taking a steadying breath, Luke squares his shoulders and heads your way. The closer he gets, the louder the sounds of the party become—music pounding, laughter ringing, snippets of conversation floating through the air. He rehearses a dozen opening lines in his head, but none of them stick.

When he’s just a few steps away, you look up, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, Luke forgets how to breathe. Your expression shifts, recognition flickering in your eyes as you offer him a small, curious smile.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the noise like it’s meant just for him. “You’re Luke, right? From the team?”

Luke nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. That’s me.” Your smile widens, and you take a small step closer, tucking a strand of your blue wig behind your ear. 

“I thought so. I’ve heard a lot about you. Big hockey star and all.” Luke’s mouth feels dry, but he forces himself to speak. 

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

You laugh softly, and it’s the kind of sound that makes the whole room feel smaller, quieter, like it’s just the two of you. “So, what brings you over here, hockey star? Didn’t peg you as the mingling type.”

Luke rubs the back of his neck, cursing Ethan silently. “Just thought I’d say hi. You’re… new, right?”

“Guilty,” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “Just transferred. My roommate dragged me here. Thought it’d be a good way to meet people.”

“And?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. “How’s that going?”

“Pretty good so far,” you say, your eyes sparkling. “Especially now that I’ve officially met Luke Hughes-the-hockey-star.” Luke chuckles nervously, and for the first time all night, he’s not thinking about anything other than right now. 

He’s thinking about you—how you look up at him like he’s the only one here, how your smile feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. Ethan’s words echo faintly in his mind, but Luke pushes them aside. He might have agreed to the bet, but right now, he’s not doing this for Ethan.

He’s doing this for you — well for him but what’s the difference.

“So what’re you?” Luke asks, gesturing down at your costume. “I’m guessing a weather girl.” He says with a soft smile, your eyes glittering as you shake your head. 

“I’m Coraline - you know the terrifying kids movie?” The costume makes so much more sense now - your bright yellow raincoat, the gumboots and the button sunglasses propped on the top of your head. 

“Nope, never seen it.” Luke lies, his neck flaming red as your mouth falls open, your eyebrows lifting. “Maybe you should show it to me sometime.” Luke gets out quickly, his heart slamming against his ribs as a knowing smile grows on your face. 

Your grin is equal parts amusement and challenge. “Oh, I absolutely will. You’re missing out. It’s iconic.”

Luke’s stomach twists, but not in the usual anxious way—it’s something lighter, almost hopeful. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says, surprising even himself with how steady his voice sounds.

You tilt your head, studying him with a curious expression, and for a second, Luke wonders if you can see right through him, if you can tell that his hands are clammy, or that he’s replaying every word of this conversation in his head to make sure he hasn’t completely embarrassed himself.

“Deal,” you say finally, extending a hand like it’s an official agreement. Luke hesitates only for a heartbeat before taking it. Your hand is warm and soft, and he hopes you don’t notice the way his lingers just a little too long before letting go.

“So, Coraline,” he says, grasping for something to keep the conversation going, “are you into horror movies? Or is this just a one-time thing?”

You laugh again, a bright, genuine sound that makes his chest feel tight. “I like them when they’re creepy but not too gory. Psychological stuff, you know? Keeps you on your toes.” You pause, eyes glinting playfully. “Why? Are you scared of scary movies, hockey star?”

Luke shakes his head, though the truth is closer to yes. “Not scared. Just... prefer movies where I don’t have to watch an episode of SpongeBob after to sleep.” Your laughter this time is louder, drawing a few glances from people nearby, but you don’t seem to care. 

“Fair enough. I’ll make sure to ease you into it.”

Luke nods, pretending to weigh his options. “I guess I can handle that.”

“You’d better,” you tease. “I don’t usually offer private screenings, you know.” Luke’s cheeks heat, and he hopes the dim lighting hides it. 

“I’ll try not to ruin it with my... quiet, brooding energy,” he says, quoting Ethan with a faint smirk. Your brows lift, and there’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes. 

“Quiet and brooding? That doesn’t sound like you. Quiet - maybe, brooding - no way. ” Luke huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.  Before he can think of a response, someone calls your name from across the room. You glance over your shoulder, and Luke follows your gaze to see a girl waving at you, her phone in hand. 

“That’s my roommate,” you say, turning back to him. “She’s probably wondering if I’m still alive.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Luke says quickly, though part of him wants to. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, Luke.” You hesitate for a moment, then smile again, softer this time. “See you around?”

“Definitely,” he manages, watching as you make your way across the room. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Ethan materialises at his side, looking far too pleased with himself.

 “So, how’d it go?” Luke glares at him, though there’s no heat behind it. 

“You’re insufferable.”

Ethan just grins. “Good then?” He claps Luke on the back and saunters off, leaving Luke to process what just happened. He takes another sip of his now-warm soda, his mind replaying the way your smile seemed to light up the room, the way you said his name like it was already familiar. For the first time all night, the noise and chaos of the party don’t feel overwhelming. 

Because for just a few minutes, you made everything else fade away.

Until his head shoots in your direction - he never got your number. 

+

+

“You’re really gonna stick up posters to try and find her?” Ethan questions as he looks over Luke’s shoulder at the posters his teammate was currently printing out. 

“I have no other option, how else am I going to find her?” Luke hisses back, collecting each poster as it’s spit out of the machine. 

“What kind of idiot forgets to get their number.” Ethan chuckles to himself, throwing his hands up in defence as Luke shoots him a sharp glare. 

“I was distracted.” Luke clarifies. 

“Maybe she didn’t actually like you, she didn’t seem to be trying hard to make sure you got her number.” Ethan hints as Luke tucks his posters in his bag, throwing it over his shoulder before trudging out of the library not waiting to see if Ethan was following behind him. 

Ethan’s words replayed in his mind as the shorter man catches up the two of them making their way to the morning practice. 

Maybe she didn’t actually like you. 

It stung, even though Luke wasn’t sure if it was true. Maybe she had just been polite, humouring him with that radiant smile that had practically seared itself into his memory. Or maybe she really did want to see him again but figured he’d be the one to bridge the gap.

Except he hadn’t.

He’d blown it.

Luke glances down at the one loose flyer in his hand, the bold block letters read:

 Looking for Coraline (or the girl in the yellow raincoat) at the hockey teams halloween party. You left an impression. Let’s finish the conversation. - Luke Hughes (the hockey star) 

Luke had concerningly been willing to attach his own phone number, knowing that in the end this might spell disaster but he couldn’t think of any other way.  Ethan peered at the flyer and let out a low whistle. “Wow. Really laying it all out there, huh?”

“Shut up, Ethan,” Luke muttered, his ears burning. He started toward the cork-board near the vending machines, where countless other notices, ads, and lost-item flyers were pinned. The board wasn’t exactly the romantic reunion he’d hoped for, but it was a start.

As he tacked up the first flyer, Ethan leaned against the machine, chuckling to himself. “You know, you’re making this way harder than it needs to be. Just ask around. Someone’s bound to know her.”

“That’s not the point,” Luke shot back. “I’m not going to embarrass her by asking the whole world if they know who she is.”

“But flyers are subtle?” Ethan teased, folding his arms and smirking. “You’re like a lost puppy, man.” Luke holds the poster up to the board, looking around for a free pin as he feels Ethan tap his shoulder lightly. 

“Dude look.” 

“Ethan I’m a bit busy can you knock it off.” Luke hisses as he tries to shake off Ethan’s hand but his friend was unrelenting continuing to tap on his shoulder until Luke couldn’t take it anymore, smacking at his friends hand turning away from the cork board. 

“Hey Luke.” Your voice was like music to his ears. His hand quickly tucking the poster behind his back as his mouth falls open in surprise. “Someone said I might be able to find you here.” You laugh, Luke taking you in like he did at the party. 

You were still as stunning as he remembers, your cheeks flushed slightly from the cold of the hockey rink, your coat buttoned all the way up your neck and your ears tucked under a beanie. You worse glasses this time, the large brown frames sitting high on your cheeks. 

“Oh my god she’s a secret nerd.” Ethan whispers letting out a heavy ‘oof’ as Luke shoves him away, “Shut the fuck up.” Luke says through gritted teeth before stepping towards you, a lazy grin spreading on his face. 

“You never got my number.” You say softly.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I kinda noticed that... after the fact.” You laugh — soft, warm, like the first sign of spring after a long winter.  Luke glances down at the crumpled flyer behind his back, then at Ethan, who’s clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

“He found a creative solution,” Ethan says, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Your eyes flick to the paper in Luke’s hand  and then back to Luke’s face in surprise. “Flyers?” Luke winces, pulling the paper out from behind him and holding it up sheepishly. 

“Yeah. I, uh… wasn’t sure how else to find you. I thought maybe you’d see one.” For a moment, you just stare at him, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re kind of a dork, aren’t you?”

Ethan snorts. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Luke glares at him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Ethan?”

“Not really.” Ethan shrugs, but when Luke’s glare sharpens, he throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” He backs away, shooting you a wink as he goes. “Don’t be too hard on him, Coraline.” As soon as he’s gone, Luke turns back to you, his nerves creeping back in.

“I, uh… didn’t mean to make it weird,” he says quickly. “I just thought you were—well, I mean, are—really cool, and I wanted to keep talking to you. But I totally get if this is too much, and—”

“Luke.” You cut him off gently, stepping closer, your boots making soft taps against the tiled floor. “It’s not weird.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” You smile up at him, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s kind of sweet, actually.” Luke’s heart stumbles over itself, and he tries to play it cool, even though he’s sure his face is giving him away.

“So… can I get your number now?” he asks, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. You reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone and unlocking it before handing it to him. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Luke takes it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly — just enough to send a spark through his chest. As he types in his number, he can’t help but smile to himself.

When he hands your phone back, you glance at the screen and grin.

“Luke Hughes, hockey star,” you read out loud, teasing. Luke groans, his cheeks burning.

You laugh again, sliding your phone back into your pocket. “So… when’s this Coraline screening happening?”

“Whenever you want.”

“Good.” You tilt your head, studying him with that same curious expression from the party. “Because I wasn’t kidding — you really need to see it.”

Luke chuckles, his nerves finally settling. “I guess I’ve got some things to come clean about?”

“You have watched Coraline, haven’t you?” There’s a pause — not awkward, but filled with something unspoken. Luke just nods his head, surprised when your smile grows. 

“Good, then we can go for something a little scarier.” 

“Scarier then Coraline, doesn’t exist.” Luke jokes, letting out a breath of laughter as you join, quickly glancing toward the rink doors more of Luke’s teammates filing through the doors.

Luke shifts awkwardly on his feet, watching you carefully as you tuck your phone back into your pocket. His heart is pounding louder than the distant thuds of sticks on ice from the rink nearby. He can’t believe you’re standing here in front of him — smiling at him like you’d been hoping to run into him, too.

You’re still here. 

You came looking for him.

“Do you have practice now?” you ask again, glancing at the double doors that lead to the rink.

Luke nods. “Yeah, just drills.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Shouldn’t take long.”

You tilt your head, considering something. “And after practice?”

Luke blinks, caught off guard by the question. “Uh… nothing planned. Why?”

A grin tugs at your lips, and you glance down for a second before looking back up at him, your gaze steady but playful. “I was thinking maybe we don’t have to wait too long for that movie watch.”

Luke’s heart skips a beat. “You mean tonight?”

“Unless you’re too busy, hockey star.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Nope. Not busy. Definitely not busy.” You smile, the kind that makes Luke feel like the luckiest guy in the room — maybe the whole world.

“Good,” you say, taking a step closer. “Because I’d hate for you to back out after going through all the trouble of printing out those flyers.”

Luke groans, his face flushing again. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you tease, your eyes sparkling.

Luke ducks his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips. When he looks back up, there’s a quiet determination in his gaze. “So… movie night?”

“Movie night,” you confirm. “My place?”

Luke blinks, surprised. “Yeah, sure. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

“Definitely cool with me.” You pull your phone out again and hand it to him. “I’ll send you a text with my address.”

Luke watches you, his heart thudding faster as you step back. “So, tonight?”

“Tonight,” you agree, pulling your coat tighter around you. “Say… seven?”

“I’ll be there.” You give him one last lingering look before turning toward the door. Just as you reach it, you glance over your shoulder with a playful smile. 

“Don’t be late, Hughes. I’ll be waiting.” Luke stands there for a moment, frozen in place, replaying the whole interaction in his head like a highlight reel. He barely registers Ethan stepping back into view, his expression smug as ever.

“Well, look at you,” Ethan says, clapping Luke on the shoulder. “Got yourself a date, huh?”

Luke doesn’t even bother with a glare this time. Instead, he just shakes his head, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess I do.”

+

+

Luke finds himself standing outside your door, holding a small bag of snacks and feeling more nervous than he’s ever been before a big game. He’s replayed every possible conversation in his head, hoping he won’t make a fool of himself. The door swings open before he can knock, and there you are — standing there with a soft smile, dressed comfortably in a hoodie and leggings, your glasses perched on your nose.

“Hey,” you say, your voice warm and inviting.

“Hey.”

You step aside, motioning him in. “Come on in. I’ve got the movie queued up and everything.” Luke steps inside, taking in the cozy space — blankets piled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and the faint scent of something sweet lingering in the air.

“My roommate decided to give us some peace so she’s at her boyfriend’s place for the night.” You start slowly, before spinning around to face him, your hands thrown up in front of you. “Not that I’m expecting you to stay the night or anything.” Luke watches the way your face starts to burn, the tips of your ears a bright pink - a soft laugh leaving him as he nods. 

“No expectations.” Luke agrees, pulling out his snacks and placing them on what he’s assuming in your bed. “So what are we watching?” 

“I was thinking we should do a modern classic - have you seen any of the Jordan peele movies?” You question, busying yourself with laying out the food on the bed. 

“No, my brothers aren’t big movie watchers so I never got the chance.” Luke says quickly, hovering awkwardly besides you as he waits for you to settle on the bed. He watches as you hoist yourself up, swishing yourself against the wall before patting the empty space besides you. 

“Well you’re in for a treat.” You smile, throat bobbing as Luke climbs onto the bed besides you, his broad frame taking up most of the bed, his feet almost hitting the end. You had made the effort of setting up the projector your sister had gotten you before you went to college, the stupid machine notoriously hard to set up but it was worth it to not have to watch the movie on your tiny laptop screen. 

“Can you turn off the lights, horror movies only work if it’s dark.” You say quietly, pointing to the lamp switch besides Luke, who reaches without having to hand off the bed like you normally do, the room shrouded in darkness as you press play on your phone connected to the projector. “Be prepared of the best psychological horror of the past ten years.” You tease, settling against your cushions as you reach forwards to grab the bowl of popcorn. 

As the opening credits roll, Luke glances over at you. You’re focused on the screen, but there’s a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips. He knows that he’s here because of a silly bet, but right now, none of that matters. What matters is this moment. You, beside him. The warmth of your presence chasing away the cold outside. The way your laughter fills the room when you catch him flinching at a particularly eerie scene.

Luke has to admit that though the movie was very entertaining he couldn’t help but look away from the projector - his eyes one the side of your face almost the entire time, watching every tiny reaction you had. His gaze only flicking back to the screen as the movie comes to it’s crescendo your eyes briefly flicking over to him, a smile growing on your face as he panics and looks away as your eyes meet. 

“Good movie, huh.” Luke says as he stretches his arms above his head, the credits playing as you let out a snort of laughter. 

“You were certainly enamoured.” 

“Sorry.” Luke sighs, his shoulders folding in on himself, the hockey player somehow shrinking to half the size he was before. “You’re just really pretty.” He admits, scolding himself in his head for his confession, the words slipping out before he even got a chance to stop them. “And now I sound like a ten year old boy telling the girl at the playground that he has a crush.” Luke laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as more words slip out. 

You blink, processing Luke's words, your heart skipping a beat as the playful smirk on your lips softens into something more genuine.

"Really?" you ask, voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if you're afraid to break the fragile moment hanging between you.

Luke nods, his gaze darting to the floor before meeting your eyes again.

"Yeah. I mean, it's not just that you're pretty. You're... more than that. Smart, funny, kind. Being around you feels—I don't know—easy. Comfortable. Even when I'm panicking inside, like right now." He chuckles nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his neck again. "And I know I'm probably making this awkward."

You shake your head quickly.

"You're not," you whisper, your voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest. Luke watches you carefully, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he's misstepped, but all he finds is warmth and something that makes his breath catch in his throat—hope.

“You’re almost falling off the bed.”  you say softly, shifting a little on the bed to make more space. Your hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against his arm in a way that feels both tentative and electric.

Luke hesitates for a moment before scooting closer. The bed dips under his weight, and suddenly the space between you feels almost nonexistent. His knee bumps against yours, and he can't help the shy smile that tugs at his lips when he hears your quiet giggle in response.

Your fingers linger on his arm, tracing a light pattern along the sleeve of his hoodie before curling around his wrist. The movie’s end credits roll on in the background, forgotten, as the room’s only source of light comes from the soft glow of the projector casting faint shadows on the walls.

"I've been watching you too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "During the movie. I thought you didn’t notice."

Luke lets out a soft laugh.

"I didn’t” he murmurs.  There’s a pause—a moment of quiet, charged with unspoken words and shared breaths. His gaze drops to your lips, just for a second, before flicking back up to your eyes. You catch the movement, your heart thudding louder in your chest.

"Luke..." you start, but whatever you were about to say gets lost as he leans in, slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you don’t. You close the remaining distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that feels both inevitable and surreal. His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jawline as he deepens the kiss, his touch careful, as if he’s afraid to break the moment.

Your hands slide up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pull him closer. The scent of him—clean, with a hint of something woodsy—fills your senses, grounding you in the reality of this moment.  When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you share a quiet, contented laugh.

The kiss was sweet. Innocent, but left Luke’s chest buzzing as he left your dorm, sneaking past the RA’s room with you, the two of you pausing at the front door as you lift yourself onto your tippy toes placing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Luke asks softly, your head nodding as you promise to meet him at the cafe near the hockey rink. 

“Luke?” You call out as he makes his way down the steps, his body turning back towards you as you whisper, “I really like you.” The words make Luke’s heart drop to his stomach. 

The stupid bet. 

But no one heard it right? 

And surely Ethan wouldn’t hold him to it? 

Luke rushes back up the steps, his hands gripping your hoodie at your waist as he pulls you towards him, leaning down and capturing your lips with his own, the two of you lost in each other for a moment before he pulls away, whispering back “I really like you too.” Luke releases you, your lips tingling as you watch him dart down the steps, bolting from sight as his cheeks flush a bright red. 

+

+

“You going to invite her to the party?” Ethan questions, his eyebrows raised as Luke glances up from his coffee. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” 

“This thing is getting kinda of serious isn’t it?” Ethan asks, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at his friend taking the lid of his drink to pour an excessive amount of sugar in the hot coffee. “I didn’t picture you as a dating kind of guy.” He adds, Luke just shrugging his shoulders as he straightens ups, placing the lid back on his drink before taking a long sip. 

“I’m not usually, but she’s something special.” Luke sighs, “I like her and I think she likes me too.” He adds noticing the way Ethan’s smile grows. 

“So you’re going to tell her, or are you waiting till you win the bet?” Ethan teases, his eyes catching the way Luke flinches slightly, a shocked expression transforming his features. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.” Ethan coos.  Luke’s jaw tightens, his mind racing. The warmth from the night before—the laughter, the kiss, the way you’d whispered that you really liked him—all of it feels fragile now, like it could shatter at any moment.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Luke repeats, his voice firmer this time. He doesn’t meet Ethan’s gaze, focusing instead on the swirl of steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Come on, man,” Ethan presses, leaning forward on the table. “We made that bet months ago. You were supposed to ask her out, take her on a couple of dates, and then call it quits. It was just supposed to be a joke—a way to get you out of your shell. But now? Now it’s looking a little more serious than that.”

“It is serious.” Luke’s voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the conviction in his tone. “I like her. A lot. And I’m not going to let some stupid bet ruin that.”

Ethan leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what’s your plan? Pretend it never happened? Hope she never finds out?”

Luke runs a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Then maybe you should tell her before someone else does.” Ethan’s words hang heavy in the air, the weight of the truth pressing down on Luke’s chest.

“I will.” Luke agrees, “Tonight at the party, I’ll tell her everything so just keep your mouth shut.” Ethan nods throwing his hands up in agreement as the both slip past a smaller figure holding the door open, a black oversized hoodie thrown up and over their head, Luke nods in thanks to the person, continuing his argument with Ethan as the continue on their way. 

The message dings on your phone as you wait for your coffee, your black hood now pooling around your neck as you let out a long sigh. 

Luke Hughes (hockey star) : I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party with me tonight - it’s at the frat house next to the rink? I can pick you up from your dorm?

Weather - Girl ☂️: I don’t know… I’ll just meet you there? 

Luke Hughes (hockey star): Ok. See you at 7.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket as you step forwards to grab your drink from the counter. 

A bet? 

Of course that’s why Luke had approached you that night. 

Someone like him would never go out with someone like you. 

+

+

You arrive at the frat house just as the sun begins to set, the amber glow of the evening stretching across the sky. The music blares from inside, the bass vibrating through the walls as you hesitate at the door, your hand resting on the knob. You’d never been a fan of parties—too loud, too chaotic. But tonight, everything felt different. It wasn’t just about the party. It was about Luke. The way he’d asked you to come, the way he’d kissed you like he meant it... and now, this lingering doubt.

A deep breath. You turn the handle and step inside.

The scene is exactly what you'd expected—college students scattered across the living room and kitchen, cups in hand, the occasional burst of laughter, music spilling into the air. You scan the crowd, trying to pick out familiar faces, until your eyes land on him. Luke’s standing by the pool table, talking with a couple of teammates, his eyes scanning the room every so often. He’s dressed casually, but he still looks effortlessly handsome. The tight fit of his shirt accentuates his broad shoulders, and his dark hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Your stomach tightens at the sight of him, and for a moment, all the noise around you fades. It’s just Luke, and it’s just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you.

He notices you then, his expression shifting as his eyes lock onto yours. His lips curl into a small, tentative smile. And for a moment, you wonder if maybe this is all worth it. Maybe he really does care. But then the nagging thought about the bet creeps back in, like a shadow in the corner of your mind. Luke steps away from the table, pushing through the crowd of people as he approaches you. His smile widens, but you can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he gets closer.

“Hey,” he greets you softly, his voice a little too calm. He’s studying you, trying to read your mood.

“Hey,” you respond, your voice a little tight. You force a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m glad you made it,” Luke says, his gaze dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes again. “You okay? You look... tense.”

You hesitate, debating whether to tell him how you’re feeling. How everything seems off. But you don’t. You don’t want to seem like you’re overthinking things, especially not in front of everyone. Instead, you just nod.

“I’m fine. Just, you know, not really a party person,” you admit with a half-laugh, trying to make light of it. “But it’s... nice.”

Luke chuckles, his hand brushing against yours as he gestures toward the side of the room. “Want to grab a drink? I can introduce you to a few people if you want.”

You hesitate, your heart hammering in your chest. What are you really doing here? Was this all part of the game to him? Or was he genuinely trying to make you feel comfortable?

Before you can answer, a voice calls from across the room—Ethan, Luke’s friend, who’s standing with a few of his teammates, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the two of you.

“Luke! Come on, man. Get over here!” Ethan calls, clearly in the middle of some kind of banter. “We’re going to play a game, the cute girl besides you can join in too.” Luke glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you. His smile falters slightly before he gives you an apologetic look.

“Only if you want to” he says, turning away from his friends to focus completely on you, your head nods before you can think about it Luke lacing his fingers through your before walking toward Ethan and the others. 

“Thank you for joining us, weather-girl.” Ethan coos as you and Luke reach the group, a bunch of people huddled in a tight circle at the back of the house. “We’re playing never have I ever, know how to play?” You nod again, watching as Ethan clears a spot for you and Luke to join the circle, the two of you squishing between some other players from the team - Ethan quickly handing you both a red solo cup full of beer.

“I’ll go first.” Ethan cheers, “Never have I ever kissed a boy” The girls of the group chuckling amongst themselves before taking a drink, you cup raising to your lips as you take a slow sip as well the round continuing as each player having a turn in saying something they have never done. 

The circle all turn towards Luke as the person besides him finished their turn, “Never have I ever regretted asking out a pretty girl.” He says with a beaming smile, watching as Ethan groans before taking a sip of his drink shouting across the room. 

“That was a lame one.” Ethan turns towards you next with anticipation, your throat clearing as you say, “Never have I ever made a bet with my friend to ask a girl out.” The group falls silent as they all look at you, Ethan’s gaze flicking between you and Luke with a grimace, Luke gaze dropping to you in surprise as you look up at him expectedly, hoping to any higher power that he wouldn’t take a sip of his drink. 

“I can explain.” Luke whispers, recoiling a little as you let out a harsh scoff, lifting yourself from you spot on the floor in a hurry. 

“I think I’m done playing.” You hiss, pushing your way through the crowd as you bolt for the front door, ignoring the sound of Luke calling after you - letting out a shaky breath as the fresh autumn air hits your face. 

“I swear I can explain.” Luke says as he comes up behind you. 

“So I really was just a bet? What is this some fucking wattpad fanfic.” You let out a bitter laugh as you push your hair off your face. 

“Yes...well no…kind of.” Luke sighs, not knowing how to answer your question.

“What did you even bet anyway.” 

“Ethan said he’d do my chores for a month if I got you to go on a date and say you liked me first.” 

“You tricked me because of chores.” You scoff, “Was it worth it?” 

“Yes.” You let out a shocked laugh at his response, taking a few steps away from him as you throw your hands up in defeat. “It was worth it cause it meant I got to talk to you.” Luke takes a deep breath as he looks back to the party before taking a few steps towards you.  “The whole stupid thing was worth it cause it mean I actually got to meet you, instead of just staring at you from across the room, and things moved a little faster then I was anticipating but I’m not mad that it happened.” 

You blink at him, the words settling over you in a wave. You want to be angry, want to shout at him for making you feel like a game piece in some dumb bet. But as you look at Luke, there’s something raw in his expression, something that makes you hesitate. His eyes are sincere, even if the situation couldn’t be further from what you’d imagined.

“Are you telling me you really liked me? Even before this… game?” You ask, your voice coming out more fragile than you intend. Luke’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks unsure. Then he steps closer, the distance between you growing smaller with each second, the warmth of his body making you feel suddenly aware of how cold the night air is.

“I know how it sounds, and I don’t expect you to just forgive me because I’m telling you this now,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s been carrying the weight of it all for longer than he should. “I spent an hour watching you at the party that night, but I just couldn’t work up the courage to go over and talk to you and when Ethan made that bet, I saw it as a stupid way to break the ice—get us talking. And yeah, I should have told you everything upfront, but I didn’t. I messed up. I’m sorry.” The confession hangs in the air, a delicate thing between you. You feel the heat from his words, but your heart is still tangled in the doubt. He’s here, standing right in front of you, apologising. 

“I don’t know, Luke.” You shake your head, trying to process everything. “This whole thing just feels… wrong. Like I was some pawn in a game that didn’t even matter. And now you’re telling me that it did? That you really wanted to get to know me?” Luke nods, his gaze unwavering. 

“Yes. It matters. You matter. And I know it sounds like a bad excuse, but I’ve never done something like this before. I wasn’t thinking about how you’d feel, I was thinking about how I felt—and I was being selfish. I should’ve respected you more than that.” The wind picks up, tugging at your hair, and you shiver, more from the tension building between you than the cold. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to all of this. Part of you wants to run. Part of you wants to let it go, to believe him, to give him a chance. 

You cross your arms, staring at the ground, trying to make sense of everything. The weight of the night presses on you, every sound from inside the house now distant, muffled. “I don’t know if I can just forgive you like that, Luke.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me right away.” he says, his voice softening. You meet his eyes then, something in the way he says it making your heart race again. 

“Then what are you asking for, Luke?” You whisper, the question heavy with every word.

“I don’t know.” He says softly, his eyes dropping to the floor for a moment, before flicking back to you.  “I’m not asking for anything, I just want you to know that even if the only reason I worked up the courage to talk to you was because of the bet, it doesn’t mean that anything else had anything to do with it. I do really like you and if you want me to back off I will but I really, really don’t want to.”  Your stern expression falters a little at Luke words, your brain battling to keep your icy exterior up. 

“Please, I’ll do anything for one more chance.” Luke pleads, his hands reaching out for you before quickly dropping back to his sides. You watch as he fights with himself in his own head, trying to decide whether to pass the invisible border you had put between the two of you. 

“How about we make our own bet?” You say softly, not missing the way Luke’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You get one date to prove that none of this was fake if you can manage that then maybe you’ll get a second one.” You say Luke’s head already nodding before you even finish your sentence. 

“And if I don’t manage to prove it?’ He asks softly. 

“Then you do all my errands for a month.” You answer finally cracking a soft smile, Lukes body visibly relaxing at your words, the joke clearing something as he takes a few steps forwards his arms wrapping around you and lifting you from the ground before you even get a chance to protest. 

“I promise I’ll prove that the bet had nothing to do with anything, and I’ll do all your errands for the rest of the year.” Luke coos, his heart throbbing in his chest as you let out the sweetest laugh, the one that makes his legs turn to jelly as he gently sets you back on the ground. 

“I think I can make that work.” You smile, the doubt remaining in your chest as Luke keeps his arms around you, a part of him needing to keep you wrapped up in his arm to truly believe that this was real. 

[not-inappropriate]

I will say, the entry level job market on indeed dot com does indeed dot suck. But I think I’ve learned a decent amount since indeed and company websites are the only job boards I’ve used, and I’ve had a decent career so far, so I feel like I’ve got some decent advice. if any of this helps anyone at all hell yeah.

So:

1) HR people ALWAYS exaggerate the requirements. However much experience they say they want, you probably need one third of that. Certifications required usually means certifications preferred, depending on the industry. Like, Don’t apply to a surgeon position with only a nursing degree; but there’s a solid chance you can get a job with a CPA firm without being a CPA yourself. Just make sure you can give some sort of explanation as to why you would be able to do the job if asked.

Story: My brother (1 year experience, Bachelor’s degree) was once encouraged to apply to a new position within his company by his boss, who had instructed HR on the requirements and experience needed for the position (bachelors required, entry level, 1-3 year experience preferred), and when my brother goes to the website to apply it says 3-5 years experience required, Masters degree preferred. Bro said boss was PISSED. HR can be a joke sometimes.

2) Cover letters are usually pointless if it’s not an extreme specialty position with few candidates. Unless it says they’re highly encouraged or something

3) Maybe the most important: send follow up emails for EVerything. I think this is what held me back for months when I first started using indeed. And it doesn’t matter how bland or thoughtless is is. Two sentences in an HR bro’s inbox is worth 10 cover letters. And if you got a screening call or an interview and haven’t heard back in a week+ ?? Call their ass. They might offer the job to you on the spot. Last time I was job hunting I got a mid offer, after being ghosted on two good offers I’d interviewed for. I called both of them and said Soooo y’all make a decision??? They both offered me a job within 24 hours. (Brag, sorry)

Each listing probably has hundreds of applicants. People just spamming their resume across the internet. And emails, or especially calls, show actual interest. Go to the company website > about us > our staff > contact us > whatever. “Hi Mr. Bob. I saw your listing on indeed and wanted to introduce myself. I graduated this year and had trouble contacting anybody on the job listing websites, but I believe I have the qualifications necessary for the position. If you have a moment, could you forward my email to the relevant parties. My resume is attached. Thank you, XoXo”. Whatever. When I was working in my first entry level job doing data entry and answering phones, I got a phone call like this, and we actually gave the guy an interview (this guy blew it RIP). I’ve seen another boss mad when he got a call from a reasonably qualified applicant who said they hadn’t heard back after applying on one of the other job listing sites, and he came out yelling at his secretary (yeah he was an asshole), demanding to see the resume. Offered him the job in the first interview. (Hell yeah). Plus people feel bad turning you down after hearing your voice. You’re a human to them now.

4)As far as finding more relevant jobs? Similar to point 1. For entry level, select the 1-3 years experience instead. For bookkeeping, choose accounting instead. When I was also looking for a bookkeeping job, I couldn’t find one for the life of me. When I was looking for accounting jobs as a Managerial Auditior?? Bookkeeping listings all over my indeed page. Yeah it’s bullshit, but aiming up helps. Thats about all I have for that though.

So yeah. Apply to things you might not perfectly meet the requirements for. Emails and phone calls get people’s attention. and Real Bosses are often pissed when they find out the inefficiencies of HR and job boards too. Just send it

Anyway. Job hunting can be the least fun endeavor on the planet. Sending thotts and prayors for the lot of you 🙏🙏🙏 and praying I never have to do it again (now that I found my dream job) (on indeed dot com) (fuck indeed dot com) (but also thank you indeed dot com)

do genuinely find it fascinating how indeed.com is like the biggest job-hunting website out there and yet manages to be profoundly useless in every possible way

[robinsgrl]

FEARLESS

chapter four. doors and burgers

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pairing ⇢ rafe cameron x plus size!reader

word count ⇢ 2.2k

warnings ⇢ fatphobia, insecurities, panic attack, boobies lol, Scarlett should be her own warning, daddy issues,

authors note ⇢ sorry that i messed up on my last post yall!! i confused scarlett with heather. she was supposed to be Heather but i was like….. heathers get too much crap thank you conan 😒 and i forgot to change it lol sorry!!! also i rewrote this like five times and i this was the one i was most satisfied with, so enjoy!!

────────────────────────

Scarlett leaves from what you can tell. People are talking about the kitchen debacle and there are mixed reviews. Some are still kissing Scarlett’s ass, others don’t like her any longer. But it doesn’t seem anyone’s on your side. You’re still invisible. You’ve since taken off your jacket that was drenched and Rafe has given you his. It’s big but it doesn’t cover you entirely, and that makes you feel so damn embarrassed.

Despite your mission being to get Jonah to see you, neither of you can find him anywhere. Kiara and Sarah had their eyes out for him as well but they’ve since lost the mission at hand. Now, you’re all sat in the living room where there are a few people dancing around Sarah who’s singing obnoxiously bad on the karaoke machine. No one has any idea where it came from but everyone is loving it.

You’re clapping along with Kiara, laughing when Sarah messes up another lyric and blames the song. For the first time in what seems like a long time, Rafe isn’t drinking. He isn’t doing much of anything but staying by your side. He’s sitting beside you, watching his sister with amusement. He refuses to clap though, only doing it when you reach over to lift his hands and make him clap.

It’s Kiara’s turn to sing when you get up off the couch and look for the bathroom in the huge figure 8 house. The home has photographs scattered, a happy family shown in them all. It might just be the beer in you that makes you want to cry. You’ve seen the kid around school before and he isn’t anything to you. Anything at all. But you’re wishing him the best. Yeah, you realize it’s the beer.

You stumble into a random room and let out a screech when a body gets up from a bed.

“What are you doing here?” Jonah’s voice sends a flutter through your belly. Your belly. Your stomach. You take a hold of Rafe’s jacket and tighten it around yourself, hiding your body from the guy you want badly.

“Oh… uhm…” you wipe the tears from your eyes that had bled out at the family pictures. “I’m looking for the bathroom.”

He’s immediately up on his feet at the sight of your tears. Your eyes widen when his hands take a hold of your round face and examines you carefully. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Your breath hitches at the feel of his warm hand. It’s soft. Far too soft for a man who puts his all into the gym and football. “Oh? I… uhm… haha, what? Yeah? I'm… I’m fine. Just…” you sniffle and gently move his hand from your face. You’re refusing to meet his eyes,shy about your sadness. “The pictures… they look so happy.”

The look on his face makes you want to run away. And then, he laughs. “You’re crying because Tommy and his family look happy?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, stuck. “It’s not a bad thing.” Are his words when he seems to realize how stunned you feel. “It’s… adorable.”

You fumble your words, “oh, I, uhm, yeah, okay, that’s… yeah.” To have the guy you’ve been into for years call you such a word is a rush. A scary one. But you like it. And whatever it is you did, you wish you could keep doing it until he saw you as you saw him. Perfect.

You’re still standing by the door of the random bedroom and it’d be easy to just run off. But you can’t. Making a fool of yourself in front of Jonah will only make your plan harder. And Rafe would kill you for letting his effort go to waste. “What are you doing in here?” It comes out more abrasive than you wished, internally scolding yourself.

But he doesn’t seem to mind. Rather, he takes his seat back on the bed and shrugs. “It’s noisy.”

You understand. You really, really do. And you want to say it aloud but your tongue is tied as you watch him throw his head back, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows gently. After a moment, you semi-gather yourself. “Did you leave cause of Sarah?” You joke lightly. “That’s what made me leave.”

This garners a soft laugh out of him and you want to jump up and squeal. But Rafe told you to act nonchalant. “Yeah, she’s certainly… singing.”

You take one step away from the door. Just one. You were going to sit beside him. You were going to talk to him. Really talk to him.

The door behind you swings open and hits your head. Hard. “What the fuck?” Jonah’s quick on his feet, rushing to you in a panic. You turn to look at the culprit and your frown turns into a glare. Rafe.

“What the fuck, Rafe?!” You hiss, sending a punch to his shoulder.

“Why were you standing so near the door?!”

“Why would you swing it open like a maniac?!”

“It’s not my fault you were standing there—“

“Maybe don’t open doors like that—“

“Oh, shut up, do you ever not complain—“

“Says you! You’re, like, the king of complaining—“

“King? King—“

“Should I leave?” Jonah’s soft voice speaks and you shove Rafe’s face as you look at him and smile.

“N-no, you shouldn’t have to. He was just leaving.”

“I was? I don’t— ow, fuck, okay, I’m leaving.”

The mood was ruined. Whatever mood Jonah was in was gone. And so was your confidence. It's awkward as you sit next to him on the bed. The palm of your hands are on your knees, anxiously rubbing at them. He’s laid back on the bed, arm crossed over his eyes, the only thing telling you he’s up is the soft twitch of his fingers.

“Does it hurt?” His voice cuts through the thick silence.

Panicked, you glance over at him with wide eyes. “Does… does what hurt?”

“Your head. He opened the door pretty hard.” He still doesn’t move from his position and you’re grateful he’s not looking at you. You do better when people can’t perceive you.

“Oh, my head… yeah, it’s fine, doesn’t hurt. I-it’s a little sore but I’ll make him pay for it.” You shrug, fixing Rafe’s jacket on your body.

“You two are close.” It’s supposed to be a question. It doesn’t sound like one.

You shake your head despite his eyes being covered up. “Not really. I… he’s nice but we’re not like friends.”

He sits back up and this makes you tense up, looking straight ahead at that damn door you hate now. “Just never seen him with anyone but his same three friends.”

“I’m friends with Sarah. We’re just… around each other more.” It’s a lie. But you don’t believe Rafe would want people to know just how much time you’re really spending together. The less people that know, the better.

“You and Scarlett are really done?” He questions, eyes on you. But you can’t look over at him. You’re stiff and awkward and unsure of how to act around him.

You nod softly, “y-yeah… she’s, uhm, not a very nice person.”

It’s quiet for another moment. “She’s been running her mouth about you. Calling you names. Really bad names. And all you can say is ‘she's not nice’?”

Hearing that she’s still talking about you is a punch to the guy and suddenly you don’t care about your crush. You don’t care that you two are sitting so close to each other. All you can think is how horrible she truly is. How blinded you were. And how stupid you feel for missing her. “Well… just because others are doing bad things, doesn’t mean I should. Be the bigger person and whatnot.” You let out a small and awkward laugh to try and shrug off what you’re really feeling.

“Wow.” Are his words as he gets up off the bed and walks to the dresser of the bedroom and picking up a magazine. “You’re really not like other girls.” An even bigger punch to the gut. Logically, you know he’s trying to be kind. He’s only saying this to make you feel better, your feelings on Scarlett written all over your face.

You don’t wear makeup, not like other girls do. You don’t dress up, not like other girls do. You don’t giggle over guys, not like other girls do. You don’t go out and have fun, not like other girls do. But you want to do it all. You want to be like other girls. You never felt worth it. Lipstick on a pig. You’re too big to fit trendy clothes. You don’t giggle over guys because they’d be disgusted that you’re into them. You don’t go out because you’d be the biggest out of the group of girls that are around you. You’d be an eyesore.

In a frantic move, you get up off the bed. “Right. Well, I, uh… I have to go.”

“Huh? What—“ but you don’t pay any attention to his words as you rush out of the random bedroom. There are kids littering the hallway. The steps are being used as seats, shoving people slightly as you go. The music is loud. Too loud. You can feel it bouncing in your eardrums and filling your already muddled thoughts. Theres nothing you can think about other than getting out of that damn house. And in your panicked stupor, you can’t find the damn. The house is too damn big.

There’s a couple making out in the bathroom when you rush inside and when they see the fear in your eyes, they rush out, leaving you to be.

The drive isn’t awkward. Not like you thought it would be. He didn’t question you. And despite his last text, he didn’t bring it up. And you’re grateful he didn’t.

“Where are we going?” You ask when you realize you’re headed downtown. “I want to go home, Rafe.”

He shrugs, hands on the wheel. “I’m hungry. We’re just stopping by The Wreck real quick.”

He doesn’t ask you to get down with him. He parks, heads inside, and he’s out fifteen minutes later. But he doesn’t start driving. In fact, he immediately takes a bite out of his burger, your food untouched on your lap.

“You’re not gonna eat?” He asks with his mouth full, but you don’t grimace like you should. You grab a napkin and hands it to him but he shakes his head refusing it.

“You’re dirty.”

“And you’re not eating.” He swallows his food.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re lying.”

“So because I'm fat, I must be hungry?” It’s a joke but the look he gives you tells you he’s not amused in the slightest. “Tough crowd. Seriously, I'm not hungry.”

“Is this that thing where you don’t eat in front of people cause you’re with a guy? Sarah told me it’s some shit she does.”

“It’s that thing where I’m not hungry, actually.” But it smells divine. Usually, you’d happily eat this but after tonight, you’re not sure if you’ll ever eat greasy foods again.

He scoffs, putting his burger down and holding a fry up at you. “Try the fry.”

“You try the fry.”

“I already did. Seriously, my mom had this trick while we were growing up. Sarah always swore she wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t get anything to eat but she’d make her try something from the plate to realize how hungry she really was.”

“How old was she?”

“My mom? She was pushing forty.”

You glare at the proud look on his face at his joke. “Sarah, stupid.”

“I don’t know… seven?”

“You’re treating me like a seven year old?”

“Try. The. Fry.” He swipes it across your lips and this gets a laugh out of you, shoving him away.

“Okay, okay! I’ll eat a fry. But that one has lipstick all over it now.” You pick a fry from his and he squints his eyes at you.

“You have a perfectly good batch.”

You pop the fry into your mouth with a content smile. “Not as good as yours.” And he was right. The salt and buttery soft fry proved to be true— you are hungry.

With a sigh, you grab your burger and say— “okay… just… don’t look.”

This amuses him. “Don’t look at you eat your burger? Well, there goes my spank bank.”

“Ew, Rafe!” You laugh, nose scrunching at his crude words.

You take a bite of your burger. And it’s absolutely delicious. Just like you knew it would be. Instead of worrying over stuffed up cheeks or looking fat while eating, you share laughs, mouths full and not a single care.

taglist. @pinkyqily @chalahyung01 @lunalvrsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @jayjsbaby @yawnzshit @mytimeiswaiting @tsshifting @always-reading @chimchimjiminie16 @ayy1234567 @acidfeens @congratsloserr @murdockcastleslut @cl4uus @clairesblouse @ange111 @daddydraco @wtfdudesblog @honk4emoboyz @fionaapplelover2010 @raiemarine @totonella1 @lilmixed-girl @enjoymyloves @darlingisntit @c1gsaftewhat @lil-sparklqueen @bambisribbon @easybakeoven7 @vviolets444rroses @aesthetic-lyss @dr3wstarkey @sleepmaster69 @yose2123 @aligned-starz @vex-et-soleil (if your name is red, it’s not letting me tag you for some reason, sorry!)

[sturnlsstuff]

FAMILIAR STRANGER | last chapter

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter seven

— warnings: smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, making out, unprotected p in v, riding, creampie, mentions of murder, cursing, pet names, - english isn't my first language!!

~~~

you weren't a person who could get easily scared. always being able to watch horror movies with your friends completely unbothered, making them all amused at how calmly you sat through the entire thing. you weren't afraid of the dark, ghosts and other things like that. there was nothing that could make you jump out of fear. the only person who sometimes scared you was your ex, but he's gone now so technically you should be living a peaceful life.

but the moment you opened the door and he stormed inside, your heart was beating faster than ever before. it was that guy from the party who was flirting with you and were friends with jake. and now you were alone with him in your apartment for almost ten minutes, not being able to get rid of him. to put some distance between the two of you, you found yourself on one side of the kitchen island, ready to defend yourself if necessary, and he was on the other.

"i wonder..." he speaks up again. he hasn't said anything important yet, except that he won't leave until he finds out the truth. you didn't know what he was talking about. "-- how was it possible that you were able to face jake? he was always stronger than you and he definitely wouldn't let some whore like you kill him. so how did you do it?"

"what?" your breath hitches in your throat at the mention of jake and him being dead. "what are you talking about?"

"don't play fucking dumb with me," he walks around your kitchen like he owns the place. "you had so many reasons to kill him."

"yes i had," you admit. "but i didn't kill him. and honestly? i regret that it wasn't me." he stops, giving you a quick glance and clicking his tongue against his teeth, "bold."

"true."

"you're really brave, huh?" he raises his eyebrow, "or stupid."

"you're stupid coming here and throwing suspicions left and right without any good basis."

"oh, i have a lot," he leans on his elbows on the kitchen island, looking directly into your eyes. "jake accused you of cheating and made everyone know what a whore you are, then recorded the video he was going to post but didn't manage to. it probably pissed you off really bad, didn't it? his phone also disappeared, the cops didn't find it. who else knew about it? only you..." he remains silent for a moment letting his words sink in. "-- and sturniolo."

something shifts in the air, you feel your ears ring at the mention of that name. you could bear the accusations against yourself, but against him? it was too close to the truth. at that moment you realized that this might end up bad.

"ahh, did i get it right?" he notices your expression, a grin appears on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "wait, oh shit," he chuckles, shaking his head. "maybe you cheated on jake with chris and your new little boyfriend didn't like how it could ruin his reputation? you know he likes to bang a different girl every weekend. so was it him that killed him? and you two threw suspicion on that ghostface killer? spill the tea, c'mon. unless..." a frown appears between his eyebrows, something in his gaze changes. "unless, it's him. he's the ghostface? wait, holy fuck-"

"you don't know shit–" you cut him off, the wave of nausea washes over you. "it's not true–"

"oh, i'm pretty fucking sure it is," he retors. "that would make more sense, you wouldn't be able to fight jake on your own. so what, you're dating a psychopath? i mean, you must be pretty fucking insane yourself..."

"the only psychopath i dated was jake, so shut the fuck up," you say annoyed, adrenaline rushing through your veins. you didn't like him talking about chris like that.

"so it's true, huh? chris is the ghostface? and you know about it? what's the reason? i thought you hate him..." he tilts his head to the side, thinking. everyone knew that you and chris dislike eachother, so he was pretty fucking confused. "maybe you let him fuck you? must be good if you keep silent about him killing people—"

"shut the fuck up," you snap at him again, feeling the blood drain from your face as his words really hit like a kick to the gut. you tried not to think about why you really don't want to tell anyone about what you found out about chris. however, now this situation has triggered emotions in you that you has been pushing aside until now.

he walks around the kitchen island towards you immediately causing you to step back putting some distance between you two. he could sensed your nervousness which made him feel like he was better than you, determined to take revenge, thinking he had it all figured out.

"i'm gonna ruin you two. you won't have a life in this town once everyone finds out about what you and your boyfriend—"

"he's not my boyfriend—"

"great, so you're just admitting to being a whore," he has you backing out against the wall. "i will get proof and once i do, you two are done."

even though you felt it in your bones that it would be the best to stay quiet this time, your personality won and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, "if you make it."

you thought that your words would somehow discourage him, that maybe you two would be able to come to an agreement, but he just smiled as if he had just won the lottery. like he was waiting for you to say something like that. then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it in your face, "i forgot to tell you, it's recording. so i in fact made it, you basically admitted to everything." he takes a few steps back, looking at your shocked expression with satisfaction. "he will be the one who won't make it. i'll go to the cops before sturniolo comes at me, then he'll get what he deserves. along with you."

he slowly backs out of your kitchen, leaving you with pounding heart, wanting to scream to stop him somehow, not believing that this was happening, but your body was glued to the floor.

he adds, "in jail you won't get the same cell so he won't be able to fuck you anymore. must suck, hm?" and with a big grin on his face, he leaves your apartment, the tension in the air making your head spin.

it took you about five minutes to even understand what had happened and how dangerous it was for chris. you didn't think at all about the consequences for you, you didn't think about anything other than to make sure he won't get caught. you feel the urge to protect him but don't know how. this guy has already left and there's not much you could do.

on shaky like jelly legs you ran to your room, finding your phone and staring to call chris. he didn't answer. you left him twenty messages, called him fifteen times, and he didn't answer.

you felt as if the walls in your room suddenly began to close in, squeezing you between them. you couldn't catch your breath, your heart was pounding as you keep pacing around the room, calling chris over and over again, but all you could hear was his voicemail. you even called matt, but he didn't answer either, which made you even more nervous. your palms were sweating as you texted chris again, trying not to panic, knowing that he definitely wouldn't get caught that easily, but the anxiety was making your intrusive thoughts overpower the logic.

you were sending messages like in a trance, trying to explain to chris that you didn't want to do what you did, your messages so chaotic that even if he read them, it would be difficult to understand anything. however, the silence continued, the minutes lengthened, giving the impression of hours, your stomach twisting in knots. it felt like forever. you wanted to go to the triplets' house to see what was happening, but at the same time the uncertainty that you would somehow make everything worse was making you hold back for almost an hour. though after overthinking every options you had, you found yourself pulling on your shoes and opening the front door ready to storm out of your apartment, but instead bumping into someone's body.

the person was quick to push you back inside, locking the door behind you two. your wide eyes look up, the ghostface mask right in front of you, causing a wave of heat and relief to wash over you.

"chris—"

he cuts you off with his mask flipping upwards and pressing his lips to yours, making your breath hitch in your throat. but before you can do anything, chris pulls away and whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours, "just shut up. don' say anythin', yeah? just..." he sighs and kisses you again, but you put your hands on his chest to push him away gently. "i called you so many times, we need to—"

"everything's fine just stop talkin'..." he leans in again, but you turn your head slightly causing his lips to brush against your cheek. he let's out a quiet groan in disapproval, though it doesn't discourage him and instead he leans down to trail kisses down your neck. "did you see my messages? this guy from that party a few weeks ago, he was here and just... i didn't mean to say anything and i didn't really told him much, but i think i accidentally... oh- shit, uh, i think.... i— c-chris wait—"

but chris didn't care. his senses were filled with your scent, his heart was pounding in his chest. he already had you pressed against the wall, sucking and biting on your skin, marking you. his gloved hands roaming all over your body, grabbing your ass and lifting you off the floor, your legs and arms automatically wrapping around him to keep from falling. "s'all good, ma, i promise..." he mutters against your skin, hands moving under your shirt.

"but— what happened, did he... did you—"

"i was faster than him."

"but how—"

"i said is fine," chris lifts his head up meeting with your confusion. "you trust me or what? 'cause you gotta. at least in this case." he waited in tense silence until you nodded, his eyes sparkling. "good. now can ya stop interrupting and lemme do what i wanna do?"

"god, you're annoying..."

there was no way you could stay focused when he immediately started working you up, not only with kisses but also with how he was dressed up. the fact that whenever he was around you as a ghostface was turning you on more than it should've, was a bit embarassing, but you couldn't control your emotions. that's why you dropped the topic for now, letting him do whatever he wanted.

you don't even know at what point you're lying flat on the bed, your and chris's clothes tangled somewhere on the floor. he was teasing you, his lips kissing down your chest, his tip brushing against your core through the material of your red lace panties. a wet stain visible through the fabric, his dick throbbing at the sight.

"always sooo eager f'me...." he mutters, smirking against your skin and looking up at you. "ya sure you hate me?"

"i'll hate you more if you keep playing with me," you respond slightly breathless from the make out session from a moment ago and the desire overpowering your body.

"aww, is that so?" he lifts his head up to your level, tilting it to the side and balancing himself on his hands on each side of your head. "and what'cha want, hm? my mouth? fingers? my dick?"

you give him a look, annoyed that he's messing with you knowing full well what you want, but at the same time it gets you even more aroused. you would never admit it and it was very out of character for you but when he had you at his mercy, it was only making you more turned on.

"just fuck me—" after he raises his eyebrows amused, clearly waiting for something more, you add, "please."

"thereeee ya go, princess." he slides your panties down your legs, settling between them and giving himself a few strokes. he slowly pushes inside, taking his time on purpose to torture you just a little more since he loved hearing you beg for it. "chris, please, more..." you whine, chewing on your plump bottom lip, getting a smirk in response.

"y'know..." he whispers into your ear. "-- you're the only one i ever want to fuck like this."

"like— like this...? what— oh! uh, what does that... mean?" you stutter when he pulls almost all the way back and then moves his hips forward again, going deeper.

"i mean..." his thrusts picking up speed and force as he settles into a steady rhythm, already making your vision to go blurry. "like, i wanna fuck you so rough, you'd forget how to walk—" he pounds into you almost to prove a point, your bodies slapping together loudly. "but also, sometimes— fuckkk, sometimes... i wanna take it slow and all nice and shit— but i can't fuckin'... decide. not when you look and sound like this—" his words followed by a groan when he feels you clenching around him. he looks at you, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "is this makin' you fuckin' cum already?"

"what? n-no— mmmm, fuck!" embarrassment was all you could feel, when the knot in your stomach was quickly growing, making your legs tremble because of how hard you tried to hold back. chris let's out a low chuckle and wraps his lips around your hardening nipple, his tongue swirling around it what sends vibrations straight to your throbbing cunt.

he barely started and you already felt the pleasure overwhelming you, his words affecting you more than you would like to admit. you don't know if he understood how intimate that sounded and if it meant the same to him as it did to you, but it was enough to turn you into a moaning mess.

"c'mon, don't hold back, is fine... actually hot as fuck how fast i can make ya come— mhmm, thaaaat's right..." he pulls away from your breast with a pop, his breath catches as he feels your muscles tightening around him. he licks his lips watching as your expression turns into a full, clear pleasure. you're pathetically fast to let euphoria consume you, your tight heat sucking him in. "fuckkk, milkin' me so well—"

"chris—" you whimper as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even going to slow down, loving the effect he has on you and how you let him have such control over your body.

"shh— m'not done yet and.... we won't be for a while—" he captures your lips into a kind of demanding, but somehow gentle kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he continues to fill you over and over again. "fuck, you always take me so deep..." he mutters against your lips.

for you, it felt like being on another planet. not being able to understand how it works that chris made you feel things you couldn't normally feel, not only physically but also... emotionally. you were embarrassed, but too caught up in how good it felt to worry about it yet.

"see, i can't control myself around you 'n this shit is— pissin'— me off—" a choaked moan leaves his lips when he punctuates his words with deep thrusts, hitting your g-spot perfectly.

"oh my— feels so good, chris, please—"

"didn't fuck you for almost two weeks and it felt like a fuckin' nightmare—" your long manicured nails digging into his back, marking him just as he did with the hickeys on your skin before. it only spurred him on, his cock throbs deep inside you. "holy fuck, i love this pussy..." he pulls back slightly, grabbing your ankles and placing them on his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. the new angle lets him pierce even deeper, stealing a muffled scream from you.

despite the fact that you were practically in heaven right now, you were still yourself and couldn't help, but mutter proudly, "i know."

he smirks, "that attitude... fuck— y'know, i missed your smart mouth too... gonna use it to tell me how well m'fuckin' you right now?" when you're unable to respond because of the constant moans escaping your mouth, he reaches with one hand for the ghostface mask that was lying next to you, and puts it on with a shake of his head. "maybe this gonna make you fuckin' scream more—"

"oh— chris...fu—ckk..." your eyes widen as you see him, not understanding how it works and why does it have such an effect for you only with him, but your pussy immediately start to tighten around his cock again.

"shit, ya really love this, hm? that's so— hot—" with your legs on his shoulders, chris is able to drill into you even deeper, his balls slapping loudly against your ass with each thrust. "but i'll stop if you... fuck— if you don't tell me how good it feels—"

"so good!" your eyes roll back as you keep talking with a shaky voice, "no one can do it better..."

"no shit," his pace quickens knowing you're about to reach another peak, the bed creaking beneath the two of you. "-- no one can and no one fuckin' will."

"chris, m'so close—"

"oh, this is really workin' on ya, huh?" he grins under the mask, groaning at the way you looked right now. he wants to see you like this every day.

your thighs quiver on his shoulders as you try to accommodate his relentless thrusts. he notices your closed eyes, his grip on your hips tightening, "eyes on me— yeaaah, look at me while i make you fall apart on my dick— no one else's.... fuckkkkk—" his own orgasm building up rapidly as he pounds into you, your eyes open again, locked onto his ghostface mask just as the waves are crashing brutally over your body, getting you creaming around him. "fuck, look at that... how fuckin' g-good— shiiit— how good y'look..." a low moan escapes him as you're coming apart beneath him, sending chris spiraling over the edge. "fuck, gonna fill this pussy up so full..."

"mhhph, soo... full–" you repeat after him, squirming around on the mattress, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open. he buries himself balls-deep one final time, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he floods your spasming pussy with his hot seed.

sated, chris collapses forward, propping himself on his hands and keeping most of his weight off you. both of you panting, your legs falling down from his shoulders onto the mattress. he knows how obsessed you are with the ghostface mask but his obsession with feeling your lips on his is bigger, so he takes it off and leans down to kiss you. it wasn't heated and hungry like previous make-out sessions, for you it felt almost... sweet. can't help but wonder if chris felt it too.

he's first to break the kiss, his messy hair slightly falling into his eyes. after pulling out, he lays down next to you, you both staying quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly occupied with something while you tried to come back to your senses, after not only the intensity of your orgasms, but the realization that he didn't kiss you after sex before.

after clearing his throat, he's first to speak up, "i thought you snitched on me for a moment." it catches you off guard, but he continues, "i got a text from that idiot saying that he knows everything and that you were the one to tell him. i believed at first," he admits. "but then he said he knows it was me and you who killed jake, that's how i knew he's bluffin'. and i remembered what y'told me when you... y'know, had that fever a few days ago—"

he gives you a quick glance, having your full attention so he keeps going, "you probably don't remember, but you said that you wouldn't say anything 'bout me being the ghostface 'cause you can be the only one—"

"--to ruin your life." his eyes snap to you with surprise at the interruption. "if someone else do this, where's my satisfaction in that?" you repeat your words, fully remembering saying this because you meant it.

"yeah—" staring at each other for too long, he finally breaks it and speaks again. "yeah, uh, so i remembered your words and i was like there's no way you'd just do that. i was gonna talk to you first, but i found him leaving your apartment and that fuckin' pissed me off so i came after him and— y'know. he spilled everything, what he knew, what he told ya, that he was recordin' your conversation... already took care of this too," he says catching on as you're about to ask about this. "so you good, no need to worry 'bout shit."

you nod, relieved that chris knew that you kept your mouth shut, and only unintentionally said something that led this guy to the fact that chris is the ghostface killer. "m'glad you didn't say shit 'cause it'd make me—" he's about to say angry, pissed of, but he knows better than that. he would actually get his heart stabbed if you decided to betray him. "-- upset."

"upset?" your eyebrow raises as you try to process his words. he immediately rolls his eyes, trying to play it off, "yeah, no big deal, just sayin'."

"pretty big deal to me," you respond. knowing chris and how closed off he was half of his life, how you never saw him sad, hearing him saying he'd be upset if you decided to snitch on him meant more than it should've.

"a'ight, shut up..." he mutters, shifting on his side so he could see your face better. "what m'tryin' to say is, everything's fine and this guy won't bother you again. actually no one fuckin' will..." he smirks, "besides me, of course. 'cause if someone else do this, where's my satisfaction in that?"

trying so hard to bite back a smile, but you can't help it when he just simply repeats your words. now you roll your eyes, "what, gonna be my bodyguard now?"

"more like a guardian angel," he matches your sarcastic tone, getting a stare from you. "angel? you? are you even hearing yourself?"

"oh yeah, pretty fuckin' clear too."

you hum, but the smile stays on your face. remembering about something, you sit up and without even realizing it, you put on his shirt, which reached halfway down your thigh. but chris notices it, and not only does he almost immediately become hard again at seeing you in something that was his, but he also feels a warmth spreading across his chest, as if desire was mixed with something else he couldn't quite name.

you are looking for something in the desk and then come back to the bed, siting down and giving him jake's phone that chris left you on that unforgettable day for you. his expression questioning you so you explain, "i don't want anything that's his. don't want that pathetic apology or anything else, just need to be free from him. take it back and break or something, i don't really care."

he raises his eyebrows, but nods without putting a fight and grabs the phone, putting it aside. the fact that he was still naked distracts you, but he doesn't seem to care at all, so you reach for the mask, running your fingers over its features to distract yourself. there's so many things swirling in your head that you wanted to ask him about out of curiosity, but you knew you had to be careful with him. chris can switch really fast, starting to ignore you or even leave. that's why you think about what you can ask and what you can't so as not to scare him away. "why did you decide to start doing it? you know, killing people isn't exactly... i don't know—"

"men," he corrected you, but there's no usual bite in his tone. "killin' men. couldn't stand the fact how annoyin' they are 'bout everything, thinking they're the one in control, doing with women what they please."

"isn't this what you're doing though?" you blurt out, quickly looking at him, immediately regretting how it sounded. "i mean, like, you fuck girls all the time and don't care about anything."

"yeah, never said i ain't a hypocrite," he agrees smirking. "but i told ya already, i always keep things straight from the beginning. the girls i'm sleepin' with know it's only a hookup." you bite your tongue not to ask why he didn't tell you the same thing at the beginning, but you remember how he reacted when you asked him about it the other day. chris notices your expression, "c'mon, say it. since when you hold back? where's that badass spirit?" he playfully nudges your arm.

you roll your eyes, looking back at the mask, "you didn't tell me we're only fucking. i mean, i know, but what if i didn't? and you act sooo respectful to women out of sudden—"

"okay now, i ain't exactly a perfect gentleman and i know that, i'm not tryna look like one. but i also have my rules, y'know..." his tongue clicks against his teeth as he thinks. "i didn't tell you, 'cause i wasn't expecting us to just fuck then 'n i didn't really could focus on thinkin', when i had you on my desk like this—" his smirk widen after the glare you give him, he notices the blush creeping up your cheeks, adding it to his lists of how many times he made you do it already.

"okay, what about after?"

"i don't know, is not a big deal, like what do y'want me to say? i thought it's clear we only fuck."

"it is," a frown appears between your eyebrows. "actually not really. why did you help me when i was sick? did you even come to my place to hookup again?"

this question makes irritation slowly start to take over chris's body, the territory you entered was dangerous and the shift in the air was clear. felt like you were on thin ice, though you just had to know.

he's quiet for a moment, seeming to have ignored your question, but his brain was racing. ever since he had that conversation with matt, it was all he could think about for the past few days. he didn't care about anyone except his brothers, but you are making him feel complicated emotions.

just when you're about to tell him to forget about the question, thinking he won't answer, he speaks up. "i told you, i thought you're ignoring me and i don't like when people do that shit." his tone too casual, chris clearly failing at trying to play this cool. "i saw you feelin' that bad and... like, i know you think i'm the biggest asshole ever and probably it's true, but leaving you with that big ass fever would be just insane even f'me."

he couldn't admit that he cared a little about the state he found you in that day. he couldn't let you figure him out like matt did.

"okay, but you didn't have to let me be all over you."

you tried to forget how it felt, even though it all seemed like a fever dream, you knew it was real. you were practically glued to him and felt a little confused when you thought about it, knowing how nice it was, even though neither of you were the type to cuddle.

"what'd you wan' me to do?" he raises his eyebrows, but his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, which makes your eyes widen. this man doesn't blush like ever. "push you off your own couch? nah, got some manners, y'know."

"oh really?"

"yeah."

"so you didn't enjoy it even a liiittle bit?"

"you'd want me to?" he's fully convinced you will disagree.

"and if i say yes? then what?"

he clicks his tongue against his teeth, his blue eyes slightly darkening with... lust, perhaps? and something more. "then we have a problem." he grabs your wrist, pulling you on top so that you were straddling him, his hands resting on your thighs, which causes your stomach to flip.

"and why's that?"

"'cause maybe i want you to want me to enjoy it."

"what a good play on words."

"yeah, m'good at that."

"what else you good at?"

he narrows his eyes, gripping your hips and almost urging you to rub against his half-hard dick, stealing a quiet whimper from you. "i think you already know."

"maybe i need a reminder–"

"what a greedy girl," he smirks, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. you already feel yourself getting turned on again, now moving your hips on your own. "and it wasn't even twenty minutes..." he mutters against your lips proud of the effect he has on you.

"shut up..." you keep grinding down against him until he gets fully hard again, a groan leaving his lips. he asks out of sudden, "you wanna keep doing that? hookin' up?"

"we shouldn't," you answer, positioning yourself above him, teasing you both with running his tip along your sticky folds.

"yeah, but m'askin' if you wanna, not if we should—" he grabs your wrist to stop you from taking off the shirt. "so?"

you know it's not a good idea, but you nod against your own logic. "yeah, i want to."

"good. now keep the shirt on, and— put this on too.." he points to the ghostface mask you still had in your hand, remembering how the last time he told you to put it on, he almost went crazy. you don't think twice and do what he said, at the same moment sinking down onto his dick, your gummy walls immediately wrapping around him. chris was obsessed with the way you looked in his shirt and mask, on top of him. it almost makes him cum right then and there. "shiit, you're so sexy—"

you respond with a moan, starting to move your hips slowly, "you sure you hate me?" a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as you repeat his question from earlier. he grips your hips tightly, savoring the feeling of being inside your heat again. "didn't decide yet," he retorts sarcastically, as you quickened your pace, leaning back a little to put your hands on his thighs for some balance.

he watches how you ride him, his brain racing with thoughts but he decides to say a little more, the way you're on top of him makes him relax and less embarrassed to talk about such things. "i really couldn't stand the thought of you ignorin' me— fuck, that's why, i, uh— came to your place to check if we good—"

"i wasn't ignoring you..."

"i know," he nods, thrusting up to meet your movements, causing you to see stars. "but i'd care if you did—" your heart swells at his admission and it only makes you want him to feel so good, that he won't ever need anyone else to satisfy him. "fuck, y'look so pretty like this— even hotter in this fuckin' mask, holy shittt—"

"you need to trust me that i won't tell— mmhpp, oh my— f-fuckk, that i... won't tell anyone about your secret..."

"mhm, i know this now," he nods, fucking up into you harder, the pressure building up until he thinks he might lose his damn mind. "fuck, you're squeezin' me so tight—" he groans, his fingers digging into your ass and hips as he tries to hold on. "oh my god chris—" you whine and moan, legs starting to hurt from the hard and fast pace you're keeping, but you don't care at all.

"y'know, i think i decided 'bout the hate thing..." his hips bucking upward, taking over the control when you lean forward, propping yourself on your hands on either side of his head. he can't believe how hot you look in that ghostface mask. "might tolerate you a little more from now."

"y-yeah?" you start clenching around him, getting a hiss from him as he tries to find relief from the torturous tightness.

"fuck, y'hurt so good—"

you smile under the mask, eyes rolling back as you feel your orgasm building up. "see i think that i tolerate you n-now as well— oh!"

"thaaat's it, gorgeous, holy fuck," he purrs, your entire body shake as you come apart on top of him, your inner walls clamping down on his dick in a vice-like grip. it's too much, and he let's out a feral groan as he buries himself inside you and explodes, his release so intense it leaves his vision go blurry.

after riding out both of your highs, you slowly get off him, taking off the mask as well. his eyes are still closed, almost like he didn't want to see your reaction to what he's about to do. feeling you want to pull away, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side so that your head rests on his shoulder. shock washes over you, not expecting him to do something like this, though you're fast to tell yourself that maybe it's just post orgasm bliss. but when your eyes meet, there's a new warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that contrasts with the way he always looked at you before.

"not good at cuddlin' 'n shit, but i guess y'gonna teach me now, huh?" he tried to maintain his sarcastic tone, but couldn't help and genuinely smile.

relaxing in his arms, his grin is getting to you making you smile like a fool as well. "we have a problem, because i'm not that good at this either."

"good. then we gonna learn together."

neither of you slept that night, too busy with each other. you couldn't stop that feeling in your chest, those butterflies. and it was so weird, so out of character for the two of you.

it felt as if you were some familiar strangers.

a/n: oh my god 😭😭😭 my babies 😭 thank you guys sm for all the love for this series and for me as well, i appreciate it soooo much !! i had a blast writing this story 🤍 i'll still be taking requests about ghostface!chris if anyone has some just lmk, i'd love to write some oneshots about him!!

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck @jocelyncsblog @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs

[purlturtle]

For people asking how to find a good balance between staying informed and not obsessing, here's what has helped me most:

Follow only two news outlets: a national one and a local one. Neither are prone to click-baity headlines, which helps as well. Both are reputable and middle-of-the-road in terms of political bias.

Follow them not on social media, but more like "reading the morning newspaper and watching one news show at night" style: I have an RSS feed app that congregates the headlines from the above two sources, and I check it once in the morning and once at night (if that). This means I'm not inundated everywhere all the time, but at a time of my choosing.

Corollary to this: no notifications on my phone. I get notifications for messages from specific people, for emails in a very strongly spam-protected account, and that is *it*. Anything else, I see if and when I decide to open the respective app. *I decide*, not someone pushing notifications. Not even for Tumblr. It's all off.

Mute any keywords for news that trigger you (if you feel like you mustn't, here's your permit: I herewith give you express permission to protect yourself from any such topic), as well as news that upsets you - especially if you can't do anything about it and it doesn't impact you. I have A LOT of American news buzzwords and names blocked, because I am not US-American, don't live there, can't vote there, and it just upsets me and I can't do anything about it.

If I do see posts about something like that that weren't caught by my blocklist, I mute them individually (thanks, Xkit!), or add a new word to the blocklist.

This includes fundraising posts, if that upsets you (for example because you don't have money to spare or don't have the spoons to vet such posts). Again, if you need permission to look away, let me give you it: you don't have to, if it upsets you. Not even to signal boost! Protecting your mental health is worth it. I have closed my asks completely, and messages for people who don't follow me - I was getting just oodles of fundraising asks that I could not mentally handle, and had to cut that out of my Tumblr experience.

I also block or unfollow users that have doom-y vibes, mean vibes, who mainly blog upsetting stuff. And I make it a habit to reblog, on my own blog, political posts only if they have at minimum something actionable attached to the upsetting part, such as templates to write to your representatives, reputable petition links, etc.

I come to Tumblr to have a good time. It is valid to curate your Tumblr experience in such a way that you *have* a good time here. And this is the way I have chosen. Last but not least:

In the lead up to elections in your area, if and when you want to be informed about who you vote for, by all means take a specific time frame (say, an hour every Saturday or something) to look up candidates and what they're running on, as well as past decisions they've made.

Picking a time frame for this will help you not obsess, and still get the info you need.

Make that time frame as small as necessary to work for you, and stick to it.

Check the reputability of the sources you find!

You are allowed to not fill every waking hour with upsetting shit. You are allowed to look away. (I *liberally* block any post who tries to "raise awareness" by trying to guilt-trip me into looking. That shit is not worth anyone's time.) You are allowed to find good news and surround yourself with them. You are allowed to rest and recuperate and laugh and be merry; you don't have to (make yourself) suffer because the world is bad for someone else.

Yes, practice compassion. But, view your own compassion as a finite resource (because it is! Compassion fatigue is a thing!), and be mindful where you turn it to!

Really been mulling this over a lot lately.