#and the way that being fucked up by that is exasperated when there are physical consequences for pining re:Hanahaki

[rafecameronssl4t]

You Broke Me First || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @rafeyscurtainbangs

Summary: You didn’t expect Rafe to push you aside so easily for Sofia, but it wasn’t shocking when he called you from Morocco, confessing that she had betrayed him in the worst way.

Warnings: angst angst angst (haven't written this much angst in a hot minute) Sofia slander mb, reader ate in this one if I do say so myself 😝😝

Word count: 3,378

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Rafe exhales sharply, tossing his cap onto the polished table with a frustrated thud. He rakes a hand through his buzzed hair, his expression caught between exasperation and regret. "C'mon, baby, don’t be like that," he pleads, his tone softer than the storm brewing between the two of you. But his attempt at pacifying you only stokes the fire raging in your chest.

You remain unmoved, your gaze fixed on the pristine, manicured lawn of the country club, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as though you’re physically holding your anger in check. The vibrant chatter of nearby patrons fades into the background, the sound nothing more than white noise to the tension crackling between you. "Like what?" you snap, voice cold and sharp, refusing to look at him.

"Like you're fucking insecure!" Rafe bites back, his words slicing through the air without thought or care. Your head whips toward him, eyes narrowing in fury. "You did not just say that to me," you seethe, the disbelief quickly morphing into a sharp-edged anger that spreads like wildfire. Rafe stares at you, jaw tight, offering no apology, no acknowledgment of the weight of what he just said.

It only fuels your rage. "You think this is about me being insecure?" you spit, stepping closer to him, your voice rising. "You let her hang all over you, Rafe. Laughing, flirting, and touching you. And you just stood there, eating it up like a goddamn idiot while I was standing right there. Right fucking there. Do you even realise how disrespectful that was?" Your words hit like rapid-fire bullets, but Rafe just shakes his head, his silence infuriating you further.

"You couldn’t even pretend to give a shit about me," you continue, your voice sharp enough to cut. "Not a glance, not a word, nothing. You just let her make a fool out of me. Do you even care how that made me look? How it made me feel?" "It wasn’t like that," Rafe mutters finally, his tone dismissive as he runs a hand through his hair again, avoiding your eyes. "Oh, fuck off," you snap, venom dripping from every syllable.

"Don’t you dare try to gaslight me, Rafe. I saw exactly what it was like. She was all over you, and you let it happen. You didn’t even have the decency to act like I was there." Your voice is rising now, no longer caring who might overhear. "You want to talk about insecurity? How about the fact that you can’t say no to someone feeding your fucking ego? God forbid you turn her down, because then what? You don’t get to be the centre of attention for five goddamn minutes?"

Rafe flinches at your words, his posture stiffening, but you’re too far gone to stop. "You’re pathetic," you hiss, stepping even closer, forcing him to look at you. "You love it, don’t you? The attention, the admiration—so much that you don’t even care what it costs me. You don’t care that it makes me look like a joke. That it makes me feel like a fucking idiot for standing by your side." "That’s not fair," Rafe says quietly, his tone defensive, but his voice is barely audible over your anger.

"Fair?" you bark out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Do you even know what that word means, Rafe? Fair is treating the person you claim to care about with an ounce of respect. Fair is not making me feel like I’m in this relationship alone while you let random girls flirt with you because it strokes your goddamn ego." Your breathing is heavy now, your chest heaving as you glare at him, your anger a living, breathing thing that refuses to be contained.

For a moment, you think Rafe might say something—anything—to defend himself, to fix this. His lips part as if words are on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitates. Instead, he just stares at you, his jaw tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of his silence hanging heavy in the air. His refusal to fight for you—to fight with you—burns hotter than anything he could have said.

"Unbelievable," you mutter, your voice dripping with bitter disbelief as you turn on your heel. You pause just long enough to deliver one final blow, the venom in your words leaving no room for ambiguity. "You know what, Rafe? When that Pogue turns on you, don’t you dare come crawling back to me. You made your choice." You don't wait for his response—if he even has one.

Your heels click sharply against the floor as you walk away, your back to him, shoulders squared. The lump in your throat threatens to choke you, but you swallow it down, your anger your shield against the pain threatening to bubble up. Behind you, Rafe doesn’t call out. He doesn’t follow. The soft scrape of his chair shifting against the floor is the only sound he makes, and it sends a pang of hurt slicing through your chest.

You don’t look back. You can’t. You leave him standing there, his cap still sitting on the table, the perfect picture of a man who’s just realised how deeply he’s fucked up. The realisation is written all over his face, but it’s too little, too late.

~

"Hello?" you answer, pressing the phone to your ear. The line crackles with a brief silence, heavy and tense, before you hear a voice—his voice. "She fucked me over," Rafe spits out, his words sharp and laced with anger. "She screwed with me and my fucking money." Your eyes widen, and instinctively, you sink into the nearest seat, your mind racing to process the flood of emotions his sudden call evokes.

His tone is frantic, his words tumbling out in a bitter, unrelenting rant. "What?" you manage, your voice tight with confusion. "What are you talking about, Rafe?" He exhales harshly, the sound of frustration practically vibrating through the receiver. "Sofia," he growls, the name dripping with venom. His words come fast, tumbling over each other in a frantic, furious rant.

"She—she knew. The whole time. She knew exactly what was happening to my money and just watched it happen. Worse, she didn't do a damn ting to stop it because she was a part of it." Your stomach twists as his words paint a picture of betrayal deeper than you’d imagined. "What the hell are you talking about?" you ask, your voice sharper now, though confusion still clouds your tone.

"She was involved," he says bitterly. "The deal—the fucking deal that cost me everything. She kept her mouth shut, let me take the hit, and now I’m the one left to clean up the mess. And the whole time, she stood there smiling, acting like she gave a damn about me." You exhale slowly, trying to process the weight of what he’s saying.

There’s an anger rising in you—not for Sofia, but for Rafe’s blind trust and his reckless decisions. "And what, you just figured this out now?" "No," he admits, his voice dropping to something almost pained. "I knew something was off for weeks. But I didn’t want to believe it. I fucking proposed to her, for God’s sake. Thought if I just… held on tighter, I could fix things. Fix us."

You freeze, the confession hitting you like a sucker punch. "You proposed?" "Yeah," he spits, the word dripping with self-loathing. "And you know what she did? She cried. Not because she was happy. Not because she loved me. Because she felt guilty." He laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and cold. "She couldn’t even bring herself to tell me the truth while I was down on one fucking knee."

For a moment, the line goes quiet, his words hanging heavy in the air between you. "You know, Rafe," you finally say, your voice steady but edged with anger, "this is what happens when you put your trust in someone who’s only looking out for themselves." He exhales sharply, the sound of his frustration practically vibrating through the phone. "I get it," he snaps. "I should’ve listened to you. You warned me, and I didn’t care. I thought I knew better."

"You thought you were untouchable," you counter, your words hitting him like a slap. "And now you’re calling me? For what? To say I told you so?" "No," he says, softer now, almost broken. "I don’t know why I called. Maybe because you were the only one who actually gave a damn about me. Or maybe because I needed someone to hear it—someone who’d understand what it’s like to be completely fucked over by someone you trusted."

You close your eyes, the ache in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But you push it aside, unwilling to let his pain pull you back in. "This doesn’t change anything, Rafe," you say firmly. "You made your choices. You can’t just run to me every time they blow up in your face." "I know," he murmurs, the defeat in his tone cutting deeper than his anger ever could. "I just… I didn’t know who else to call." You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, feeling the weight of Rafe’s words sink in.

“Where are you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to make sense of everything. “Morocco,” he says, the word hanging in the air like a punch. Your heart stutters, and your eyes widen as you try to process his response. “What?” you ask, unable to keep the disbelief out of your voice. “With who?” "Sarah and her friends. Look, it’s... a long story, alright?" You scoff, shaking your head. The frustration that had been simmering inside you spills over, and you can’t keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“Yeah, I can fucking imagine. Jesus, Rafe. What have you gotten yourself into this time?” You feel your hands balling into fists, the anger bubbling up again. How did he always manage to get himself tangled in these messes? There’s a pause on the other end, the kind of silence that feels heavy with regret. Rafe’s voice comes through, softer, almost pleading. “Can you do me a favour? Please?” You hesitate, trying to weigh your options. After everything that’s happened, you weren’t sure you wanted to do him any more favours, but you couldn’t ignore the desperation in his tone.

“Depends,” you reply, keeping your guard up, knowing full well that Rafe’s requests often led to more complications than they were worth. He sighs heavily, as if the weight of what he’s about to ask is too much. “Can you go to my house and check if she’s still there?” You furrow your brow, confusion clouding your thoughts. “What’s she doing in your house?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, your suspicion rising like an unsettling tide. There’s a beat of hesitation before Rafe’s voice cracks slightly.

“I... I asked her to move in with me,” he admits, the rawness of his confession making the words sting like salt on a wound. You feel a cold laugh escape you before you can stop it. “Yeah, of course you did,” you mutter, your teeth clenching as the bitterness grows. The thought of Sofia, the same woman who had betrayed him, now living in his house—it doesn’t sit right with you. It feels like a betrayal in itself, a reminder of everything Rafe never learned. “Please, Y/n,” Rafe’s voice cuts through the tension, quieter now, softer, and the pleading tone in his words makes your chest tighten.

“I just need to know if she’s still there. I can’t trust anything right now, and I don’t know who else to ask.” You lean back against the wall, your eyes closing for a moment as you let out a long, frustrated sigh. You knew it was going to be something like this. You knew Rafe’s charm and his impulsiveness would lead him straight into another mess, but this? This felt like too much. “Fine,” you say, finally, the weight of his request heavy in your chest. “I’ll go. But you owe me one, Rafe.”

~

Pulling up to the house you were once so familiar with, you let out a deep sigh. The place looks the same, but it feels different—distant. Your hand tightens on the steering wheel for a moment before you shift into park. You take a breath and step out of the car, walking up the front stairs with a heavy sense of purpose. When you test the front door, your suspicion proves right—it’s unlocked. Slowly, you push it open, the creak of the hinges breaking the silence inside. The house feels empty, eerily quiet.

You move further in, your footsteps echoing off the hardwood floors, until a voice stops you dead in your tracks. "Rafe? Is that you?" The shakiness in her tone is unmistakable, and it irks you more than you care to admit. You scoff under your breath and follow the sound of her voice to the living room. There she is—Sofia, looking nothing like the confident, composed woman she used to be. The moment she sees you, her eyes widen in shock, and she quickly stands, hastily wiping her tears from her cheeks.

"What are you doing here?" she says, her voice a mix of disbelief and unease. You can’t hide the bitterness that creeps into your words as you respond. "Trust me, I do not want to be here," you roll your eyes, moving to sit on the single armchair across from her, the space between you two feeling as vast as the gulf that’s grown between your lives. "Why are you here, Y/n?" Her voice shakes, but you can see the cracks in her façade. She’s barely holding it together.

You lean back in the chair, crossing your arms. "I could ask the same of you. Rafe wanted you out of here." Her throat tightens, and she swallows hard, trying to maintain some control. "I'm not leaving until I talk to him again," she argues, but her resolve feels weak, as if she knows deep down that this battle is already lost. You scoff, your patience wearing thin. "Yeah, good luck with that, sweetheart. You're dead to him," you say flatly, watching as the color drains from Sofia’s face.

The fear in her eyes is almost satisfying. She’s starting to realise the weight of the mess she’s made. "I-I..." She stammers, her eyes darting around, desperately searching for an escape that isn’t coming. You lean forward slightly, letting the silence linger just long enough before you speak again, your voice cold, steady. "You know what Rafe can’t stand more than anything, Sof?" you begin, watching as she flinches at the mention of his name. "Backstabbers."

The word hangs between you, thick with meaning, and you can see the realisation slowly settle in her. There’s no turning back now. Sofia's eyes dart nervously, avoiding yours as if she’s trying to escape the gravity of your words. She opens her mouth to speak but stops herself, as though the words are caught in her throat. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, wiping her eyes again, but this time the tears don’t come.

Instead, there's just this raw vulnerability, something she rarely ever lets slip. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this," she finally mutters, her voice a broken whisper. "You don’t understand. I—" "Save it," you cut her off, your tone colder than you expected. "I’m not here for your excuses, Sofia. Whatever sob story you’ve cooked up, I don’t care. The damage is done. Rafe trusted you. He would’ve given you the world if you asked for it. And you—" You stop, swallowing the heat building in your chest.

"You took everything from him, didn’t even think twice about it." Sofia trembles, her gaze flickering to the floor as she struggles to hold back the overwhelming guilt threatening to spill out. "I didn’t want this to happen. I swear I didn’t," she whispers, her voice uneven. "I was hurt. By what he said, by the way he treated me. I—I was just trying to keep things from falling apart, and it got too messy. I couldn’t back out."

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. "Oh, so that’s it? You were hurt, so you decided to screw him over? That’s your excuse?" Her lip quivers, and for a moment, you think she might break, but then her voice rises, desperate. "It wasn’t like that!" she insists. "You don’t get it. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I thought maybe if I just went along with it, I could fix things—" "Fix things?" you snap, standing abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"By lying to him? By betraying him? That’s what you call fixing things?" You scoff again, crossing your arms. "You didn’t care about fixing anything. You cared about yourself. You wanted to stay comfortable, no matter what it cost him." She stands too, her posture stiff, her shoulders drawn tight. "I was scared," she says, her voice trembling. "I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I stayed quiet, I could keep it together. I didn’t want to hurt him, I swear—"

You cut her off with a wave of your hand, the irritation bubbling to the surface. "Stop acting like I care, Sofia," you say flatly, your words slicing through the tension. "You think I’m here defending him? After what he put me through?” You let out a humorless laugh. "I couldn’t care less about Rafe. But you—" You step closer, your eyes narrowing.

"You think you’re special, don’t you? You think you can walk in here, cry a few tears, and fix everything? And the worst part is, you don’t even realise it." Her mouth falls open slightly, her expression faltering as she processes your words. She looks at you like she’s seeing someone else, someone she doesn’t recognise, and for a fleeting moment, you almost feel bad. Almost.

"You broke him, Sofia," you say, your voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "And now you’re standing here, trying to paint yourself as the victim. It’s disgusting." The silence that follows is deafening, a void neither of you can fill. Sofia doesn’t respond. She doesn’t move. She just stands there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes glossy but dry. For once, she has nothing left to say. "Get out," you say finally, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your words unmistakable. "You’ve done enough damage."

Sofia's lip quivers as she stands there for a moment, motionless, her breath hitching as if she wants to argue but can’t find the words. Instead, she presses her trembling lips together and nods faintly, her head hanging low. Without another word, she brushes past you, her footsteps hesitant but quickening as she heads for the door. The sound of her leaving echoes through the house—the shuffle of her shoes on the floor, the creak of the door as it opens, and the final, resounding click as it closes behind her.

For a few moments, you remain where you are, letting the silence settle over the space. The air feels heavier now, and your chest tightens with a mixture of lingering anger and exhaustion. You reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone with a deliberate slowness. Your thumb hovers over Rafe’s name in your contacts for a second longer than it should, but you shake off the hesitation and press the call button. The line rings twice before he picks up.

"What?" His voice is sharp, irritated, like he wasn’t expecting you to call—or wasn’t in the mood to deal with you if you did. "It’s done," you say simply, your tone devoid of emotion. "She’s gone. You won’t have to deal with her anymore." There’s a pause on the other end, long enough for you to hear him exhale. "Good," he mutters, his voice clipped. You don’t respond right away, letting his words hang in the air.

When you do speak, your voice is distant, detached. "Don’t call me again, Rafe. Whatever this was—whatever you needed—it’s over." "What’s that supposed to mean?" he snaps, the irritation in his voice sharpening into something defensive. "It means I’m done," you say firmly, your grip on the phone tightening. "Don’t drag me into your mess again. Clean up your own life next time." "Y/n—" You don’t wait for him to finish.

You end the call and toss your phone onto the couch, the finality of it settling over you like a weight. For a moment, you stand there, staring at the empty room, the silence pressing down on you. It’s done. Whatever mess Rafe and Sofia had created, you’d played your part in untangling it. But as you look around the house, you realise you feel no sense of victory, no relief. Just a hollow emptiness, as if something in you has finally burned out.

Without another glance, you grab your bag and head for the door. You don’t need to stay here any longer. You’ve said everything you needed to say, done everything you needed to do. And as you step outside into the fresh air, you make a silent promise to yourself: you’re walking away from this for good.

[joecoolburrow]

Seduction Playbook

Joe Burrow x wife!reader

Joe is spending so much time on his film study, he's neglecting his horny wife (you). So you come up with a play of your own.

SMUT! Warnings: a tiny bit of angst, use of the word slut (affectionate), unprotected sex, p-i-v, and explicit sexual content. 18+ only MDNI

My masterlist

Half-asleep, you subconsciously reached over to Joe's side of the bed. Announce bubbled in you as you were met with only bed sheets. With one eye open, you peeked at the clock and saw it was 2:20 AM. Why the fuck wasn't your husband in bed yet?!

You decided to make him answer that question. Throwing on a bath robe and slippers, you begrudgingly got out of your warm sanctuary and stomped off in frustration.

Down the hall, a blue light emanated out of Joe’s office. You could hear muffled commentary from ESPN hosts as you marched toward the room.

Joe was sitting crisscross applesauce despite being in an ergonomic chair. He was hunched over a notebook, scribbling fervently, only glancing up at the screen every few moments. He didn’t notice you in the doorway.

“Ah hem” you cleared your throat, hoping to get his attention.

Nothing.

Hands on your hips and jaw clenched you called out to Joe, “I guess I’m sleeping alone tonight.”

He finally looked at you, but instead of an explanation or an apology, a little nod was the only acknowledgment you got.

“JOE!”

"I couldn’t sleep. I’m getting some important work done.” He spoke without looking up from his notebook.

“The tape will still be here in the morning.”

Joe ignored your words.

You were getting mad. It wasn't just tonight, Joe had been spending every evening and increasingly long hours of the night studying film. The season’s tough loses weighing heavily on him, as a leader of the team he felt responsible for finding a way to win. You love Joe’s work ethic and competitive drive, but lately it had consumed him. This wasn't healthy for him or your relationship.

You approached Joe. His eyes were puffy and his button lip was chapped like he’d been stress biting it again. But in his eyes were the same determined hunger you knew so well.

"Joe,” your voice softened as you knelt beside him, trying to be sympathetic to his pain.

He met your gaze but said nothing.

“I’m worried about you, babe. You know how important sleep is. Please come to bed.”

“I don’t feel tired.” Joe shrugged.

“You’ve been up since 6 AM, had a workout, practice all day, and you’ve been studying for at least 5 hours. You have to be tired.”

Joe wasn’t in the mood for reason. “I’m just not.”

You were unconvinced and Joe knew it. But, he didn't have a good argument, so he stayed quiet.

“I feel like I barely see you.” You pouted.

The whine in your voice was a little exaggerated, but the statement was true. You and Joe weren’t getting much quality and you missed your husband.

Joe gave you a half-hearted smile.

“I know, darling. I’ll make it up to you during the off season.”

Now you were exasperated. You dropped your head in your hands, tired physically and tired of this conversation.

“Joe-” you started, but he cut you off.

“Are you hungry? I can order us some delivery. That pizza place we tried a few weeks ago stays open late. We can have a little pizza date right here.”

He was trying. But holy fuck that was the least romantic thing he’d ever suggested. You looked at him, unsure if you were going to laugh or roll your eyes.

"A pizza date in your office? At 3 AM? Watching the Ravens and Bears game from 3 weeks ago?” You hoped when Joe heard it he'd understand why it was ridiculous.

“Ok, why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll be there in a couple hours?”

"A couple hours?!" You repeated.

Joe gestured at the screen and then to his notes. “I'm making progress! I have to keep going."

“You have to rest!”

“Y/n,” Joe’s voice was stern. “This is my job. You’ve always known how much it means to me. I told you there would be tough times when I had to focus more on the game than anything else. You said it’s one of the things you love about me.”

This time you stayed quiet. It was true. But it didn’t make this any easier.

Joe saw your pain. He took your hand and kissed it. You missed his touch, his affection.

“I love you. I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time together lately. I’m going to finish soon and then I’ll come bed. I promise.” He said earnestly.

Too tired to keep arguing and seeing how it was only causing Joe more stress, you relented.

“Ok. I’ll be waiting for you in bed.”

Jos pulled you in for a kiss. It was supposed to be a chaste, goodbye kiss. But, you drew him in. Your lips were intoxicating. You swirled your finger over the short hairs on the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine. It was a silent plea for him to follow you.

While he still had an ounce of strength in him to resist, Joe pulled away.

You made your way out of the office, turning once to look back at Joe. He was already engrossed in his film study.

Your bed felt so big and so cold without him to share it with. Despite feeling tired, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Soon you accepted that sleep was a lost cause. You considered watching something on TV when you found yourself looking at the dresser. It gave you an idea. You sprang up and opened the bottom drawer, your favorite drawer.

It was where you kept your lingerie. Lace panties, plunging bras with little bows, thigh high stockings, and-one of Joe's personal favorites- a babydoll nightgown that wasn't quite long enough to cover your butt.

You changed into your sexist lingerie and went to the mirror to admire yourself. You felt very sexy. Your pulse was racing. You were getting hot just thinking about the look on Joe's face when you show up in the office this time. To finish the look, you put on a pair of strappy red stilettos that were tall enough to put you and Joe at equal height. You puckered her lips and applied a dark red shade of liquid lipstick.

'Show time!' you thought to yourself as you fixed your hair.

Your heels clapped against the floors as you made your way down the hall. This time Joe knew you were in the doorway though he still didn't look up.

"Give me one more hour." He said, face buried in his notebook.

You smirked. It wasn't going to be more than one minute. You walked in front of Joe's chair, blocking his view of the screen.

Joe looked up slowly, eyes widening as he realized how you were dressed (or undressed). He dropped his pencil.

Finally, you had his attention.

"I thought I could help you study." You said in her most sultry voice.

You sat on the edge of his desk and put one foot on the armrest of his chair to show off your leg.

Joe was struggling to maintain composure. "W-What are you doing?"

"Just waiting for you." You purred.

"I need to finish my film study."

"Go ahead." You folded your hands in your lap in feign innocence. Your arms were pushing her boobs together, making them a little more prominent.

Joe tittered. He looked you up and down, considering his options for a moment. Would he choose his stubborn pride and tell you to go back to bed? Or would he do the right thing and take you to bed?

You licked your lip and looked at him, confident he'd make the right choice.

"Damn it, Y/n."

Joe reached out to touch you. You intercepted his hand before he could and made him caress your cheek. Slowly, you moved his index finger across your bottom lip and slipped it into your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around it. Joe no longer looked tired or stressed. The gleam in his eye was unmistakably of amusement.

His other hand journeyed up the your leg, feeling the firmness of your calf, the softness of your stocking, and finally, the smooth warmth of your upper thigh. You let out a little moan at the feeling of his big hand making it's way towards your panties.

You pulled his finger out of your mouth with a pop. You moved his hand down your chest and settled it on your breast.

Meanwhile on your leg, Joe's hand was inches away from your panties. He noticed there was a little shiny spot in the center, making him even more eager to get there.

As desperate as you were for him to get there, you wanted to tease him a bit more. You put your leg down and leaned your body back along the desk.

"I hate being in bed without you, Joe. It's so lonely." You whined. "You can't just leave me there, so needy."

Joe wanted to tease you right back. "I should've known a slut like you couldn't go too long without getting fucked by my big cock."

He got up. Standing over you, burning with desire. You were getting wetter and wetter. He spread your legs and stepped between them.

"I want you so bad, Joe." You gasped. "I need you."

He massaged your inner thighs and pushed up the your babydoll. He left a trail of hot kisses along your pelvis.

"I'll always give you what you need, baby." He whispered as he slid your panties off.

You ran your hands through Joe's velvety curls. He threw your legs over his broad shoulders. His hands snaked underneath you to unclasp your bra, then quickly pulled it off. He ran his hands over your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

"Please Joe." You begged.

One of his fingers swirled around your center, gathering your wet heat. He rubbed you gently, torturously slowly. You squirmed trying to get more friction.

"Mmm, you really are desperate for me."

There was no denying it even if you wanted to. You grabbed at Joe's sweatpants and urged him on. You could see how hard he was.

"I'll take care of that, darling." He said, batting your hand away. He undressed quickly and put his hands back on your sides. He leaned his body over yours. His mouth went for one of your breasts. First grazing his lips over the hardened peak, then giving it a slight tug with his teeth.

"Oh fuck, Joe!" You cried.

He sucked and teased your nipple, while sliding one hand back to your center. One finger entered you. You clenched around him and he pushed in another.

Your head was spinning when Joe suddenly pulled his fingers out and leaned up. You whined in protest, lustful eyes looking up to see him lick your arousal off his fingers.

"I told you, you make me so wet, Joe." You breathed.

"And I left you laying in bed, horny and lonely."

"Aching for you!" You added.

Joe shook his head as his finger danced over your clit.

"Begging for me?" He baited you.

"Yes! Please Joe. God, I need to feel you inside me. I need you to fuck me, please!!!"

He kissed your neck.

"With pleasure." He hummed against your skin.

Joe positioned himself and slowly pushed inside you. You inhaled sharply. He was so big, no matter how many times he fucked you, you still needed to adjust.

Before moving, Joe kissed your lips, deeply, lovingly, giving you time to stretch. Then, his dick retreated and slammed back into you. You yelped in pleasure.

"You like that?" Joe whispered in your ear.

You couldn't answer. You threw your head back in ecstasy as he thrust into you again and again.

Joe held you in place with one hand on your hip. The other used his long fingers to delicately work your clit till you were a writhing mess underneath him.

"You feel so good, baby." Joe praised. "I missed your perfect, tight little pussy."

Joe soon brought you to a trembling, quivering, orgasm.

"That's right, cum all over my cock." He encouraged.

Your back arched off the desk and tears formed in the corners of your eyes. You cried out Joe's name as you came down from your high.

Your pulsating walls took Joe to his delight. He came right after with a throaty moan.

As you each caught your breath, your eyes met.

Joe blushed, he typically got shy after sex. You smiled as your legs melted off his shoulder. You pulled him into a kiss. 

"You were right." Joe admitted. "I needed that."

"So did I."

"I'm sorry for the way I've been. I won't leave you alone in bed anymore. And I'm going to make more time for us to spend together. You're the most important thing to me, not football."

You appreciated the effort. As you wiped a sweaty curl off his forehead you reminded him, "I understand it's really important to you. I know you won't be satisfied until you win."

Joe smiled. "I'm pretty satisfied right now."

You giggled as he pulled you to sit up.

"I'm ready to go to bed now." Joe said.

"Took you long enough."

[girlinterupptedsblog]

rafe x reader fighting after getting home from a party cus “she flirted w an old friend” (she didn’t). So she’s like ignoring him, sitting at the edge of the bed all pouty. He keeps trying to get her to look at him but she doesn’t so he kisses her and blah blah they’re making out for a bit and he’s trying to give tongue, but she’s being stubborn, pulling away. She looks away again and he forces her by her chin to look back at him and then she sucks down on his thumb and yes hehe😊😊

♡Don't ignore me

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Toxic behavior, jealousy, heated argument, intense make-out scene, possessiveness, manipulation, slight choking/rough physical contact (consensual but emotionally charged), reader sucking Rafe’s thumb, suggestive content, emotionally intense relationship

The slam of the front door echoed through the house like a gunshot.

You didn’t even flinch.

Just kicked off your heels and walked straight up the stairs, ignoring the storm brewing behind you.

“Are you serious right now?” Rafe’s voice boomed from behind, sharp with disbelief, ego, and something darker underneath—jealousy. That kind that poisons his bloodstream and makes his jaw clench until it aches.

You didn’t respond.

Didn’t even turn around.

You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He’d already ruined the whole night, anyway.

You padded into the bedroom, slipping out of your dress with a sigh—back turned to him, like always when you were pissed. You pulled on one of his oversized tees from the laundry pile and sat at the very edge of the bed, spine stiff, arms folded, lips pouted, gaze glued to the floor.

“Oh, so now you’re gonna ignore me?” he barked from the doorway, chest heaving, shirt half-untucked from his pants like he’d been going crazy the whole damn car ride back.

You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. You just sat there—silent and ice-cold, like a punishment.

“Fucking unbelievable,” he growled, stepping into the room.

I was just talking to an old friend, you dumb possessive idiot, you thought to yourself.

But you didn’t say it. You’d said it a hundred times at the party and he hadn’t heard a single word.

Instead, you pressed your lips together tighter, shifting just an inch farther away as he got closer.

“Y/N.”

His voice dipped low. Dangerous.

Still, nothing from you.

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “He had his fucking hand on your waist. I saw it. I’m not stupid.”

You finally glanced up, just long enough to roll your eyes. “He's gay Rafe.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped. “He was touching you like he’d touched you before. Like he knew what he was doing.”

You sucked your cheeks in and looked away again. He didn’t deserve a reaction. Not after the way he acted—storming off at the party, slamming a drink, talking shit to your friend like some unhinged psycho.

He stepped in front of you, dropping to a crouch so he could try and catch your eyes.

But still—you refused.

“Look at me.”

Nope.

You leaned back slightly, spine still iron-straight, face tilted the other way.

He stared at you for a long second, mouth twitching. You knew that look. The one he wore when he didn’t know whether to scream or kiss you. Maybe both.

“I’m not mad that people want you,” he muttered, quieter now. “I’m mad that you let them think they can have you.”

That one hit. Right in the chest. You scoffed, laughing bitterly under your breath as you shook your head again.

“I didn’t let anything,” you said through your teeth, finally.

“Oh, now you can talk.”

Your brows furrowed. He was such a dick. So frustrating, so jealous, so self-destructive.

Still—you didn’t move. Didn’t look.

But he wanted you to.

And Rafe was nothing if not determined when he wanted something.

His hand slid up, fingers curling under your jaw—not rough, not gentle either—firm enough to guide your face toward his.

“Stop acting like you’re not mine,” he growled, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “You are. Every fucking inch of you.”

You blinked at him slowly, lashes fluttering, lips parted.

“I hate you,” you whispered, not even convincing yourself.

He smirked like he knew better. “No, you don’t.”

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

You should’ve pulled away. Should’ve shoved him back and told him to sleep on the couch.

But you didn’t.

Because Rafe Cameron kissed like he fought—mean, desperate, all-consuming.

And god, did he need you to forgive him.

You kissed him back, but barely. Mouth closed. Stubborn. Passive.

That drove him crazy.

He tried to slip his tongue past your lips and you pulled back just a little, keeping your mouth tight.

He groaned against you, palm sliding to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his other hand came up to cup your cheek.

Still—you stayed stubborn. Like a little brat.

Fine. He could play dirty too.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. The space between your faces was barely there.

“You’re really gonna do this?” he whispered, breath hot.

You didn’t respond.

So he slipped his thumb along your bottom lip. Slowly. Softly. His eyes never left yours.

You didn’t move.

And then he pushed it between your lips—just a little, testing.

You locked eyes with him.

And then, slowly, deliberately…

You sucked down on his thumb.

Hard.

He hissed under his breath, pupils dilating.

Your lips wrapped around it like you meant it. Like you wanted to punish him for everything. Your teeth grazed the skin as your tongue swirled—messy, sensual, mean.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

You pulled back, letting it pop out of your mouth with a slick sound. And then you smirked at him. Just barely.

And that was it.

He surged forward, kissing you again—deeper, hungrier this time, like you’d flipped a switch in him.

This time, you didn’t hold back.

Tongues clashed. Teeth scraped. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, angrier, needier. He pushed you back against the bed like he couldn’t stand not being on top of you any longer.

“You think I’m crazy,” he growled against your neck, pressing hot kisses to your skin, “but I go insane when I think of someone else touching you.”

“Good,” you gasped. “You deserve to suffer a little.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“I’d suffer every day if it meant I still got to fuck you.”

You slapped his chest but didn’t stop kissing him. Your legs curled around his waist. His hands were everywhere—hips, thighs, waist, under your shirt. Desperate to remind you who you belonged to.

And even though your head was still a little mad, your body had already forgiven him.

[st-osmanthus]

Every so often I recall the funniest blink-and-you-miss-it moment on Dressrosa, when Luffy picks up Zoro and Law and is about to jump off a plateau. Law is panicking but Zoro is calm and steady, his captain’s arm around his neck in a chokehold, ready to go wherever his captain chooses to take him. (CHAPTER 746) (Ep 682)

Remember how much Zoro hated being hauled around by Luffy pre-timeskip? Pepperidge farm This ZoLu shipper remembers! Zoro used to hit Luffy, yell at him, threaten to cut him for physically manhandling him (usually with a Gomu Gomu no Rocket). Look at this fool now! His damn face is horizontal and he’s just, like, “Cool.” This 180 was so out of character that I remember pausing in my reading out of surprise. Over time, I realized this is just part of a growing pattern of behavior:

Post-timeskip, Zoro got soft.

Okay, yeah, post-timeskip Zoro is more muscular, has a prominent facial scar, doesn’t smile or laugh as much anymore, and spouts these tough-guy one-liners. But when it comes to Luffy, Zoro got sooooo soft.

Pre-timeskip, Zoro scolded Luffy often for being impulsive, for rocketing people around, for blowing their cover, etc. He was mostly on the same wavelength as Luffy, but there were frequent moments of exasperation where he would threaten to cut Luffy (jokingly?) or yell at Luffy for being an idiot.

But post-timeskip? Those two years clearly did a number on our swordsman because compared to before, he is a complete pushover when it comes to his captain.

Luffy is quiet because he senses something is amiss? Zoro immediately notices and asks “What’s wrong” like a worried mother hen.

Luffy needs to get across a frozen lake? Zoro is already stretching.

Luffy is fighting in the coliseum despite being on an undercover mission? Zoro laments not being there fighting alongside him.

Luffy wants to cause a ruckus over Otama/red bean soup? Zoro draws his sword and is ready to tag-team this mess.

Luffy jumps Zoro and nearly suffocates him face-hugger style? Not only does Zoro not reprimand Luffy, he is over the moon smiling like a moron and offering up food.

A lot can be said about WHY Zoro is now so tolerant of Luffy’s antics, way more than before. But setting aside “why,” it’s clear that Zoro is officially Luffy’s number one enabler. He will indulge Luffy’s every whim. He will lay all their enemies at his captain’s feet. He will follow Luffy into disasters and celebrations alike. He will forgive AND defend all of Luffy’s wrongs.

This man is so whipped. This man is so soft for his captain. This man is a fucking marshmallow.

[marisolls]

010525 ♡ the ultimate cure to your sickness is simple: just listen to the sweet sound of tsukishima kei's voice. ( fluffy fluff. some swearing. not proofread. )

the world kind of flips upside down when sickness has fallen upon you.

your clothes don’t feel comfortable—they scratch your skin in a way you want to rip it off of you. food tastes bland and stale. your ears are sensitive to noise, even the slightest hum like your fan aren’t an exception. your runny nose makes you miss the feeling of breathing like a normal person. and you’re so exhausted even though all you’ve been doing is mope around lying in your bed and everything pisses you off.

you’re not in a fever; worse, you’ve caught a random flu which makes you feel like you’re running a fever.

you sniff and realise you’ve already went through four boxes of tissues right as you fished out the last one, groaning from frustration as you toss them into the bin. there’s nothing left—your box of tissues as well as your will.

it isn’t until it’s afternoon that you scurry off into taking your medicine because while you tried to get up moments ago, you couldn’t. or rather, you didn’t want to. (eh, same thing.) and then you unexpectedly dozed off while staring into the void of your ceiling.

you think you’ve calmed down after gulping through a whole glass of water, but as you feel more of the atmosphere chill crawl into your body even after being bundled up by your comforters and blankets, you’re forced to relent to the fact that you’re not going to get through this soon—especially not without someone’s help.

or at least, a company.

so you do your best not to feel ashamed as you pull out your phone, dialed that one specific contact and wait through the ringing instead of throwing your device out of the window and scream.

you didn’t even give tsukishima kei a heads up. he might not even answer straight away. or he might never answer at all. you can’t hear your phone beeping over your loud thoughts ready to consume you. and then you physically jumped when you suddenly hear a soft voice cutting through the static.

no, soft isn’t the right word. soothing, perhaps. despite the nonchalance, you had always found his voice attractive.

“hello?”

still, it catches you off guard.

you don’t respond right away, your throat tight and dry, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. but then tsukishima speaks again, his tone dipping with faint exasperation.

“are you just going to sit there breathing into the phone, or…?”

“uh, hi,” you mumble, voice rough and embarrassingly hoarse. “sorry. i… didn’t mean to—”

“yeah, yeah, skip the apology. what do you want?” he interrupts, but there’s no real bite in his voice. if anything, he sounds calmer than usual. though you can’t quite place it.

you hesitate, clutching your phone a little tighter. “just… wanted to hear someone’s voice.”

the line goes quiet for a beat, and you wince internally. you’re convinced he’s about to hang up when he sighs.

“with the way you're talking, i can't tell if you're actually speaking words or just doing a live ASMR demo of a clogged drain,” he remarks flatly, and despite the jab, there’s a thread of concern laced through the words.

“what the fuck. i’m just sick,” you reply, rolling your eyes even though he can’t see.

“no shit. what happened to you?”

“i have no idea myself.”

“hold on.” there’s some shuffling on his end, followed by muffled voices. “yamaguchi says hi,” tsukishima adds, his tone noticeably lighter, though still tinged with his signature indifference.

“hi yams,” you drawl, feeling a tiny smile tug at your lips.

more rustling, and then yamaguchi’s distant voice comes through, says your name cheerful and clear: “get well soon!”

the faint sound of laughter in the background feels like sunlight breaking through your cloudy mood, and you can’t help but laugh softly, though followed by a cough.

“how was practice?”

“fine,” tsukishima answers shortly, as expected.

yamaguchi, however, fills in the silence. “it ended early today. coach wanted us to rest up for the match this weekend.”

there’s a brief exchange between the two before you hear yamaguchi say goodbye, his voice growing fainter as he walks away. then it’s just you and tsukishima.

“..hey,” you start after a while, growing awkward just hearing his footsteps and the wind.

“what?”

“how’s school?”

“do you really want me to talk?”

“yes. please.”

he sighs, “ms. nakajima called in sick too, so no surprise quiz, fortunately.”

“oh, yippee.”

you hear a suppressed snort on the other end of the line, but you don’t comment, opting instead to listen to the steady rhythm of his voice as he recounts his day.

it takes a bit of coaxing, but he eventually keeps going. you close your eyes, letting the cadence of his words wash over you like a soothing tide.

complaints about school, a snide comment about someone in his class, a dry recount of shoyo almost tripping over a volleyball during practice. the casualness of it all feels like a warm blanket, his dry quips bubbling a quiet chuckle from you every now and then. you catch yourself smiling, your cheeks heating—not just from the lingering flush of your illness, but maybe... maybe because of him.

the thought throws you off, and suddenly you feel warmer than you should.

his voice is just so… calming. like a large hand spreading over your shivering skin, the warmth seeping in slowly and gently, settles you all bundled up in ease. the way he talks to you is unhurried, deliberate, like there’s nothing pressing or wrong in the world at this moment—not with him here, not with you listening.

“are you even listening?” he suddenly asks, though it's rhetorical, softer.

you smile, eyes still closed, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. “mhm. keep talking. i like listening to you.”

the line goes silent for a moment. you can picture him adjusting his glasses, his jaw tightening as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks, though he’d deny it with every ounce of sarcasm in his body.

“you’re so weird,” he mutters, and you try not to snicker.

still, he doesn’t stop talking.

it stretches into more mundane things; —the weather, a stupid argument in class that yamaguchi tried to mediate, the latest book he’s reading. this, grounds you in a way that's therapeutic, something special and long-lasting—and makes your chest feel so much lighter. just hearing him makes the gnawing loneliness and irritability of your sickness fade into the backdrop, almost as if you forgot you were wallowing in misery minutes ago.

—oh wait, how long has it been exactly?

you glance at the clock, startled to see the time.

“wait,” you interrupt gently, your voice hoarse but amused. “didn’t you say practice ended early? shouldn’t you be home by now?”

there’s a brief pause on the line, and then you hear the faint sound of rustling, like a plastic bag shifting.

“i am,” he says simply.

you frown, confused. “then why haven’t you—”

“i'm here. open the door.”

you blink, his words sinking in like a slow ripple. “huh?”

"open. your. door-"

"i heard you the first time!"

your heart skips, and you bolt upright, clutching the phone as if that could steady the sudden rush of emotions. “you… you’re outside?”

“obviously.”

"what if i was greeted by a murderer and not you?"

"what if i was the murderer?"

you laugh. scrambling out of bed, you nearly trip over your comforter in your haste to reach the door. you hesitate for a moment, hand hovering over the knob, suddenly self-conscious of how disheveled you look. but the thought of him waiting, standing outside in the cold, pushes you to open it.

and there he is.

tsukishima kei, with a plastic bag in one hand and a familiar, unimpressed look on his face, though there’s something... inexplicable in his expression, more focused, tense.

“you didn’t have to.”

“yeah, well, maybe i did,” he brushes past you to step inside just enough to hand you the bag. “you’re hopeless. there’s some soup, medicine, and, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing away. “other stuff.”

you glance at the bag, heart swelling. “thank you,” you murmur, voice quiet and sincere.

he doesn’t reply right away, his gaze flicking back to you briefly before he reaches out to ruffle your hair, you think you've mistaken the gesture for a flick in the forehead, instinctively closing your eyes. when he doesn't, you feel dumbfounded by the sudden act.

his hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary, gaze quiet but solely on you. you feel—warm, and about to sneeze hard with how itchy your nose is. and as much as you'd like for him to be this close to you, your sickness is irritatingly getting in the way.

you swivel to the side, "ah-choo!" and again, he takes you by surprise when he carefully shoves a tissue on your face when you hear a breathless and poorly suppressed laugh.

"laughing at my suffering now?" you blow your nose, trying to act more sickly for dramatic effects.

"if you knew how cute you look right now.."

you're turning delirious. "i'm what now?"

"rest up," is what he replies. dismissive. like he's speaking to himself.

and just like that, his already at the doorway, hand on the doorknob. “don’t forget to eat. and sleep. properly.”

a nod is all you can muster, biting back a smile as you watch him retreat.

as the door clicks shut behind him, you’re left standing there, warmth lingering where his hand had been.

meanwhile, tsukishima curses under his breath as he walks away, his cheeks burning despite the cold air, the sky bruised in blood orange and bathing him in a mellow glow. “stupid,” he mutters, adjusting his scarf as if that could hide the rush of warmth in his chest, red on his cheeks.

“…i can’t get sick.” he thinks he is already, considering how flushed he is right now.

wrote this when i was sick last week, thought of him, wrote him while listening to mazzy star <3

[literaryavenger]

Obsessed

Summary: Your crush on Bucky may be getting out of control.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: Dramatic Reader. Language. Angst. Fluff. My poor attempts at being Funny.

Word Count: 1.4K I'm physically incapable of making anything short.

A/N: I wrote this in like 2 hours and I don't even know what this is, just... Yeah.

Masterlist

This is terrible.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone. It's just the most horrible, dreadful, awful thing that could’ve ever happen to yo-

“Would you stop staring at him for fuck's sakes!” Natasha's hissed words make your eyes snap to her and finally away from the metal armed Supersoldier lifting weights. Shirtless.

You don't know when Bucky stopped feeling self-conscious enough to allow him to workout in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, but it has become literal torture for you.

Needless to say, Bucky's current level of undress is making it impossible for you to concentrate on the stretching you're supposed to be doing before your sparring match with Natasha.

But your very thoughtful and not at all exasperated friend makes sure to keep your attention on her during the entirety of our match by thoroughly kicking your ass.

What a lovely best friend you have.

Anyways.

Your entire mood shifts with one not intentionally overheard conversation. Steve enters the gym and goes straight to Bucky, who was putting his weight set down.

“She’s here!” Is all the blonde says to his friend and your heart stops at the way Bucky’s face lights up with a smile, not needing any more information before following Steve out of the gym.

She’s here? Who the fuck is she? Does Bucky have a girlfriend? And most importantly, she’s here? In the Compound?

Natasha can almost see the gears turning in your brain as you make no attempts to move from the mat after she knocked you on your ass for the hundredth time today. You didn’t even seem to notice her hand offering you help to get up, your eyes still looking where Bucky was just a moment ago, staring at nothing in particular while your brain drowns in your overthinking.

Natasha sighs and decides to end the match here, kneeling down in front of you and placing her hands on your shoulders, shaking you gently to snap you out of it.

“Don’t overthink this.” She tells you when she’s sure she has your attention. “It’s probably just a friend visiting.” She tries to comfort you, but you both know that’s highly unlikely. 

Bucky has no other friends outside the team. He doesn’t know how to talk to civilians anymore after everything he’s been through, and gave up trying to after the hundredth time he saw fear in a person’s eyes just by recognizing him. So his friend circle now includes the team and the agents of SHIELD that are not intimidated by him. Point is, every friend he has already lives in the Compound.

So who the fuck is here just to see him? 

Natasha can see that this is a lost battle, your eyes barely concentrating on her as you start drowning in your mind again. All she can do when you’re like this is try to distract you and keep you out of your head. So she takes your hand and helps you up, leading the way to the common room to watch one of your beloved romcoms together, because that’s how much she loves you.

Big mistake.

“Y/N! Y/N!” The excited high-pitched voice came just seconds after you set foot in the common room. And that’s about the only warning you got before the excited 5-year-old jumped on you, your reflexes thankfully quick enough to catch her.

“Hi, Maguna!” You say while chuckling as the little girl hugs you. “You seem excited today. Did you get into the sugar cabinet again?”

Morgan giggles at your joke and shakes her hand before taking your face in her little hands and dramatically saying, “No! A princess came to visit uncle Bucky! A real princess.”

You frown, confused at what she’s talking about, before you look around the room and finally notice everyone else in it. Pepper and Tony are on the couch, looking at you lovingly as you interact with their daughter.

You love Morgan, she’s like a little sister. You never miss an opportunity to babysit her and you spend as much time with her as you can. She also loves you, out of all the Avengers you’re her favorite, much to everyone’s dismay. She calls them all ��aunt’ and ‘uncle’, but you’re just Y/N. You’re her big sister, you don’t need a title. Which is why you're the only one other than Tony allowed to call her 'Maguna'.

Then you notice the other people in the room: Steve, Bucky and… Shuri. The fucking Princess of Wakanda, standing in the common room of the Avengers Compound and just smiling at you as you carry Morgan.

You’ve never met Shuri, but you know she played an important part in deprogramming the Winter Soldier out of Bucky, and you’re grateful to her for it. She’s important to Bucky, and you can’t believe you forgot Bucky has Wakandan friends.

You put Morgan down on the ground again and the little girl takes your hand and aggressively steers you towards where Steve, Bucky and Shuri are standing, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of a real life princess.

“Hi, I’m Shuri.” She offers you her hand when you get close enough and you shake it with your free hand while introducing yourself.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause and you’re about to say the first thing that pops into your head when Morgan thankfully saves you by pulling on your hand, making you look at her. She tells you to come close and, chuckling, you kneel beside her so she can whisper conspiratorially in your ear.

“She’s a princess and she’s really pretty, but I still like you better.” She whispers and you can’t help but laugh.

God, you love this little girl.

You smile brightly at her and launch a tickle attack, her adorable giggles filling the room as everyone looks at you two with warm smiles.

Your attention is solely on Morgan, until you unintentionally hear the whispered conversation between Shuri and Bucky.

“So, this is the girl, huh? She’s pretty.” Shuri says and your heart skips a beat. 

You glance at them as discreetly as you can while still tickling Morgan, only to find Bucky looking at someone behind you. You turn around less carefully and see Sharon just entered the room, and she's also looking at Bucky with a smirk. You quickly return your attention to Morgan, but your mind is going a thousand miles a minute.

Of course he’d like someone more like Sharon. She’s pretty, she’s talented, she’s a total badass and she’s not afraid to go after what she wants.

She’s not a mass of anxiety in the shape of a woman that overthinks everything and becomes a flustered mess every time she’s even near Bucky.

It’s time to admit it to yourself: Bucky just doesn’t see you like that and you need to move on. 

Natasha is right, your obsession with Bucky needs to end.

What you don’t see is Bucky almost glaring at Sharon because he knows damn well why she’s smirking. She came in just before Shuri whispered to Bucky, when he was very intent on looking at you with heart eyes as you played with Morgan.

Just before you looked at him, Bucky noticed Sharon and he had to hold in a groan at her because he knows that she’s never gonna let him live this down.

Both Sharon and Steve have tried really hard to convince Bucky that you like him back and he should make a move on you. But Bucky, being as stubborn as they come, never believes them.

He obviously makes you uncomfortable, you’re always stuttering when he’s around and you avoid eye contact whenever possible. He’s just glad that you can stand his presence enough for the two of you to work together when necessary and to hang out with the rest of the team without problems.

So he just enjoys looking at you from a distance. He loves watching you play with Morgan and his thoughts always run wild with images of you playing like that with kids that are yours and his.

But he knows that’s never going to happen. Why would you like a damaged, PTSD ridden soldier that can’t even make it through the night without waking up from a nightmare? No, that’s definitely not your type.

Bucky accepts the truth: He doesn’t deserve you and you don’t see him like that anyways. 

It doesn’t matter that Sam thinks he’s obsessed, that won’t stop him from looking at you whenever he’s lucky enough to get a glimpse of his little ray of sunshine.

Requested taglist: @vicmc624 @matchat3a @nerd-without-a-cause @sapphirebarnes @cjand10 @mostlymarvelgirl @julvrs @blackhawkfanatic @lillianacristina @armystay89 @imdoingbetternow @spookyparadisesheep @elizalexwil @aceofhearts25 @dontworryboutitsweetheartxx-blog @justab-eautifulmess @buggy14 @thedonswife13

[saerins]

birthday wish;

itoshi sae x female reader. wc 2.4k

content: fluff. some profanity. slight making out. birthday fic for sae <3

summary: it’s itoshi sae’s birthday. the world hates you. you’ve never been a lucky one. being “shit out of luck” is the only thing you know. the tables must turn.

if higher beings do exist, they really must hate you. they must. you can’t fathom your bad luck otherwise.

not only did your cab to the airport run into an hour long jam, your connecting flight also got delayed and now you’re running a day late.

all you get to see is the group chat blowing up, people sending pictures of others, of each of their antics. there’s a photo of everyone together except you.

because your business trip is a pain in the ass.

because it made you miss a weekend getaway with your friends in hokkaido.

because even when they made the effort to convince the birthday boy to make a little side trip back to tokyo, you’re still too late for that.

if it was anyone else, you’d have been fine with it. as much as you feel guilty about that.

but it’s sae. it’s itoshi fucking sae and you can’t even remember the last time you saw him in person because everyone else’s schedules match except yours. the world has driven a constant wedge between you and sae and you hate it.

is there any other emotion to be reserved when that happens to you and a boy you’ve had a crush on since forever?

meeting itoshi sae as a kid was exciting, hopeful. falling for itoshi sae when he was a teen leaving japan for opportunities elsewhere was giddying. sometimes you can’t believe that someone you know is that successful, and other times you hate the fact that he’s so far away because of it.

more than half the time, he’s in spain. he’s never where you are at least ninety-nine percent of the time. the one occasion he was, which was three years ago over new year’s, you were fucking sick.

and all he sent you was a text telling you to get better while the rest of your group of friends get to hang out with him.

though, you suppose that’s a good thing. he barely ever texts anyway, and you don’t initiate, if only out of fear for getting in his way. (as if small speech bubbles could get in his way at all.)

you sigh helplessly as you reach the immigration hall, even more irritated as you look at the time. already past midnight, sae’s flight would’ve already left by now—or, actually, an hour ago because he doesn’t have your bad luck—so you don’t even have the chance of bumping into him at the airport.

whoopee.

your phone finds itself tossed into your duffel bag at your irritation. unwarranted but it is what it is. by the time you finally get your luggage and exit, you’re exhausted. from the disappointment, the delays, everything.

it’s only when you walk a couple more steps, lugging your things behind you when you stop in your tracks, your boots suddenly feel like they’re one with the marble below them.

“didn’t think your luck could get any worse.”

is it possible for your heart to feel like it isn’t functioning properly after hearing a voice? a voice that you haven’t heard physically for who knows how long now?

you have to take a deep breath to even get his name out. “sae…?”

his brows furrow before he cocks one, sighing as he propels himself forward from against the railing, hands in his jacket pocket as he takes a few steps towards you. his face is hidden behind a black mask, his hood pulled over his head but you can still see the clear piercing teal of his eyes and the same nonchalant expression he always wears in his interviews.

you’ve seen a bunch of them.

“who else would i be?” he sighs again, like he’s exasperated, before he grabs the luggage handle from you and starts tugging it behind him.

it occurs to you seconds later that he expects you to follow him when he doesn’t even turn behind.

“wait wait.” you nearly trip over your own feet as you scramble to catch up to him, feeling out of shape the moment you fall into step beside him. “didn’t you have a flight to spain, like, an hour ago?”

you couldn’t have gotten the timing wrong because you triple checked it in the group chat.

sae makes a confused noice in his throat before shrugging. “pushed it a day later.”

he doesn’t elaborate. like he always does. or doesn’t.

“but why? don’t you have training right after you land? or, when you were supposed to land?”

his body brushes your side when he sidesteps someone on his right. you’re ashamed of how your heart skips a beat.

“i have training the day after. i just wanted to get a day to nurse my jet lag if i could. i could still make training if i leave tomorrow.”

he’s always to the point. but he’s intentionally evading a part of your question.

“but why—”

“i’m hungry. you hungry?” he asks, and you can only blink. you can’t even say anything before your stomach growls and answers for you and sae doesn’t have to wait for your response.

he holds your luggage with his right, and his left hand reaches out for you, warmth enveloping as he tugs you beside him into the nearest izakaya, swiftly getting a table for two in the privacy of their special corner table and all he had to do was remove his mask.

“it’s a little late but… happy birthday,” you whisper to him across the table.

sae’s gaze flicks over to you, blank expression as he just stares at you for a moment. “no it’s not,” he says, and upon your confused expression continues, “i got your text.”

right, because you used the shitty in-flight wifi to try and get your message to him. looks like it worked.

“oh, good then,” you heave a sigh of relief as you let yourself relax, subtly slinking lower against the booth.

over supper, sae purposely asks you questions, about your work, your days, life in general, overloading you with them so you don’t even have a chance to ask him anything thus far.

neither of you even realise that it’s not a 24-hour place, but it’s not a surprise that being itoshi sae has its privileges. before long, the only customers are you and the boy you like and your impatience that puts its foot down and bites the bait.

“why did you push your flight back, sae?”

his bowl is long cleared and all he has to busy himself with is the hot ocha on his side. he looks out the window for a moment, as if contemplating something before he spots the waiter and asks for the bill.

another attempt at shaking the question off that won’t earn him any points because the moment you step out of the airport and into the chilly air outside, you question him again.

“sae, tell me.”

sae takes a deep breath, and you can see the bare hint of a flush in his cheeks. it’s not that obvious, but you can see it.

he finally lets up for the first time tonight, the life granting a glint in his eyes. he chuckles, and he shakes his head, though his smile is subtle—just barely visible.

“you’re still as irritating as when you were a kid, you know?” he remarks, and you find yourself crossing your arms before he finally relents.

after a small pause, he takes a step towards you, his body barely inches from yours. he leans down to your ears, with a voice that’s barely a whisper, “i wanted my birthday wish to come true.”

this isn’t fair, itoshi sae.

“and what’s that?” you ask because he’s still there, his neck right next to your lips and sucking the energy out of you because it’s always nerve-wracking being near him even if you’ve known him most of your life. l

“i wanted…” he pauses, hesitant to say, “to see you. in person.”

and he finally straightens back up, giving you room to breathe.

is it greedy of you to not be satisfied? you feel like this could be a fever dream. are you sick?

“why?” you ask again, and you find yourself trailing after him when he refuses to answer.

sae flags down a cab, telling him your address, word for word correctly and it doesn’t register to you that despite never having been there, he remembers it like the curve of the soccer ball, like the arc of his passes.

nothing is ever too much effort if it’s worth it.

you’ve just never thought you were ever in sae’s head.

by the time you reach your apartment, the both of you are shriveling in awkwardness, too stubborn and stupid for too long that you’re too used to it.

“this one, right?” sae asks when he gets to your unit, the one in the corner of the top floor.

you nod weakly, and sae purses his lips before he pushes the luggage towards you.

“get some rest. you must be tired,” is all he tells you before he starts to make a move, heading back towards the elevator.

but you’re sick of it. sick of the chances you never take and sick of how you’re too scared to even try. your fingers reach out to grab the hem of his jacket sleeve, holding him back.

“i wanted to see you too,” you declare, even if he never asked. you get greeted by the sight of his widening eyes, by the slight upward tug of his lips. “you’re never free when i am and i just—fuck—i hate it. and you’re so accomplished and i’m happy for you, really, but i… i miss you.”

(sae looks at you, looking at the floor, looking guilty as if saying you miss someone is a sin. he feels the way his heart aches in his chest—fuck, did he really miss you this much too?

he’s used to having the upper hand, always having you squirm in embarrassment, but why does he feel like it’s slipping with every instance he’s about to tell you how he really feels about you? why is it slipping every single time he sees you smile? in your photos, your stories, even the emojis you send in your fucking texts.)

“yeah, missed me that much?” he asks, teasing you a little as he sees your feet shift nervously.

what you do next catches him completely off-guard, his eyes snapping shut the moment you grab his jacket lapel, pulling him close and kissing him, tasting so sweet he would be tempted to ask you to do that all night.

by the time you pull away, sae isn’t ready. he’s not ready anymore. to leave you. not so soon. you’ve always been one of the few reasons he couldn’t bear to leave japan and not seeing you all this time has helped him tolerate it. now that you’re here, in the flesh, his fingers digging into your hips, he doesn’t think he can leave.

“you- um- what time’s your flight tomorrow?” you ask, breathless when you finally manage to pull away.

sae groans, shaking his head. “don’t wanna talk about that, doesn’t matter it’s fine, i’ll make it,” he mutters, eyes shutting close again because the next second he’s chasing your lips, swallowing your chuckles as you stumble to open your apartment door.

he makes the effort to kick your luggage inside before he feels his back hitting the back of the door, eyes flying open and being greeted with a smirk on your face.

so you have this kind of side to you too.

sae smiles a little wider now, shaking his head when you wrap your arms around his neck, jumping up with your legs around his waist as you drown him in kisses that would probably last him at most a few days.

“sorry, i know this is more than you wished for,” you laugh weakly in between kisses.

sae shakes his head. “i don’t mind a bonus,” he jokes, and you hit him playfully on the chest.

it’s a little surreal to you that the boy you’ve had a crush on for half your life is actually reciprocating. you’ve watched him play pro-soccer since he was a teen until now, when you’re both full-fledged adults. you’ve never thought that anything would work out. not when you’re just barely navigating through life while he has his whole career figured out.

not when you’re always shit out of luck. but if this is the kind of luck that you get, you’ll take it.

“i… i’ve always liked you, itoshi sae,” you confess, foreheads pressed against one another’s as he continues to hold you in his arms, stronger than you remember.

a low hum leaves his throat. “i know, rin told me the first time i came back to japan from spain.”

you might actually kill rin.

(sae bites back a chuckle. he never thought of it much at all back then. he barely cared for anything except soccer. he can’t even remember when he started to think of you more. miss you. wish to see you on birthdays, on new year eves, on new years, christmases, whatever occasions there are in a year.)

“i think i might love you,” he confesses, and it takes your breath away.

you can only blink, slowly letting it sink in. you get down off his arms, both of you locking gazes and never looking away.

“think you could do that from halfway across the world too?” you ask.

it dawns on him what you’re afraid of, but after years of pining for you, sae has no doubt in his head.

“think i could do that forever, no matter where we are,” sae assures you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “could you grant me one more wish?”

you swallow the lump in your throat. “what is it?”

“be mine.”

and this is his birthday (it’s still not 11 october in other parts of the world!) but you feel like it’s your lucky day.

“i think i’ve always been yours, itoshi sae.”

and for the first time since you’ve known him, you see him smile. wider than you’ve ever seen. you finally see the path clearing, you can finally tell, somehow—itoshi sae will be yours for life.

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (15/20)

I'm late, but I'm sure! Sorry guys! My routine is crazy, really. I'm still trying to adapt. But I think I needed this as much as you did!

Cliffhanger, huh?? You didn't see anything yet muhahahaha 😈

Enjoy <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After Billy's speech, you end up finding out what was wrong and you have to fix it or not.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

The Truth

You were frozen. Your eyes, slightly widened, and your exasperated breathing locked onto theirs as they searched yours like you were a case to be studied.

Source?

What the hell was this, anyway?

You ran your tongue over your lips nervously, debating whether you should ask the question burning on the tip of your tongue. After releasing the breath trapped in your chest, you spoke:

"The what…" You started, your lungs tight. "What is a source?"

The word echoed in your mind, an irritating hum clouding your thoughts.

"Someone from whom everything originates?" Yelena said, trying to sound obvious, only to receive a reprimanding look from Alice.

The young woman stepped closer to you, feeling your growing desperation drowning you. "So, do you remember the legend?" she began, her tone cautious as if you were fragile glass about to shatter. "A mystical being, vast, powerful, that drains energy—life itself."

She finished with careful precision, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Oh, come on, Alice?! What kind of stupid joke is this?" You laughed, but the lump in your throat still scraped at you. "That was our dumb school project, Alice! It has nothing to do with—" you narrowed your eyes, fighting back the tears threatening to spill.

"I lied!" Alice’s voice broke, sharp and desperate, making everyone in the circle flinch. "I lied, okay? It's real. And Rio Vidal is that ." Her voice cracked at the end.

The ground disappeared beneath you.

Rio.

Your Mama.

No. No, that couldn’t be.

"This is bullshit." The words were thick in your throat. You wouldn’t believe this. "Oh, let me guess—Agatha is the woman who saved Rio from herself and was turned into some horrid monster?!" Your sarcastic tone made Alice clench her jaw.

"A witch. Agatha Harkness is a witch," Billy interjected.

"And how the hell do you know that?!" Anger flared in you—pure, burning rage. They were talking about your mothers.

You wanted to kill them.

Sew their mouths shut so they could never speak these atrocities again.

So they could never hurt you like this again.

"It's what they say." He shrugged, completely unfazed. He didn’t care. And that only made you angrier.

"And who the fuck are ‘they’?" You took a dangerous step forward, breathing hard through your nose.

Billy kept twirling a card between his fingers, annoyingly calm. His eyes were sharp, like a cat toying with its prey. "Have you never felt it? The constant exhaustion. The need to always be near them. The way your body feels… drained whenever you're away?"

Your stomach churned.

You had felt it. You always had.

Because there had always been something. Something you could never name, but that slithered under your skin every time you were apart from them.

A weariness that wasn’t just physical. A hunger that wasn’t for food. An emptiness that only faded when Rio touched your face or Agatha whispered soft words into your ear.

The lump in your throat tightened.

"This doesn’t make sense," your voice came out weaker now, less certain. "Are you trying to say that—"

"That they’re more than you think," Billy finished, tossing the card onto the table.

You looked down at the deck, the symbols shimmering as if laughing at you.

"So what?" Your own voice surprised you. The rage had faded, replaced by something more fragile, more dangerous. "If Rio is this… If Agatha is this… then what does that make me?"

Fuck this!

They were yours, and you would defend them with everything you had.

Alice hesitated.

She finally moved, placing a trembling, cold hand over yours. "We’re not telling you this to scare you."

"Then what the fuck is the point?" Your voice was sharp, but your heart pounded wildly.

Jennifer let out a low, nervous chuckle. "We want to help you."

"Help me?" You laughed.

You didn’t want their help. You wanted them.

"With the truth."

The words hung heavy in the air.

Billy flipped the card toward you. The image depicted a pure, shining spring of water, but around it, dark shadows drank from it, draining its glow until the source became shallow, dull.

"Sources don’t last forever, you know..." he said, his voice disturbingly gentle. "Eventually, they dry up."

It felt like the air was stolen from your lungs.

Your chest clenched. Your mind refused to accept it, but your body betrayed you—your skin prickled, your stomach burned.

"You’re saying that I…"

"That you’re being used," Jennifer finished bluntly.

The world stopped.

No.

No, that couldn’t be true.

But the gears in your mind began turning.

The exhaustion. The heat. The overwhelming need to be near them. Agatha holding you in her lap as if cradling you after a nightmare. Rio always knowing when you were about to break.

Dread clenched your chest like a fist.

"No." You shook your head. "This is insane. You don’t even know what you’re talking about!"

Billy leaned back, crossing his arms. "We can prove it."

Alice bit her lip, hesitating.

Tears stung your eyes as you stood up abruptly. Alice followed, grabbing your hands in a futile attempt to calm you. "Breathe," she said, her fox-like eyes watching you closely.

"I know it sounds crazy. But this… This force exists, and now it’s in you."

You tried to yank your hands away, but Alice held on. Not forcefully, but with a gentle insistence, as if she feared you’d disappear if she let go.

"This doesn’t make sense." Your voice cracked. You swallowed against the bile rising in your throat. "I’m nothing. I’m not special. I don’t even know what you’re talking about!"

"But they do."

Billy spoke quietly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "All four of them. Agatha, Rio, Calderu… Wanda."

Her name hit you like a slap.

"I—" You stepped back, only to feel the edge of the table press against your back.

Alice loosened her grip slightly. "Breathe."

But you couldn’t.

They knew.

They had always known.

The things that once made sense—the overwhelming affection, the intense looks, the way it felt like you were being absorbed by them—now felt wrong. Stained.

You shook your head, struggling to inhale. "This… This can’t be real."

"Then why are you reacting like this?" Yelena asked, raising a brow.

Alice stepped closer, eyes locked onto yours as if watching a wild animal about to bolt.

"Because, on some level," she whispered, "you already knew."

The silence in the room thickened, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the weight of their gazes pressing into you, burning your skin, as if they were waiting—no, hoping—you would understand.

But you didn’t want to.

The air felt too thin. Your lungs refused to work, as if something dense and invisible wrapped around your throat. Your heartbeat was erratic, too fast, too wild.

"This doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. It doesn’t." Your voice was a whisper, broken and pained, a desperate mantra that still echoed through the stifling room. You looked around, waiting for someone to laugh, to say this was some cruel joke.

But no one laughed.

Billy just watched you, arms crossed over his chest. Jennifer averted her gaze to the table, her fingers tapping anxiously against the carved wood. Yelena sighed, like she had seen this moment unfold before.

But it was Alice who stepped closer again, her fox-like eyes locked onto yours, filled with something you couldn’t name.

“Breathe,” she whispered again.

But you couldn’t.

You swallowed hard, your knees threatening to buckle, and everything seemed to snap inside you. Like your mind was trying to connect the dots. Like something was whispering in your ear, but you couldn’t understand it.

Agatha. Rio. Calderu. Wanda.

The four of them.

Always close. Always present. Always touching, watching, calling your name like a prayer.

Always taking care of you.

Protecting?

Or feeding?

After all, that’s all you were, right?

Your stomach twisted, and you had to grip the edge of the table. Your vision blurred for a moment.

They knew.

They always knew.

The wave of emotions was too much, too raw, and the words slipped out before you could stop them:

“How is this possible?” Your voice shook, and you hated it. “Why me?”

Alice sighed, as if she had been expecting that question. The others remained silent, but you could feel the electricity in the air, the dense tension between them.

Billy was the first to break it.

“The pure, untainted energy of a good heart is one of the most valuable resources in existence,” he said, spinning a card between his fingers. “It’s more than enough to make hidden beings desire it.”

You frowned, not understanding.

“Why?”

Alice squeezed your hands. Her gaze was intense, sharp, like she was measuring how deep she could go before you broke.

“Because it invigorates them,” she explained. “It strengthens, sustains, rejuvenates. You’ve heard stories of how ancient gods were nourished by the worship of their followers? How their temples were centers of energy, rituals, sacrifices?”

You nodded slowly, your own breath coming unevenly.

“It’s possible through sex too,” Jennifer said, her voice light but cutting.

Your insides turned to ice.

“You—” You stopped, your throat dry.

Billy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “There are many kinds of hunger, and this is the most primal. The oldest. The most powerful.”

You shook your head. No. This was madness.

“But…” Alice hesitated, touching your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “What worries me isn’t what they do with your energy. It’s how long you can last before it consumes you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. Every word they spoke made your mind spin, like it was trying to piece together a puzzle you never realized you were assembling.

“And…” You tried to speak, the words stuck in your throat, cutting like glass. “How do I get rid of it?” Your own voice came out unsteady, almost a painful whisper.

You couldn’t believe you were even asking, feeling the weight of the words on your tongue.

You felt like you were betraying them.

Billy and Yelena exchanged glances. Jennifer looked away, suddenly focused on spinning a ring on her finger. Alice, however, didn’t.

“That depends,” Billy finally said.

“On what?” Your impatience coiled tight in your throat.

“On how deep the connection is,” Alice murmured, still holding the small glass vial between her fingers. “If it’s just a superficial bond… it’s simple. Getting rid of it wouldn’t be difficult.”

You swallowed hard. Something in the way she said that made your skin prickle.

“But if it’s deeper…” Jennifer finally spoke, her voice low and measured. “If they’ve already rooted themselves in you… then there’s no easy way.”

“Rooted?” you whispered, the word foreign in your mouth.

Billy leaned in, pushing the vial toward you.

“If you want the truth, drink this before you sleep.” He held your gaze. “And pay attention to the sounds around you.”

The object felt ten times heavier in your palm. You stared at the dark liquid, a shiver running down your spine.

“What will happen if I drink it?”

Alice hesitated.

“You’ll notice things you normally wouldn’t,” she finally said. “And hear… what has always been there.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You wanted answers. You needed answers.

But were you ready to hear them?

The way home was a blur of lights and shadows. The cold wind bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice spreading in your chest, suffocating, cruel.

Your mommies. Your women. The only ones who ever loved you, the only ones who ever protected you.

And what if it was never real?

You felt each heartbeat like a sharp blade. Every memory—Agatha holding your face with firm, warm hands, Rio pulling you into a lazy hug on the couch—felt like poison now. You wanted to push them away. You wanted to rip them out of you, but they were buried too deep.

You almost laughed, a dry, humorless sound.

Rooted. Just like Jennifer said.

They were inside you. Feeding on you.

The glass vial burned against your skin in your pocket. Your hands trembled.

When you arrived home, everything felt even stranger. There was no usual comforting silence. No familiar scent of Agatha’s woodsy perfume or the expensive candles burning around the house.

There was something else.

A voice.

Familiar.

Rio.

Your stomach dropped. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this soon.

She was still supposed to be in Paris, preparing for the exhibition. You checked the time on your phone. Not even close to 9 PM. What was happening?

Well, did you miss me?

Walk on water just to kiss me

Oh, come and get me

Drag me out, destroy me

I've been expecting you, I'm ready

Deliver me that bad news baby

Your feet hesitated as you approached the living room, trying to make as little noise as possible. But it was pointless.

“My baby!” Her voice, warm and naturally mischievous, hit you. And it hurt so much. It hurt to imagine she was deceiving you.

Using you.

You forced a surprised smile, but you felt the burn behind your eyes, the frustration-laced tears that weren’t allowed to fall.

“Mama,” the word came out strangled from you. “What are you doing here?”

Rio gave you a lazy smile, the kind that always made you feel safe.

Your heart clenched with confusion. She stood up in one fluid movement, walking toward you as if there wasn’t an ocean of doubt and betrayal between you. Her strong arms wrapped around you in a warm, perfumed embrace.

The familiarity of her touch nearly made you crumble.

“Well, Mommy had an unexpected issue here, so of course, I had to come. I left Vision in charge. I didn’t really want to go anyway.”

You pulled back slightly to look at Agatha, who was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in hand. She sighed, watching you with forced patience.

“An issue?” Your eyes narrowed slightly.

“Nothing you need to worry about, darling.”

The words should have been comforting. But you felt the weight of them, the unspoken truth behind them.

Am I your dream girl?

You think of me in bed

But you could never hold me

You like me better in your head

Make me evil, then I'm an angel instead

At least you'll sanctify me when I'm dead

You sat down beside Rio, feeling her warmth against you. She seemed relaxed, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the hem of your sweatshirt. Before, you would’ve adored this gesture. Now, it felt like a magician’s trick—something beautiful and deceiving, meant to distract you from what really mattered.

The wine on the table reflected the soft glow of the fireplace, the clink of ice against Agatha’s glass the only thing filling the momentary silence.

You had to act normal.

You had to deceive the deceivers.

They couldn’t know what you knew.

The knot in your throat doubled in size, but you swallowed it down along with your suspicion. You forced a small smile and stood up.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, making yourself sound casual.

Rio runs her fingers lightly along your arm, her lazy blue eyes meeting yours as she nods. Agatha merely tilts her head, watching you like a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

You step away, feeling your back burn under their gazes.

With every step toward the bathroom, your heart pounds harder.

You needed to get out. Needed to think. Needed to understand what was happening before they realized something inside you had already shifted.

Hot water cascaded down your skin, washing away the weight of the day—but not the weight of your thoughts.

You braced your hands against the damp tiles, inhaling deeply, trying to ignore the small bottle sitting on the sink. The dark glass seemed to pulse toward you, demanding a decision.

Should you drink it? Unravel the truth once and for all?

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest. If Alice and the others were right, drinking it would shatter the illusion. It would be like opening your eyes for the first time—but were you ready for that? Could you bear the truth that came with it?

You swallowed hard, fingers closing around the bottle. The dark liquid inside swirled like ink, thick and opaque. Slowly, you twisted the cap… but your hands trembled. The temptation to take a sip was there—but so was the fear.

What if this was a mistake? What if it was just another trick to pull you away from the only people who had ever truly mattered?

You exhaled sharply, snapping the lid shut and shoving the bottle into the bathroom cabinet.

Not now.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and glanced at your reflection in the foggy mirror. Your eyes looked different. You couldn’t tell if it was just exhaustion or something deeper—something already changing inside you.

Drying your hair quickly, you left the bathroom and stopped in the hallway. In the silence of the house, you found yourself standing between two doors.

Your room or theirs?

Your grip tightened on the towel, chest rising and falling with hesitant breaths. Your room meant safety, distance. But theirs…

You could almost smell Agatha’s familiar perfume, feel the warmth of Rio’s arms—the place where you had always felt safest. The weight of that longing made you waver for a moment.

Should you keep your distance?

Did I disappoint you?

Did mommy make you sad?

Do I just remind you

Of every girl that made you mad?

Make me perfect, make me your fantasy

You know I deserve it

Well, take it out on me

Or should you go to them, curl into the space that had always been yours, and pretend nothing had changed?

You pushed open their door and found everything... normal.

Too normal.

Am I your dream girl?

You think of me in bed

But you could never hold me

You like me better in your head

Make me evil, then I'm an angel instead

At least you'll sanctify me when I'm dead

Rio sat in the corner chair, the cold glow of the iPad illuminating her face as she scrolled through the screen, seemingly absorbed.

Agatha stood at the vanity, massaging floral-scented lotion into her arms with slow, meticulous movements. The sweet, woody aroma filled the room—a scent that once brought you comfort but now felt suffocating.

They looked up at the same time when you entered.

“Finally,” Rio murmured, eyes still on the screen. “You were taking your time, baby.”

“I think I relaxed a little too much,” you replied, aiming for casual as you walked toward the bed and sat down.

Agatha smiled at your reflection in the mirror, rubbing lotion along her neck. “Did you relax… or did you need some time alone, sweetheart?”

Your stomach twisted.

“How was Alice?” Rio asked, closing her iPad and crossing her legs.

You shrugged. “Fine.”

Silence.

Agatha turned to face you directly, one brow arched. “Fine?”

Rio smirked, the corner of her lips curling like she was enjoying this.

“You know,” Agatha continued, stepping slowly toward the bed. “Calderu mentioned she’s quite the troublemaker.”

You forced a neutral expression. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Rio answered before Agatha could. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Great ideas, but sometimes too much creativity… affects her in ways it shouldn’t.”

Agatha sat at the edge of the bed beside you, her perfume weaving around you like a web.

“She might start seeing ghosts, for example.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You forced a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rio stood, walking toward you at an unhurried pace. “It means some people are easily influenced. They pick up bad ideas. Start believing things they shouldn’t.”

Agatha’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Oh. And I bet she’s filled that silly little head of yours with the most filthy nonsense.”

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

It happened too fast.

The grip.

Her fingers found your throat—firm, demanding.

You gasped, not from the force of it, but from the shock.

“And I think we deserve to know the truth, don’t we, sweetheart?” Agatha murmured, leaning in close until your faces were nearly touching.

Watch me shimmer (shimmer)

A projection of your mother (mother)

But don't come crying (crying)

I am nobody's moral center

Rio moved behind you, her hands sliding over your shoulders—cold, chilling.

“Let’s have a real conversation, baby…” Rio whispered against your ear, her warm breath drawing a shaky sigh from you. “Just the three of us.”

Agatha’s fingers tightened around your neck, the floral-scented lotion making the grip feel almost intimate, at odds with its brutality.

It cannot hold, it cannot hold

It cannot hold, it cannot hold

The room—your safier sanctuary—was now a cage.

And you… you were trapped inside it.

~*~

Another cliffhanger chapter cuz I know my babies love that.

Tell me about your theories!!

Mommies always know.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 12 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: Get ready. . . 👀

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

“Okay, you’re all set,” the paramedic says, patting my shoulder. He crumples the packaging of the butterfly closure strips he just used on my cheek up in his fist and throws it into the trash can next to us.

I sigh and shoot him a thankful smile before hopping off the stretcher and climbing out of the back of the ambulance.

As it turns out, none of my injuries are life threatening. My stomach is just bruised and the cut on my cheek isn’t as deep as I originally thought it was.

If I’m honest, my confidence to beat Ghostface again is actually what took the biggest hit. I’m in my prime, physically, and I thought I knew what I was getting into, but this Ghostface is different than Amber and Richie.

He is more. . . rutheless, and the way he fights makes me believe he has some kind of professional training.

“Y/N!”

Oh no.

I slowly turn around to face a fuming Sam. Now that the initial worry has worn off she’s mad and I’m not at all surprised when she shoves me after brushing past another paramedic to get to me.

“Hey, calm down.” I lift my hands placatingly, but she’s not having it.

She scowls and glares incredulously. “Calm down?” she hisses. “Calm down? You almost got yourself killed with that little stunt of yours back there. What the fuck were you thinking?!”

I glace over her shoulder to see Tara watching us with a smug look and her arms crossed over her chest. She sees me looking at her and I silently plead she’ll come over and get Sam to back off, but she doesn’t. She just looks away and I feel my stomach sink.

This is definitely payback for earlier when I didn’t defend her against Sam.

Little shit.

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?! All I wanted was to get you and Tara out of there and I did. You’re both okay,” I argue, turning my attention back to Sam.

She scoffs and pokes my shoulder, stepping closer so we’re almost chest to chest. “And what about you?! Huh? You could have gotten killed!”

Usually I’d be nervous if she was standing this close, but right now I’m simply exhausted and irritated. Why can’t she just say thank you for what I did and move on? Besides, I’m fine!

“But I wasn’t,” I shoot back, looking down at her with as much defiance as I can muster. “I’m still here, am I not?”

“So, what? You’re just going to keep putting yourself in danger until you inevitably do get yourself killed? Do you have no sense of self preservation?” she spits, the fury in her eyes taking me by surprise for a moment.

Why is she so mad? I saved her life!

“If it is to make sure you and Tara are safe then yeah!”

Silence.

Sam stares at me with wide eyes and takes a step back before whispering, “You would die for us? For me?”

Exasperated, I throw up my hands. “Of course, Sam! Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

It’s true, I would die for either of them. Not that I want to, of course, I like being alive, but if it comes down to it, I’d rather it be me than them.

That’s how much I love them. That’s how much I love Sam.

All the fight leaves Sam’s body and she just stares at me with confusion written all over her face. There’s also something else in her eyes, but I can’t quite place it.

Why is it so hard for her to believe it? I almost died saving Tara twice before, so why would that have changed? Why wouldn’t I do the same for her?

“But. . . Why?” she croaks which makes me huff in disbelief.

Is she seriously asking that?

Because I fucking love you, I want so scream, but before I can open my mouth a police officer steps between us.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Detective Bailey is asking for you guys at the station and I’ve been told to give you a ride,” he says politely and I look at Sam one more time to see she’s lost in thought before nodding and following him to his squad car.

I slide into the middle seat next to Tara who’s already in the car and nudge her with an unamused look for leaving me alone with Sam before letting her hug my arm for comfort. Sam gets in as well a moment later and we spend the drive to the police station in silence.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Sam says quietly, getting to her feet and pointing at her now vacant chair. “Just take a seat. We’ve been here for hours and you haven’t stopped pacing once.”

We’re alone in an interrogation room and there are pictures of the latest Ghostface killings on the table. I can’t stand to look at them any more and I’m beyond tired, so to keep myself distracted and awake I pace around. Well, until now.

Sam eyes me expectantly, her arms crossed over her chest, but I just shake my head.

Tara is asleep with her head on the table, and I know I won’t be able to sit still when I sit down and I don’t want to risk waking her.

I also know that tonight’s been a lot for Sam, even more than for me, so she should really be the one sitting down.

“Y/N. . .” she warns, but I just shake my head again.

“You’re tired, you sit down. I’m fine on my feet,” I say only to yawn a second later.

“Are you now?” she deadpans and I sigh, turning to resume my pacing.

I don’t get very far though because before I know what’s happening, Sam’s grabbed my elbow and dragged me to the chair.

She pushes me to sit down on it, and I’m about to protest and stand right back up when she plops down on my lap.

“Just sit. . .” she mumbles.

My brain short circuits and I freeze, feeling my heart race in my chest when she leans back against me, resting her head on my chest.

I know I could easily get her off me and stand up, but I don’t dare to move.

What the fuck is happening?

At the bodega she was about ready to rip my head off and now she’s doing this, whatever this is. . .

We haven’t been this close since we were kids and she snuck into my room and I don’t know how to react, or where to put my hands. I can just hope she can’t hear how fast my heart is beating.

I have to admit, she feels warm and the smell of her perfume brings me an unexplainable comfort, but I’m currently more awake than I’ve been all night even though the opposite seems to be true for her.

She lets out a deep breath and gets more comfortable on my lap and when I hesitantly wrap my arms around her middle so they’re not just awkwardly hanging by my side she puts her hands over mine and interlaces our fingers.

What is happening?!

The resolve I had to stay away from her so as to not get hurt again is dwindling, leaving me utterly confused.

I don’t know what I want anymore, but I do know that it feels right to have her this close.

Still, I want to ask her what she’s doing since she’s with Danny— or is she?— but I don’t get the chance because before I can pluck up the courage to do it, the door flies open.

Tara jerks awake and sits up with wide eyes, frowning momentarily when she sees the position Sam and I are in before turning back to what I’m assuming is Quinn’s dad, Detective Bailey, who just walked in.

“Sorry for the long wait,” he says, closing the door behind himself. When he turns, he looks at Sam and me weirdly, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Still, it makes me feel uneasy, and I want Sam to get off me, but she just holds my hands tighter and shifts so she faces Bailey more directly as he sits down at the other side of the table.

He throws a Ghostface mask onto the table and says something about it having been found at the apartment crime scene. I don’t pay much attention because I’m still distracted by Sam sitting on my lap.

He also goes on to ask us all about our alibis and I only give a short answer, saying that I just got into the city and that I was with Sam and Tara the rest of the night.

“Was the party before or after this?” he asks Sam and I tense underneath her when he shows us a video of Sam trying to lunge at the girl who threw her drink on her.

Where did he even get that?

Sam squeezes my fingers, but her voice is level when she replies, “Before. . .”

Tara huffs. “The point is we were with people all night.”

Bailey nods, although it seems almost reluctantly and it’s silent for a moment before Sam asks the question I’ve been meaning to ask myself ever since we got here.

“So, our roommate’s dad just happened to pull our case?” she asks and I see something like irritation flash in Bailey’s eyes before he answers.

“The detective who had the case offered it to me because it involves Quinn. But I can totally give it back if you’re uncomfortable,” he says and the way he says it almost makes it sound like a challenge.

Of course it makes sense that he’d work on this case, but my gut tells me that something’s not right about this whole thing.

I could also just be tired and hungry though, after all, I’ve been up for almost twenty four hours now and the last time I ate something was back at Liam’s which was just some leftover chocolate cake.

The two sisters share a look, Tara seemingly skeptical of the situation, but then Sam sighs and relaxes back against me, saying, “It’s fine.”

Bailey nods and he looks almost smug and I frown for a moment, but then he goes on to talk about Sam’s stolen license and I zone out again.

That is until the door opens once again and a uniformed officer tells Bailey that the FBI is here, claiming jurisdiction over the case.

The FBI?

“What?” Bailey clenches his jaw and gets to his feet. “Where are they?”

He leaves the room without looking back and as soon as he’s gone, I let out a long sigh. This is not how I thought my trip to New York would turn out.

“This is all so messed up,” Tara whispers.

“Yeah.” Sam nods and for a couple of seconds we sit in silence. Chatter from outside the interrogation room is the only thing to be heard, well, that and the clock ticking on the wall above us until Sam gets to her feet, pulling me up by my arm as well.

“What are you—?” I start but she’s already dragging me to the door.

“I want to know what’s going on,” she says.

Tara shrugs when I look at her, and before I know it the three of us are standing in the hallway where Bailey and a blonde woman I don’t recognize are in the middle of a conversation.

“Kirby?” Sam asks, letting go of my arm.

“Hey, Sam,” the blonde— Kirby— says, sending Bailey a placating smile before pulling Sam into a hug. “Tara. . .” She smiles at the younger Carpenter before shifting her attention to me. “Oh, and Y/N, hey.”

Kirby, Kirby, Kirby. . . Why does that sound so familiar?

“You guys know each other?” Bailey asks with a somewhat displeased look.

“Yeah, we went to Woodsboro High together,” Sam explains, the surprise of seeing the blonde still present on her face. “She was a senior when Y/N and I were freshman.”

Ah, yes. That’s why her name rings a bell.

The two of us never really saw that much of each other around school, but now that I know who she is I remember her from back then.

Wow. . . That feels like forever ago. I’m really getting old.

An officer walking by and handing Bailey another Ghostface mask in an evidence bag, this time from the bodega, cuts our trip down memory lane short.

It turns out it belonged to Charlie Walker and Jill Roberts, both of whom were Ghostfaces which makes me feel uneasy.

Two Ghostface masks belonging to previous Ghostfaces have been found now, and it’s pretty obvious that it’s not a coincidence.

The question is though, why would the current Ghostface leave them at the crime scenes and how did he get his hands on them in the first place.

Aren’t those masks evidence? Shouldn’t they be locked up at a police station somewhere?

“Whoever’s doing this,” Kirby says, snapping me out of my thoughts, “is a student of the killers who came before. . . Maybe he believes Sam is the latest in a long line.”

Excuse me?! Sam is not Ghostface.

I gape at Kirby, but Tara and Sam don’t seem too surprised by what the blonde just said.

This is definitely part of what I’m still missing. . .

Sam grabs my arm again and goes to brush past Bailey and Kirby, saying, “Good luck with that, but we’re getting out of town,” only to be stopped by Bailey who steps in her way and says, “That’s not possible. You’re all persons of interest in a double homicide, so you’re not allowed to leave town.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, speaking up for the first time since telling him about my alibi.

Kirby nods with an apologetic look, trying to convince us to just work with them to get this solved as quickly as possible, but Sam just shakes her head.

“Yeah, no. We’re leaving.” She spins around and leaves, and Tara and I are quick to follow her only to run into Gale Weathers and a whole bunch of other reporters outside.

It’s a struggle to get through them, especially getting past Gale who since writing her book on what happened is dead to me, but after Tara punches her we manage to flag down a cab and get away.

When her book first came out, I was a little irritated because she said she wouldn’t write about what happened, but then I read it and I was furious. She portrayed Sam as unstable and a born killer, which made me furious, and then she even tried to get an interview with me to talk about it which I, of course, refused.

I’m so tired, I bet I could fall asleep standing up right now. I just got out of the shower at Sam’s and Tara’s and am now pulling on the clothes they lent me. Well, technically they’re Chad’s because his are the only clothes that fit me, but he’s got them stored here for emergencies.

Originally, I wanted to go to Liam’s to get my stuff, but I couldn’t risk Ghostface following me and potentially finding out about Liam.

Then, my second thought was to go out and buy some stuff while Sam and Tara went to meet the others on campus to talk about what’s going to happen next, but Tara refused to let me go alone.

Which is how I ended up here, in Sam’s room, half dressed in a pair of loose jeans, with damp hair and an aching stomach.

I can’t find the sweater Tara tossed my way earlier, so I just take a seat on the edge of the bed and close my eyes, trying to indulge in this little moment of peace while the other’s are in the living room and in the kitchen making dinner.

I know now that the reason Sam was assaulted by that girl is because there’s rumors going around that she instigated all the murders in Woodsboro and then framed Richie for them. It also clears up why Kirby said people think Sam is a Ghostface, however it doesn’t explain why I haven’t heard about this until now— until Ethan mentioned the rumors online which led me to go down a rabbit hole on my phone before showering.

I’m appalled by it, and mad that people even consider believing this shit, but I’m also disappointed that neither Tara nor Sam told me about it.

The door creaks open behind me, but I don’t open my eyes or turn around until I hear Sam clear her throat softly.

I wasn’t expecting her, so I’m quick to get up and look for the sweater since I’m still half naked.

“Looking for this?” she asks quietly as she picks the sweater off the floor on the other side of the bed.

Ah, that’s where it went.

“I— Yeah,” I take it from her with a tight-lipped smile and quickly put it on, not missing the way her eyes dart to my scars before I cover them.

I don’t like how awkward things are between us, and I don’t like how confused I am about my feelings for her.

Her sitting on my lap at the police station is one thing, she could have just been tired and clingy after what happened, but this, the intense way she’s looking at me right now. . . That is something else entirely.

I love her. I love her more than anyone, but I don’t want to get hurt again.

“You know,” she says with vulnerability seeping into her voice. “I don’t actually hate you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I— Okay. I mean, I wasn’t thinking you did, but. . .”

She chuckles sadly and shakes her head. “Not now, no, but—“ she runs her hands through her hair, “—years ago, you stopped me from going home with that guy, Josh, I think was his name. You stopped me from doing something I would have regretted for the rest of my life a-and I threw it in your face. I told you I hated you and I never forgot about it.“

When our eyes meet, I see tears glistening in her eyes, making me frown as I take a step forward.

“Sam. . .” I whisper, but she averts her shame-filled eyes. “I know you didn’t mean it. Even back then, I knew. You were hurting and you needed someone to blame, so you blamed me because I was closest to you. It stung, yes, but I never held it against you. If I’m honest, I even forgot about it until you just brought it up.”

“But then why do you hate me now?” she asks, her voice cracking.

She’s still not looking at me, so I close the distance between us and tentatively brush my fingers against her cheek. “What are you talking about? I don’t hate you.”

She unconsciously leans into the touch, her watery eyes finally meeting mine again. “Then why are you shutting me out? After what happened last year I thought we were fine, but then. . . after Christmas you started acting weird a-and I don’t understand why.”

Guilt washes over me like a tidal wave. I never meant to hurt her by keeping my distance. All I wanted to do was protect my heart.

I let my hand drop off her cheek and clench my jaw.

I’m so tired of this cat and mouse game. I don’t want to get hurt again, but she deserves to know the truth. I mean, what better time is there than now? We could all die tonight, and I’m not prepared to take this secret to the grave with me. After all, I was already going to tell her last night before we were interrupted and taken to the station.

“Because. . . I love you,” I whisper shakily.

Sam’s eyes widen but I continue before she can say anything.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids, Sam. It’s always been you, but I’ve kept my distance these last nine months because I realized that you don’t—and will never— feel the same way about me. I never meant to hurt you in the process. . .”

I shudder. There’s no turning back now. For a moment Tara’s muffled laugh from the living room and the heartbeat in my ear are the only things I can hear.

“How would you know?” Sam croaks, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Know what?” I ask, frowning at her lack of reaction.

Her eyes dart over my face, searching for. . . I don’t even know what.

“That I don’t feel the same way?” she whispers, stepping closer.

“What?” I was expecting everything but that. “I don’t—“

“You’re such an idiot,” she mumbles, surging forward and kissing me.

I choke in surprise, my hands flailing around for a split second before my eyes fly shut and my arms find their way around her waist.

This is everything I ever dreamed of and more. Her lips taste like the cherry lip-balm she likes, making me swoon, and her fingers digging into my neck send shivers down my spine.

If she wasn’t as pressed against me as she is, I’m sure my knees would give out under me.

As great as this is though, I can’t help but suddenly think of Danny and I pull back right before she can deepen the kiss.

“Sorry.” She pants against my lips, resting her forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t have just—“

“No.” I shake my head. “I-It’s okay. . . More than okay actually.” We both chuckle. “But what about Danny?”

She sighs and pulls back enough to look at me, her fingers playing with the damp hair at the back of my neck. “I told you. We’re not a thing. We used to fool around for a while, but now we’re just friends.”

“Friends?” I ask skeptically.

“Yes, friends.” She shoots me a knowing look, the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “He’s always wanted more, but I told him it’s not happening because I’m in love with someone else. . . I’m in love with you.”

I know she’s basically already said it, but hearing her actually say it makes me gasp softly which in turn makes her smile a watery smile.

“I love you,” she whispers again, pecking my lips. “Always have and always will. I just— I never told you because when I realized it, it was right before I found out who my real dad was and I didn’t want to drag you into it. Then, I left for five years and when I came back, I didn’t think I deserved to tell you. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most, but then we were getting over it and I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d get a chance to tell you after all. . . and then you started shutting me out.“

I chuckle in disbelief and pull her into a hug, burying my nose in her hair. “I shut you out because you never reacted to what Richie said and then you said all that stuff about long distance relationships and—“

“I didn’t say anything about what Richie said because I didn’t think he was actually right. After everything I’d done, I just didn’t believe that you could ever be in love with me,” she argues weakly, tightening her arms around my neck. “And the whole long distance stuff, I just— I wasn’t talking about you. With anyone else, I wouldn’t want it, but with you?! You’re the exception to every rule.”

Well damn. If only we’d talked sooner.

I sniffle and blink back a wave of tears before pulling back to look at her again.

Tara’s going to be so proud of us.

“I love you,” I say, feeling my heart flutter at the way her eyes sparkle when I say it.

She moves her hands from the back of my neck to my jaw, her thumb gently touching the cut on my cheekbone. It makes my skin tingle and when she whispers, “I love you, too,” I lean down to brush my lips against hers.

She hums and goes to deepen the kiss, but then a scream from the living room makes us jump apart.

_______________________________________________

And BAM! There it is! It finally happened, people! We kissed. Be honest, was it a little rushed, or are you guys happy with it?

Writing it, it felt a little rushed but we’re twelve chapters in now, so I think the timing’s okay.

Anywayyy, hope you liked it!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[rueclfer]

evergreen

𖤓 part xii. | series m.list | prev | part xiii.

touya’s phone is swiped out of his hands and onto the floor by a dirty wet rag. his head whips to the other side of the room to find you staring right back at him, white knuckled with another rag in hand.

“if i stopped caring, this would be easier for the both of us?” you repeat, taking stepping closer, “are you fucking kidding me?”

he’d be lying if he said that there wasn’t something surging through his body as he watches you storm over to him, abandoning your caddy of cleaning products. was it fear? excitement? attraction?

you throw the rag down against touya’s chest. he watches it fall onto the ground between his legs before snapping his gaze back up to you.

he says nothing for a moment, and instead adjusts himself on the bench of the wooden lunch table. you watch him lean back, cross his arms across his chest, and prop his ankle over his knee with nothing but a smug smile on his face.

he couldn’t bite back the smirk- not even when you looked like you were ready to kill him at this moment.

“i said what i said.” he shrugs.

you lunge at him.

this isn’t you. you’re not the type of person to get into physical altercations. you both know that. last night you couldn't even look at touya after the embarrassment of crying in front of him, but now you wanted to throw him into the ground.

your venom usually comes from your tongue, not your fists, but there's been something brewing inside of you since the summer started and now that you’re here with a two week grounding at your grown age, you’ve come to the conclusion that you have nothing left to lose. 

“it’d be easier,” you grab him by the collar of his shirt, balling the fabric in your fists as you push him into the table, “if you knew how to be honest and communicate instead of being a fucking coward and tip-toeing around the conversation we’re going to eventually have to have anyways.”

you hated how his eyes were gleaming. it was obvious he was enjoying himself, and seeing this reaction out of you may have been the highlight of his summer so far.

“we had that conversation, didn't we?” he cocks his head to the side with a lazy smile.

you shake him a little- tugging him back and forth before digging the edge of the table into his back again.

“stop looking at me like that,” you scold, "take me seriously."

“and there’s that scowl,” he mutters.

the more heat that prickles up your neck, the tighter you grip onto his t-shirt.

“can’t you be fucking normal and have a conversation with me? a serious one? or do you drop off the face of the earth and suddenly lose all of your comprehension skills?”

“well, fuck, sweetheart. when you’re screaming in my face and manhandling me like this, you make it kinda hard to concentrate.”

“you’re impossible,” you scoff, throwing him away from your grasp.

you stand up straight and take a step back, huffing out a breath of annoyance.

you and touya look at each other in silence. you watch him readjust his wrinkled and stretched collar while he watches the blood pool back into your hands. you still have that scowl on your face, and for a second you look like you’re a kid again- post tantrum, pouty, and ready to take your frustrations out on him when you don't get your way.

“there really is nothing?” you exasperated “you grew up and this is just the way that you are now? you turn seventeen and decide that nothing matters to you anymore?”

“seventeen,” he repeats, “is complicated and nothing that i want to talk about.”

not even to me?

there’s still a part of you that still feels bonded to touya no matter how many conversations you’ve had with yourself about letting him go. as if the feeling of being kids together will never leave you, even when he’s sitting right in front of you as living proof that it’ll never be that again.

“would you have ever reached out if you didn’t end up here this summer?” the question slips out of your mouth. you weren’t sure if you really wanted to know, but judging from the flash of shock on his face, you probably already knew the answer. “since you said you didn’t have a choice.”

touya presses his lips together into a tight line.

“yeah,” he sighs, “probably. eventually. i think.”

you slowly nod your head, “and what would you say?”

he blows out a long breath of air through his teeth and shifts himself in his seat, the wooden bench suddenly becoming uncomfortable.

“that i’m sorry? i guess?” he says under his breath.

all the time that had passed, and he still couldn’t get a grip on his words. something about his uncomfort with being vulnerable was comforting for you in a way, like it was the first nostalgic moment you’ve had with touya all summer.

“right,” you scoff, backtracking towards your side of the cafeteria. “nothing like the present, touya. five years later and i’m still waiting for that apology whenever you’re ready. or an explanation. or literally anything to make this summer less shitty than it already is.”

“lotta pressure for a guy like me, don’t you think?” he chuckles, standing up and grabbing his phone off the ground.

“call it accountability. we’re both adults now aren’t we?”

clearly, he thinks to himself, watching you grab your caddy and head towards the exit.

“have fun with the bathrooms,” you call out, throwing your middle finger over your shoulder before the door slams shut behind you.

a/n: drops this and runnnssss!!!! y/n: *screaming at touya spitting in his face about to break his jaw* touya: whoa *blushing* lmmmmaaaooo hi everyoneeee this is the slowest burn i've ever slowburned i need to move shit aasssaappp like 12 parts in and they haven't even had the TALK yet im abt to start losing it and make them makeout sloppy style behind the grimy bathroom shed

tags: (i think im capped out for tags so no longer accepting ppl for taglist sawwwwwyyyyyyy)

@iluv-ace @bitchyfestivalbouquet @redr0sewrites @babylambdietcoke @bnhabadass @hanmastattoos @1ndee @starsryi @nesrynsblog @twoplayergaymers @suksatoru @ita606 @pookiebear16 @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @in-the-marina-trench @haruhi269 @itgetzweird08 @ilophilia @chimimon @emluvs-sugu @punishblue @whorror-complex @akumakitsune21 @maddie-rose-1 @ixeyi @commonmisery @ggriwm @exselily @kryscent @starrmage @vannyinthestars @burnishingbagels @soobhns @kaybug88 @lantsovheiress @0skullyard0 @albakugo @sleepyk0dyz @blu3-l0v3r @bakugouswh0r3 @kaldurahms-lover @thoughtswithbbg @slothsmoths @reocidal @multi-write @stoned-anime-babe @i-simp-to-much @satansdaughter123 @haunted4love @annybah @linmabbe @boreaswrites @lostsomewhereinthegarden @hearts4heidi @makaroni-and-chez

[chvoswxtch]

revelation

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: billy's questioning leads to more than one epiphany you weren't ready for.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, lots of angst, billy being the shithead he is

word count: 4.2k

a/n: I know y'all were big mad at me last update. I don't know if this one makes up for it or not. but...enjoy. :) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [ next chapter] | [series masterlist]

Flickers of flesh colored light began to flash in your brain. It was as if each of your senses were rebooting one by one, your body slowly clawing its way out of the darkened abyss you’d been lost in. Murmurs of conversation and clinks of metal crept into your eardrums. While that sickly sweet artificial chemical taste lingered on your tongue, a dull throbbing was emanating from the back of your head. Trying to inhale a deep breath, a familiar strong cologne seemed to flip the switch of consciousness. 

“Ah, there she is.”

As your eyes fluttered open, you fought through the haze of disorientation, forcing your vision to clear. A blur of green approached slowly, and after blinking a few times, the fuzzy silhouette came into focus. Billy knelt down in front of you, a serpentine smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. 

Your bones felt like they were made of stone, but when you tried to move, you realized it wasn’t just a mental restriction, but also a physical one. Glancing downwards, you saw that your wrists and legs had been bound to the chair you were in with black leather straps. White hot rage struck through your nervous system like a bolt of lightning. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“You tell me.”

“I'm the one tied to a chair here, asshole.”

Billy let out an amused chuckle at your sharp snap, his dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Just a precaution, darlin’. I've seen you in action, and I like my face the way it is.”

Narrowing your eyes in resentment, your lips were set in a tight line as you clenched your jaw while simultaneously clenching your fists. Billy’s eyes flickered down to your hands before returning to your heated glare, and he let out a deep exhale through his nose. Standing up fully, he grabbed a wooden crate to his left and dragged it over towards you. After sitting down on the edge of it and folding his arms over his chest, he gave a faint nod of his head in your direction.

“I need to know what you know.”

“About what?”

“Frank and Madani.”

Pure annoyance laced with confusion quickly creased between your brows, and your exasperation was evident in your tone.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Billy. That’s what this is about? I told you I don't know anything. Okay, whatever you and Madani have Frank working on-”

Billy suddenly cut you off, snapping his fingers before pointing his index finger in your direction.

“Ah, see, that right there. Madani and I don't work together. We never have. Anvil has a contract with Homeland, but my business is with them, not her.”

Billy paused for a moment, letting those words linger in the air. He searched your face for any flicker of recognition that would give you away, but all he could see in your expression was perplexity. And that you were royally pissed off. Either you had one hell of a poker face, or you truly didn’t know anything. He was determined to find out.

“And I haven't assigned anything to Frank in almost two months, because he told me he needed some personal time to take care of somethin’. So imagine my surprise when you tell me that he’s got some business goin’ on with me and Madani.”

Every word that left Billy’s lips left you feeling confused. It was like he was single handedly ripping up the pieces of what you thought you knew regarding this entire situation with Frank. The ferocity of your anger dulled slightly, becoming overshadowed by disillusionment. 

“I…I don't understand.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

In an instant, your brain began to replay every single conversation with Frank over the last two months, trying to figure out what you were missing. You could feel in your gut that the answer was right in front of your face, but you were struggling to figure it out, and it left you feeling immensely frustrated. Dropping your gaze to the concrete floor beneath your feet, your eyes darted back and forth, like you were reading some invisible text written in the cracks.

I’m helpin’ Madani with somethin’. 

It’s personal.

Those were the key phrases that kept popping up in your head. They were the ones sticking out from the rest, and your foggy brain was relentlessly trying to figure out why. Closing your eyes, you tried to shift your mindset. You had to treat this like a story. You had to walk through what you knew, sort through the pieces Frank had given you, and connect the red string on the mental evidence board in your brain.

Thinking back to the conversation where you’d confronted Frank at his apartment about his strange behavior, you willed your brain to focus on what he’d said, and how he said it.

“He…he said he had a new assignment.”

Billy had been watching you closely, paying attention to the flash of varying emotions crossing your face. He could see that you were trying to figure something out in your head, and your words made him sit up straighter. 

“What did he say the assignment was?”

You remembered Frank looking remorseful as he sat on his couch, trying to explain the situation, but he had also looked…guarded. He didn’t maintain eye contact with you the entire time, which was strange, and when he did look at you, there had been something in his eyes besides guilt. It was a flicker of something you couldn’t decipher, because he was hiding it from you. Whatever it was, he didn’t want you to see it.

“He didn’t. He just said it was personal. He wouldn’t tell me anything about it.”

“What did he tell you?”

That feeling of frustration you’d felt during that initial conversation bubbled up once again, and you let out an irritated exhale through your nose as you opened your eyes and tilted your head back to look upwards. Wherever Billy had you, it appeared to be underground. There weren’t any windows, and the fluorescent overhead lights were harsh, aggravating your sensitive eyes. You swiftly shut them again to block out the light, trying hard to conjure that memory of Frank once more.

But all you could see was your mother. The unpleasant glare above brought you back to a sterile hospital room, and instead of Frank’s deep voice, you heard the daunting beeping on the machines that had controlled her fate with their wires, and the struggle of her labored breathing. Her body had turned against her, stolen her time, but it hadn’t been able to take her feisty spirit. 

Clenching your fists, you tried desperately to escape the memory, but your mother had always been as stubborn as you were. The phantom feeling of the chilled flesh that barely covered the bones of her hand touching your skin felt so real and vivid, you didn’t know if Billy had knocked you out again or not.

Her familiar voice from one of her last good moments, exhausted with illness, but still melodic with whimsy, played in your ears.

“Can you force the tide to come back to the shore?”

A furrow of confusion had settled between your brows at her interjection, and you’d refocused your attention from the book in your hands towards her.

“Did they up your meds?”

“Ha ha ha, smartass.”

Setting down the book you’d been reading her, you smiled at ever present sarcasm, and you’d rolled your eyes playfully.

“No mom, I can’t force the tide to come back to the shore.”

“And why is that?”

There had been a glimmer of playfulness in her eyes, even though they were slightly sunken in and surrounded by dark circles. You had resisted the urge to answer literally about gravity and the moon, and instead let her continue with whatever point she was trying to make.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

She’d reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, and her skin had been so cool to the touch, felt so fragile, it had made your heart constrict in your chest.

“Because it comes on its own. You just have to be patient, and let it come to you.”

Patience had never been your strong suit, especially when it came to putting things together, or trying to figure something out. If something didn’t click fast enough, you would get frustrated and try to coerce it, to make it make sense, which usually never worked in your favor. It wasn’t until you stopped trying so hard and took a step back that you had your biggest breakthroughs. Clearly, it was a lesson you were still trying to learn.

“Y/N. What did Frank say-”

“Can you shut the hell up? I’m trying to think.”

Billy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips when you snapped at him through your gritted teeth, but he obliged. Letting out a quiet shaky breath, you resisted the urge to give into the emotions building up behind your eyelids from that memory. You slowly unclenched your fists and relaxed your jaw. 

Quit trying to force fragments together. Focus. Let it come to you.

Instead of rushing through the memories and waiting for the answers to pop out, you replayed them slowly, carefully analyzing over every frame, dissecting every word. Frank had been very cautious with his phrasing, but that wasn’t a coincidence. 

I’m helpin’ Madani with somethin’. 

Madani gave me some intel. 

Madani needed someone she could trust.

“He said that he was helping Madani-”

Madani. Frank said he was helping Madani. Not once had Frank mentioned Billy. He had only ever said Dinah’s name. 

Opening your eyes, you slowly lowered your head, looking straight forward at Billy. He arched one of his dark brows, an expectant look on his face.

“Said he was helpin’ Madani with what?”

For a moment you stared at Billy in complete silence. Something wasn’t right. As soon as you had let it slip in your office that Frank was working with Madani, Billy had physically reacted. There was something that had flashed in his eyes, darkening them to momentary blackness. His voice was cold when he’d questioned you about it, almost…angry. You’d initially thought it was because he thought you knew something you weren’t supposed to about Frank’s “assignment”. 

But now you realized it was because he didn’t know about it.

“Why didn’t Frank tell you?”

There was unmistakable suspicion in your voice, and it visibly caught Billy off guard. He narrowed his eyes slightly, cocking his head to the side as he looked at you.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to figure out.”

Frank hadn’t mentioned anything about what he was doing with Madani to Billy, his best friend. The man he served side by side with for years, had formed a brotherhood with, who he had considered part of his family. That made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a dreadful chill straightened your spine. He hadn’t been able to tell you exactly what was going on, but he’d at least given you something. 

Frank had mentioned owing Madani a debt, but he was loyal to a fault, and the fact that he hadn’t told Billy set off warning bells in your head. But Billy’s extreme reaction to being purposefully left in the dark was what set your nervous system ablaze with unease. 

The idea of Frank working with Madani without his knowledge seemed to set Billy off, triggering a volatile chain of events. He’d drugged you, kidnapped you from Curtis’ apartment, was essentially holding you hostage, and now he was interrogating you to figure out what you knew. 

One of Frank’s cryptic explanations abruptly parted through the lingering clouds of fogginess in your brain, shedding a blinding light on the most important piece that had been hidden in the shadows of your subconscious. 

“Oh my God.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper and shrouded in disbelief.

It’s connected to someone I know.

You remembered how Frank had stiffened when he’d said that, how his face had hardened to stone. His voice had been quiet, layered with an ominous undertone and barely concealed vitriol. He’d nearly morphed into a man you didn’t recognize right in front of your eyes, and it had made you shiver with discomfort.

And suddenly it clicked. Betrayal. That cold flicker in his eyes he tried to hide was betrayal.

“It’s you.”

Billy watched as the canvas of your face morphed into a portrait of realization and horror.

He visibly stiffened at those words, his lips pressing into a firm line, emphasizing the sharpness of his jaw. 

Billy. All of this was because of Billy. Whatever Madani had found, it was connected to him. That’s why she brought it to Frank. Little moments started to stand out in your head that made you wonder just how long ago Madani had planted the seed of doubt in Frank’s mind. Looking back, he’d acted strangely when you’d mentioned Billy’s name recently, but it was so subtle that you hadn’t even picked up on it.

But him being adamant about leaving you with Curtis, someone you’d never even heard about or met until yesterday, should've been a huge clue.

Knowing that what was causing the divide between you and Frank was none other than the man currently standing in front of you and whatever he had done, you were swiftly filled with an anger that turned your blood molten. Your disbelief and horror slowly hardened into a wall of ice, but your eyes were aflame with resentment.

“What did you do.”

It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation, and the way you grit it through your teeth demanded an answer. Billy’s eyes showed no hint of remorse, and he made no attempt to correct whatever conclusions you were drawing in your head in regards to his character. He rose to his feet, taking a step forward to tower over you, staring down into the flames of rancor blazing in your eyes with a steely gaze of his own. 

“I made something of myself.”

His voice was crisp and clear. There was no layer of apology, no waver of regret. Whatever he’d done, Billy felt justified in it. 

His arrogance had always pissed you off.

Slowly tilting your head to the side, you stared up at him in clear challenge, your tone razor sharp and dripping with venom.

“Yeah? What did it cost?”

The edge of his mouth twitched at your taunt. Grabbing your wrists that were strapped down to the arms of the chair, he leaned forward, getting right in your face as he spoke in an aggravated tone.

“I wasn't handed nothin’. I had to earn everything I got. I had to make some tough decisions along the way, maybe did a few things I'm not so proud of. Empires aren’t built without sacrifice.”

One of the last things Billy had said to you that day in your office when you’d mentioned Frank working with Madani was that some secrets were better left buried. That choice of phrasing left you with a gut feeling that it wasn’t what Billy had left buried, but who. 

“But you didn’t sacrifice anything, did you Billy? No…you sacrificed someone, and it’s come back to haunt you. So who was it? Someone important to Dinah? Or to Frank?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Billy snapped, suddenly getting defensive. His dark brown eyes had eclipsed into pools of disdain, and his lips were twisted into a faint snarl.

“I’m not lettin’ that bitch destroy everything I built.”

Rising to his full height once again, Billy’s expression shifted back into a passive and more controlled one as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“I’m gonna send Frankie an invite to do a little trade, you for whatever he’s got.”

Letting out a dry scoff, you shook your head as you stared up at him.

“You’re really more concerned about losing your wealth than your best friend?”

“If he digs too deep, he’s gonna find somethin’ he ain’t gonna like, and the war he waged on New York is gonna look like a fuckin’ daydream compared the nightmare he’s gonna bring to my doorstep.”

Billy’s words seemed to pour over you like a bucket of ice, your fiery rage fizzling into frozen perplexity.

“War on New York? What are you talking about?”

Billy’s eyes flickered up from the phone in his hand, meeting your confused gaze. He arched one of his dark brows, looking at you curiously. 

“Oh c’mon, you haven’t figured it out yet? You’re a clever girl. You didn’t put together the pieces I gave you?”

“What pieces?”

“The gift I left on your desk.”

The file. The one that had Frank’s name on it. You’d had a sneaking suspicion Billy was the one that left it, but you never asked him about it, or paid it any attention after your argument with Frank. A furrow of annoyance settled between your brows.

“I never read it.”

Billy seemed genuinely surprised by that, and also confused.

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t my business, and Frank found it anyway and took it.”

He eyed you silently for a moment before slipping his phone back into his pocket and sitting back down on the edge of the crate. Billy cocked his head to the side slightly.

“He tell you how his family died?”

Immediately, you went rigid. A wave of emotions crested within you. The recollection of Frank’s vulnerability in opening up about his tragic loss was fresh. It wasn’t something you’d forget anytime soon, or ever. Hearing the grief in his voice, seeing the pain in his eyes; the worst day of Frank’s life was seared into your memory as deeply as the memory of your own. Billy bringing it up so casually incensed you all over again.

“Why does that matter?”

Billy let out a deep exhale of irritation through his nose at your defensive tone. 

“Did he tell you how they died?”

He repeated his words in a more firm voice, holding your heated gaze.

“Yes, you dick. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Instead of being angry at your insult, a smirk curled at the edge of Billy’s mouth. There was a wicked gleam in his eye, and it filled you with a sickening feeling of foreboding. 

“Pop quiz, sweetheart. Who were the three gangs the Punisher took out?”

Bewilderment wiped any lingering emotion from your face. Billy’s question seemed to send a shock through your brainwaves, causing a delay between it and your mouth.

“What?”

“C’mon, this is an easy one. You wrote an article about the guy. Who were they?”

Billy’s eyes twinkled with amusement under the harsh fluorescents, clearly enjoying knowing something you didn’t. He was taunting you, and despite knowing better than to give into his little game, your curiosity got the better of you.

“The Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish, and the Mexican Cartel.”

Billy’s lips spread into a pleased smirk at your reluctant answer, and he gave you a faint not of his head.

“Good girl. Now, you had a uh, mentor, at the Bulletin. Ben, right?” 

The mention of Ben’s name sent a pang through you, but Billy’s sudden switch in topics from the Punisher’s victims to Ben gave you mental whiplash. He didn’t give you more than a second to react before he continued.

“He wrote an article a few years ago about a little shootout, ended in a massacre. Remind me, where was that?”

Anxiety shot through you, making every single hair on your body stand to attention. 

“Central Park.”

“And there was one survivor. What was his name?”

The apprehension you felt was evident in the way you lightly gripped onto the arms of the chair. You hadn’t known that answer when Ben originally worked on that article, but you knew it now. Trying to keep up the strong front you were putting on, you attempted to keep your voice even.

“His name was never released.”

“No, it wasn’t. But when he woke up from that coma and found out his entire family had been killed in that shootout, he sure as hell made sure that New York would never forget the one they gave him.”

Billy watched the way your expression transitioned from translucent coolness, to perplexity, and finally wary hesitance. Keeping his eyes locked on you, he slowly rose from the crate, stalking towards you, but instead of coming to a stop in front of you like he had earlier, he began to circle you like a predator. 

“Tell me sweetheart, who was there that day?”

“Why does that-”

“Just answer the question.”

Letting out a sharp exhale through your nose, you began to rattle off the details you remembered from the article.

“The Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish, and the-”

Immediately, you froze. Billy came to a stop behind you, and you could almost feel the way he was staring at the back of your head intensely.

“And?”

His voice was calm, but you could detect a hint of amusement. He was enjoying this, forcing you to solve his little riddle. But this time, you didn’t want to put the pieces together. You didn’t want to solve this puzzle. You wanted to run away from it. 

“The Mexican Cartel.”

The words were barely a decibel above a whisper when they left your lips, but in the silence of the space, they seemed to roar in your ears. Your hands were now gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that your knuckles had gone stark white, the flesh stretched taut over the bone. 

Feeling Billy’s hands settle on your shoulders, you flinched, and he squeezed them roughly in response. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck as he bent down to speak directly into your ear.

“What’s his name?”

Billy was a master manipulator. He was toying with you, trying to get a rise out of you by messing with your head. That’s all this was. It was a cruel trick, trying to make you think that the man who had single handedly wiped out the three largest gangs in New York City was the John Doe from the hospital. The he was-

“C’mon, you’re a smart girl. I can see the gears turning in your head. You know his name. Tell me who the Punisher-”

“The Punisher is dead.”

The sharpness and volume of your voice seemed to echo around the space you were currently trapped in. 

“Dead, huh?”

Billy gave your shoulders another firm squeeze before letting go and appearing in front of you again. He looked down at you, taking in the way your eyes were wide open, your breathing had become ragged, and your nails nearly bled from digging them into the wood of the chair so hard. He knelt down in front of you, brushing your hair away from your face, causing you to flinch at his touch, which seemed to annoy him.

He ran his hand through the strands of his raven hair, pushing it back into its perfectly gelled style as he let out a deep exhale through his nose and glanced around absentmindedly.

“He should be. Shoulda died a long time ago. Hell, that bullet to the head shoulda put him down for good. But that stubborn son of a bitch just refuses to die.”

Shutting your eyes, you could see Frank in the cabin. The golden sunlight coming through the window, shining on his tan skin. His warm brown eyes locked on yours, making you feel like he could see right into your soul. The roughness of his calloused palms stroking your cheek while tucking your hair behind your ear. The velvet baritone of his voice echoing in your ears.

We uh…we were at Central Park. We had this uh…this tradition, ya’know. Every time I came home from a tour, we’d pack a picnic and go, make a whole day of it. 

I don’t uh…I don’t remember when the shootin’ started.

I…made peace with it, ya’know…laid it to rest in my own way. 

It was there. It was right there. Frank had inadvertently told you the truth that day, and you hadn’t even realized.

Billy could see the revelation you’d had when you opened your eyes. He could see the evidence of the truth shining along your bottom lash line. You were so thunderstruck by your epiphany, you didn’t budge this time when Billy reached out to brush a stray tear away from your face.

“Nah, he ain’t dead sweetheart. He's been right by your side this whole time. And when he finds out I've got you, he’s gonna come for you.”

It didn’t matter what Frank had found on Billy. As soon as he found out what Billy had done to you, he was coming. But it wasn’t Frank who was coming.

It was the Punisher.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[mysticbby2009]

Friends Without Boundaries (part 8)

Rafe Cameron smau texting based series rafe being a manwhore cause he doesn't want to realize his feelings for his best friend anything dark mode is Rafes pov

masterlist and series masterlist

part 7??

Your phone won’t stop buzzing.

Sarah. JJ. Even Topper, who usually stays out of it. They’re all blowing up your messages, and you already know what they’re saying.

Talk to him. Fix it. Stop being an idiot.

You groan, tossing your phone onto your bed and flopping down beside it. You feel drained—mentally, emotionally, even physically. You should’ve seen this coming. You should’ve known you weren’t strong enough to just “stay friends” with Rafe Cameron.

You’d been so sure of your decision, so sure that walking away was the right move. That was, until you saw Sarah's text about how hurt he is.

There’s a knock at your door.

You freeze. No one comes over unannounced except—

Another knock. This one firmer. “Y/n/n, open the damn door.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. He sounds mad.

For a second, you consider ignoring it. But Rafe Cameron has never been the type to leave when told, and you’re too exhausted to deal with him picking your lock like he has way too many times in the past.

So, with a deep breath, you push yourself up and swing the door open.

Rafe doesn’t wait. He steps inside like he owns the place, closing the door behind him before turning to face you. His jaw is clenched, his blue eyes sharp and unreadable.

You cross your arms. “You could’ve texted.”

His lips curl into a humorless smirk. “Yeah, well, you could’ve not ended things like that.”

You flinch at his tone, but you stand your ground. “I didn’t end anything. I just—”

“—Pushed me away? Pretended like we don’t both know what’s going on here?”

You exhale sharply, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Rafe, don’t do this right now.”

“Oh, so you get to say whatever you want and leave me standing there like an idiot, but I don’t get to talk about it?”

Your jaw tightens. “I thought you’d be relieved.”

His eyes darken. “Relieved?”

“You were always saying we were better off as friends.” You force yourself to meet his gaze, even though it’s like staring into a storm. “So I made it easier for you.”

His nostrils flare. “Easier for me? Are you insane?”

“Yeah, actually,” you snap, throwing your hands up. “Completely, fucking delusional for thinking I could be around you every day and pretend like I don’t—”

Your voice catches, and you clamp your lips shut before the words slip out.

Rafe exhales slowly, as if forcing himself to be calm. “Like you don’t what? Say it.”

You shake your head, backing up. “You already know.”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment. When he looks back, his expression is softer. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. But I still need to hear you say it.”

You swallow. Your throat feels tight. “I love you.”

Something shifts in his face. Like all the fight drains out of him at once.

“Yeah?” His voice is quieter now.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He lets out a breath, stepping closer. “Good. Because I love you, too.”

Your heart nearly stops.

You’ve imagined hearing those words before—hell, you’ve dreamed about it. But now that they’re real, you don’t know what to do with them.

Rafe watches you carefully, then sighs. “Jesus, Y/n/n, you really thought I didn’t want you?”

You glance down, suddenly embarrassed. “You weren’t exactly clear about it.”

He scoffs. “I literally get into fights over you on a weekly basis. What more do you want?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe, I don’t know, a direct confession instead of threatening every guy who breathes in my direction?”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “That was my confession.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, shoving at his chest. “That’s not how normal people work!”

“We’re not normal people,” he reminds you, smirking.

You groan, but the tension in your chest starts to ease. “God, you’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he muses, wrapping his arms around your waist, “you love me.”

You sigh dramatically, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Unfortunately.”

He grins. “That’s rough. Wanna make out about it?”

You roll your eyes but don’t stop him when he leans in.

His lips meet yours, and—holy shit.

It’s not soft, not at first. It’s all the frustration, all the tension, all the wanting that’s been brewing for months. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, and you fist the fabric of his hoodie, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless.

“Damn,” Rafe mutters, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “We should’ve done that sooner.”

You huff out a laugh, still catching your breath. “Yeah, no shit.”

He grins, his usual cockiness slipping back in. “Wanna do it again?”

You narrow your eyes. “Did you ever think about anything other than kissing me?”

He pretends to think. “Nope.”

You smack his arm, and he laughs, grabbing your wrist before you can do it again. “Come on, that’s not fair.”

“You deserve it.”

“I do not.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your lips as you lean into his chest. His arms tighten around you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Eventually, he murmurs, “You okay now?”

You nod against his hoodie. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I mean, you’re still an idiot, but yeah.”

He smirks. “Good.” Then, with zero warning, he scoops you up and throws you onto the couch.

You yelp. “Rafe! What the fuck?!”

He just grins, flopping down beside you. “Some things don’t change, babe.”

You shove at him, but he just laughs, pulling you into his side. And as you curl up against him, fingers loosely intertwined, you realize—

You wouldn’t want it any other way.

You love him and he loves you you're finally not just friends anymore.

@my-name-is-baby, @lili-swagalicious , @drewsswifeyy , @yktayy9669 , @yktayy9669 , @kissylec, @giouvarlakia, @bsenpai, @imtalkinnonsense, @wtfisastiles, @furiouscopshepherduniversity, @artbymin, @urbimom , @crvcified-kinx , @vanessa-rafesgirl @popou61 @emmaaas-posts @bridgersph @soulsearchinginkauai

im sorryy if i missed anyonee

[ridher]

on the opposite side of this post, imagine being rafe's girl bsf

"we're just friends", was something said all too often between the two of you — at least one of you meant it.

being childhood best friends seemed to be the only reason the boundary stayed in place. you didn't see him beyond the boy you'd grown up with and fully believed he thought the same.

obviously, rafe didn't see it that way. the girl next door who for some reason stuck by him being, you know, him. he's just a guy after all, how is he supposed to resist such a pretty girl who constantly accompanies him around town?

you're his first choice. whether he's going out to the country club for a round of golf, or literally dealing drugs on the couch at some kook's house party — he wants to be with you. sure, he has other friends, but they don't cling to his side or press friendly kisses to his cheek.

as much as it pains him that you're so close yet so out of reach, he'd never make a move. beyond how his body physically reacts to your soft touches or sweet smile, you're all he feels he truly has. the one person on his side.

speaking of the party scene, of course you arrive with him. he'll guide you through the house with a hand on the small of your back, the warmth felt against your skin through the fabric of the tight little dress you wear. no matter how many times you pad off to dance with your friends or get a likely unneeded refill of some exotic drink, you always find yourself back at his side.

that is until you can't. when you're stumbling back from the kitchen and see rafe, whispering in the ear of another girl. there's no reason for you to be upset when he follows her upstairs — his hand holding her how he did you earlier, making the alcohol feel as though it's rising up your stomach.

he has to compensate somehow and one night stands seem to be his solution. he'll come back down as though nothing happened, running a hand through his hair to collect himself.

that's when the night ends and your bratty behavior is blamed on the stupid amount of drinking you'd done. rafe drags you along with a firm grip on your upper arm as you make it purposefully difficult for him — thrashing around and trying to wriggle free. he manages to manhandle you into the passenger seat of his truck before he's fed up.

"calm the fuck down, would you?" he huffs impatiently after aggressively grabbing your cheeks with one rough hand and forcing your eyes to focus on him.

you go all pouty and stare up at him with big, glossed-over eyes, expression softening at the way he shows he cares. a little jostle and exasperated 'hm?' has you nodding in response through a drunken hiccup.

you're released and left to stare out the windshield, thoughts swirling the whole ride home — all of which concerning rafe.

the night is a blur when you wake up in your own bed the next morning, changed into one of rafe's t-shirts you'd probably stolen and the same pair of panties from last night. you know how you got here because you're greeted with a text from your best friend, simply reading;

'How's the head party girl?'

you'll probably see him later that day for a hungover brunch.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

big bro caleb making you sit on his lap because you’re carpooling with everyone and everyone’s packed in tight. the ride is bumpy and somehow you end up straddling his thigh and he can feel how warm your pussy is through your cotton panties and he’s thanking whoever’s upstairs that he bit his tongue and didn’t tell you to change out of your mini skirt. it doesn’t take long for him to notice the flush crawling up your neck every time a bump on the road causes you to bounce on his muscular leg. his hands grip your hips under the guise that he’s keeping you stable but he can’t stop himself from pulling you down ever so slightly to make you grind against him. if you notice what he’s doing, you don’t say anything and it’s probably because you don’t wanna believe your big bro is flexing his thigh for more friction on your clit. you don’t wanna believe that you’re getting off like this in a car full of people. either way, you don’t say a peep and that’s you being a good little sister for him. he can feel the wet spot forming on his pants, matching the one forming from his leaky tip. any more of this and he’s gonna blow his load in his pants since this is the closest he’s gotten to cumming near his cute lil sis’s pussy. but as fucked as it is, you’re just as bad as he is. the car’s stopped and there’s traffic but here you are shifting your hips back so you can feel more of your big brother

did you just fucking stab me

im going to fucking scream so loud why would u say this to me rn . im gonna go insane.

this and the canon kiss they had and then never spoke of. the amount of sexual tension. caleb with his face against your spine breathing so heavily. both of you equally being able to feel the others arousal in a car full of people. caleb is doing everything in his power to physically hold himself together but he can feel how wet you keep getting pushed back against his dick when the car goes over a bump

you don't say anything, don't really talk. other than so softly whispering for him, in that desperate way you always do and always have. the kind of exasperated whine of his name when you want your big brother to spoil you and he just barely suppresses a groan and it is simply . too much too fast. for both of you.

you're both frustrated and thankful the car is so packed because no thinks twice or hears any of the soft desperate breaths you let out. caleb wonders if you're pressing against his dick on purpose, but he can't imagine it. thinks its more likely you're just chasing friction and letting it all go like you always do when you're with him. i see.

[radicaldreemurrs]

Hey so, I was thinking about some of the asks you've gotten recently and thought you might find the idea interesting. Bear with me for a moment.

About the scene of Ralsei staring into the camera and saying "... made you..?" that one time and how it all fits together. I think back to a scene from metal gear solid 1, Solid Snake has been capture by the bad guys and Revolver Ocelot is preparing to torture him, really hyping himself up to try and intimidate Snake. At one point he stares at the camera, directly pointing to the audience through the screen and says "and don't even think about using an autofire. I'll know." Revolver Ocelot, multiple others and likely Snake as well, are diagetically aware that they are video game characters, deliberately breaking the forthwall but not in a way that reduces the significance of the scene rather, supplementing and reinforcing it's intended tone.

Ocelot connects the player more deeply to Snake by directly threatening them saying he'll know if they cheat, stripping them of potential power and making them empathise more with Snake because of the personal acknowledgement, and to emphasis Ocelot's power as his captor. In universe Ocelot breaks the forthwall to knowingly threaten Snake, through the player. Effectively saying to him "I know all the tricks you can have up your sleeve and I'm prepared for them. You are my prisoner, and I'm in control." The break is done not to detract from the importance of the scene but to make it stronger. Another thing is how no-one in the game ever has a breakdown about the forthwall, it's never a plot point. It's, just a part of nature. Like physics. Mgs is about Solid Snake getting wrapped up in a conspiracy about nuclear weapons and the importance of that is never sidelined.

Metal gear solid as a series uses the forthwall like this quite frequently and I believe deltarune is doing the same thing. When Susie says "Kris, why'd you make me do that?!" and Ralsei responds by staring into the camera in shock, he's doing so not to attribute the action to the player but rather simply to emphasis his confusion/concern. Probably thinking something like "Is Kris' ACT ability evolving into mindcontrol??" or some such before realising he was wrong. This sort of thing is all over deltarune with loads of different characters doing it.

Examples that come to mind are the times where Kris stares at the camera after a scene ends in that The Office style sitcom way, just kinda going "did you see that bullshit just now?" as a way to express their feelings of exasperation to themself or the times where they pose dramatically looking away from the camera, summoning a gust of wind to look like a brooding superhero, like batman. Because Kris is that kind of cringe teenager who uses angst and irony to make themself feel better.

Overall I believe everyone in deltarune is diagetically aware of the forthwall, at least subconsciously, but not in the way everyone keeps making wank fanfiction about.

I apologise if this all a rambly mess, I'm very tired. And just wanted to share my brain as this came to me. I hope it makes sense. ^_^'

oh wow i really like this perspective, thank you for sharing it... i think it also adds a lot that susie is seemingly the only one who isn't clued in on being a character in a video game (“Wait, who the hell is Ⓐ?”, etc.) and through that ironically has more narrative power through her lack of detachment from the reality she knows she inhabits. because as has been shown in UNDERTALE, when characters view the world as a game that is a sign of a very detached and dissociative mindset, one we see reflected in DELTARUNE with kris (sword route and like everything fucking else), ralsei (embracing his prescribed role of tutorial/support NPC), and even noelle (she says ThornRing in pascal case, even in the light world, where things are supposed to be “real”).

the use of fourth wall as an allegory to when characters feel distanced from what is real is one of my favorite parts of DELTARUNE bar none!! it's just everyone taking it as so surface-level that gets under my nerves, because UNDERTALE already made it explicit with flowey that it's not actual meta-awareness in-universe, so much as it is a perceived meta-awareness on the characters' parts from being so detached from the world they inhabit (and given such power as no-consequence time travel, which only feeds these mindsets) that they see it like a game, because how else are they meant to?

[writinginatree]

The Taste of Home

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran & Xaden Riorson & Garrick Tavis & Riorson!reader, background Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail

Summary: When the first snow falls in Aretia, that means it's time for baking cookies, building a blanket fort, and lots of playfulness.

Warnings: Swearing, one tiny injury, the reader is implied to be on the smaller side physically and kind of a brat (sorry, I just got very self-indulgent with this 😅)

A/N: Since I mostly only bake recipes in my first language I'm not that familiar with English baking terminology, so please feel free to correct me if anything doesn't make sense the way I phrased it!

It's 4:32 in the morning when you burst into Bodhi's room — and that's entirely his own fault for not locking the door. He jolts awake, immediately reaching for a dagger as you jump onto his bed, excitedly whispering, "Wake up, it's snowing!"

With an exasperated groan, your cousin drops his weapon and sinks back into the pillows. "It's the middle of the fucking night, bubs."

"No, it's not," you insist, shaking him slightly. "You have to get up in an hour or two anyway. And it's snowing! You hear me? It's finally snowing enough to not immediately melt away again!"

Bodhi tugs on his covers, trying to pull them over his head, but he can't with you sitting on top of him. "Mhh, I heard you the first time," he grumbles. "Now can I please go back to sleep?"

"No."

"Don't be a fucking brat." He's trying to sound strict and commanding, but he's still sleepy and it sounds more like a whine than anything else. "Can't you go bother someone else with your snow?"

You know you kind of are being a brat, but that's never stopped you before, so why should it now? Fully yanking the covers from his grasp, you pout down at him. "Nope. No way am I entering Xaden's room uninvited. I really, really don't want to know what him and Violet are doing in there."

"Probably sleeping, like any sane person," Bodhi grumbles. "What about Garrick? I'm sure he'd love to be woken up just because it snowed."

"Better not..." Unlike Bodhi, Garrick would certainly win a tug of war for the covers. "You're awake anyway now, so you might as well do me the favor and get up," you reason. "Please!"

Bodhi makes another attempt to get his comforter back. "Why do you even want me to get up? It's still dark and it's cold. You can stay here if you just let me sleep some more, how about that?"

For a moment, you consider it, always tempted by the prospect of cuddles. But there's a fresh layer of snow waiting outside, glittering in the fading moonlight and just about begging you to be the first to leave your footprints in it.

"Nope. Get up, we're building a snowman."

Knowing when it's time to give up, Bodhi stops fighting and drops his hands. "Ugh, fine. Get off me, then."

"Can we bake cookies today?" you ask Xaden later that morning, coming up behind him in the line for breakfast and jumping onto his back.

"I have to—" he starts, shaking his head, but you interrupt him. Whatever oh so important stuff he thinks he has to get done today, it can't possibly be more important than cookies.

"Nuh-uh. Fuck that. You can take a break from all your big bad responsibilities."

"You do remember we're at war, right?" He shakes you off, turning to lift a brow at you.

"War can wait!"

"That's not how that works."

"You're not going to bring on the end of the world by taking a day off, Xaden. Give yourself a break. You deserve it."

"You know how useless it is to argue with her about when to bake," Bodhi comes to your aid. "If there's snow, there have to be cookies, too. And she's right, you really fucking deserve a day off."

Xaden scowls, but you can tell how much he wants to give in. "Teaming up on me now, are you?"

"We always baked cookies as soon as it properly snowed," you insist, barely stopping yourself from stomping your foot like an angry toddler. "It's bad enough that we couldn't do it the last six years, but now we're finally home, so we have to do it again! Please!"

Xaden looks between you and Bodhi, both giving him the same pleading look, sighs and raises his palms in defeat. "Fine. But only if Violet can join, too."

"Of course." You grin, throwing yourself at him in a hug. "Thank you! I'll tell Garrick."

Xaden grabs you by the back of your shirt before you can run off. "Breakfast first, though. Let's just meet in the kitchen in about an hour, okay?"

You agree, and leave them standing there when Xaden lets go of you.

"—dragged me out of bed to play in the snow at five this morning," Bodhi is complaining when he walks into the kitchen with Xaden, Garrick and Violet an hour later, but the smile he can't quite hide gives away that he didn't mind it nearly as much as he's pretending.

You've already prepared the dough for one of the recipes you plan on making while you waited for them. Wiping your hands on your apron, you turn to face them, hands on your hips. "You guys are late."

"Looks like you're doing just fine without us," Xaden remarks with a pointed look at the ball of dough before you.

"Yeah, well, as you should know, this has to be in the cold for at least an hour or two before we can roll it out and cut the cookies without it crumbling," you say and open the window, placing the dough outside on the snow-dusted windowsill. "Let's make the white almond ones in the meantime, yeah?"

Bodhi scrunches his face in thought. "Almond ones? What almond ones?"

"I think she means those ugly cloud looking blobs that fall apart when you bite into them," Garrick says.

"Ohh, fuck yeah! I love those," Bodhi agrees, reaching for one of the aprons hanging on hooks in the corner. "Let's go!"

You nod, but before you can get started, the others need aprons too. Garrick and Violet obediently put on the ones you hand them, but a certain someone decides to be difficult.

Folding his arms across his chest, your brother glares down at the brightly striped fabric you hold out to him. "I don't take orders from first-years. And I'm definitely not wearing a fucking apron."

"Yes, you are. If you don't, you can get right the fuck out, and if you don't help, you won't get any cookies, either."

Xaden might be in charge on the battlefield, but in the kitchen, you are the boss. He knows it, too, snatching the apron from your hand and tying it around his waist while grumbling something about you being a brat under his breath. Everyone seems to agree on that today, but as long as they do what you want, that's fine with you.

You grab a fresh bowl and instruct Bodhi to hand you four eggs while Garrick searches for the whisk.

"Did everyone wash their hands?" Violet makes sure, and you all nod.

"Okay, so what's first?" Bodhi asks, placing the eggs on the counter before you.

"First someone has to separate four eggs for me."

"Still haven't learned how to do it?" Xaden teases, cracking an egg as Garrick takes another to do the same.

"I have, actually," you inform him. "It's just that you're better at it."

"Are we? Or do you just not like having sticky hands from the eggs running over them?"

"Both." You shrug with an unapologetic grin. "You can put the yolks aside, we only need the whites for this."

"What do we do with them?"

"Beat until very stiff, and slowly add in the sugar," you reply, taking the whisk and getting started once all four egg whites are in the bowl. Needless to say, your enthusiasm doesn't last long. "My arm hurts."

"Seriously?" Xaden laughs. "You're a bonded rider, strongest of your year, yet you still can't whisk a bunch of eggwhites?"

"I didn't say I can't. I just said my arm is tired. If you don't want to help me, I'm perfectly capable of finishing this on my own."

"Just give it here," Xaden says, playfully rolling his eyes at you as he takes the bowl from you and continues whisking with an efficiency you can only envy. Soon the eggs turn into a fluffy foam, and you slowly add in the sugar while Xaden keeps mixing.

"Okay, now to carefully fold the almond slivers into the mass."

You take that task upon yourself, Violet slowly adding in the almonds for you while Xaden prepares the baking tray and grabs some teaspoons with which to transfer the mass.

The three of you scoop it onto the baking tray in small piles, while Bodhi goes poking at the dough on the windowsill. "Should we start rolling this out while you get those into the oven?"

"You can check if it's cold enough, but it's probably still too soft." Garrick opens his mouth, and you whirl around to point your spoon at him. "Don't you dare make a dick joke," you warn.

"I'd never!"

"Then what were you going to say, huh?"

Garrick clears his throat and looks away, damning himself with his lack of answer.

You nod. "That's what I thought. Close the window, Bodhi, there's no point cutting those yet if we have to wait until these are done to put them in the oven, anyway."

While you place the baking tray in the oven, Xaden offers the batter rests to Violet behind your back — predictable, but still disappointing.

You jump to their side. "Let me too!"

Xaden rolls his eyes, and Violet laughs. "Don't worry, there's enough for all of us. We could've probably gotten a couple more cookies out of this."

"Probably, but we've earned a treat."

"I thought the cookies are going to be our treat?"

"Well, yeah. But we also deserve a treat now."

"So, how long do these have to be in the oven?" Garrick asks.

"About an hour."

"Great, and what are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Wait for them to be done?"

"I'm not going to sit here doing nothing for an hour!"

"We could have a snowball fight," you suggest.

"Absolutely not," Xaden immediately shuts you down. "The cookies would be ashes by the time we make it back inside."

"Let's play memory," Bodhi suggests. "You still have one somewhere, don't you?"

"More like half a dozen of 'em," Xaden scoffs under his breath.

"Yeah, I think so," you reply.

Since Xaden isn't entirely wrong about a snowball fight taking too long, you go with Bodhi's idea. Five minutes of digging through a sideboard you haven't touched since your return to Aretia turns up a whole pile of old board and card games, Bodhi's favorite memory among them.

"Xaden, you keep an eye on the time," you order, laying out the cards under the boys' watchful gazes. It may have been years since you've played any games together, but apparently they remember all to well how much you used to cheat at most of them.

"Always me," your brother complains, but dutifully takes out his pocket watch.

It doesn't take long until you regret that you didn't even try to cheat. You'd never had to, always the champion when it came to memory. But then of course, you'd never played it with Violet before. She's crazy good at this. While you have a meager three pairs so far, she is collecting pair after pair, her stack of cards already bigger than all of your and the boys' put together.

Twice she wins, leaving you in second place. You're about to demand you play another round, but the time is up, and Xaden drags you to your feet.

"Stop sulking and come take the cookies from the oven."

"Fine, but I want a rematch later," you insist, still pouting a little as you follow him to the kitchen.

Violet offers you a smile. "Sure. We can play as many rounds as you want."

"Oh, you'll regret that," Xaden laughs. "She'll keep you up till morning, or until you let her win."

You gasp. "Let me win?! No, no, no. Don't you dare!"

Violet laughs, putting her hands up. "Don't worry, I'm not planning on it."

The almond meringues turn out perfect, and after everyone tries one and the rest are put away, you start on the butter cookies. By now, the dough is perfectly chilled, and Xaden easily rolls it out as thin as possible.

There's only one problem.

"Where the fuck are our cookie cutters?!"

"They're not in the drawer," Bodhi reports, shrugging apologetically when your glare darkens even more at his words.

You look from him to Xaden to Garrick, skipping over Violet, since she certainly had nothing to do with this. "Okay, which of you idiots—"

"Oh, no," Xaden interrupts you. "Don't blame this on us. As you said yourself, you're the one in charge of the kitchen, and you were the last one to put them away before the apostasy."

"Yeah, well, I definitely put them in the drawer where they belong, so—"

You stop short as Violet takes a small tin box from one of the cabinets, holding it out to you so you can see inside. "Are these the cookie cutters we're looking for?"

"Yes!" You beam at her, grateful she had the sense to just search while you others stood and argued. Then your face darkens again as you realize none of you would've put them into that particular cabinet, with the fancy tea service of all things. Which means— "Someone used our cookie cutters while we were gone."

"Apparently." Bodhi shrugs. "So what?"

"Those are ours!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know, baby. And they're all still here, so it's not a big deal. Now do you want to throw a tantrum or are we going to make cookies?"

Thus made aware of how childish you're being, you take a deep breath to calm yourself down and mutter, "Make cookies."

Bodhi nods. "Thought so. Come on then, you can cut the first one."

You don't have to be told twice, deciding on the star-shaped one. The others grab cutters too, and soon the first tray of cookies is in the oven.

"When we were kids we did this every winter," you tell Violet, grinning at the memory as you work side by side, filling a second tray. "It was a whole tradition, with Garrick coming over for the weekend and the four of us building a pillow fort in Xaden's room and sleeping there in a huge pile of fluffy blankets and cookie crumbs."

"Sounds fun."

"It was. Is. I think we're too big for the pillow fort part, though." When Bodhi gasps and stares at you as if you just declared the end of the world, you amend, "Well, at least Xaden and Garrick are. I guess we could make one without them and put a sign in the entrance that says 'no giants allowed' or something."

"Excuse you?!" Xaden crosses his arms, glaring down at you. "No way you're building a blanket fort without us."

"It's not my fault you'd bring the whole thing crashing down!"

"We wouldn't!"

"Sure you would!"

"We'll just have to make it a big pillow fort," Bodhi tries to dissolve the argument. "Then we can all fit inside."

"But a big pillow fort isn't as cozy as a small one!"

"If we use enough blankets and pillows it will be," Garrick insists, adding, "Now stop being a brat and take those cookies from the oven before they burn."

You pivot to look into the oven, and sure enough the first batch is already a little darker than the soft golden shade they're supposed to turn. Cursing Garrick for not taking them out himself upon seeing this, and muttering about how he isn't the boss of you, you hurriedly rescue the poor cookies.

The rest turn out better, and time seems to fly until all that's left to do is decorate them.

"Don't you think that's a bit too much chocolate?" Violet asks, looking over your shoulder as you melt it on the stove.

"Probably," you admit, "but better too much than too little."

"Especially since more of it will end up in two certain someones' stomachs instead of on the cookies," Garrick laughs.

Bodhi nods, adding, "Between Xaden and Y/N, getting rid of leftover chocolate definitely won't be an issue."

"Oh, shut up, Bodhi, you're no better!"

When your cousin tries to object to that accusation, you grab another cookie and shove it in his mouth. It earns you a kick against your shin, but at least you get the last word.

Not that him and Garrick were wrong, exactly, you silently admit as you catch yourself licking chocolate from your fingers for the umpteenth time a little later. But it's hardly your fault that decorating always makes such a mess, and covering everything in chocolate-fingerprints would be worse.

And there! A whole spoonful of chocolate glazing disappears into Bodhi's mouth, hypocrite that he is! Meeting his eyes, you raise a brow at him, but he just grins and shrugs.

You blow a raspberry at him, and focus back on the cookie you're decorating.

"We should have dinner and finish this later," Garrick suggests when about half the cookies are decorated.

You blink at him, taking another cookie and slowly shoving the whole thing into your mouth while staring him down from your seat on the counter.

He blows out an exasperated breath. "No, Y/N, we can't have only cookies for dinner."

You share a look with your brother.

"I mean, we could," he says slowly, like he's only just realizing it. "Who's going to stop us?"

"Common sense?" Violet suggests, but judging by the way she's eyeing the fresh cookies, you doubt it'd take much to convince her.

"We already had nothing but cookies for lunch," Garrick gripes. "I need some real food!"

"He's not wrong," Bodhi admits.

Violet also nods, giving Xaden an apologetic smile. "I could use a proper meal too."

Xaden looks at you. "Guess we're overruled."

"Fiiine," you sigh. "Let's eat some real food."

After your dinner break, it takes another hour to finish decorating the cookies, and by the time you've cleaned up, it's full night outside.

"Okay, so are we serious about doing the sleepover, too?" Garrick asks.

"Of course! Right, Xay?"

He shrugs, pretending nonchalance, but you know him too well to fall for that. He loves the blanket fort part of this tradition. "If you insist."

Damn right you do. Someone has to, after all, and if everyone else is too used to playing the responsible adult, well, you have no problem being the childish one and forcing happiness upon them.

The others agree too, and Bodhi slaps his hands. "Okay, let's go then."

"Wait, but we're not done," you hold them back. "I want to make those nougat thingies too!"

"Those aren't cookies," Bodhi says.

"I don't care what they are, I want them."

Xaden ruffles your hair. "We'll make them tomorrow, okay? It's late, and we still have to put up the pillow fort."

"And don't forget that you wanted to play another round of memory," Garrick reminds you, "though why you would want to torture yourself like that is beyond me."

You reluctantly give in, since you know Xaden likes the nougat treats just as much as you do, and will probably keep word about making them tomorrow. It really has gotten late, you realize, yawning wide around another cookie.

Bodhi is already piling more onto a plate to take up to Xaden's room for later, along with a teapot full of hot chocolate.

"Okay, everyone get all the blankets and pillows you have and bring them to Xaden's room." Pointing at Violet and Xaden you add, "You take the cookies and hot chocolate, but leave some for us!"

No sooner said than done, you're all gathered in Xaden's room a few minutes later, a huge pile of blankets and pillows dumped onto his bed. You stand around it in a rough circle, staring at your building material in thoughtful silence.

"Sooo... How did this work again?" Garrick finally says.

Xaden scratches his head, then slowly walks to his desk and takes the chair, moving it so it's a few steps away from the desk. "We definitely need this over here to hold up the blankets."

"I think we always used to tuck one side of the top blanket into the armoire," you say, "and then tie the other end to the chair, right?"

Bodhi nods. "And then we drape another one across from the desk and also tie it to the chair."

"Okay, let's try that and then go from there," Xaden decides. "Just keep in mind that it has to be bigger than it used to."

"Yeah, yeah. We know."

After forty minutes, two failed attempts and half a dozen arguments about the correct layout of a pillow fort, you're finally finished, and this time, it's sturdy and big enough that everyone is satisfied with the result.

"Perfect." You spread out on a pile of pillows, admiring your handiwork. "I think this might actually be the best blanket fort we've ever built."

Xaden nods, but then nudges you with his foot before you can get truly comfortable. "You have chocolate all over your sleeve, bug. Go get changed before you get everything dirty."

Since pajamas will be much more comfortable anyway, you all head back to your own rooms to get changed, before meeting back in Xaden's room.

"Not a fucking word," you growl after a single look at the barely suppressed grins on the boys' faces upon your entering the room.

"You've had those pajamas since you were, what, ten? And you still have to roll up the pants' legs?" Garrick laughs.

"It's not my fault they made these for fucking spiders or something!"

"Spiders?" Bodhi chokes out, laughing so hard you're sure he'll bring the whole pillow fort crashing down any moment.

Even Xaden is laughing, though he tries to hide his face against Violet's neck. She's chuckling too, but there's a look on her face that tells you that too long pants are an issue she, too, is familiar with.

"Yeah! No one who isn't a spider has legs so abnormally long!"

The boys only laugh harder, and yeah, okay, the spider comparison is ridiculous. Whatever.

Since you're not going to just stand there and let them laugh at you, you grab one of the pillows not yet inside the fort and hurl it straight at Garrick's face. He's the one who started making fun of you, and the only one standing far enough away from the pillow fort that you can be sure you won't accidentally tear it down.

Your aim is true, and Garrick takes a step back with an angry yelp, catching the pillow before it can hit the floor to fire it right back you. You duck beneath it, jumping behind the bed for cover and grabbing the last two pillows left on it.

Garrick ducks into the pillow fort for ammunition of his own — a perfect target. One pillow hits his behind just as intended, but the other flies past him, hitting Bodhi instead. Your cousin narrows his eyes at you, picking up the pillow and nodding at Garrick.

They're ganging up on you — and you're out of ammo.

Ducking behind the cover of the bed again proves useless, as they come rushing around it seconds later, both of their arms loaded with pillows they start firing at you as soon as they're in range.

"Xay, help!" you squeal, picking up one of the pillows they threw at you to defend yourself as you retreat toward the wall.

Your brother takes his time coming to your rescue, but his picking up a pillow and slowly walking over is enough to draw Garrick's attention away from you. Faced with only Bodhi now, you have room to go into the offense yourself.

"Every time," Xaden grumbles, his shadows saving you from getting hit on the head by a bunch of books a stray pillow knocks from the shelf above you. "They do this every fucking time."

You grin, jumping on top of Bodhi, who has fallen onto Xaden's bed, and think to yourself that that's exactly why you always have these sleepovers in Xaden's room and not yours. He doesn't have nearly as much fragile knickknacks on his shelves as you do.

Bodhi puts his years of sparring experience to use and easily breaks your hold on him, rolling both of you to the side — and right off the bed.

You slam into the floor with a loud thud, the carpet doing nothing to cushion your fall as Bodhi's weight on top of you crushes the air from your lungs. Tears spring to your eyes at the pain shooting through the back of your head.

"Ow," you whimper, the sound embarrassingly high pitched and whiny.

Shadows grab Bodhi by the back of his shirt and lift him off you before he can react as Xaden rushes to your side. You swat his hands away from your head, blink a few times to clear your vision, mumbling that you're fine.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three." You slowly sit up, slowly regaining your composure. "Now get out of my face, I'm fine."

"Let me see your head," Xaden insists. "The way it sounded, you hit it pretty hard."

Since you know the stubborn ass won't back off, you let him inspect the back of your head, waving Bodhi's apology aside. Gods know your roughhousing has lead to this kind of accident often enough over the years that it's no big deal.

"Doesn't look too bad," Xaden decrees. "But you'll probably get quite the bump."

"Told you I'm fine."

"Still, you should probably—"

Spotting a pillow on the floor just inside your reach, you grab it and hurl yourself at Bodhi, ignoring whatever your brother is trying to say.

"Haven't you had enough?" Bodhi asks, struggling to fend you off.

"No."

"—rest." Xaden sighs. "Right. Never mind, then."

You jump to your feet, bumping your brother's shoulder. "Come on, you, me, and Vi against Bodhi and Garrick!"

"Hold up, why should it be three against two in your favor?!" Garrick complains.

"Because Vi and me are small."

Bodhi rolls his eyes. "As if that makes any difference! Everyone against everyone would be fairer!"

"I don't care, I want teams!"

You don't give them the chance to argue any more, throwing one pillow at Garrick and hitting Bodhi over the head with another.

Violet shrugs and joins you, leaving your brother no choice but to go along too.

You're very glad Violet is on your team; her aim is immaculate, every pillow she throws landing right on target — unlike yours, which uselessly smack against the wall half of the time. But you do your part too, keeping hold of your favorite fuzzy pillow and hitting your opponents with it every time they come within your reach.

Finally, Bodhi and Garrick surrender. After moving all the pillows back into the blanket fort, you flop onto them, thoroughly exhausted. The memory rematch will have to wait until morning, you decide. Tired as you are, your chances of beating Violet at it are worse than ever.

"Good night guys," you mumble, feeling one of the others settle down at your side. You don't hear their reply anymore, already drifting off.

When you wake up, your arms have both fallen asleep, trapped underneath yourself and Bodhi respectively. You try to untangle yourself without waking anyone, but Bodhi stirs.

"Not this again, Y/N," he mumbles, clearly remembering your shenanigans from the morning before.

"No, we can sleep some more," you whisper back. "I just have to pee."

Bodhi grunts and rolls over to go back to sleep, leaving you to try and pick your way between the others without stepping on anyone in the dark somehow.

On the way back from the bathroom, you decide to grab a snack while you're up anyway. But as you approach the plate of cookies, a sound coming from its direction has you stopping in your tracks. It almost sounds like... chewing?

Yes, it's definitely chewing. A cookie thief, beating you to your midnight snack.

Tiptoing closer, you try to make out the person's silhouette, but it's too dark. Well, whoever it is, they're in for an unpleasant time if they took the last of the cookies. You're fully awake now and craving sugar, and you absolutely refuse to walk all the way to the kitchen for a cookie.

Your stretched out hand makes contact with someone's head, an annoyed huff their only reaction. Recognizing your brother when your fingers skim the line of his eyebrow-scar, you remove your hand from the proximity of accidentally poking him in the eye and instead feel around for the plate of cookies.

Of course it's Xaden. And of course your approach didn't startle him, what with his shadow powers. He's probably been silently laughing at you the whole time as you clumsily felt your way through the dark. Well, just wait until you get a signet, too. Then you'll show him.

But for now, cookies. You're convinced Xaden is deliberately moving the plate from your reach, otherwise you certainly would've touched it by now. Hearing him bite into another cookie as you still unsuccessfully feel around, you've had enough.

"Share!" you hiss, hand finding his arm and moving along it in hopes of finding the plate, but no luck. His hand is empty.

"The plate's right in front of you," he whispers back, and you swear you can hear him smirking. "Just take one."

"Asshole."

But this time you listen closely to his movements when he takes another cookie, and reaching into that spot, your hand closes around one too. And it's the last one, you realize, sliding your other hand over the plate as you bite into the cookie. It's Xaden's luck he let you have it, otherwise you might've had to draw a dick on his face as revenge while he slept.

Speaking of sleep, you really should go back to bed.

Xaden seems to have had the same thought. His hand brushes over the top of your head as he steps around you, then shadows wind around your arms and guide you back into the pillow fort after him, saving Bodhi from getting your foot in his face and tucking you in as you snuggle into your cousin's side.