#worst thing is that you guys say than and then dip

[okwonyo]

you guys can't come in my inbox and be like “you are so sweet jiah, I LOVE YOU” and then wonder why i put so much effort in writing as much as i can for you all this is insane

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[dollyhao]

succubus!reader x nerdy!ellie

summary: ellie is desperate to lose her virginity that has been looming over her her whole college career.

toni’s note: i made it guys! i promised this back in october and it’s the end of january… but it’s here.

cw: this is pure smut, no plot at all lol. 1.8k words

༊*·˚

ellie has not a single regret about what she’s about to do. ellie is in college and is still a virgin, at this point she didn’t think she’d ever lose her virginity. until one of her friends joked that she should summon a sex demon, that it was ‘the only way she’d get laid’. it wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, but desperation makes people do crazy things.

she read in an old book she found in the library about one in particular, the book had a picture of you drawn in and ellie thought you were absolutely gorgeous and perfect for her. what was the worst that could happen?

ellie lights the candles around the circle she made on her bedroom floor. she chanted your name 5 times like the book told her, then after 20 seconds the candles all blew out and a gust of purple smoke floats in the air. you pop out the smoke looking even more perfect than the book describes.

“who dares summons me?” you say in this slow sensual voice that ellie feels course through her body. you look around the room you were summoned in before your eyes rest on a short girl with black rimmed glasses on her face. ellie is looking at you with those pretty green puppy eyes, mouthed formed into an o shape.

“a girl? well thats new,” you walk closer to ellie sizing her up. “your cute… tell me what you want from me.” “i-i,” ellie is literally speechless. shes staring up at you, the lady demon whos probably gonna take her virginity. you have long horns on your head and a cute skinny tail, but the best part is that your completely naked. breast out in the open, nipples standing at attention, nothing covering your cunt and it’s just begging for ellie to drop to her knees to taste you.

“did you call me here to waste my time?” you ask her putting your hands on your hips with a quirked brow. “no no! i-i want you to take my virginity.” ellie says playing with her fingers. you hum, “ok ill do it. but you have to sign a contract-” “yes yes! anything!” you spawn a paper out of thin air, “dont you wanna know what your agreeing to?” but by the time you finish your sentence ellie has already signed the paper.

after she is done signing, the paper disappears. “i wanna let you know i-i’ve never done this before. well i almost did in my fourth year of highschool but that was a missed opportunity-“ ellie’s nervous rambling was cut off by you running your hands over her shoulders and ripping her shirt open exposing a blue sports bra underneath. ellie gapes at you, suprised at the sudden intrusion. you push the ripped shirt off her shoulders. “do you wanna touch me?” you say voice softening seeing how nervous the poor girl is.

she nods vigorously trailing her hands up your tummy to your breast. “you can touch me however you want.” you say smirking at her. ellie feels like she can hear your voice inside her head, a slow sensual voice with a rasp that can only be described as wild and sexy. she feels a rush of arousal pulse through her as she pushes you to lay on her bed. your eyebrows shot up, you feel her start to kiss down your stomach swirling her tongue around your navel before her head dips between your legs.

you buck slightly when you feel her inexperienced tongue flicking all around your cunt. she takes your clit into her mouth rolling and flicking her tongue all around it (like they do in the videos she watched before the summoning). you can feel her breathing heavy against you. she pushes two experimental fingers into you feeling how wet and tight you were. you taste sweet like honey and something else addictive that ellie can’t name, ellie suspects its part of your demon powers.

you grab her hair squeezing your legs around her head trying to contain your moans, no human has ever made you feel so good. you might just… like this girl. she’s cute and gentle. and she looks at you like your aphrodite instead of a sex demon.

you feel yourself about to cum when you push her head from between your thighs. ellie is looking at you, chin covered in your juices looking pussy drunk with her glasses fogged up. “are you ok?” she asked you, looking genuinely concerned. you want to coo at her but instead you flip her over taking place in between her legs this time. you peer up at her with this look that looks like you want to devour her. you pull down her sweat pants and underwear licking your lips at her slick pussy.

you give her clit a sweet kiss before using your thumb to rub circles on it. ellies moans out loud when she feels your abnormally long tongue enter her. your tongue is reaching places her fingers couldnt possibly reach. she chants you name which only encourages you to move your thumb faster on her clit. ellie grabs your horns and pull before locking her ankles together keeping you still as she grinded on your tongue feeling the knot in her stomach ready to explode. you let out a groan as ellie tugs on your horns. “im so close.” she says before her body goes rigid.

you pull away from ellie, swallowing her essence, seeming to have had an energy boost. “is there anything else you wanna try?” you say rubbing up and down her legs. she nods getting off the bed grabbing a box from under it. in the box are sex toys but ellie pulls out a girthy purple strap. “oh,” you say eyes widening, “you wanna use that on me?” you ask with that same sensual tone from the beginning. “yes.. please”

she puts the strap on before she feels you push her down on the bed straddling her. you hover over her dick grabbing it and running it up and down your slick cunt. “you want me to fuck you?” you say placing a hand on her chest still hovering over her. ellie nods her head grabbing your hips panting in anticipation, “yes please…” “ask nicely,” you say leaning down licking and biting her ear. “please fuck me. please.” ellie says bucking her hips. the tip of her dick pushes into you, you moan sitting completely on ellie’s cock.

you are bouncing and riding with no sign of slowing down. ellie is running her hands over your body, transfixed at the way your breast bounce as you ride her. when she sits up, she wraps her arms around your waist, holding you close to her as she kisses your neck and chest leaving marks.

you grab ellie’s face, tilting her head to the side so you can have access to her neck. you use your tongue to lick and suck marks into her neck until you get a little too excited and nick her neck drawing blood. ellie let’s out a groan followed by a guttural moan, completely dazed. you lick at her neck getting all the blood up before humming and planting a kiss on the mark.

ellie is gripping your ass meeting your thrust with her own desperate ones. “are you close?” ellie asked desperately, leaning to kiss you again. “very.” you coo out, kissing her using that long muscle of yours, twirling your tongue around hers.

you let go and ellie is staring in awe at the beautiful look you made while cumming. she lays back on the bed, exhausted and satisfied. when she feels your very sharp nails trail up her stomach and latch at her sports bra causing it to rip as if it was being cut by scissors. “more.” you whisper with a wide grin.

“what?” ellie asked wide eyed. “i want more. i think im going to keep you.” you whisper in her ear.

༊*·˚

I, Ellie Williams, am allowing succubus y/n to take on a human form and co habitat with me. I will fulfill her needs of sex so that she may stay by my side and use me for a long as she wills.

signed: ellie williams

[777bae]

MORE THAN WORDS WILL SMITH

Summary :: After overhearing harsh comments about your age gap with Will, doubt creeps in. But Will reassures you with love and understanding, reminding you that others’ opinions don’t matter. In his arms, you find comfort and certainty. (REQUESTED :: prompt 28)

Warnings :: age gap (reader is older), insecurity within a relationship, kissing

Word count :: 3.8k

The room is bathed in soft shadows, the only illumination coming from the city lights filtering through the thin gaps in the curtains. Faint streaks of gold and white carve patterns across the walls, shifting ever so slightly as the night passes. The steady hum of the air conditioning fills the silence, a low, rhythmic whisper that should be soothing, should be enough to lull you to sleep. It’s constant, unchanging—so unlike the restless energy swirling in your mind.

Will lies beside you, his body warm against the cool sheets, his breathing slow and even. He fell asleep easily—he always does. There’s something effortless about the way he settles, the way his body sinks into relaxation the moment his head touches the pillow. You envy that about him. It’s not just sleep; it’s him. His quiet confidence, the way he moves through life so sure of himself, so unwavering in his choices. You’ve always admired that. He never second-guesses. He never hesitates.

You wish you could say the same.

You shift onto your side, the fabric of the sheets slipping against your skin as you press your cheek into the pillow. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, but Will doesn’t stir. He’s deep in sleep, lost in a place you can’t seem to reach. You exhale slowly, willing your body to relax, willing your mind to quiet.

But it doesn’t. It won’t.

Because every time you close your eyes, you hear it again.

“I mean, he could literally have anyone, and he’s dating… her?”

“It’s kinda weird, right? Like, she’s older. Not by a lot, but still.”

“I don’t get it, man. If I was Will, I’d be aiming younger, not up.”

The words hit like an echo, circling your mind, growing louder each time they repeat. They were thrown around so casually, spoken without thought, tossed into the air like meaningless locker room banter. But to you, they weren’t meaningless.

Because you heard them.

And now, you couldn’t un-hear them.

Your stomach twists, a dull ache settling in your chest. You try to tell yourself that it doesn’t matter. That those guys—teammates, but not friends—don’t know Will the way you do. That their opinions hold no weight.

But knowing that doesn’t stop the doubt from creeping in.

The worst part is that you hadn’t even meant to overhear. You weren’t eavesdropping, weren’t searching for something to hurt you. You had simply been walking by, on your way to meet Will after practice, when their voices had carried through the open door of the locker room.

You hadn’t even realized they were talking about you at first.

Not until you heard your name.

And by then, it was too late.

The words had already latched onto something vulnerable inside you, burrowing deep, spreading like cracks through glass. They weren’t meant for your ears, but that didn’t make them any less sharp, any less capable of cutting.

You knew Mack and Will’s close friends—his real friends—only ever teased him about the age difference in good fun. It was just banter, the kind that never carried weight, the kind that came with easy grins and exaggerated eye rolls. Mack would nudge Will in the ribs, throw out a “Man, you always did have a thing for older women, huh?” and Will would just shake his head, amused but unbothered. It was lighthearted. It was harmless.

But those other teammates—the ones who weren’t part of his tight-knit circle, the ones who didn’t really know him? They meant it.

There was something different in their tone, something that wasn’t just playful teasing but quiet judgment. Their words weren’t delivered with smirks and laughter. They weren’t meant as jokes. They were whispered, muttered under their breath, exchanged in passing like an unspoken agreement.

They thought it was weird.

They thought you were wrong for him.

And maybe they were right.

The thought sends a fresh wave of unease through you, a dull, sinking feeling settling in your stomach. You shift again, rolling onto your other side, trying—begging—for sleep to take over. But no matter how much you twist and turn, no matter how many times you adjust your pillow, your body refuses to relax.

Your muscles are tense, your jaw tight, your mind running in circles you can’t seem to break free from.

You press your lips together, squeezing your eyes shut, willing yourself to sleep, willing your mind to quiet.

It doesn’t work.

Because the moment your eyes close, their voices creep in again. The words replay over and over, looping like a broken record, refusing to fade.

And with every repetition, they feel less like a cruel, offhanded remark and more like the truth.

A sigh comes from beside you, soft but weighted, followed by the faint rustling of sheets as Will shifts. The warmth of his body inches closer, heat radiating through the space between you. Then, his fingers find you in the dark, skimming up your arm in a slow, unhurried path before settling on your shoulder. His touch is warm, grounding, the kind of effortless intimacy that comes with knowing someone deeply.

“You've been tossing and turning for the last 40 minutes.” His voice is thick with sleep, rough around the edges, but there’s an undeniable awareness in it. Even half-asleep, he’s tuned into you. “What’s up?”

Your body stiffens, only slightly, but it’s enough for him to notice. You force yourself to relax, to loosen your shoulders, to school your expression into something neutral. It’s second nature—the instinct to deflect, to downplay, to tuck your emotions away where they won’t be seen.

“Nothing.”

The lie comes easily, practiced and quiet. You keep your voice steady, hoping he’s too tired to push, that he’ll be content with a half-answer, too drowsy to care.

You feel him hesitate, just for a second. Then his hand moves, his thumb beginning to trace absentminded patterns over your skin—slow, rhythmic, comforting. The motion is gentle, lulling, but you know him too well to think he’s going to let this go.

“Try again.”

His voice is still soft, still carrying the remnants of sleep, but there’s something else in it now—something patient but firm. A quiet insistence.

You inhale deeply, slowly, through your nose. Hold. Then exhale just as carefully, as if controlling your breathing will somehow control the storm in your mind.

You don’t answer.

Silence settles between you, stretching into the space where words should be.

For a brief moment, you think maybe—maybe—he’ll let it go.

Maybe he’ll be too tired to keep asking. Maybe he’ll assume it’s nothing and fall back asleep. Maybe you can bury it down, deep enough that even you won’t feel it anymore.

But then he shifts closer, the warmth of him seeping into you, his presence impossible to ignore. His arm drapes over your waist, effortlessly pulling you against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest pressing into your back. Then, his lips brush against your shoulder—soft, familiar, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

Slowly, he trails upward, the heat of his mouth barely skimming your skin, a featherlight touch against the curve of your neck. It’s gentle, almost absentminded, but it sends a shiver through you anyway.

“You’re overthinking something,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep but laced with quiet certainty. He’s awake now—really awake, his focus entirely on you.

You swallow against the tightness in your throat, keeping your eyes shut, as if that might be enough to shield you from him. “I’m fine, Will,” you say softly. “Just restless.”

A beat of silence. Then—

He hums, low and unconvinced. “Liar.”

A quiet, breathy laugh escapes you, but there’s no real humor in it. It’s just a reflex, an automatic reaction to his teasing, but the weight in your chest doesn’t lighten. If anything, it settles deeper.

You shift, rolling onto your back, putting just enough space between you that his arm slides from your waist. His fingers skim over your side before they still, his touch lingering even in absence. You blink up at the ceiling, letting your gaze blur, as if the faint patterns of light filtering through the curtains might offer an answer.

Will props himself up slightly, watching you. You can feel it—the way his attention lingers, the way his presence is unwavering, waiting.

“Go to sleep,” you whisper again, quieter this time.

His response is immediate, effortless. “You first.”

His voice is steady, calm, but there’s something playful in it, like he already knows you won’t be able to.

You exhale sharply through your nose, willing your body to relax, willing your mind to cooperate. You squeeze your eyes shut again, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body beside you, the gentle weight of his fingers still resting against your skin.

For a fleeting moment, you think maybe—maybe—you can do it. Maybe you can push it away, bury it deep enough that it won’t reach you tonight.

But then—

“Weird, right?”

“If I was Will, I’d be aiming younger, not up.”

The words slam into you all over again, unshakable, unavoidable.

Your jaw tightens.

Will shifts beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and then you feel it—his body turning toward you, the warmth of him closing the space between you. His elbow presses into the bed as he props himself up, his presence unmistakable, his attention now fully on you.

You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s watching you. You can feel it in the way the air changes, in the quiet focus of his presence, in the way his breathing has slowed, tuned in to you completely.

“Come on, babe,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, coaxing but steady. “Talk to me.”

You hesitate.

The words are there, resting on the tip of your tongue, heavy and insistent, begging to be spoken. But you bite them back, pressing them down, trying to convince yourself that they don’t matter, that saying them out loud won’t make them real.

You swallow. “It’s nothing,” you say, too quickly, too automatically.

Will doesn’t move, doesn’t react right away, but you know he doesn’t believe you. He’s too perceptive, too attuned to you, to ever let something like that slip by.

“If it was nothing,” he says, his voice still gentle, patient, knowing, “you’d be asleep by now.”

You inhale sharply, your chest rising and falling with the weight of it, but you don’t respond. You just stare up at the ceiling, unblinking, as if it might somehow give you something to hold onto, some kind of anchor to keep you from slipping further into your thoughts.

Will waits. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand anything from you. But he’s there, and he’s not letting this go.

His fingers move, slow and deliberate, trailing lightly down your arm. The sensation is soft, grounding, a quiet reassurance that he’s here, that he’s with you, that you don’t have to hold this weight alone.

He gives you space, but not distance.

And somehow, that makes it harder to keep the words locked inside.

Finally, you crack.

The weight of it has been pressing down on you all night, refusing to let you breathe, refusing to let you sleep, and now, with Will beside you, warm and steady and waiting—you can’t keep it in anymore.

“I overheard some of your teammates talking,” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Will stills beside you. His body tenses, just the slightest bit, but you feel it—how his relaxed posture shifts, how his breathing changes. It’s subtle, but it’s there. His hand, still resting lightly against your arm, stills completely.

“What’d they say?”

His voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it now, something restrained. He’s not pushing, not demanding, but you can hear it—the quiet, controlled edge that wasn’t there before.

You hesitate.

The words are right there, sitting at the back of your throat, but saying them means admitting that they got to you. That their careless, offhanded remarks sank their claws into you, that they dug in so deep you let them fester.

You swallow, forcing the lump in your throat down. Then, in a voice so small you barely recognize it as your own, you say—

“That you could do better.”

Silence.

Thick, heavy silence. The kind that stretches long enough to make your chest ache.

Then—Will moves.

Slowly, his hand slides down your arm, his fingers brushing over your skin before they tangle with yours. His grip is firm but not tight, like he’s making sure you feel him, making sure you know he’s here, solid and real and with you.

“Better how?”

His voice is steady—too steady. Measured, deliberate. He already knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it.

You stare at the ceiling, your vision blurring slightly as you try to find the words, even though you already know them, even though they’ve been repeating in your head all night.

You take a slow, careful breath before you whisper, “Younger.”

The word tastes bitter, like something you shouldn’t have said aloud.

You force yourself to keep going, even though every part of you wants to stop. “That it’s weird,” you continue, your voice barely above a breath. “That if you had options, they don’t get why you’d choose… me.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you regret them.

Saying them makes them real.

And for a brief, terrifying second, you worry—what if he agrees? What if this is the moment he realizes they’re right?

But then—

Will moves again, shifting beside you, and before you can process it, he’s sitting up fully, his back pressing against the headboard. His grip on your hand tightens slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure you don’t pull away. Just enough to make sure you don’t retreat into yourself again.

“Okay, first of all?” Will says, his tone growing exasperated as he shakes his head slightly. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Your breath hitches, the words lodging themselves somewhere deep in your chest, tight and painful. You didn’t expect him to react like this. You didn’t expect him to—snap—but his response is swift and sure, and it makes your heart thud harder in your chest.

“Will—”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, what you can even say to make this better. But you’re cut off before you can find the words.

“No, listen to me,” he interrupts, his voice firm, resolute, not leaving any room for doubt. His gaze is steady, never wavering, locking with yours with an intensity that shakes you. “I’m an adult. I make my own decisions.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, reverberating in your chest. There’s something about the way he says it like he’s not just telling you, but also reminding himself. You don’t doubt his conviction. You never have. But something about hearing him say it like this—the absolute certainty in his voice—makes you exhale in a way you hadn’t been able to all night.

“And being with you?” He leans in just slightly, his voice softer now, filled with a kind of quiet intensity. “That’s not just my decision—it’s the best one I’ve ever made.”

You blink, and for a second, nothing comes out. His words hover between you, heavy and warm. You want to say something, anything, but your throat tightens, choking back whatever emotions have been swelling in you all this time.

His hand reaches out, and it’s gentle, but insistent. He cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, the touch tender and sure. His fingers are warm, grounding, as if trying to steady you with just a touch. You don’t pull away.

“I don’t care what they think,” he continues, his voice low, almost reverent. “They don’t know me. Not really. Not like Mack and the guys do. And they definitely don’t know us.”

You feel the truth in his words. The people who are on the outside, the ones who haven’t seen you together, who don’t understand what it’s like to be with him, what it feels like to have him with you, they don’t get it. They never will. But the thought of what they said—their dismissal of you, of him—it still lingers.

His hand moves again, his thumb sweeping over your skin in soft circles. It’s reassuring, even though there’s a weight to the moment that doesn’t go away. His presence is unshakable, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“You think I don’t hear the jokes?” Will continues, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that almost resembles a smile. “You think Mack doesn’t give me hell about it every chance he gets?” He shakes his head slowly, an affectionate but knowing smirk crossing his lips. “But you know what the difference is? He’s just messing with me.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, quiet and disbelieving, because you know this to be true. Mack’s teasing is never meant to hurt, but to play. You’ve heard it before. But the others—the ones who weren’t close to Will—they didn’t have the same warmth behind their words. Their remarks felt cold, careless, like something they couldn’t take back.

“Because he knows it doesn’t matter,” Will continues, his voice steady now, his eyes never leaving yours. “Because he knows that I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in like the promise they are. They slip past the cracks in your guard and settle deep, anchoring themselves in your heart. It’s the way he says it—like it’s the only thing that matters, like there’s nothing else to say.

“I love you,” he repeats, softer this time, quieter, like he’s reminding you of the only truth that matters. It’s like he’s speaking it directly into the space between you, as if to fill every doubt, every worry, every insecurity with his certainty.

His hand shifts from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. His forehead rests against yours, the gentle pressure grounding you as his breath mingles with yours. It’s intimate, vulnerable, and you feel the weight of everything he’s said in the quiet comfort of his embrace.

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, pushing away the doubts and the questions that had been circling endlessly in your mind. For the first time all night, everything feels like it’s in its right place. Will doesn’t care about the opinions of others. All that matters is what the two of you share, what the two of you have chosen.

“I love you,” he whispers again, his voice barely more than a breath, but it fills the space between you with a warmth that makes everything else fade into the background. His lips brush against yours, soft and lingering, like the kiss itself is a promise, a quiet reassurance that nothing has changed.

The kiss isn’t hurried or desperate. It’s gentle, almost reverent, like he’s savoring the moment, making sure you feel every ounce of his affection in the tender press of his lips. And as he pulls away just slightly, his breath warm against your skin, you can feel his love more deeply than the words alone could ever express. It’s in the way his fingers, still cradling your neck, gently tug you closer, bringing you into his embrace as if he’s never going to let go.

For a brief moment, you close your eyes and let everything fall away. The doubts. The questions. The words from earlier that had burned their way into your thoughts. All of it slips away as the rhythm of his heartbeat syncs with yours, a steady, calming reminder that you’re here, in this moment, together.

You’re not thinking about what the other people said anymore, not even about the way their words had sliced through your confidence and planted seeds of insecurity in your heart. You’re not thinking about the age difference, or whether it matters. All of that feels so distant now, almost irrelevant, because in this space, with Will, you are simply you. And he is him. And there is no question about whether this is right. It is.

His hand slides down your back, his fingers warm against your skin as he pulls you in even closer, pressing his body against yours in a way that makes your heart skip. It’s a subtle movement, but the weight of his touch, the way he’s holding you like you’re the only thing that matters, makes your chest tighten with emotion.

“I don’t need anyone else to tell me what I feel,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple, his voice low and unwavering. “You’re everything to me. And that’s enough.”

And in that moment, you realize he’s right. He doesn’t need anyone’s approval. Neither of you do. His love, his choice to be with you, his certainty—it’s more than enough. It’s everything.

You open your eyes again, and when you meet his gaze, you see that same unwavering certainty reflected back at you. His eyes are soft, but there’s a depth to them that makes your heart swell. It’s as if he’s saying everything without speaking—I chose you, and I will always choose you.

Without a word, you lean in again, this time with more urgency, a quiet desperation that only comes when you realize just how much you need someone. Your lips find his again, and this time, the kiss is deeper, more consuming. It’s as if you’re both trying to prove something to each other, to make sure the other knows, without a doubt, that this love is real, and it’s yours.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as though he’s trying to erase the space between you. And for a moment, you lose yourself in the warmth of him, in the certainty of his touch, in the weight of his love.

When you finally pull away, your breath is shaky, your chest heaving slightly from the intensity of the kiss. But there’s no hesitation, no doubt, no lingering insecurity. There’s only him. There’s only the two of you.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice a little rougher now, but the sincerity is still there, still clear, still strong.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice barely more than a breath, but it’s enough.

And in that moment, you know. You know that nothing else matters. The outside world can say whatever it wants, can whisper its judgments or misunderstandings. But the only thing that matters is the two of you, here, together, in this space. His love for you, your love for him, and the life you’re building together.

That’s all that matters.

[caprisunnydays]

Stardew Valley x Reader Bachelor Headcanons

Alex

Before you and Alex got together, you probably became long time friends

He was def like "damn they hot" but then when it became more than just that he was like "DAMN THEY'RE HOT"

It's been a bit since he's felt those silly little butterflies, it genuinely makes him nervous

Que him leaning against a wall like "Hey bbg" but he's sweating bullets

After his confession, he feels much better, and the nervous air that only you could really pick up on has disappeared

Very PDA, arm is always around you, probably not in the back pocket but if he's tipsy enough then boom it appears

Insists on going in the mines with you but saw a slime and wanted to dip so bad but you protected him <3

"Heh...I totally wasn't scared. Don't worry babe I'll protect you" nah boy

He feels his heart melt every time he sees you and Evelyn baking together, or her just acting like your grandma

Even George has become a grandpa figure, giving advice with alex or general things

Alex is secretly insecure about himself, but with you, he finds room to grow as a person and find that those worries are unwarranted

Though he doesn't say it often, you make him feel seen, and he truly appreciates that

Elliot

(Personal fav right now so I'm about to go OFF)

If you picked romance for his book he's imagining you both as the main characters

Not a complete parallel because he's like "can't be creepy" but a teensy bit

Speaking of "can't be creepy" he has written multiple sonnets about you since realizing his feelings

Unlike some of the other bachelors, he embraces his feelings more, using his passion to inspire his writing and other endeavors

Heavy on the gifts and courting stuff

Gives you love poems at least once a week he has so many piled up but he doesn't wanna go overboard

Says the sappiest things all the time with this love struck look in his eyes

PRETTIEST MANNNNN

Words of affirmation kinda guy, he's poetic like that

Leah pokes at him for being a simp but mans could not care less he's proud

Picks out pretty sea shells that wash up on the shore and gives them to you, and they're always intact!

Big fan of the flower dance and looks forward to getting to dance with you in front of the entire town! maybe your worst nightmare but he's just happy to show you off (and his dancing skills lol)

Speaking of which, mans is gonna teach you how to waltz and a bunch of other old timey dances

At some point he WILL show up in the pouring rain to profess his love, or give you flowers, or both

You're like "Elliot we're literally dating was this necessary and he's like "OF COURSE MY DEAR"

He'd love heartstopper

Harvey

Insert too sweet by Hozier

Silly little doctor guy tries to avoid you but can't help but be drawn to you

He sees you running around doing your daily tasks, and just watches you from afar from the window of the doctor's office

Maru notices and tells you to come in sometime cuz her boss ain't gonna get nowhere by himself

When you start coming in more often he can feel himself die of embarrassment when he fails to make interesting conversation

Is very worried about your health though and fusses when you pass out in the mines/street

He gets even more adamant about you taking care of yourself once he's confessed

Way less nervous though!

Looks at you with adoration eyes when you do anything

Tipsy Harvey is a cute Harvey because he starts spilling his guts on how often he thinks of you

Whenever you're not busy with work he appreciates you stopping by the office, just to talk about both of your days

He yaps to everyone about you btw

Doesn't mean to but when someone brings you up he's like "oh yes me and my partner love to-" or "my partner loves-" etc etc

I used to not be a fan but he's such a sweetiepie

Sam

"I just love a guy who plays guitar <3" - u @Sam

That's it

I JEST

Originally he's like "hey come and hang out with me, Sebastian, and Abigail"

Then you start coming over and it's just you both alone

He's not creepy about it, just wants to spend time with you one on one

Loves showing you the songs he works on and if you want he'll show you how to play guitar too!

He's also happy with how well you get along with Jodi, always trying to get you both to bond, it makes him feel nice that you feel like you're apart of the family

Once y'all are together he does sneak you in anytime he gets the chance

He'll text you like "come over" You : I've gotta be up at 6am Him : "PLZPLZPLZPLZ-"

OG golden retriever bf

You both go shopping at Joja at 3am for fun and goof off

Or go run around in the forest taking aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos

Sebastian

You can't tell me he's not an arctic monkeys kinda guy so insert R U Mine? By Arctic Monkeys

It took him time to warm up to you

When he did you became one of the few people he could hang out with after a long day of socializing and not feel drained around

I can see him doing things that aren't always super platonic and thinking he wants to do them because

"Platonically" holding your hand, cuddling, etc

At town events he stands all close to you, complaining about how much he hates it, but showing disappointment when you mention leaving

Everyone's like are y'all dating and he goes NO way too fast

When you both finally ARE together though he's actually much less affectionate and public, but it doubles when you're in the comfort of his basement room

Finds the most joy in keeping you trapped in his bed with him until noon when you say you should be working on your farm

Especially in the colder months, then you can also share his mom's pumpkin soup

He's almost catlike with his affection

Another guy you run around and take aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos with, but his are more grunge esk

"Accidentally" leaves his hoodies at your place but he likes seeing you in em

I imagine that the characters have those closets filled with the same outfit, so when you try and give him his stuff back he goes "nah" and whips out his 100th hoodie

Shane

PACK IT UP SAVIOUR COMPLEX I mean what who said that

After you rescue him from the depths of his depressive alcoholism, he feels guilty for having feelings for you

Part of it is because he's like "fuck do I actually like them or is it just cuz they basically saved my life" and partly because it feels painfully stereotypical

Not a lot changes, though he is a lot more open to you then he is with other people, even with Marnie

Helps out with your chickens when he has free time

Talks to them about his problems and once you almost walked in on him ranting about his feelings for you (bro was shook)

But once he's confessed, well, he's still insecure about some things, but accepts your help with stride

Jealous easily, but tries not to show it

Acts of service kinda guy, so if you need him to run an errand while you're swamped with farm work? He's on it

Pulls up to your farm with a bunch of snacks and a bag full of movies for you to pick from

He sets it up while you take a shower to wash all the grime and dirt off from a days work so you can just come and cozy up on the couch with him

You're also basically besties with Jas, such a sweet girl, always asks you to play jump rope with her

You both go "say no to drugs" to her l o l

Marnie is also now your bestie so even when she's not working you can get stuff from the shop #WIN

I loooooove stardew valley it's so cool so great

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A follow-up to my Hanahaki Platonic Stobin drabble

Platonic Stobin, Steddie, past Stancy || rating: T || wc: 2.7k || tags: dialogue heavy, VERY excessive use of italics, fluff and flirting and humor, no beta

~~~

His sides are ripped to shreds, insides only kept inside because of the torn, dirty scrap of sweater Nancy wrapped around him. Steve’s been downplaying it as much as possible, mostly to keep Munson calm, but Robin knows better.

What’s wrong with your back?

Steve sighs, trying to mute his thoughts into a scramble like they’ve practiced so well over the past nine months, but the scorching pain on his shoulder blades, feet, and arms makes it rather difficult.

Don’t you dare ignore me Steve Harrington.

She glares back at him from her spot next to Nancy. They’ve been walking for miles, every rock and crack in the ground digging into his feet with every step. Munson’s next him, going on about something like bats, or metal music. Steve’s not sure, he’s having a hell of a time focusing.

But the guy crowds into Steve’s space, dipping in and out of orbit like he can’t help being as close as possible. Eddie keeps looking at him. Steve’s never been great with eye contact, but can’t help it when Eddie starts saying things like “the kid worships you, dude” and “insists on the matter, in fact.”

Told you the kid loves you even though he has another older adult male friend.

Steve can practically hear her giggling, but she’s just balancing her out-loud conversation with their mind-reading conversation. She’s better at it than he is, talking to two people at once. Hell, sometimes Steve has a hard enough time keeping track of just one conversation.

Their new super powers had been a learning curve, to say the least. It’d taken them months to learn how to tune each other out when needed, which was more often than not. Working Family Video shed a new light on how absolutely down-bad horny Steve was for almost every mildly attractive woman who walked through the front door. Including Joyce Byers, to Robin’s horror.

Steve was cursed with Robin’s almost near-constant thoughts about her newest crush, Vickie. He’s never met her before, doesn’t remember her from school, but could describe what she looks like down to the small, rust colored freckle on the corner of her left eye, just below the lash line. 

But even with the extensive learning curve, they discovered some severe consequences of their powers almost immediately. 

The first day Robin came over, bloodied and crying, with him no better off, Steve was so shaky he’d dropped a mug, slicing his hand as he scooped up the pieces. She rushed over, said she heard his pain more than felt it, like loud static. 

So, no sharing physical sensations, just mind-reading. Which is great for me, considering how slutty you are. She’d laughed when he lightly knocked her on the shoulder, but she’d thought it with such fondness that he couldn’t be mad if he tried.

The worst of their situation came to light when Robin’s parents called her home, said a weekend away after Star Court was more than enough. So she’d left him alone in that big, empty house, suffering from a severe concussion and dizzy spells.

Which only grew worse the longer they were apart.

Steve didn’t have anywhere to go, now jobless with the mall gone, and none of the kids came to visit. So he’d holed himself up in his room. The headaches grew worse, handfuls of pills doing nothing to help.

By the fifth day, he was vomiting again, shaking and crying, head throbbing, nose bleeding into the toilet bowl all over again when there was a knock on the door. The knock might as well have been inside his skull, but he couldn’t move, could barely see past the haze clouding his periphery like it had after his fight with Billy. He cried as the knocking grew louder, more persistent, until it finally stopped.

He slumped forward, pressed his head into the cool porcelain. Lifting his hand to flush, he noticed a small, vibrant white petal floating amidst the red and black water, all of which, presumably, came out of him.

–can’t find it. Must be… rock. The mat?

Robin?

There was a click, then the sound of his front door opening. Slow, heavy footsteps up the stairs.

Dingus where the hell are you? Not in the bedroom… Please, Steve, I need help.

That got his attention, but as he’d gone to move, the bathroom door opened to a bloodstained Robin, eyes rimmed red, hair a mess, pale and gaunt like a ghost. She dropped to the ground next to him, practically draped herself over his back. And just like before, the pain receded so violently he vomited one last time. A full, yet slightly crumpled, flower floated amidst the yuck inside the toilet. 

It was a daisy.

“Daisies are my favorite,” Robin whispered. She held out her hand to him, dirty and covered in the same green stains as the ones on her shirt, and handed him a very small, miniature sunflower. “So I’m guessing–”

My favorite.

Eventually they’d figured out what works and what doesn’t. Talking on the phone everyday never helped, back to throwing up flowers after only a week. He’d started to pull the daisies out to dry, which Robin said was gross. She took them home with her anyways. 

But he’d borrowed Robin a sweatshirt that she took home with her, and by the fourth day, she was in better shape than he was, only a slight headache instead of Steve’s encroaching migraine. So they started exchanging clothes and quickly learned it wasn’t necessarily their clothes or possessions, but their scents. 

You smell kind of like sunflowers

“Robin, sunflowers don’t have a smell.”

She was face first in his pillow, day seventeen after a two-week family vacation to Key West, returning his comforter, and a myriad of t-shirts. They’d both gotten migraines, but no vomit-soaked flowers or bloody noses. So it was an improvement, overall.

I know they don’t. It’s more like, I don’t know, sunshine. Or fresh grass. A warm rain… like summer.

He’d jumped on her then, smothered her into his mattress until she was tickling him to get off her.

“What do I smell like?” she’d asked, casual but not quite casual enough. He smiled.

Like daisies. An open field full of wildflowers. A new song, or driving with the windows down. 

She smiled back at him, wide and genuine, packed full of love. And he knew, in that moment, he was happy to spend the rest of his life with her.

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts through his reminiscing. The guy looks like he’s trying not to be annoyed, which makes sense considering he’s attempting to be nice and Steve’s completely zoned out. 

Do you have another concussion? Is it rabies?

He sighs, quiet enough that hopefully Eddie doesn’t assume it’s aimed at him. No, Robs. Just a normal dingus-where-did-you-go zone out. Relax.

She shoots him another glare over her shoulder, but ultimately lets it go.

“Harrington, you still with us?” Eddie laughs it off like a joke, but his eyes are wide, and he’s pressing in close again.

He’s warm, and without thinking, Steve finds himself leaning towards him, too– like magnets.

What magnets?

Never mind, Robs, shut up.

“Yeah Munson, I’m still here.” Steve chuckles, and Eddie relaxes a tad. “Can’t get rid of me that easy. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Worse than an under-water tentacle monster dragging you through hell on your bare-back and almost choking you to death?”

When Eddie puts it like that, Steve really does have to think about it. “What about throwing fireworks at a giant, mind-controlling flesh monster and getting tortured under Star Court by Russian spies who shot me and Robin up with mystery drugs?”

DINGUS! If we haven’t told the Party about our super powers you can’t tell a goddamn stranger like Munson!

Eddie’s eyes are wide and dark again. He chuckles a little too loud, almost deranged. “Yeah, you know what, Harrington, that might be worse.”

They continue to walk in silence. Well, Steve’s silent. He lets Eddie ramble, talking about Dustin, something called a Munson doctrine. He calls Steve a ‘good dude’ at which Steve hopes the sky is dark enough to hide his embarrassed flush.

Eddie says something about the girls jumping in to save him, but he leans in again when he says it, and all Steve can think about is how close he is, the light brush of Eddie’s knuckles against the back of his hand–

What…?

– and the comfort that settles over Steve when he catches Eddie smiling at him. They stop in unison, Eddie leans in close to whisper like it’s a secret.

“But Wheeler, right there, she didn’t waste a second. Not one second. She just dove right in.”

Eddie’s barely shorter than him, just enough that he looks up at Steve through his dark lashes, big, brown, puppy-dog eyes hooked onto his own. He knows guys can be handsome, but he thinks Eddie might be more pretty than handsome.

I’m sorry? What the fuck is happening back there!

“Now, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Eddie says, low and slow. His voice full of honey that soaks into Steve’s brain, the actual words lost in the overwhelming sweetness of everything that is Eddie. “But if I were you, I would get her back. ‘Cause that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.”

Steve can’t stop staring at his lips. They’re so pink and fluffy and biteable, so he leans in, like instinct tells him. Eddie looks surprised, but brushes his finger tips against Steve’s own. He whispers, “Steve…?” like it’s more revelation than question. Eddie’s so close that Steve just–

“Are you fucking kidding me, Steven?” Robin shouts, incredulous and much too loud. Eddie flinches away from him, hides behind his hair like a turtle shrinking back into its shell. Steve’s shoulders droop in disappointment.

Disappointment? Wait. Did I almost just kiss–

“Eddie Munson?” Robin finishes his not-out-loud sentence.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks, nervous as the girl marches towards them, her eyes locked on Steve.

“Yes, Dingus!” Robin completely ignores Eddie’s response in favor of barreling up to Steve, finger so close to his face he goes cross-eyed. “Yes, you were, and oh my god I can’t believe you!”

Robs, I’m kind of freaking out right now. Can you please relax?

“You’re freaking out?” she shouts. Nancy shushes her, but it goes unnoticed. “I’m freaking out! After all this time, after Tammy fucking Thompson, this is happening right now? With– with– ” Robin wildly gestures to Munson. “Goddamn, Steve, you reek of sunflowers right now, oh my god! Just like when Joyce came into the store.”

It’s as dark as it always is, but a flash of red lighting illuminates the red painted across Eddie’s cheeks as he bites on his lip, looking nervous yet almost bashful as he pulls another larger strand of hair across his face.

“Sunflowers? What’s happening right now,” he whispers to Nancy, who shrugs. She answers with a casual, “I’m not sure, they do this a lot.”

“That’s not fair!” Steve quietly shouts back at her. “What’s wrong with–” he glances at Eddie, who flushes again. He’s so pale I bet he’s red down to his…

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Robin throws her hands over her ears and pinches her eyes closed.

Steve forces a smile to cover his gay panic. Shit, am I gay?

“No!” Robin slaps both her hands on either side of his head, mushing his cheeks together. “You’re not g–” she mushes her mouth shut, catching her slip-up just before it tumbled out of her. “And that’s not what that kind of panic means, so don’t call it that.”

“Panic?” Eddie asks, stepping towards them. His eyes are trained on Steve, flashing down to his lips, then back up to catch his gaze. Steve sees something like hope buried beneath Eddie’s tough guy demeanor. “But I thought–” he glances at Nancy before quickly looking away.

Robin rolls her eyes at him, and Eddie backs off a bit. Except his look doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Me?” Nancy asks. “What about me?”

Robin, don’t–

But it’s too late, because at that question, everyone turns to look at Steve.

Over the past few months, Steve’s started growing out his hair. It’s not really in style, but he’s seen a few guys with long hair, and they looked really good. Right now, he wishes it was long enough so he could hide behind it like Eddie. But, then again, he’d also tried growing a mustache, since Freddy Mercury had amazing style– Steve’s always like Queen.

Except my mustache never looked as good as his, so I bet long hair wouldn’t either. Maybe the short hair helps highlight it, like his cheekbones.

Jesus Christ, you’re so obvious. I can crack Russian spy code phrases enough to break into an underground military base but apparently I can’t spot a bisexual within five feet of me.

Steve sighs, dragging his hands down his face at Robin’s inside-mind rambling. Nancy, however, takes it to mean something much different. “Oh, Steve, no.” Her voice is pitying and too nice and it reminds him painfully of the last few months of their relationship. Like she’s talking to a child. “Steve, I’m so sorry, but– I still love Jonathan.”

“I know, Nance, that’s not–”

“Are you kidding me, Wheeler?” Eddie screeches. Steve really doesn’t understand how they’re so lucky that they haven’t been hunted down and eaten by now. 

Eddie’s thrown his hands up in the air, all theatrics as he gawks at her. She backs off, surprised, but quickly recovers and squints her eyes at him, crossing her arms as he continues to ramble. 

“After everything that’s happened? Steve ripping off his sweater, jumping out of the boat and beating a bat to death, then biting its head off, all while soaking wet. I mean, the way he spit that blood out.” Nancy cringes, and yeah, Steve feels the same way, knows he'll be tasting that black sludge in his nightmares. 

Now that’s gay panic.

I thought that’s not what that means, Rob

Ugh, I regret teaching you things.

Eddie’s still on a roll. “He was so… I mean,” Eddie throws his arms out towards Steve, showing him off like he’s a prized cow, “look at him, Wheeler! And you’re picking Byers?”

To Steve’s surprise, the glowering ferocity in Nancy’s face morphs into a coy smile, eyebrows raised in question to an answer she’s already figured out. Because that’s how Nancy Wheeler, journalist extraordinaire, gets her story. She reads people.

Before Eddie well and truly freaks out at the turn in Nancy’s demeanor, she winks at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “Joyce Byers?” She giggles and rolls her eyes. 

Then, in a mortifying turn of events, Nancy pulls a strand of her brown, curly hair in front of her face, forces her eyes open, doe-eyed and almost brown under the dark sky, looking up at him through her lashes, then darts her gaze to Eddie. 

Ha! You have a type! Wait, how did Nancy clock you faster than–

“Okay!” It bursts from Steve’s chest, loud enough it shocks the rest of them. They stand quiet, listening to the mundane noises around them, and breathe a sigh of relief at the resounding silence. “This has been fun, really, but why don’t we all just keep going so we can get the hell out of here and go find my– I mean our– no, the little shits.”

This is why they call you mom.

“I’m not a goddamn mom, Robin, how many damn times do I have to tell you guys that?”

“If you’re mommy, does that mean I’m daddy?” The words slip through Eddie’s mouth and, unfortunately, bury themselves into Steve’s brain. Now Steve’s not sure who’s blush is hotter, his or Eddie’s. He’d guess maybe Eddie’s, judging by the way the man grabs Nancy’s arm and hauls her away at a half sprint. 

She laughs at him, lighthearted, and slings her arm through his as they walk side by side. Steve watches as she leans her head towards Eddie’s whispering something into his ear that finally has the man’s shoulder’s relaxing. He bumps his shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture.

Robin turns to look at Steve, really look, with sad, concerned eyes and a twist to her mouth.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It just caught me off guard I guess.

Steve places a light kiss on her dirty forehead. She smiles, grabs his hand in hers, and squeezes once.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[daydreamgoddess14]

What's it take to get your number?

What's it take to bring you home?

Here she is! My first Bucky fic (😬)

From my Valentine's Lovebomb event, this one is for Emily 💜

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader insert, no use of y/n, no applicable warnings - just some cute fluff while I dip my toe into another fandom.

Masterlist

Of all of the things Yelena had talked you into, this was undoubtedly the worst.

And she had, of course, talked you into some truly awful shit.

If she could see you now, scowling into your margherita, she’d probably throw something at you.

Hey! Smile a little, huh?

As it happens, the thought of it does make you smile.

She's been good to you since you met. Being Valentina's PA was often an utterly thankless existence. The way she'd collected up Yelena, Alexei, John Walker and the others had been admirable.

Adding Bucky Barnes into the mix had been a goddamn coup.

They mostly went about their business as instructed and paid you little to no attention, but Yelena had spotted you still working away late into the night just before Christmas. She'd disappeared and returned twenty minutes later with cartons of Cantonese food which she insisted you shared.

Since then, a tentative friendship had blossomed between you both.

At the bar, there’s plenty of small talk going on in the background. Lots of organising.

The tables have been arranged loosely in a grid with plenty of space between them to move around.

Not that you have to move anywhere.

The instructions have been made very clear.

Yelena read them out with such glee, you suggested that she go instead.

So you sit, and you wait… then they ring a bell and the men come in and also sit down, yes? Hmm… says you have five minutes. Seems not long enough? Then bell goes again and you stay in your seat. The men move around and you have more handsome men to talk to! Fun, right?

Oh yes. Great fun. So much fun.

Next time Yelena suggests speed dating, you’re going to drag her kicking and screaming with you.

You steal a glance at the time, only a few minutes until the shitshow kicks off.

You signal the waiter for another drink, god knows you need it.

A couple of deep, cleansing breaths and the bell goes.

The noise and activity around you does distract you.

You glance around quickly at the couple of people around you, the beautiful women in their barely there dresses, poker straight hair and lashes so long they could be used as a fan.

You’ve made an effort, of course.

A certain blonde pain in your ass made sure of it.

This top, this skirt, these shoes.

She threw them at you.

Girl, the skirt has pockets!

The woman at the table next to you looks completely underwhelmed by her first five minute attendee.

Her eyes wide and her mouth in a fixed line.

The poor guy loosens his tie nervously.

A tie? Yikes.

He seems uncomfortable, clearly aware of the unfavorable impression he's making.

You’re almost transfixed by the car crash about to unfold in front of you.

This has got to be more entertaining than your date, right?

This is the shit you could watch all night long.

A low cough alerts you to your own car crash.

You steel yourself, a fake smile already in place.

“Hey,” he says.

The smile begins to slip.

You know that voice.

Why do you know that voice?

How do you know that voice?

By the time you actually look at him, the smile is long gone.

“Oh fuck.” It could be a whisper. It could be a squeak.

Either way, it’s barely audible so of course he heard it.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grins, slightly incredulously.

“What are you doing here, Bucky?”

“Same as you, apparently.”

“Did you follow me?”

“Why the hell would I follow you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Did Yelena put you up to this? I’m going to fucking kill -”

“She didn’t put me up to anything,” he held up his hands in surrender. “And, I’d like to see you try,” he adds disparagingly.

He’s not wrong.

“So, why are you here?”

“Sam thought it would be a good idea. He says I’m too introspective.”

“Nice. He’s such a good friend,” you bite back.

“Right? He’s got enough charm for both of us.”

“So you don’t want to be here either?”

“Does it look like it?” He frowned.

“Fine. So we sit in silence until you can move on.” You tell him sternly, reaching for your drink and taking a long gulp. You signal the waiter again for another.

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I’m not sitting in silence. Sam says I should talk more, so let's talk,” he declares, and you just roll your eyes at his stubbornness.

“What the hell is there to even talk about?” you ask, “you literally have no idea who I am?”

Bucky seems undeterred by your attitude.

“What kind of books do you like?” he asks casually. “What kind of… seriously?” You eye him suspiciously.

“Yeah, you’ve always got your head in a book. You say I don't know who you are but I've seen you. Recommending stuff to Yelena - not to me, though - so what do you like to read?” He leaned forward on the table, making it wobble.

“Anything,” you mutter with a sigh, “everything, really. The classics, fantasy, thrillers, romance.” He nods along as you speak. “What about you?” You ask hesitantly.

“I’ve been reading the classics lately, actually,” he admits.

“Oh sure,” you roll your eyes.

“Hey, it’s true. I just finished Pride and Prejudice.”

“And did you enjoy it?” As you ask your question, the bell rings out.

“Gentlemen, time to move on to the next table please,” the organiser calls out.

“Hold that thought, doll. Guess I’ll see you around?” He stood, waiting patiently for the man in the tie to move along.

The woman at the neighboring table suddenly seems thrilled with her new date. Bucky offers her a smile, and she responds with a giggle.

He takes his seat at the next table, but instead of engaging with his new date, he leans back over to you.

“I loved it. I like the chemistry between Elizabeth and Darcy and the layers of their relationship. It’s probably my favourite romance.”

The woman next to you looks a little put out.

“Your favourite romance? Which others have you read?” You can’t help but ask.

The man directly across from you is growing increasingly annoyed, watching the conversation unfold with a sense of irritation, like he's watching a tense tennis match.

“I liked it more than Jane Eyre, and Wuthering Heights.”

A small, surprised smile curves up the corner of your mouth as Bucky continues to ignore his next date.

“Uhh, excuse me?” she interjected, her voice laced with irritation.

“Sorry ma’am, I’ll just be a minute.” Bucky calmly replies, not breaking eye contact with you.

“I’m not a fan of Wuthering Heights either, I tried to be in my tortured youth.” You admit.

He laughs and it’s… magical.

“Any others you’d recommend?”

“North and South -”

“Gaskell?” He confirms, you nod. He mirrors your nod, a small smirk crossing his face.

“Yeah, another brooding gentleman and headstrong woman.”

“Huh, sounds familiar.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Meanwhile, your new date grows increasingly impatient, tapping on the table incessantly, while Bucky's date becomes frantic as she attempts to catch the organiser's attention.

The man at your own table finally interjects, addressing Bucky directly.

“Excuse me, buddy, you're supposed to move on after five minutes, you know?”

“Sorry man, just seeing where this goes,” he shrugs before looking back at you. “Got any newer recommendations? Feels like I’m… stuck in the past sometimes,” he grins lopsidedly.

“Romance, or something else?”

“Let’s stick with romance,” he leans in with his elbows on his knees.

“Try Emily Henry,” you tell him as your new drink arrives.

“Excuse me sir, you do need to move on?” The waiter insists as he carefully places your drink down.

Bucky sighs, turning back in his seat to face his actual date.

“Finally, I might be able to grab a quick minute before the bell goes -” your date starts with a smile.

“Emily Henry, huh? Book Lovers author? I saw it but didn’t pick it up,” Bucky leans over again.

“I’ve got a copy, I’ll bring it over.”

“That’s great, thanks.”

“And North and South, too?” You ask.

“I look forward to it.”

“Excuse me!” Your date interjects loudly.

You look down at the table with a blush as Bucky turns away again.

“So, how long have you been single?” You hear your date ask as the bell goes again.

“And move on again please, gentlemen.” The organiser smiles.

Your date does so, following Bucky with an angry frown.

With another table between you, you assume that’s your additional ‘date’ with Bucky over and turn to greet your next date.

Now, from three tables away, Bucky calls down the row to you.

“Hey, doll, there’s a new bookstore opened by Sam’s place. We should check it out?”

You nod to placate him while disgruntled voices around you mutter and curse his interruptions.

The bell rings again and everyone moves on once more.

From five tables away he asks about the recipe for the pasta dish you made for lunch with Yelena last week.

From seven tables away he shouts to ask whether you saw the last episode of Traitors.

“That is enough, sir. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” the organiser says with exasperation at the next bell.

“But we're getting along so well,” he protests as two waiters try to lead him to the door.

Giving up, he gives you a half shrug and a wave.

“See ya later, kid.”

He leaves without further disruption.

You turn back to your latest date but your enthusiasm has left the building with Bucky.

Despite the tedious hour that follows, no conversation manages to match the level of engagement you experienced in your initial encounter.

You had been under the distinct impression that he had no idea who you were. Of all of them, Yelena was the only one who made an effort. Alexei occasionally pulled you into conversation, usually when he needed an additional body on his side in an argument, but Bucky walked past your desk almost daily without a word or a glance.

You couldn't help but wonder why he chose tonight, of all evenings, to engage with you.

He could have ignored Sam's suggestion to attend. He could have ignored you completely.

You'd given him an out, offered to sit in silence.

His casual comment to your second date echoed in your mind: “Sorry man, just seeing where this goes.”

Those simple words had hinted at a deeper curiosity or interest, beyond just passing time at a speed dating event.

It had been both impressive and frustrating to see the usually stoic Bucky calling across tables, asking you questions about your job, how long you'd worked for Valentina, with an animated excitement that seemed to be reserved solely for you.

The organiser called time and you wrapped your coat tightly around you, the mid-February nights were cold and you were ready for bed.

You shot Yelena a brief text, letting her know you had arrived home safe and sound, choosing to leave her hanging when it came to details about the event.

After a fitful night, you arrived at the office the following morning, books safely nestled in your bag.

Yelena is parked at your desk, her feet casually propped up as if she'd taken permanent residency.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“So, did you find the love of your life?”

“I'm never doing that again,” you warn with a pointed finger in her direction.

“Really?” A familiar voice behind you asks. “And here I thought you had a good time.”

You turn around to see Bucky standing there, his gaze fixed on you with a cheeky smile.

Yelena can barely contain her excitement, her grin widening even further.

Her feet hit the floor with a thud as she eagerly joins the conversation, eyes darting between the two of you. She turns first to Bucky.

“Wait, you were there?” Her question laced with disbelief.

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to have attended a speed dating event.

“Yeah, and?” He asked, his indifference only increasing Yelena's excitement.

“You went speed dating?” She asks incredulously. He doesn't look at her as he answers, he looks only at you.

“I went speed dating.” He confirms.

“And all you got were book recommendations?” You add, reaching into your bag to hand him the two books.

“Well I was kinda hoping I got a little more than that,” Bucky smirks, his expression filled with a hint of mischief.

Yelena's eyes widened, her gaze darting back and forth between you and Bucky.

“Wait, what's this? What's with you two?”

“I mean, I did think you were scared of me-” he began.

“You don't scare me,” you cut in firmly.

His smile widened further.

“Good to know.”

Yelena watches the exchange with wide eyes.

“This is so weird,” she mumbles to herself.

“So, you think you'll do it again?" You ask him brazenly.

Bucky grins at your bold question.

“Maybe,” he muses before adding with a twinkle in his eye, “but only if you're there.”

FIN

[hoondolls]

PAINTER BABY. 박성훈

pairing: f!reader x park sunghoon

notices and warnings: non idol au, fluff, neck kisses established relationship, cursing, slightly suggestive ?, painter!reader , guitarist!sunghoon, someone for the love of god tell me a good word counter website 🙏🙏

Sunghoon’s guitar is fucked again. or maybe he’s the one who’s fucked, but it’s easier to blame the strings than admit he’s been playing too much.

he’s stretched out on y/n’s lap, fingers twisting at the tuning pegs, brows furrowed like this is some great dilemma. it’s not, but sunghoon likes to act like his entire livelihood depends on this. in reality, he just plays at underground gigs with his friends and makes enough for soju and convenience store ramen.

y/n hums, half-listening. her hands are busy mixing paint on an old plastic palette, the kind that still has dried specks of colour from last week. she’s not painting anything serious, just playing with shades, seeing what looks good together. this is what she does when she has the time—paint for no reason, just because it feels nice, there’s a comfortable silence, the kind that only exists when two people have known each other long enough to not fill it. sunghoon’s weight is warm against her thighs, his hair fanning over her hoodie. his guitar lets out a dull pluck as he tests the strings.

“i think my e string’s about to snap,” he mutters, adjusting the tuning peg. he stares at it for a second, like he’s mourning something. then, without warning, he shifts, sitting up and turning to face her properly. “paint something on it.”

y/n looks up, paintbrush still dragging through cerulean blue. “what?”

“my guitar,” he says, tapping the wooden body. “paint something on it. a flower. a little guy. anything.”

she raises a brow. “why?” Inspecting the clearly worn out guitar.

he shrugs, like he hasn’t just admitted to the most sentimental thing ever. “because it’s dying, and i don’t want to think about it.”

y/n blinks. sunghoon meets her gaze like it’s nothing, like he’s not asking her to imprint a piece of herself onto something he loves, something he spends most of his time with. something that’s carried every song he’s ever played.

she exhales, rolling her shoulders. “fine.”

his lips twitch into a smile. he shifts again, resting the guitar across his lap, fingers drumming against the wood. “what are you gonna paint?”

y/n tilts her head, scanning the scratched-up surface. “something sad, since you’re grieving.”

sunghoon groans, letting his head fall back. “you’re the worst.”

she smirks, dipping her brush into white. “you asked.”

he lets her do her thing, watching as she starts with the base—soft petals forming at the edge of the pickguard, curving slightly where the wood is most worn out. her hands are steady, moving with ease like she’s done this a hundred times before. sunghoon feels something tighten in his chest. maybe it’s the reality of his guitar’s last days, or maybe it’s just her, existing in a way that makes things feel less heavy.

he exhales, leaning back on his hands. “i like watching you paint.”

y/n scoffs, but there’s a hint of pink on her ears. “you always say that” she leans back, brush hovering in the air as she takes in her work. the bouquet blooms across the wood, soft pink petals overlapping in clusters, tiny green leaves curling around them. it looks delicate, almost too pretty for sunghoon’s beat-up guitar, but somehow, it fits.

“there, all done.” she smiles, satisfied, but as she shifts, she doesn’t notice the streak of pink smudging across her nose.

sunghoon does.

he tilts his head, grinning. “you’ve got paint all over your face, baby.”

y/n blinks, raising a hand to touch her cheek. “where?”

“everywhere.”

she frowns, trying to wipe it off blindly. it only makes it worse.

sunghoon watches, amused. then, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, he says, “can i lick it off?”

y/n freezes before scowling, her hand drops, eyes snapping to his. “what.”

he blinks at her, all wide-eyed and innocent, like he hasn’t just said the most unhinged thing ever. “what? it’s non-toxic, right?”

she stares. “you’re insane and disgusting .”

he shrugs. “So can I ?.”

y/n groans, shoving at his shoulder. “don’t talk to me.”

sunghoon just laughs, leaning in anyway, eyes flicking to the smudge of paint she still hasn’t wiped off. “fine,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement. “but you should clean it before i change my mind.”

He didn’t even wait for her to finish wiping the pain then he stared pressing slow kisses just below her jaw.

y/n tenses. “sunghoon—” but he doesn’t stop, trailing soft kisses down the side of her neck, his hands already moving to brace himself on either side of her. her breath catches as he pushes her back, his weight pressing her into the couch.

“You’ll get poisoned I have paint on me—” she starts, but her voice is already faltering, and sunghoon smirks against her skin.

“mm?” he hums, lips grazing her collarbone like he’s not doing anything at all.

y/n swallows hard. “you’re getting paint on yourself.”

sunghoon just laughs, low and warm against her throat. “It’s alright .”

[chrissturnsfav]

fuckgirl!reader flirting with loser!matt, but she’s drunk so he’s just acting all nonchalant abt it

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt babysits drunk fuckgirl!reader

the bass thumps in your chest, the music a relentless pulse that matches the dizzying swirl of the room. everything’s fuzzy—lights blurring into streaks, voices overlapping into a symphony of noise. you don’t remember how many drinks you’ve had, but it’s definitely more than you should’ve.

and then there’s matt. sweet, awkward matt.

"matt," you whine over the music that echoes in your ears, drawing out his name, your hand reaching for his sleeve. your fingers barely graze the fabric before you lose balance, tumbling halfway into his lap.

he catches you, because of course he does, his reflexes sharper than you’d expect. "careful," he says, voice dry but not unkind.

"i am careful," you insist, dragging yourself up and planting one hand on his chest for stability. it’s a nice chest—solid under your palm. "you’re just in my way."

"can we go upstairs?" you say feigning sweetness with a crooked smirk, your breath warm against his neck.

"nah." he leans back and manspreads on the couch, cool as ever, like he’s immune to your charms. it’s sickening.

"why not?" you pout, tugging at his arm. your dress rides up as you move, not that you care—matt’s the only one looking, and isn’t that the point?

"because you’re drunk kid," he says simply, tilting his head like he’s assessing whether you’re about to topple over again.

"so?" you challenge, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "you’re supposed to take care of me, aren’t you? that’s what guys do at parties, right? fuck pretty girls?"

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go when you wrap your arms around his neck. "m'not fucking you kid," he snickers.

you groan, a little too loud, and press your forehead against his. "you’re no fun, matt. chris would fuck me. he would probably die for the chance."

"yeah, but i’m not chris," he says, gently disentangling your arms from his neck.

"clearly," you mutter, falling back onto the couch in a dramatic heap. you look up at him, your eyes hooded and pleading. "don’t you think i’m pretty, though?"

he snorts, shaking his head. "nice try."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you demand, half-offended, half-sickened by how unaffected he is.

"it means you’re wasted, and you’re not gonna trick me into saying something stupid," he says, leaning down to pull a blanket off the back of the couch. he drapes it over your legs, ignoring your protests.

"you’re boring," you declare, crossing your arms with a drunken frown.

"and you’re a fucking mess," he counters, his smirk softening into something almost fond. "but don’t worry. i’ve got you."

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect—soft and steady, but somehow leaving a mark. it makes your chest tighten, your thighs hot, and your stomach flip.

you know he’s just being responsible matt, always the boring one, always the one making sure things don’t spiral out of control. but the way his eyes linger on yours, the hint of warmth behind the teasing, makes you need him even more.

you grab his hand, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "matt," you say again, but this time it’s quieter, your voice dipping into something softer, almost vulnerable.

"what now?" he asks, half-laughing, though his hand doesn’t pull away.

"just one little kiss, at least. please?" you say, your voice dropping into something softer, more pleading.

he laughs, shaking his head like you’re ridiculous. "not happening."

"you're the fucking worst," you whine, ripping your hand from his and sinking into the couch again.

"sleep it off kid," he says, his voice softer now. "you’ll thank me later."

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: the way i literally was writing this without even seeing this anon! i was abt to publish it and then checked my inbox and i was like :o that's perfect. so i copy and pasted the draft here.

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: zb1 when they get jealous

a/n: this is my istj waiting room activity

notes: yujin is not included due to his age, jiwoong’s is set in the real world (aka he’s an idol), did not proofread

wc | 4.2k

jiwoong

i don’t think jiwoong gets jealous often

it’s just not his first thought when it comes to certain things LOL

but, depending on the situation, he absolutely will get jealous, but not in the way most people do

many people digest jealousy/envy as a big emotion but i don’t think it’s very big for jiwoong

and he knows that his jealousy isn’t something you should have to deal with but he doesn’t want to deal with it either so he’ll do his best to get rid of the issue without you knowing, which means making up creative ways to squash the situation

they all incorporate wherever you are

so let’s say you’re at the mall, you’re waiting for him to get out of a store, and a guy walks up to you and starts chatting you up

jiwoong will walk up to you and smile at whatever guy is flirting with you, acting completely fine

and then he’ll dip down and whisper something into your ear, and it’s usually something super unserious

“there’s a 50% sale at the ice cream shop and you get a fun cup for free”

you’re gone, he’s happy, and whatever guy was chatting you up is completely out of the picture

things are different when it comes to his members though

he always knew you liked kids and was well aware that you often volunteered to help out with kids, and he knew that you tutored high school students throughout university

nevertheless, jiwoong never thought han yujin would be his worst enemy

JIWOONG IS NORMALLY the most patient person you know—he can sit with you in a shop for an hour, watching you debate over two different mugs to buy without voicing one complaint. However, for some reason, watching you cook Yujin’s lunch is the worst thing he’s ever had to experience.

You had insisted on it after finding out he was planning on going to school after how long they’d been promoting, saying that it would be hard for him to go to school without anyone to cook him lunch. Jiwoong insisted that Hanbin probably would’ve, but you brushed him off, saying it wouldn’t take you long.

An hour and a half later, he was still sitting there, watching you cut watermelon into flowers. It was nearly 8 o’clock, and the movie you were going to was due to start at 8:45—meaning you had to leave soon.

“Are you almost done?” he asked, putting his down on the counter. You scoffed, putting the lid onto the last section of Yujin’s lunch box.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, beginning to wrap it up. “You’ve asked three times in the last hour.”

“I’m jealous that you’re spending more time fussing over Yujin’s lunch than hanging out with your boyfriend, whom you haven’t seen in a long time.”

“You’re jealous over Yujin?” you asked, exasperated, turning around and putting your hands on your hips. “He’s your kid too! You should help out! What father is jealous of their own child?”

zhang hao

there are 2 men in zb1 that don’t get jealous literally ever and hao is one of them

literally how could he be jealous when he’s zhang hao

most of the time, actually, you’re the one getting jealous (which makes sense, because he’s zhang hao)

and he always mocks you for it, which you hate

he’ll say something like “aw, do you think they’re going to steal me away from you?” and you have to resist the urge to punch him in the stomach

so when he actually gets jealous it is sooooo much fun for you

you milk it to no end. it is an opportunity you CANNOT waste

most of the time, it happens at his fancy violinist events, where you meet other people who are just as talented and impressive as him (and sometimes, they’re pretty attractive, too)

when he’s jealous, he sticks to your side and gets a little bit mean, especially towards whoever he’s jealous of

gets super touchy too

has a hand around your waist and drags you around with him just to make sure everyone gets the big picture

one day, he notices you and hanbin have been hanging out a lot all of a sudden, and it makes him really, really jealous

mostly because he can’t do his little flaunt routine, because he’s flaunted you to him enough

and then you realize he’s jealous that you and hanbin have been spending a lot of time together planning his birthday party

so obviously you capitalize on it immediately

it backfires on you

HAO WASN’T TRYING to be dramatic, but when he swung the door to Hanbin’s apartment open, having dug the spare key out from under the mat, he couldn’t help but march in like a soldier going to war.

You and Hanbin were sitting at his dining table, both of your laptops open. You had a cup of tea on the table, too, in a mug Hao knew he’d gifted Hanbin for his birthday a couple of years back.

“You let him make you tea?” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air like he was in some sort of drama. Both you and Hanbin stared at him in a mix of shock and confusion, wondering what in the world had caused him to barge in like that. Sure, you were beginning to pick up the fact that he was jealous of your business meetings with his best friend, but you weren’t exactly aware of how far you’d let it progress.

“Well, I made the tea—”

“You know where he keeps his tea?” he cut you off, staring at you while tapping his foot on the ground. “I am sick of this. How am I being left out by my partner and my best friend? What did I do to deserve this?”

“I think you’re getting the wrong idea,” Hanbin said, slowly closing his laptop. “We aren’t hanging out, per se, so we aren’t exactly leaving you out.”

“Then why have you spent hours upon hours together over the past week?”

You placed a hand over your mouth, trying to stop from laughing. “Hao, please be serious. What’s next week?”

His cheeks turned bright red, and you wished you could’ve got his big outburst on video.

hanbin

i am a believer that hanbin get sooo jealous (have you seen him glare at people's interaction with hao LOL)

he’s like the nicest guy on earth so there has to be one negative emotion that he feels

and it’s quite literally only over his loved ones, nothing else

will get jealous if people spend too much time with hao

will get even more jealous if people steal your attention away from him

he doesn’t even get jealous over things he should be getting jealous over, it’s things he hallucinates

“that guy stared at you a little too weirdly…”

“he was just our waiter?”

“still he was too friendly…i got bad vibes”

when hanbin gets jealous, though, it’s not very serious and never causes a problem between you two

he might hold your hand a little tighter or not be very fond of leaving you alone, but otherwise it’s not an issue

there are instances where his jealousy can get serious, and most of the time it’s pretty warranted (and this is when hanbin leans towards protective)

you’ll be watching one of his performances among a bunch of his peers and someone will get a little too touchy with you

and dancers are very hot so he might get a little insecure too

he will stomp over to you, sweaty and tired, and drag you away without saying a word to whoever was chatting you up

other than that his jealousy is kind of cute

hanbin doesn’t view any of the boys as enemies but sometimes matthew can be super cute

and while he considers matthew one of his best friends sometimes he forgets that matthew is just like that and isn’t trying to woo you

matthew, however, is well versed in the art that is hanbinism and is immune to it

YOU KNOW HANBIN like the back of your hand. He’s sweet, pretty, and enjoys being around the people he loves. And, you know for a fact Matthew is one of the people he loves. Nevertheless, when he skips up to you two with a white rose he picked, Taerae in tow, you can practically see a vein pop out of Hanbin’s head.

“Look at how pretty this is!” he smiled, and you nodded, agreeing with him. “Taerae and I found a bush of them, and I figured I’d pick one to give to you.”

You hear Hanbin scoff, and, feeling panic rush up your throat, you turn to him with horror flowing through you. The look in his eyes is dangerous, and a sort of shallow smile appears on his face—you don’t like it one bit. You turn back to Matthew, who seems completely unphased, and instead keeps talking.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to Hanbin. He stares at it, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“I thought you were giving it to [First]?”

“Huh? That would be weird,” Matthew replies, tilting his head. You hear Taerae begin to laugh, likely at Hanbin, and you have to hold back a little chuckle as well. “Wouldn’t you be the one to give a rose to them? Anyway, here you go.”

Hanbin, dumbfounded, takes the rose from Matthew’s hand, and he and Taerae disappear off into the distance.

matthew

matthew is #2 of men in zb1 who don’t get jealous often

literally doesn’t have the brain capacity for it

he’s like a universal friend, and universal friends don’t get jealous of anybody, nor do they distrust their significant others

a more appropriate word to use would be uncomfortable

at least that’s what matthew says when he gets jealous LOL

he genuinely doesn’t think he feels jealous because he doesn’t have any worry that whoever is talking to you is going to “steal” you away from him, but he certainly doesn’t appreciate anybody hardcore flirting with you

he can handle a “you’re so pretty” or an “i love your outfit” but if someone is persisting and he can tell you’re uncomfortable (both factors have to be present, or he’ll just let you handle it yourself) he will do his best to shut it down

but in the matthew way

so he walks over to you with a big smile on his face and starts talking to you like he normally would

“hey, babe, i lost you for a second”

whoever’s talking to you literally can’t keep going because of how nice matthew is

“oh, who’s this? it’s nice to meet you! i’m [first]’s boyfriend, matthew”

they’re gone within 2 minutes and matthew is feeling successful

he’ll probably give you a kiss on the cheek afterwards just to hammer home his point

he will, however, admit that he gets jealous of the other members lol

it’s mostly because he considers them his friends, though, so the idea that you’d be into one of them is scary to him

as a result, he gets a little wary when he stumbles upon you chatting with jiwoong at a party

BEFORE MATTHEW LEFT to go get a drink, you were sitting on the couch, playing a game on your phone. He planned to tell you that you could leave after he finished the drink, but when he returned, Jiwoong was sitting across from you, speaking with you.

The smile on your face was genuine, and you seemed overjoyed that you weren’t bored anymore. And, subconsciously, Matthew took it as you being happy that Jiwoong was talking to you, and not because you were glad you wouldn’t have to drag Matthew away from his friends anymore (which was the truth).

He sat back down next to you, sitting on the edge of the seat and putting his cup down on the coffee table. You smiled at him, and Jiwoong said his hellos, to which Matthew replied less than enthusiastically.

“We were just chatting about the new art exhibit that opened up at the museum. You know, the one we went to last week?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, taking a long sip of the drink. You raised an eyebrow, finally picking up that Matthew was feeling a bit jealous. “You planning on going again, or something?”

“Nope,” Jiwoong cut in, leaning back in his chair. “Actually, [First] was just talking about how much she enjoyed going with you, as you seemed to like it a lot. She said your eyes were sparkling the entire time.”

Matthew shut up quick after that, and you didn’t mention it ever again.

taerae

taerae’s jealousy is silent

you won’t know he’s jealous until well after the event has occurred

he might bring it up in passing weeks later and you’re absolutely dumbfounded

mostly because you had no clue

“you were jealous?”

“yeah, he kept staring at your lips and was getting super touchy with you. how would i not be jealous?”

you think about the interaction for hours afterward, you skim through all the memories, and you cannot figure out where he conveyed he was jealous

he’s so good at masking any negative emotion that when you manage to notice his jealousy it’s almost a little bit scary

you’ll be talking with someone, it doesn’t matter who, and you’ll look over at him for a second and notice this weird look in his eyes

and then you’ll be hyperaware of how everything he says has this sharp edge to it

little jabs that neither you or whoever you’re talking to would be able to pick up unless they were actively looking for hostility

lowkey it’s kind of attractive LOL

taerae’s usually the picture of “kind” so seeing him go into a lockdown mode is a bit fun for you, even if it’s barely noticeable

after the event that made him jealous he’s super touchy with you which is also fun for you

because taerae gives gooood hugs and is comfortable to lay on

so, long story short, if he’s ever jealous of the boys you don’t know until afterward

sometimes even weeks after the fact

and obviously when you were fawning over zhang hao after his violin recital, which taerae had taken you to, you weren’t exactly aware of the way he was staring at hao

WHEN TAERAE GRABS your hand about a minute into your drive, lacing all of your fingers together and pulling your hand onto his lap, your jaw drops. You turn to look at him with shock on your face, trying to find the words to say. “No way,” you gasped, putting your other hand over your mouth. 

He looks over at you for a brief second, confused as to why you’re suddenly making such a big deal that he was holding your hand. “What? I don’t understand.”

“You were jealous? Of Hao?” you exclaimed, letting your hand drop from your mouth. “Why? I mean, he did well, did he not? Was I too complimentary? Do I need to reel it back next time?”

“What? No, you were just being nice. Where did you get the idea I was jealous?”

“You say that, but in a month and a half, you’re going to be like, ‘You know what made me super jealous?’ and then you’re going to drop three bombs on me,” you replied. “And this is going to be included. So, just say it now, so we can get it over with.”

Taerae blinked a couple of times, tightening his grip on your hand. “Okay, maybe I was a little jealous—”

You wrenched your hand away from his, clapping excitedly. “Oh, I’m a genius! I have a degree in Taeraeology now, seriously.”

“What in the world is Taeraeology?”

ricky

when ricky gets jealous it’s like not a competition

he just shuts the situation down

i mean he’s so tall and so gorgeous that anybody who tries anything with you is immediately so intimidated the moment he does anything, he barely even has to talk

he literally has a neck tattoo like that’s terrifying

as a result he does not have the time to get seriously jealous because anyone who’s flirting with you is sprinting away the moment they lay eyes on him approaching you

most of the time people don’t even try anything anyway because they see you with him before you’re separated

for the few that are willing to stand up to ricky, it’s pretty funny for you to watch

“[first], who’s this?” and you watch the competitor cartoon-gulp right in front of you

they maybe last about 15 seconds before they bid you goodbye out of pure intimidation like good for you ricky

if it’s one of the days where he looks incredibly cute and soft (you know what i’m talking about) things tend to go south because ricky is awkward and his strong suit is rbf

at which point you end up having to be the one to be like “okay, me and my boyfriend are going to head out now!” LOL

among the jebis the only one ricky is going to get jealous of is gyuvin and that’s because they’re the same age and very close

he knows gyuvin will never make a move on you but that doesn’t stop him from getting jealous when gyuvin is taking up too much of your attention

and he’ll straight up tell him to fuck off too LOL

riyangis i get you

GYUVIN LOOKS LIKE he’s about to burst into laughter as Ricky stands next to you, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He never takes Ricky’s jealousy seriously, which you understand why, given the fact that they’re best friends, and he has absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.

“You should go home now,” Ricky insists, motioning towards the front door. “I think we’ve hung out for long enough today.”

It was partially your fault for introducing a topic Ricky wasn’t versed in, but Gyuvin was the only other person you knew had watched the show you were watching, and you were itching to talk about it with somebody who understood. But, you’d pushed it too far, and he’d gotten a bit upset that you were focusing on Gyuvin when he had barged into your date.

“Aw, but [First] is my friend, too.”

“And, if we were both drowning, she’d choose me over you. What’s your point?”

Gyuvin burst into laughter, clutching his stomach as he wobbled towards the door. You held back your laughter as best you could, nearly losing it as Gyuvin struggled to put on the pair of bright yellow Crocs he decided to wear when he walked over. He opened the door and slammed it shut, yet you could still hear him laughing outside.

Then, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You laughed so hard that you also had to hold your stomach, and Ricky marched away from you, ignoring the halfassed apologies that fell from your lips.

gyuvin

gyuvin isn’t usually a jealous guy but he can get jealous, as opposed to hao and matthew who virtually never get jealous

when he gets jealous though it’s somewhat upsetting

it usually means something happened that wounded his pride or made him feel insecure, which you don’t enjoy obviously

so 99.9% of the time, if gyuvin is jealous, it’s because one of the members did something to/with you that he wasn’t super okay with

it’s never anything minute, like one of them liking an instagram post or something stupid, rather something happening under his nose

he loves and respects them a lot so the idea that they did something with his s/o without him knowing makes him super duper unhappy

and then he’ll start to think that there’s something they have that he didn’t, so he gets a bit insecure, too

but he absolutely will convince himself it’s not a big deal so then he’s just in an extra bad mood for the rest of the day

you usually have to squeeze whatever’s wrong out of him and, when you manage to, you feel really bad

because usually whatever happened to upset him was something you thought you’d addressed with him and/or thought he knew about

like ricky, he gets most jealous over things that happen between you and ricky

because you’re all close in age and gyuvin and ricky spend all of their time together, you’re obviously friends with him too

and, in ricky’s seasonal instagram wrap up post, he notices a selfie of you two in what he thinks was a hangout you had together without him knowing based on the background

it ruins his day so fast :( but you make sure to patch up the misunderstanding

GYUVIN HATES THE WAY HE FEELS as he gears up to speak, twiddling his thumbs while you sit across from him at the table, a frown painting your face. He doesn’t like it when you look sad, and he doesn’t like feeling this way or addressing that he feels it. So, when the time comes where he has to talk about it, it eats him up from the inside out.

“Did you hang out with Ricky? Without me?”

You immediately furrow your eyebrows, as if you’re confused. “Not that I know of? I barely even text Ricky outside of the group chat the three of us have. Where’d you get that idea?”

Embarrassed, Gyuvin decides to pull up the post, turning his phone to face you. You take it from his hands, bringing it closer to your face so that you can get a better look at it. Then, recognition floods your features, and your frown turns into a smile. “That was when we roadtripped to the beach. Not pictured here are you and Taerae, who were getting us coffee.”

Gyuvin snatches the phone back, feeling even more embarrassed. He zooms in on the background parts, ignoring you and Ricky, quickly realizing that the filter Ricky put on the picture made the water look much bluer than it actually had been, leading him to believe you’d gone on your own separate beach trip. Feeling the blood rush to his cheeks, Gyuvin smiled crookedly.

“My bad.”

gunwook

i actually struggled with this

on one hand i don’t think gunwook would get jealous easily

he’s a very reasonable boyfriend and has quite literally never wronged you

on the other hand i do think he would get jealous somewhat frequently

in the same way as taerae, it’s very quiet jealousy, but you will literally never know with him

he won’t ever bring it up after it happens and will just. move on

he also might get a little snarky with whoever approached you afterwards, but never when you’re around, so you are none the wiser

if you find out gunwook got jealous, you are finding out from other people, which you think is absolutely insane

one day you’ll be like cordially chatting with gyuvin and he’ll bring up this one time gunwook got super mega jealous over one of your guy friends and how it haunted him for months and you’re like ??? what

gyuvin is like you DIDN’T know? and then you learn about every single time gunwook has gotten jealous and then told him + yujin + ricky about it

apparently it was so obvious to the boys that hanbin literally asked him about it

you’re flabbergasted 

so then you approach gunwook like “wtf is this?” and he’s like

“oh yeah”

what do you mean OH YEAH?

you’re actually so shocked

gunwook isn’t the type to get jealous of the boys though like that just straight up won’t happen

doesn’t matter who you’re talking to, how much time you spend with them, etc

he knows they’d never pull something with you ever so you could literally go on a remote vacation to the amazon rainforest with NO cell service with like hanbin and he wouldn’t give a shit

TAERAE WAS BUSY, which meant you’d dragged Hanbin along with you to go shopping for Christmas presents for the boys. You’d been dating Gunwook long enough that you felt like it was a good way to show gratitude for them, and Hanbin agreed to take you to the mall to get the gifts.

Of course, you couldn’t take Gunwook, because you were planning on buying a good chunk of his gift, too, which meant you hadn’t told him where you were going. So, when he called, you were somewhat apprehensive to pick up.

Hanbin, on the other hand, looked terrified.

“Can I come over? I’m bored,” he asked, and you held back the urge to laugh as you stared at Hanbin, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“I’m Christmas-present shopping with Hanbin, actually. Sorry.”

Hanbin’s jaw dropped, likely at the fact that you just came right out with it, but you weren’t worried in the slightest. “Oh, okay. That’s cool. Have fun. Tell Hanbin I said hello.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

He hung up, and Hanbin’s jaw dropped farther. “He just…doesn’t care? Like at all?”

You gave him an inquisitive look, as if you didn’t understand what he was implying. “Is he supposed to?"

thank you for reading !

tags: @happysmileybee

[revasserium]

Mmmm perhaps 13? A kinda sensitive reader x Opla zoro? Or a tender moment between the two? 👀

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

13. handle with care

zoro; 1,014 words; fluff, strawhat!reader, gn!reader, no "y/n", mentions of blood, established relationship, zoro being zoro, mentions of poison

summary: in which you attempt to treat zoro post battle

a/n: i do love the "sucking out poison with your mouth" trope, i gotta admit

It is almost always in the aftermath of battle, when the dust has settled and the blood’s been shed, that Zoro seems most himself. There’s something in the dull, pulsing ache of fresh wounds, the harsh sting and strain of his muscles, the adrenaline still singing through his veins —

“This is gonna hurt…” you glance up as you press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to a large slash across his chest and Zoro hisses.

But his eyes are closed and there’s a small, satisfied smile inked across his lips.

“Doesn’t even sting.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as Zoro’s stomach tenses beneath your touch; you carefully press the cotton ball to his wound again, watching the edges grow heavy and dark with blood.

“You really oughtta be more careful…” you say, voice low as you reach for a fresh cotton ball and dip it in the alcohol once more. Zoro grunts, his eyes half-lidded as they track your movements. You glance up to meet them, only to blush and look away as he gaze catches on yours.

“I’m good at staying alive,” he says, by way of an answer, and you resist the urge to sigh and roll your eyes for the nth time that day.

“If this cut had been a few centimeters to the right —“

“But it wasn’t.”

The softness of his words makes you look up, your fingers pausing as you reach for the gauze siting next to his bent elbow, propped carelessly against the kitchen counter.

“And I’ve got you,” he says, lips twitching as he reaches over slow, pressing the gauze into your palm with smooth, deliberate movements.

You curl your fingers around the gauze and swallow, feeling heat tiptoe up the back of your neck and sink into your cheeks. You busy yourself with smearing a thick balm over the worst parts of the wound and pressing the gauze over it. Zoro lets out a soft hiss, his head tipping back, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“Oh — sorry —”

“It’s nothing,” but his voice is rough and scored around the edges.

You frown at the darkness already seeping through the fresh bandages and cock your head.

“No… something’s wrong,” you tug at the bandages, your heart thudding in your throat.

“It’ll fix itself in a few —”

“Stop it,” you snap, your eyes sharp as you glare up at him, pressing a hand to his chest; he freezes at your touch. You stare at each other for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath and relaxes, a grimace edging to the surface.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? More than it should,” you say, more a statement than a question, carefully wiping away the balm and squinting at the edges of the wound, the skin turning an unnatural blueish gray.

“Barely.”

“Zoro, I swear —”

“Fine.” He bites out the word like poison —

Your eyes go wide — poison.

“The guy who clawed you — what did you say he turned into?”

Zoro scoffs, “I dunno — some weird thing that looked like a duck but had fur —”

“Shit —” you toss the sullied gauze aside and wipe haphazardly at the wound before bending down to press your lips to the gash, sucking hard. Zoro makes a noise somewhere between pain and surprise as you spit out a mouthful of dark, already congealing blood into the sink next to him.

“W-what the —”

You look up to find him wide-eyed — bewildered and blushing, his breaths coming in short pants.

“Platypus venom — there’s no cure —” you hastily wipe your mouth before bending down again. Zoro lets out a soft moan that borders on indecent, but there’s no time for you to linger on the sound as you straighten back up to spit out another mouthful of bitter-tasting blood.

“The only way out is — well —” you lean back down to wrap your lips around the wound and suck, pulling back to spit out more blood, “Out.”

“Holy shit —” he groans again as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and frown down at the wound, your mind racing with mental calculations of how long it might take for the venom to spread through a person’s system, and how long it’s been since Zoro had come stumbling back with the rest of your crew, grinning and blood-splattered.

“How long’s it been hurting this bad?” you ask, your eyes flickering between his face and his stomach. He lets out a short puff of breath that might’ve been a chuckle.

“Not that long.”

“Zoro please — I need you to tell me the truth — don’t play macho when your life might be —”

“I’d never lie to you.”

His words are clipped, and your heart skids in your chest at the earnestness in his voice.

“Okay… I believe you. I think —” you reach for a glass of water to rinse out your mouth before turning on the faucet to wash your lips and chin, “I think we got most of it out in time. But let me know if it gets any worse, okay?”

Zoro nods, his eyes falling shut again as he relaxes against the counter. You sigh, reaching up to cup his cheek, running a thumb across a tiny cut on his left cheek.

“You really oughtta be more careful…”

Zoro laughs, the sound breathy and a bit broken but warm all the same.

And when he opens his eyes to look at you, you find nothing but affection reflected there, even though his lips are a bit paler than you’re used to, his gaze ever so slightly unfocused.

“Didn’t I just tell you —”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, you’re good at staying alive.”

“No,” he reaches up to press his hand over yours, leaning his cheek into the palm of your hand, closing his eyes as he turns his head to kiss the pad of your thumb —

“I’ve got you.”

[green-alien-turdz]

Hi, I know its been a minute n I don't really like that there is like one or two posts between this n my last 'i'm still alive' post. I'm sorry. I wanted to say thank you to everyone in general, but also the mfs who said some nice ass shit to me. Sorry I said some concernin ass shit n just dipped, that was pretty fucked. I never really had people care like all the people on here, so I ain't too used to havin to be more careful with the shit I do n say.

Thank you to everyone for the kind words, concern, n care. Comin back to see all of it made my fuckin heart melt. I know I'm just some dumbass postin south park shit on tumblr, but you guys are genuinely the most amazin mfs I've ever encountered. To the people who were in my inbox askin if I was still alive, I sincerely apologize for causin any stress or concern, it's not my intention. You guys are the sweetest people, and I'm sorry for doin that. I should prolly stop bein as vocal about bein so fucked, but I also like to be honest n I like sharin this shit bcuz I know mfs be goin through the same shit n bein alone in it feels fuckin awful majority of the time.

I am not well. I am doin very bad actually. There's a chance imma be forcefully medicated in the near future. Which is weird bcuz I used to always want that, I wanted to be fixed, but now I'm not sure for like a TON of reasons. One, ion wanna be changed (in a sense). If the meds take away or dull core aspects of myself, I will lose it further than I have already. Two, my parents raised me to never trust doctors or medicine, etc. Even though I do think modern medicine is a great thing, I still have my fears bcuz of how I was raised. Three, I fear the fuck outta what I will do. I know they warn that adjustment periods n shit like that can make things worse- but I literally cannot get any worse. If I do, I know I will not come out alive. Which bleeds into reason four, which is that I know, at some point, I would try n overdose. Handin me such a quick n thoughtless way to just end it is like the worst fuckin thing they could do. But whatever. Ion even know when it's gonna happen, all I know is that ion got a choice. Like, I'm pretty sure it's a situation that, if I don't comply, imma be locked tf up.

Uhh minor update shit- my cat came back home after almost a month of bein fuckin somewhere. She came back skinny, dirty, n sick, but she is slowly recoverin n I've never been more thankful. ED is still kickin my ass, but I'm forcin myself to at least have a fuckin soup I made bcuz I can't get shit done at work if I keep faintin or gettin injured. I have little to no time to do shitfuck, but still do random shit periodically before or after work. I actually redid my dresser n made some stupid ass video about the handles that I might post to youtube if I quit bein a pussy about it.

I haven't been drawin my fanart as of late- but I do want to. Imma focus on doin the requests I have bcuz I wanna give back the best I can. You guys stick with me through thick n thin. I thank you all so much. I'm sorry I'm always MIA. So my posts for a little bit are gonna be the requests n answerin all of my inbox. Ion know how long it'll take, but hopefully it won't get borin. I genuinely love makin things. I love drawin the shit I do n people findin some sort of connection to their lives or themselves. I just want people to feel less alone, less ugly, less whatever the fuck you feel. Each n every one of ya is fuckin amazin, so please don't forget it.

Imma stfu now. But I hope you guys have a good rest of your day or night or eternity. I'll be back to postin shortly, thank you for stickin with this shit show

[nev3rfound]

anyone but you : b.b

you were Bucky's pocket of sunshine, his sweet girl outside of the avengers. a slice of normality in his less-than lifestyle, but what happens when you're pulled into it in the worst way? (2.6k)

we've got ourselves a good'un today angels, and you have @imagine-all-the-fandoms for the brill idea :)

warnings - graphic descriptions of torture and wounds. (but fluffy ending)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

“Mmh, okay. So, our options- wait stop laughing at me!” Throwing the menus in his direction, Bucky stifles the rest of his laugh by trying to play it off as a cough.

Shaking his head, Bucky picks up the menus that had been promptly thrown at him. "I'm not laughing at you doll." Bucky reasons, moving across the sofa to now kneel in front of the coffee table where you're perching opposite him looking through your phone for alternatives.

"Sure sounds like it to me." You chide, glancing up with a mischievous glint in your eyes, one Bucky can't help but get lost in, completely missing the words sounding from your lips. Clicking your fingers in front of him, Bucky snaps from the depths of his mind.

"What did you say?" Bucky asks, only elated as your grin widens into a playful smile. "Right, dinner!" Bucky slaps his hand down on his thigh before rising to his feet and dramatically clasps one hand over his eyes. "How 'bout we do the random selector, huh?"

Chuckling to yourself, you nod along before rising to your feet. "Let's do it, Barnes."

Covering your eyes as well, the pair of you reach down and clutch a menu in your grasp and open your eyes. "I got Chinese!" You announce, and Bucky grunts in disappointment as he holds up the leaflet loosely.

"I got the shitty pizza place a few blocks away." He groans, watching you cheer victoriously. "You won this time, Y/n." He rushes over to your side of the table, wrapping his arms around your waist before lifting you up, hearing you squeal before dropping the menu. "But I'll win next time, mark my words."

With your arms around his neck, Bucky dips you lowly with a smirk. "That so, Barnes?" You tease, leaning closer to his face. "We'll see." You add, closing the distance between you both with a sweet quick kiss. "Now come on, I'm starving!"

*

"Thirty minutes til we land, guys." Natasha announces from the front of the jet.

Unable to keep his knee from bouncing once the announcement was made, Bucky cannot stop his thoughts from returning to you. It had been a longer mission than anticipated with little to no contact with the outside world. He's so used to sending a text, a quick call to just hear your voice and know you're okay whether it be doing a mundane task or listening to you moan about a colleague.

That's one of the things Bucky loves about you; the normalcy of it all. You couldn't be more of a polar opposite to the former soldier, with a 9-5, a pension scheme, and health benefits included. Whereas he just gets thrown into the unknown more than he cares to admit and comes out slightly more traumatized with each mission.

Noting the nervous actions of his friend, Steve nudges Bucky's arm. "You got plans with Y/n once we get back?" Steve asks, knowing it'll help pass the remaining time until they land.

Within seconds the tension melts from Bucky's body and even Sam catches the barely there smile on the soldier's face.

"Going to this movie theatre she loves, it's kinda run down but she likes to call it 'old school.'" He quotes, picturing the first time you dragged him along to the theatre. "And well, I've got something planned for her, but I don't know." Bucky trails off, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Well, sounds great to me, Buck." Steve comments, moving slightly closer, and lowers his head in an attempt to keep the overs from interrupting. "So, you ever gonna bring her to the compound?"

Bucky sighs deeply and Steve backs up, knowing it's useless to even pry further into it.

"It's just so good, Steve." Bucky starts, glancing around at those around him, some looking through reports and others dozing off. "I don't want her to get enveloped in this side of our life." He explains and Steve simply nods. "I love what we have, and, and I don't wanna risk ruining that."

"Understood." Steve pats Bucky's arm. "She really brings out the best in you, you know?"

"Yeah, he's been notably less grumpy since they got together." Sam comments from the other side of the jet, receiving a brief glare from Bucky. "Less grumpy, Barnes. You're no ray of sunshine yet."

The rest of the flight sped by whilst Bucky remained deep in his thoughts which mostly circled around you. He was jolted from his memories once the jet landed and they all began to disembark.

As the team began to walk through the compound, Bucky quickly got his phone out to send you a message. But before he could even start to type one, a series of urgent texts flash up on his screen.

"Bucky?" Steve calls out to his friend who is almost frozen in place, staring down at his phone with panic written across his expression. "Buck?" Walking toward his friend, he looks down at Bucky's phone and feels his heart drop at what he's reading.

With a shaky hand, Bucky forces his head up to meet Steve's eyes. "Steve, I," He can barely form the right words, unsure what to even say. "This, this can't happen." His mind shifts to denial, but upon hearing his name being called urgently up ahead by Tony and Bruce he can feel his whole world crashing down on him.

*

The first sensation that came back was your smell. In hindsight, you wish it wasn't and that you could've remained senseless, but you weren't so lucky.

It smelt like metal, smoke, and sweat. Little did you know, that was all coming from you.

Your eyesight followed suit and quickly alerted your captures with delight that you were conscious at last. "Help!" You cry out, now noticing your arms shackled to a wall in a dank-looking cell. "Please, help me!" Within seconds the screams tear at your throat, scratching it raw as laughter enters your ears.

Through the shadows, a large figure emerges holding up an old school camcorder whilst he grimaces at you, eyes roaming over the wounds inflicted. "Bout time you woke up darling." The man snarls, moving closer into your enclosed space. "Wanna say hi to your friends?" Forcing the camera to your face, you're quick to turn your head away, only to feel a sweaty hand clench your jaw and force you to look directly into the lens as tears glisten in your eyes. "You know what to do if you want her back." The man comments, further confusing you about the situation before he reveals a small knife in his grasp.

"No, please," You plead, shaking your head at the sight of the knife rising before plowing it down into your thigh.

The last thing Bucky sees is your face contorted in pain, the movement of your lips as you scream in anguish. But all of the sounds have become white noise.

"Do we know who sent this?" Steve is the first to ask, noting Bucky standing too still for his own liking.

Raising his hand, Bruce swipes across and reveals three headshots of so-called reformed criminals. "Jason Donahough, Mark Whitehall, and Edward Polaski." Bruce points to each, pausing at the sound of Bucky's metal arm whirring, the plates sliding as he clenches both fists at the images.

"I know them." Bucky states through gritted teeth.

"A message was delivered with the video, we're trying to locate the source with the help of FRIDAY." Tony explains, revealing the two simple sentences.

Come get your girl, Winter Soldier. It's time to resume the game.

A shudder spreads through Bucky at the second sentence. They still remember what he did, and clearly aren't messing around this time.

"I have to go." Bucky tells himself, too in his own head to notice several pairs of eyes fall on him in alarm.

"Bucky, that's," Steve starts, but Bucky is already walking out the door before he can finish his sentence. "We gotta go, who's in?"

Almost every hand shoots up and Steve nods, everyone starts to file out, knowing what needs to be done.

*

They came in abruptly, knocking the chains on your ankles to alert you of their presence. Mostly they just wanted to taunt you, sometimes they'd spare you the pain of reminding you that you were alone and no one would come for you. But more often than not, they'd add to your growing list of injuries, conflicting another wound to your skin as more blood stains the tiles.

No one answers the questions you ask when conscious enough to form words. 'Where am I?' 'How long have I been here?' and the one that scares you most of all, 'Why me?'

"You think he'll come?" Your ears perk up at the question, and you force your heavy head up an inch to see two of your attackers conversing outside of your cell.

One of them is holding a phone tightly in his grasp, chewing on his lip at the question. "For her? Hopefully." He scoffs before looking back at you, noticing the corners of your lips rising weakly. "What're you smiling at, bitch?" His voice rises before he marches over to you, grabs a hold of your face with one hand, and stares you dead in the eyes. "Somethin' you wanna say?" He demands, eyes widening awaiting a response.

Instead, you spit in his face, watching him recoil in disgust.

"You'll pay for that," He states, reaching into his pocket for something whilst your eyes grow heavy once again, unaware of a red light flickering through the base and alarms blaring.

The two men exchange a look, one you're oblivious to when your head slumps back down to rest against your chest.

"Showtime." One of the men laughs, clapping his hands before they both exit the cell, leaving your weak body alone-something you can be silently thankful for.

"Bucky," His name passes from your lips before your eyes drop once more.

Leading the mission, Bucky refuses to trail from the plan. Sometimes, he'll swerve from the set motions, but when it comes to you, nothing is to be changed or come as a surprise.

Continuing through the dank corridors, Bucky keeps his gun aimed in front of him whilst Steve and Natasha follow behind. So far Bucky has not left a single guard standing, and some without breath.

"You think this is it?" Natasha questions, looking at a series of locked doors, each with a number printed above and the red light flashing.

Bucky remains silent, trying to zone out from the murmurs behind him. His eyes continuously scan over the doors, he homes in on the furthest down the corridor, noting the light flashing white instead of red.

"There." Bucky speaks up, picking up pace toward the door only to be surprised by three guards who start shooting.

Wasting no time, Bucky tears the three down with ease. He ignores their screams whilst he shoots and punches his way through them.

Breathing deeply, Bucky leans forward to see a series of buttons to unlock the door. "Got any idea-" Steve starts, only to be met with Bucky smashing his metal fist into the panel, causing the door to open.

Adjusting their eyes to the dimly lit room, the trio enter apprehensively.

Scanning the room, Bucky's breath catches in his throat at the frail figure in the corner of the room. "Y/n?" His voice croaks, wasting no time to rush to your side, delicately lifting your head up to his lap. Eyeing over your various injuries, Bucky shakes his head and nestles your cheek with his hand. "What've they done to you?"

"Buck, we've got to get her out, now." Steve places his hand on his friend's shoulder, watching his oldest friend help you up and break the chains keeping you cemented in place. "Nat's clearing our exit, we don't have long."

Upon picking you up, Bucky freezes at your loud cry. "I'm sorry, doll, I'm so sorry." He repeatedly mumbles into your neck as he cradles your body in his arms all too aware of you dipping in and out of consciousness.

Much to their surprise, their exit is easier than anticipated. With you lying limp in Bucky's arms breathing heartlessly, Nat starts the jet up.

"It was all just to prove a point." Bucky states quietly, an oxygen mask now covering your nose and mouth. "just to show they could still get back at me, after all this time." His fists begin to clench on the edge of the seat, something Steve quickly picks up on as he moves to sit beside the pair of you.

Looking down at you in daylight, Steve could feel his heart clench in his chest. From what he saw of you briefly in photographs, you were shell of the woman you were physically, let alone mentally when you eventually come to.

"She's safe now, Buck." Steve reminds Bucky, feeling a sense of hope wash over the jet at your eyes open.

"Buck?" You croak, trying to lift your hand up, only for it to be held tightly by Buckys. "You, you found me." Tears start to build in your eyes upon seeing his, only for them to quickly refill with black spots.

"Of course, I'll always find you." Bucky whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead as a tear glides across your skin.

two months later

"Okay, okay!" Bucky chuckles heartfully, clutching the menu in his grasp above his head whilst you pout up at him. "Just say sorry and it's yours, doll."

Crossing your arms over your chest, you lightly sigh. "Come on, that's not fair. Steve will agree with me on this, right, Steve?" Glancing over your shoulder, Steve doesn't move a muscle from the armchair situated in the compound living area. "Steve?" Waving your hand, you reach for a cushion to throw at him, only for it to be deflected at the last second.

"I think you've got a slight advantage here, Buck." Steve chimes in, much to Bucky's playful dismay.

Lowering his arms back down, Bucky kneels in front of you with the menu in hand. "Here you go, doll." He winks, watching you snatch it from his grasp before wheeling backward toward the coffee table.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Barnes." You salute, reaching across for your crutch to ease you out of the wheelchair.

Upon hearing a quiet wince, Bucky's gaze falls upon you, and starts to walk in your direction to assist. "She's got this." Natasha pipes up, now entering the room to see what all the commotion was.

"Thanks, Nat." You smile, now using the crutch you reach for your phone, revealing the scarring on your forearm which sometimes hurts to see.

With a quick tug, you pull on the sleeve of Bucky's henley you've stolen before dialing for the takeaway and leaving the room.

Now left alone with two old friends, Bucky can practically hear their questions protruding. "She's just taking things a day at a time." Bucky explains, burying his head in his hands at the memories of the past few months.

"I mean, I haven't heard her laugh like this since before," He trails off, not wishing to finish the sentence as images of blood, your screams, and pleads replay.

"It's alright," Natasha comments with a soft smile. "She's tougher than she looks, for a civilian that is." She adds.

"Who're you callin' a civilian?" You speak up, feigning shock at Natasha's remark. "I happen to be a very special person." You add, slowly making your way toward Bucky.

Smiling at the interaction, Steve dares to ask. "And what makes you special, huh, Y/n?" He plays along, thankful to see Bucky's smile growing as you reach him, wrapping your free arm around his middle.

"'Cause this guy gets to date me." You state with a smug grin, feeling Bucky kiss your temple with a smile on his lips. "Nothing more special than that, right?" Looking up at Bucky, his smile only widens as the sparkle in your eye flashes for a moment, slowly making its return.

"Yeah, doll." Bucky tells you. "Luckiest guy around."

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[drewswife]

summary: you went to a pool party with your bsf and met Rafe Cameron there

warning: none other than fluff

w.c: 900

The chlorine stung my eyes, but I didn't care. The sun was blazing, the music was pumping, and I was finally at a pool party at his house. Okay, his house as in, the house his parents probably owned, but still. Rafe Cameron. I'd only seen him from afar, a brooding figure with that tousled blonde hair and a perpetually unimpressed expression in the halls at school. He was the kind of guy who seemed perpetually annoyed always brooding angry, like the world was a constant inconvenience. But today, with the sun glinting off the water and the upbeat music thumping through the speakers, even Rafe seemed a little less…broody. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"Earth to Y/n! You've been staring at the deep end for five minutes. Rafe's not even over there," my best friend, Sarah, teased, nudging me with her elbow. Sarah knew my Rafe obsession. She’d endured countless whispered analyses of his Instagram posts, decoded the hidden meanings in his rare smiles, and listened patiently while I constructed elaborate (and entirely fictional) scenarios where we’d meet cute and fall madly in love. It was a little awkward, though, considering… well, Sarah was Rafe's little sister.

"I was… uh…admiring the landscaping," I mumbled, heat creeping up my neck. Sarah snorted. "Seriously, Y/n, you need to find a new excuse. Last week it was 'studying the architectural design' of the school when he walked by. This week it's 'landscaping.'"

"Okay, okay, you got me," I admitted, laughing. "Just… give me a minute to mentally prepare myself, okay? He's… intimidating."

"He's just a guy, Y/n," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "A really annoying guy, actually. But still. Just a guy. Now, he's by the snack table, if you want to admire the 'landscaping' up close."

Taking a deep breath, I adjusted my sunglasses and followed Sarah. The snack table was laden with chips, dips, and colorful drinks. And there he was. Rafe Cameron, laughing at something his friend, Topper, had said. He looked… relaxed. More approachable. Less like a Greek god and more like a regular human capable of smiling. He had this easy grin that transformed his whole face, making him look younger and… less intimidating. My stomach did a little flip.

"Okay, play it cool," I muttered to myself. "Just grab a drink and pretend you're not trying to memorize everything about him. Don't stare. Don't blush. Don't spill anything."

Famous last words. My hands were slightly clammy as I reached for a can of soda. Of course, in my nervousness, I fumbled it. The can slipped, fizzing and spraying soda everywhere – including on the front of Rafe's pristine white t-shirt. A dark, sticky stain blossomed across his chest.

Time seemed to stop. My brain short-circuited. I was mortified. Utterly, completely mortified. This was officially the worst possible scenario.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" I stammered, grabbing a handful of napkins and trying to dab at his shirt. "I'm such a klutz." My face was burning. I could feel the sympathetic stares of the other party-goers.

Rafe just stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. My heart pounded in my chest. Was he angry? Annoyed? Disgusted? All of the above? Then, a slow smile spread across his face. "It's okay sweetheart," he chuckled, his voice surprisingly warm. "Happens all the time."

"No, it doesn't," Topper said dryly, but Rafe just elbowed him in the side. Topper rolled his eyes but didn’t comment further.

"Seriously," Rafe said, still smiling at me. "It's just soda."

"But your shirt…" I trailed off, still dabbing uselessly at the wet spot. The stain was probably permanent. I’d ruined his shirt. My life was over.

"Consider it a baptism," he joked, his eyes twinkling. "Now we're officially acquainted."

My heart did a weird flutter-kick thing. Baptized? Was he flirting with me? No way. It was his natural charm. Still…

"I'm Y/n," I managed to say, finally meeting his eyes. His eyes were a surprising shade of green, flecked with gold.

"Rafe," he replied, and then, because the universe decided to throw me a bone, he added, "Nice meeting you, Y/n."

He turned to say something to Topper, but I didn't catch it. I was too busy trying to process the fact that I had not only met Rafe Cameron, but also soaked his shirt with soda, and he hadn't looked at me like I was the most awkward creature on earth. In fact, he'd smiled. This pool party wouldn't be a complete disaster after all.

a/n: i was listening to music to watch Boys to and I thought of this

taglist: @chrislilcumslvt @chrepsi

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[pomefioredove]

I kinda wanted to be a little different with this one—

May I request a sugar cookie #5 with dried fruit and chestnuts please? Thank you very much!

this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written /positive I hope you guys enjoy

order #5, sugar with dry fruit, chestnuts

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ sickness and kisses

summary: kalim wants to be a part of everything- including your cold. what better way to share germs than getting close? tropes: sick fic, first kiss characters: kalim additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, a little gross

"It should have been me!"

Jamil winces and takes a step away from the bed. You hold out a hand to him, as if to say "take me with you."

"Kalim, they're not dying. It's nothing but a cold,"

The boy peels himself off bed at your feet, which he's been attached to all afternoon.

"You don't get it, Jamil! They're going to miss my birthday party- the desserts, the music, the games! Who knows if the Prefect will be here for my birthday next year!"

"Kalim," you pat his head to comfort him, though, if anyone needs comfort, it's you. "I'll be fine. We can have another party when I'm better."

He sighs, leaning into your touch. "It's not the same..."

Jamil looks more sick than you now.

"Ahem. I've brought soup and tea, and there are extra blankets in the foyer. Kalim, we should be going,"

Kalim pouts and clings to your blankets. "Just a moment..."

"I'll be waiting outside,"

Jamil doesn't need to be excused twice, leaving the room and closing the door on his way out.

Kalim sighs. "I just hate when my friends are sick... I wish there was a way I could share some of your pain,"

"That's nice, but you don't have to- ack," you cough into your fist.

Kalim's sympathetic pat would be comforting, if not for that look. You can tell he's thinking something.

He waits for you to finish hacking and coughing, at least. Then:

"I have an idea," he says. "You can get me sick. That way, we can still spend my birthday together, and you won't be alone!"

Thinking something, alright. You're surprised Jamil couldn't feel that on his "Kalim's bad ideas" radar and come running before anything more happened.

"I appreciate that, Kalim, but this kinda sucks," you smile. "I wouldn't wish this upon my worst enemy."

He smiles back and sits beside you on the bed, closer now.

"But you and Jamil said it's just a cold! I've been poisoned, you know- I think I could handle it!"

You blink. "Well... yeah, but it's still sucky,"

"But we'll be together!" he insists. "Now, how should we do this? I've never gotten sick on purpose before, so I don't- oh, I know!"

"Huh?"

He comes a little closer, leaning over you. "I'll kiss you!"

Your eyes widen, and again, you're surprised Jamil didn't feel that and burst through the door like the room was on fire.

"Like... seriously?"

"Why not? It's the fastest way. But I could figure something else out if you don't want to," he eyes your hands. "Maybe you could-"

"Alright! I concede! Just... one kiss,"

Kalim beams. "One is all I need!"

With no further warning, questioning, or thought, he dips in and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips. It doesn't last for more than a second, but it still leaves you a little flustered.

He hums, licks his lips, and then hops off the bed. "Thanks, Prefect! I'll be back in no time, don't worry!"

He leaves the door open behind him. You're honestly the last person he should worry about, now.

You wonder, for a moment, what he was thinking- Kalim is ditzy, not dense. He had to have known what he was...

Your eyes widen as you remember something else. Oh, crap.

If this works, Jamil is going to kill you.

[evansbby]

𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬☆.｡.:*

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: mean jock!Ari Levinson x naive!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: daddy!kink, smutt, dd/lg vibes, dubcon, dark Ari, liar Ari, cheater Ari, mean Ari, size difference, innocence kink, naive reader, slight voyeurism, 18+ only, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Ari is the campus fuckboy and you’re his little plaything. But he says he’s going to make you his girlfriend soon, right?

𝐀/𝐍: So I wrote this quickly in the past few hours. It’s probably filled with mistakes as I have not reread it even once. But please do enjoy! And tell me what you think.

“Ari, no.”

You pout, but all that does is make him smirk. And it’s not like you’re strong enough to stop him as the beefy 6’6 brunette drags you into the locker room.

“C’mon, babe. Just a quickie while the rest of the team is busy.”

“But I’m not talking to you!”

Ari raises an eyebrow, reaching up to rub his thick beard while his other hand remains pressed to the small of your back. “Oh yeah? Is that why you came to watch me play? And sat in the front row and batted your lashes and gave me those fuck me eyes?”

Your jaw drops open, “You meanie! I did no such thing!”

But Ari uses that moment to shove you through the locker room door, locking it behind you before he pins you against it. And in a second, he’s all over you. This huge, hunky basketball player, his muscular biceps all sweaty from practice, his vest sticking to his toned body that you know all too well. He presses his lips against your neck, sponging wet kisses as he tries to unbutton your top to feel you up, “Just a quickie, honey.” He repeats, “I know how badly you want me.”

“I don’t!” You protest, albeit weakly. But you manage to press your arms against his hard chest and push with all your might. But you might as well be a fly combatting a rhino because of how much bigger he is than you. And yet, you continue pushing and batting at his chest, till he stops kissing you and looks down at you with a raised eyebrow and a mildly irritated look on his face.

“What’s your problem?”

“I told you, Ari! I’m not speaking to you.”

The beefy brunette rolls his eyes before backing away and peeling his vest off. You gulp, trying not to grow distracted by how hot his body is, how big and muscular he is, how defined his sixpack is. He’s the hottest guy on the basketball team. No. Scratch that. He’s the hottest guy on campus and it’s crazy to think that he’s crazy about you.

Ari sits down on the wooden bench by the lockers, taking up the whole area as he spreads out with his legs open and pats his beefy thighs. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you come sit on daddy’s knee and tell me exactly why you’re mad, sweetheart.”

Oh, he was so cocky sometimes! Ari had the worst reputation among all the girls in your college. An asshole. A player. A fuckboy. Your friends had warned you not to fall for his charms, they’d told you he’d prey on you. Take advantage of you because of how “innocent” you were. That’s what he did with everyone else.

But you were different! That’s what Ari had told you when he’d taken your virginity weeks ago at a frat party. You’d felt dizzy from the one singular sip of alcohol you’d consumed and had gone to lie down in one of the upstairs bedrooms. And not ten minutes later, you’d felt the bed dip and you’d opened your eyes to see the hottest upperclassman on campus sitting right next to you. The rest was history. But he’d told you how beautiful you were that night, how he couldn’t take his eyes off you. How he’d had a fight with his girlfriend and maybe you could cheer him up?

And he’d made you feel so good. The two of you had been fooling around ever since. It was crazy to you, how a senior as hot and perfect as Ari Levinson (captain of the basketball team and the most popular guy on campus) seemed to be so interested in a random freshman like you. And he’d done things to your body that no other fumbling boyfriend could ever figure out how to do before. Yes, in your eyes, Ari Levinson was a God.

Which is why you obediently perch down on his lap in the locker room, and the older boy smirks, pushing the neckline of your top to the side so he can play with your bra strap. You feel hot all over but try to remember why you’re mad at him, despite the fact that he’s so close to you and completely shirtless.

“Ari, you didn’t keep your promise.” You begin, but he’s already begun kissing up your jaw, pressing your body flush against his till you can feel his boner digging into your ass.

“Mm? What promise was that, baby?”

You try not to grow distracted by all the cut pet-names he calls you, or the fact that he’s kissing and touching you so ravenously, making you feel so beautiful and sexy and desirable because he of all people wants you so bad. But you need to stay focused and get your point across before he has you completely helpless underneath him.

“Well, you told me you were gonna break up with your girlfriend last week, but Wanda says she saw you hanging out with Sharon yesterday at the ice cream parlour.” You sniffle, “She said… She said you looked all cosy, huddled up in the booth with her. She even saw you guys kissing!” You shake your head and scrunch your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

“Aww, baby.” Ari coos, his heavy arms wrapping around you and cuddling you close, and you can’t help but cry into his bare chest. He was so warm and hairy and just so huggable, and his hand rubs soothingly up and down your back as he hugs you hard. “This is all just a huge misunderstanding.”

You look up at him, “It is?”

“Of course.” Ari says confidently, his expression not wavering for a second as he strokes your cheek. “I was at the ice cream parlour with Sharon, but I was only there to break up with her. And then we hugged it out and she gave me a goodbye kiss on the cheek. That’s probably what Wanda saw.”

“B-But Wanda says you guys were embracing for a long time.”

Ari blinks, and for a fleeting moment, something dark crosses over his features before they relax once more, and he gives you his winning smile. “Well, that’s because Sharon’s uncle died.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to tell you that since it’s kind of private, but since you wouldn’t let it go… Well, Sharon’s uncle died, baby. And she was really sad about it, so I gave her a long hug and comforted her.”

“Oh.” You pause, trying to makes sense of all this new information. Your friends had told you in the past that you could be gullible – but Ari wouldn’t lie about someone dying, would he? You look up at him, seeing his pouty pink lips smiling down at you gently while his big hands continue to rub over your back, slipping down under your top to do so. “Well that’s… That’s really sad, Ari. Is she okay?”

“Hm?” Ari’s too busy staring down your cleavage, and his finger hooks under your bra strap and snaps it lewdly against your skin, his pink tongue darting out to run over his lips. His usually blue eyes look blown out and navy, and he lifts your top over your breasts to give them a squeeze, “What’d you say, baby?”

“I said, is Sharon okay? Deaths within immediate family can be hard to deal with. Was she close with her uncle?” You can’t help but feel bad. Sharon had been Ari’s long-term girlfriend for a while, but Ari had told you that they’d been having a lot of fights recently and that he was meaning to break up with her. He’d told you that Sharon was insufferable and mean and that you were sweet and lovely. He said he wanted to make you his new girlfriend, but it would have to wait until he broke up with Sharon. And now he’d done it.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Ari answers distractedly, gesturing for you to lift your arms up so he can peel your top off you. You yelp in protest when he throws it across the room before expertly unclasping your bra with one hand. And your bra goes flying across the room as well, and Ari wastes no time in latching his mouth onto your nipple, sucking harshly and making you throw your head back and gasp out loud.

His hand slips up to massage your other breast and pinch your nipple which is hard as glass. You pant, loving how you turn into putty in his hands as soon as he touches you. He’s just so experienced and makes your body feel so good with the simplest of gestures, and you can’t help but grab his long brown locks that reach down till the base of his neck, pulling hard at the same time he gives your nipple a hard suck, practically suctioning your whole breast into his mouth.

“Ah, Ari! Does this mean you can finally make me your girlfriend?” You ask, despite all the sensations your body is feeling. You’ve been waiting to be his girlfriend for weeks now. It’s been hard having to meet up with him in secret all the time. Waiting for him to text you late at night, or wait until the early hours of the morning when he shows up to your dorm room for sex. You want Ari to take you out on dates, hold your hand on campus and let everyone know that you’re his girlfriend now. And Ari had promised he’d do all of that for you. Was now finally the time?

“God, you have the prettiest tits, baby.” Ari murmurs against your breasts, pushing them together and burying his face in them, licking and sucking and biting the sensitive skin while you pant and wail. “You had me distracted the entire time I was playing. Kept looking at you jumping up and down every time I scored, fuck!” He drives his hard crotch up against your ass and you whimper, holding steadily onto his broad shoulders. “Felt like you were putting on a private show for me, baby.”

Despite your pleasure, you can’t help but feel indignance towards his lewd insinuation, “I was not!”

Ari smirks, “Oh yeah? You weren’t purposely bouncing your tits for daddy? I guess I forgot what an airhead you can be, not even realising how sexy your body is in all these tiny outfits that you wear especially for me, huh?”

“Ari!” You smack his chest. He could be so rude sometimes, a complete asshole! But he was also the one who’d called you beautiful when he’d taken your virginity. When he’d praised you for being the most sensitive, understanding and sweetest girl he’d ever met. Oh, as much as he made your blood boil with his lewd remarks, he also made butterflies flutter in your tummy with his words that were sweet as honey!

The captain of the basketball team smiles down at you, his blue eyes twinkling with lust as he leans back against the lockers behind him, folding his arms over his chest as he looks you over.

“Get up and turn around, baby. Daddy wants to see your ass.”

You immediately obey. His deep, commanding voice always resonates with your submissive side, and your pussy throbs as you stand up and turn till your back is facing him. Shivers run down your spine when you feel his hand press against the small of your back, pushing you forward till you’re bending over, your ass pointed straight to his face.

“Now take this tiny excuse for a skirt off. And do it slowly.”

With care, you slowly slip the blue denim skirt with pink frills down your bare legs. Ari was right, you’d worn this slutty outfit especially for him – whether you wanted to admit it or not. You were addicted to him and the attention he gave you. Sure, you were mad at him, but that hadn’t stopped you from attending his basketball practice in these tiny clothes, hoping he’d pay you some attention. Which he had.

But it was all okay, and you didn’t even have to feel bad anymore! Ari had broken up with his girlfriend which meant he would make you his new girlfriend!

“Daddy, isn’t it great we won’t have to sneak around anymore?” You ask him cutely. But he’s too busy staring at your ass to answer. You step out of your skirt and shiver when you feel his hands groping your bare ass. You’re wearing a tiny candy pink G-string which barely conceals anything, and Ari’s going to town as he squeezes and fondles your butt to his heart’s content.

“You have such a cute baby ass.” Ari murmurs, pressing kisses on your fleshy cheeks as he keeps a firm grip on them, “Best ass I’ve ever seen, honey. I can always see it peaking out from under your slutty little skirts. I’m always itching to give it a smack and see how it jiggles.” H squeezes it roughly, “Tell me to hit you, baby.”

“Huh?”

“Tell daddy you want to be hit for being a naughty little girl and wearing slutty outfits.” Ari says, his voice deep with carnal lust.

“B-But.”

“Do it. Or I’ll take you over my knee and spank you twice as hard.”

You pout at his threat, but you know he’ll follow through with it. A week ago, Ari had seen you flirting with his friend Curtis. It was completely innocent on your part – you just liked to talk to people, after all! – but Ari hadn’t thought so. He’d reminded you that you were his, and that you couldn’t speak to any other man. And then he’d slung you over his knee and spanked you till your ass was raw and glowing with pain.

You swallow harshly, “Daddy, please hit my baby ass.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I was wearin’ a slutty outfit.”

SMACK.

You’re almost knocked off your feet with the force of the slap, but it also resonates straight down to your cunt. And from your bent over position, you can see your slick dripping down your leg. God, the effect Ari has on you is insane. He plays your body like a fiddle, and knows exactly how to get you so wet.

He continues playing with your ass, slapping it and squeezing it and groping it. And you know he’d happily do this for hours if he had the chance. He’d actually done that once, when he’d come to your dorm room at 3 in the morning. He’d been high and horny as hell, and had asked you to lay on your stomach naked while he played with your ass and ate you out from the back for what felt like hours. Not that you were complaining – you were sure you’d fallen asleep and woken up several times to him still playing with your butt. It was clearly his favourite part of your body, and he’d even stuck a finger up there. That had woken you up and made you squeal, and Ari had just laughed and told you to stop being a baby…

Back in the present, you huff indignantly, growing impatient and hoping he’d get the message. But Ari’s in the zone, spreading your ass cheeks and practically making out with your asshole, muttering about how hot your ass is and how he’d tattoo his name on it if he could.

“Daddy! I’m getting’ sore!” You grumble, because your back is hurting from bending over for so long. Mercifully, the brunette chuckles, grabbing your arm and pulling you back up into his lap. But not before he grabs the flimsy lace of your G-string and rips it in half. You gasp although you’re not too surprised, and grab onto his shoulders as he helps you straddle him. And you both let out collective moans as your core nestles on top of his clothed dick that is hard and poking out against his basketball shorts.

“Poor baby,” Ari teases, nipping and biting against your neck as he humps up against you. “Weren’t you mad at me a second ago? And now look at you, naked in the locker room like you’re getting paid to be my personal slut.” He smirks, liking the sound of that as he can’t help but give your ass another rough squeeze, “The captain’s personal slut. You like that, baby? You like being my slut?”

You pout, “You said you’d make me your girlfriend once you broke up with Sharon.”

Ari sighs, grabbing your hand and pressing it against his hard crotch, “Are you still thinking about that?”

“Well, it’s what you said! And now you’ve broken up with her, so –”

“Honey, I will make you my girlfriend.” Ari chucks you under your chin until you giggle, looking up to meet his sparkling eyes. “But we gotta lay low for a while. You know, since Sharon’s uncle died. It wouldn’t be very nice for me to rub my new girl in her face, would it?”

You blink, “I guess not.”

“It wouldn’t.” He confirms. “Look, you’re my special girl and you already know that.” He gives you a quick kiss while his hand holds yours in place over his crotch. “I already told you I’ve never met anyone else like you, haven’t I? So of course, I’ll make you my girl, but you have to be patient.”

You nod slowly, “Okay, daddy. I can do that.”

“Good girl. Now take my dick out.”

Ari presses your hand inside his shorts, and you feel his dick – so hot and hard – as it pulses against your fingers. You wrap them around the base and pull him out, mouth watering slightly at the sight of his length. Under the bright locker room lights, he looks doubly huge. Every time you see it, you wonder how exactly he fits it inside of you.

You still remember your first time, with the party music blaring in the distance. Ari breathing sweet words against your ear, coaxing you gently while you cried like a baby. Clutching his huge body close to yours as he penetrated you for the first time, calling you his special little baby. Calling you his perfect princess, telling you how good and tight you felt around his daddy dick, promising you how good he’d take care of you. God, it had hurt so much when he’d stuffed himself inside you, but the pleasure that came afterwards was so beautiful and you couldn’t get enough of him since.

“So big, daddy.” You pant, feeling especially little as he holds you in his lap with his hard dick, so red and angry with pent-up lust, throbbing in your hand.

Ari bites his lip, gazing at you with hunger, “Yeah, baby? You like my big dick?”

“L-Love it!”

“Mm, you like how it barely fits inside you? You like how I break your little baby pussy in half every time I fuck you, huh?” He wraps his hand around your smaller one, making you run your hand up and down his length and jack him off.

“Yes, daddy, I love it! Love havin’ you inside me!” You say earnestly, and Ari moans out loud.

His phone vibrates then, and you snap out of your lustful reverie long enough to glance down at the bench where it rests. You see the name SHARON flash on his screen before he grabs it and throws it into his gym bag.

“She’s calling because she wants to set up a time to grab some of her stuff from my dorm room.” Ari explains smoothly when he sees your expression. “Don’t doubt daddy, baby. You know I’d never do you dirty like that.”

You’re all too ready to believe him, letting him lift you up by the hips before he slams you down on his dick. And one second your hole is weepy and empty, and the next you’re stuffed full to the brim with his thick dick. And Ari has to force you down to get it in all the way, his teeth gritted as he drives his huge monster length up your tiny pussy, and you feel like you’ll tear in half but in the best way possible. And all your thoughts and doubts about Sharon are forgotten as Ari completely manhandles you on top of his dick, and you feel so full and you gasp into his mouth as he grabs your face and kisses you sloppily.

“My slutty little girl,” Ari murmurs against your lips, “Coming to all my practices and cheering me on just so you can get your little pussy stuffed to the brim, isn’t that right?”

“N-No! OW! Yes, okay?! YES!” You can’t help but agree with him when he slaps your ass, before lifting you up with his strong arms and driving you back down.

“Tell me you’re my little slut.” He commands.

“I’m your little slut, daddy. Please!” You cry.

“Say it again.”

“I’M YOUR LITTLE SLUT, OKAY? PLEASE, DADDY!”

Ari loves to make you beg and you know it. You remember once in the past, he’d sauntered into your dorm room in the early hours of the morning. He’d sat on your bed like he owned it and lit up a joint, despite you protesting that smoking wasn’t allowed in your dorm. Well, that night he’d sat there and blown smoke in your face while he made you suck his dick. Lazily guiding your face with one hand while he held the joint with the other. And he’d made you beg him to fuck you, beg him for hours before he’d relented. He’d told you he loved playing with you, loved unravelling you till you came undone in his hands. Loved pushing you till the edge, till you were so submissive for him that you could cry.

And cry you had. Big, fat tears pouring down your face as you’d begged him to fuck you. To just put it inside you, even if it was just a little bit. “Just the tip, daddy!” He’d made you beg while your mouth was full of his dick. And you couldn’t believe that you, who’d entered this college as a virgin, were on your knees for the college senior fuckboy while he blew smoke in your face and laughed while you begged and begged for his dick that he’d made you addicted to.

But he always relented in the end. He always gave you that sweet release and then some. Ari was an extremely skilled lover, and he knew just how to make you come undone till you were pulsing around him, almost passed out with pleasure. And then he’d light another joint and when you’d timidly ask for a puff, he’d tell you that babies like you weren’t allowed to smoke. And then he’d laugh some more.

Back in the present, you’re moaning like a wanton whore while Ari bounces you up and down on his dick, and it feels like he’s piercing you open from the inside out while he murmurs dirtily in your ear. And the small locker room is filled with the lewd sound of panting and skin slapping against skin, and you almost don’t hear the loud knocking on the door and the doorknob as it rattles.

“Hey, Levinson! When are you and your side chick gonna be done? The rest of us have to change!”

You head snaps up but Ari presses his lips against yours, his kiss swallowing up all your suspicions.

“It’s just Curtis, you know how much of a dick he can be.” Ari murmurs against your lips, grinding his hips in just the right way that has you feeling that delicious feeling. He moves you up and down at lightning speed, like you’re just a ragdoll that weighs nothing in his strong arms. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head when you feel your clit rubbing against his pubic hair, making you clench around his dick and causing him to swear profusely.

“Goddamit, baby, so good. Your pussy’s so tight and sexy, baby.” He squeezes your tits harshly, twisting your nipples and adding to your bliss as you feel your pleasure mount up.

“G-Gonna cum, daddy,” You whimper, and earn another slap to your ass.

“Not yet, dumb baby. Not unless daddy says so.”

But you can’t wait, you just can’t! Ari had told you once it’s because you were a virgin and knew nothing about sex, nothing about holding your orgasms. He said he’d found it cute how you could never hold it, how you always chased your release selfishly. But you just couldn’t help it! He made you feel so good! How could he expect you to hold anything?

The invisible rubber band snaps inside you and you explode, your slick walls pulsating around his dick as you cum. Waves of pleasure radiating through your body, making your legs feel like jelly as Ari continues to bounce you up and down. His abs and thighs are covered in your cream, and his eyes grow distracted as he stares at the mess you’ve made. And you sob and cling to him, feeling so needy and overwhelmed as he continues to fuck you.

“What a stupid little baby you are.” Ari mocks, slapping your cheek condescendingly while you gaze dazedly up at him. “First, you dress up like a little attention seeking tart just to get me to fuck you, and then you can’t even play by your daddy’s rules, can you? Always so needy, always cumming without permission. Baby, one of these days I’m gonna fuck you in front of my friends just so they can see how badly you take instruction. Maybe that’ll straighten you up, huh?”

“Nooooo…” you cry weakly, pounding at his chest because you feel overwhelmed as he continues to piston his hips up and pierce into you.

“The whole basketball team’s gonna watch me fuck my little slut next time you cum without permission.” Ari says through gritted teeth before he suddenly throws you off his dick. And you gape, staring in awe at his pink dick completely coated in your sticky cream. But not for long, because Ari mauls your naked body till you’re bent over the bench on your hands and knees. He gives your ass three hard smacks, the force of which would’ve knocked you over had his other hand not been holding you in place. And then he shoves himself back into you, fucking you doubly harder than before.

“Oooh my god!” You squeal and you hear him smirk.

“Not God, sweetheart. Just me.”

And then he well and truly shifts into jackhammer mode, thrusting into you so hard that his hips become a blur. He grabs you by the hair and pulls you upwards, till your back is against his hairy chest and you can feel him biting against your neck. He gropes your breasts lewdly, pinching your nipples as he angles your head to face forward.

“Look at that, baby.” Ari coos, and you gape at the sight of yourself getting fucking like a whore. He’s made you look into the huge full-length mirror that takes up one side of the room. And you can’t believe how much bigger Ari is than you, like a giant dwarfing you completely as he fucks you. As he completely breaks you in half and mocks you as he does it. “Look at you, getting what you deserve. This is what you wanted, huh? You want me to make you my girl, huh baby? Well that means you let me fuck you whenever and however I want, you got that?”

“Y-Yes, daddy, yes, yes, yes!” You cry, ready to agree with whatever he says as you begin to see stars again.

“Whatever daddy says goes, you got that?” He holds your head in place, forcing you to watch as he ruins you. Forcing you to watch the sweaty mess you’ve become as this beefy, giant of a man has his way with you. “If I tell you I want you to lick my cum off the floor, you’ll do it and say ‘thank you, daddy’, won’t you?”

“I will!”

“And if I tell you I want to fuck your ass, what’re you gonna say sweetheart?”

“Do it!” You sob, delirious and ready to agree with whatever he says. He’s making you see stars like no one else could, forcing the pleasure out of your body through his expert hands, his fat dick and his dirty, controlling words. You love how Ari has the upper hand, how he has control over you in every single way possible. He’s older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you, and he holds you at his mercy and you love it. You get off on it. And you’d do anything he’d tell you to.

“That’s my good little slut.” Ari praises, and you can hear the wolf whistles and hoots through the door of the locker room. You know his friends are on the other side, and you know the walls are thin. You know they can hear every little thing, from Ari’s dirty talk to the sick slap of your skin against his to your wanton moans. You see Ari’s expression in the mirror, and he looks smug and proud, like he’s the king who’s on top of his world right now.

His hand snakes down to rub your clit, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your sob, loving how well he knows your body. How he circles your clit with his finger before pinching it, rubbing it sensually like only he knows how to. And all the while holding you in place while he fucks the living daylights out of you.

“And what if I want you to service my friends, honey? You’d do that too?” Ari whispers darkly in your ear, casually running a hand through his long brown mane as if he hasn’t just said the dirtiest thing in the world. His gaze is locked on yours, gauging your reaction. And why does your pussy clench around his dick when he says it? He laughs mockingly, “What a fuckin’ slut you are, baby. You’d service the whole basketball team, wouldn’t you? Shake your little baby ass for all of them and let them tuck money into those slutty little panties you always wear?”

“Y-Yeah,” you moan pitifully, grabbing his forearm as he continues to play with your puffy bundle of nerves. “I’d do it for you, daddy. Fuck, don’t stop! I’d do anything for you!”

“Damn right you would.” Ari boasts, holding you tightly in place against him as his hips continue to move. And you’re sure you’d have fallen down to the ground had he not been there to hold you up. Like a propped-up doll, ready to do her master’s bidding. “And then I’d fuck your ass in front of all of ‘em, so they’d know you belong to me. My slutty little plaything to do with what I please. Remember that.”

You cum so hard, you feel like you’ve blacked out for a few seconds. You squirt violently around his dick, milking him as you whine and scream his name, thank him for fucking you so good, making you feel so addicted to his cock as the searing pleasure courses through you. And that’s when you feel his heavy load release inside you, burning you from the inside out.

Ari never wore condoms with you. He said he wanted his pretty baby to feel him raw.

And you can feel him, alright. Every bit of his thick cum as it overflows inside you. Trickling down your thigh because you can’t hold it in, there’s way too much of it. Your legs give out underneath you, and Ari hoists you up into his arms like you’re his little baby. Trembling in his giant arms as you wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in his hairy chest. His dick is still inside you, pulsing out the remainder of his load which seems to be never-ending.

“Attaboy, Levinson, you fuckin’ dog! Thanks for the show!”

You hear the voices laughing and hollering from the other side of the locker room door, but you’re too fucked out to care too much, only focusing on Ari and how big he is as he holds you close.

“Daddy,” you whimper, feeling needy. And Ari presses your face with soft kisses.

“You were so good for me baby,” He praises you, “So good for daddy.” And then he grows distracted by his cum as it trickles out of you, swiping it up from your pussy and pressing it into your mouth. You’re so exhausted but you lick it clean, hoping to impress him. He watches you suckle his finger dry, and you can feel his dick hardening inside you again. “I’ve got you trained so well, baby.”

You look up at him needily, “Am I your girlfriend now, daddy?”

Ari chuckles, setting you down on the bench as you try to catch your breath. He already looks like he’s ready for round two, standing tall and barely having broken a sweat, his dick almost fully hard once more and slapping against his abs. He gives you a condescending pat on the head before pushing his shorts off.

“Soon, baby.” He says before making his way to one of the stalls. He turns and shoots you a wink. “Come join me in the shower once you can walk.”

THE END AKFHSDLANA

I’m so nervous yall! i wrote this so spontaneously and it is the first time in a long time that i have posted an ARI FIC!!! please please let me know what you think! please reblog and leave feedback! let me know what you think of ARI! Is he gonna make her his gf?? is he a good guy??? HOW WAS IT??? let me know!! thank you ily all bye hehe