#someone mentioned this a while back and I think about it. I want to start drawing her with hc features more :]

[nhmkhnh]

yuhh we are all love rich!older!vi.

dom!vi x sub!fem!reader || partly nsfw ;; age gap ;; possessive!vi ;; petnames ;; mommy kink ;; praise and degradation ;; orgasm control ;; overstimulation ;; power play ;; oral sex ;; strap-on sex ;; office sex ;; marking ;; dirty talk.

she picks you up in a custom hextech car that purrs louder than most beasts in zaun.

you were late. you always are. but vi waits. leaning against the side of her glistening vehicle, pinstripe slacks tailored to perfection, a gold cufflink catching the piltover sun. when you rush out in your little dress, flustered and breathless, she smirks and opens the door for you. "about time, sweetheart. i was starting to think you'd stand up your sugar mama."

vi pays in full, every time.

whether it’s dinner at a council-owned skydeck restaurant or a stupidly overpriced bottle of perfume you offhandedly mentioned once, vi handles it. no questions. no limits. “you like it? then it’s yours,” she says, voice low, like it’s nothing. it always makes your chest warm. and your thighs press together.

she calls you her “pretty little thing” when you act out.

especially when you’re bratty. when you pout and challenge her authority, she just tilts her head, amusement glinting in those sharp, older eyes. "careful," she purrs, fingers curling under your chin. "you’re cute when you’re mouthy. but cuter when you’re begging."

she’s always got a hand on you.

possessive in the quiet ways — a palm on your lower back when she guides you through high society events. fingers brushing your bare thigh under the table at boring galas. gripping the back of your neck when you talk too sweetly to someone else. she doesn’t need to say a word. you know who you belong to.

vi spoils you, but she also puts you in your place.

soft velvet and hard hands — she’ll buy you diamond-studded lingerie and make you wear it to a dinner where you have to pretend nothing’s going on. afterwards? you’re bent over her penthouse window, seeing stars as she says, “next time you tease me in public, i won’t be this nice.”

she knows how to handle your youth.

she doesn't mock you when you're emotional, or insecure, or messy. she just sighs and pulls you into her lap, lets you rant and cry and spill. “life’s a mess, baby,” she murmurs into your hair. “lucky for you, you’ve got me.”

she doesn’t do dates — she does experiences.

vi flies you across the sea in a private airship just to show you a sunrise from the noxian cliffs. buys out an entire opera house for a “private show.” you once told her you liked stargazing, so she built a rooftop observatory for you. you told her she was being “insane.” she just said, “you’re worth it.”

vi is protective to a violent degree.

some creep at the bar touches you once and suddenly they’re being dragged outside by vi, sleeves rolled up, knuckles cracking. you cling to her arm while she lights a cigar, blood still fresh on her ring. “no one gets to touch what’s mine,” she growls. you don’t even try to argue.

she calls you "kid" sometimes. just to piss you off.

“you’re cute when you’re mad,” she’ll say with a lazy smirk when you scowl and stomp your foot. “such a baby. should i get you a pacifier next?” you hate her. you love her. you want to strangle her. you want her to ruin you.

she makes you call her “miss” sometimes.

especially when you’ve been bad. especially when she’s got you all dressed up and trembling under her gaze. “what’s my name, baby?” she purrs, hand sliding between your legs. and you whimper, flushed and breathless: “miss vi…”

she has the most god-tier post-sex aftercare ever.

she runs your bath. oils your skin. brushes your hair back. kisses every inch of you while whispering, “you did so well, baby. my good girl.” the soft glow of her penthouse lights turns everything gold. you fall asleep in silk sheets, tucked into her arms.

vi’s jealousy is terrifyingly hot.

if anyone dares flirt with you? she goes quiet. deadly. you know what’s coming. later, she pins you to the wall with one hand and murmurs, “you like making me jealous, huh?” you try to sass back — but she shuts you up with her mouth and her hands and the sound of your own moaning.

she funds your dreams without a second thought.

vi doesn’t just spoil you with gifts — she invests in you. you wanna open a café? she buys you the space. you’re passionate about art? she gets you a studio. she brags about you to everyone: “that’s my girl. look at her go.” it makes you feel unstoppable.

vi’s tattoos peek out of expensive suits and it drives you insane.

the way her shirt slips just enough to show a sliver of ink on her collarbone… or the stretch of her back when she rolls her sleeves up to reveal a glimpse of that full arm piece… you’re obsessed. you’ve begged to trace every line with your tongue. she lets you. slowly.

no matter how filthy she fucks you — she always kisses your forehead after.

she can have you crying, shaking, marked up and blissed out… and she’ll still wipe your tears gently and kiss your forehead like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “you alright, baby?” she asks. “need anything? water? chocolate? another round?” you laugh. you melt. you’d die for her.

smut

she lives to overstimulate you.

one orgasm? cute. two? still warming up. three? now we’re talking. she’s got you spread out on silk sheets, wrists bound with her tie, whimpering her name again and again, voice cracked and high. “you can give me one more, baby,” she coos, lips brushing your ear. “be good for miss.”

she fucks you like she owns you — slow, deliberate, mean.

the kind of strokes that leave you crying from how deep they go. she doesn’t even rush — she likes watching you squirm. “what’s the matter, baby?” she murmurs, rolling her hips into yours with lazy, punishing control. “can’t take it? thought you wanted to act grown.”

she makes you earn your orgasms.

oh, you want to cum? you better say please. better say thank you. better call her miss vi with tears in your eyes and her name falling off your tongue like a prayer. "you're so cute when you're desperate,” she laughs. “but i want to hear it sweeter, sugar. beg me like you mean it.”

she makes you ride her thigh in her office.

expensive tailored slacks? ruined. she keeps working — reading reports, flipping through files — while you grind against her muscled thigh, moaning softly and clutching at her arm. “don’t stop moving, sweetheart,” she says, not even looking at you. “i’ll finish this page, then i’ll ruin you.”

she has a drawer full of custom toys she only uses on you.

heat-sensitive, pressure-reactive hextech toys. remote-controlled. custom built with you in mind. she’ll slip one inside you before a gala and whisper, “be a good girl, or i’ll turn it up in front of the council.” you don’t last ten minutes.

she eats you out like it’s her fucking job.

face buried between your thighs, hair messy, eyes dark. hands locking your legs in place while her tongue works slow and deep. she moans against you, addicted to how you taste. “that’s it, baby,” she murmurs, lips slick. “give it to me. be good for mama.”

she’s a mean tease when she’s in the mood. you’ll be naked, panting, begging, and she’ll just smirk and whisper, “not yet.” she’ll kiss down your stomach… stop right before your clit. blow cool air over it. laugh when your hips buck. "so greedy. haven’t even said thank you for the last one."

she marks you. everywhere. hickeys under your collarbones. finger-shaped bruises on your thighs. lipstick smudged between your legs. she wants people to see. she wants them to know who fucks you this good. who you belong to. “smile pretty at dinner tonight,” she whispers while zipping up your dress. “let 'em wonder why your legs are shaking.”

she loves when you cry. not sad tears — the pretty, overwhelmed ones. the “i can’t take it but i don’t want you to stop” kind. that’s when she kisses your wet cheeks, fucks you even deeper, murmurs filth right into your ear. “crying already, sweetheart? we’re just getting started.”

her favorite position? you on your knees — wearing diamonds and nothing else. you look up at her with wide, glossy eyes, mouth open, waiting. and she just grins. “look at you. my good little thing,” she murmurs, voice husky. “so fucking pretty like this.” and when she’s done? she scoops you up like nothing, carries you to bed, and kisses you softly. “you did so good for me, baby.”

[papagabu]

Random headcanon time again.

I've said before that I don't like the idea of Sonic being mean to Tails. And by extension, I’m not a fan of the take that Sonic and Tails aren’t like real siblings just because they don’t constantly poke fun at each other. Sibling relationships aren’t a monolith, some siblings are incredibly close, gentle, and supportive with each other. And Sonic and Tails both don't even have a typical sibling relationship in the first place, they found each other. They weren’t born into each other’s lives or forced to grow up together. That kind of connection is inherently different from the typical sibling dynamic, and it doesn’t need to follow the same patterns to be real or meaningful.

There’s also something I mentioned once before that I think still applies. Considering the kind of emotional challenges Tails often struggles with, putting him down even as a joke could be a really bad idea. I’m not trying to infantilize him here, I don't think Tails is weak, and I don’t want this to come across like he can’t handle anything. But I do think there’s a line, and in his case, jokes made at his expense, especially coming from Sonic, could hit a lot harder than people realize. Words can hurt, and when that comes from someone you admire, it tends to hurt even more. Imagine if the person you looked up to, the person you wanted to grow up and be, constantly made fun of you, even in small ways, that can dig deep. It builds up over time. And for someone like Tails, who already struggles with self-worth and doubt, that kind of treatment could lead him to some pretty dark places mentally.

That’s probably a huge part of why Sonic doesn’t treat him that way. Maybe it’s not just about kindness but about learning, learning from early mistakes. I really like the idea that Sonic used to be rougher around the edges early on, and it was Tails who taught him to be more kind and caring. Maybe in the beginning, when they first started traveling together, Sonic would quip at Tails here and there, maybe even snap at him when he got frustrated. Not because he disliked him, but because their bond hadn’t fully formed yet. And Tails, wanting so badly to keep up and be accepted, would probably try to brush it off with a smile. He’d tell himself they were just harmless jokes, that he shouldn’t take them so seriously. But when he'd be alone, those words would echo in his head. He might say things to himself like, “They’re just jokes, I shouldn’t get so worked up over them,” fighting back tears while trying to convince himself it didn’t matter.

And eventually Sonic would notice, he'd see the cracks in Tails’ smile, hear the hesitation in his laugh, or the quiet that followed a jab that was supposed to be funny. Maybe he realized he couldn't get away with his normal behavior with Tails and took a gentler approach when interacting with him from then on.

[yawnzshit]

PRI'S FIC RECS : ENHYPEN EDITION (HEESEUNG VER.)

[ ♡ ] : personal favourites.

[ !! ] : nsfw ( minors dni pls )

🎙️hi. so basically doing this new thing of fic recs, because i've read sooo many over the years. most if not all are long fics here! but yeah lmk if you want of more members :) or any other fandoms (svt, bts, harry potter, marvel etc)!

✮⋆˙ LEE HEESEUNG.

one hundred and one by @heesdreamer [ 19k ] !!

synopsis : returning back home from a failed year at college, you’re reunited with your little brothers best friend who always had a crush on you. this definitely hasn’t changed, but he sure has.

notes : brother's bff! heeseung ; younger!heeseung ; college (ish) au ; gahh this made me go even more insane for heeseung than i alr am ( jake look awayy!!)

echoes of riots by @/heesdreamer [ 19.1k ][ ♡ ]

synopsis : falling inl ove with a rockstar is never easy, especially when he returns to your hometown on a successful tour three years after you lost contact.

notes : rockstar!au ; actually wrecked me like this is teww good.

player rank platinum by @simpjaes [ 30k ] !!

synopsis : You’re not sure what’s worse, your sister’s boyfriend or your sister’s boyfriend’s friends. What you thought would be a great deal in living with her throughout college turns into a major game of cat and mouse, where you’re unsure if your moral compass is pointing in the right direction solely because you suspect someone is wearing a giant sex magnet to throw it off. 

notes : gamer!heeseung ; read warnings ; wheww this was something alr ( in the best way possible i love ur fics omfg )

win one win me by @jaylver [ 14k ][ ♡ ]

synopsis : who knew being angry and impulsive can get the captain of the hockey team to notice you? cussing them out when they were losing wasn't the best idea, but it definitely made lee heeseung's head turn, leading to him making a deal with you to win a game in order to get your number. but that wasn't enough for him, he was determined to make you his.

notes : icehockeyplayer!heeseung ; strangers2lovers ; college au ; super adorable give me jock heeseung now pls!!!

home for the bitchless by @hannie-dul-set [ series ][ ♡ ]

synopsis : wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

notes : multiple members! ; heeseung is kind of a loser ; i think i lost my lungs reading these, probably going to re-read to fill the void in my heart :)

belladona by @boyfhee [ 5k ] [ ♡ ]

synopsis : sometimes, love is not about the sacrifices you make, but about the selfishness you hide.

notes : thriller!au ; read this soo long ago yet was able to recall the author and putting it here :)

HOW TO GET BACK WITH YOUR EX : five do's and don'ts by @/boyfhees [ 26.2k]

synopsis : you were all in for a new start; a new city, new apartment, new department and new colleagues— though, not under the best circumstances— you tried to make it through your early thirties while lost between whether to give up or go on, and then you meet Heeseung, who happens to be on the other end of the same street.

notes : exes!au ; very slice of life but pretty realistic if that makes sense ? i felt as if i had actually experienced this :o

always been you by @jaeyunverse [ 16k ]

synopsis : heeseung was the kind of teenager everyone’s parents warned them to stay away from. he was the poster boy for the term bad influence, caring about no one except his closest friends—especially you.

notes : badboy!heeseung ; childhood!bffs to lovers ; very cute read, still think about this fic at random times <3

won't let you go ( this time ) by @zreamy [ 36k ] !!

synopsis : back home for good after a semi-unsuccessful first year at university in a new city, you’re looking forward to getting back into the routines of your old life in the town you grew up in but the one person you’d been desperate to see doesn’t seem too pleased about your return :(

notes : exes!au ; slow burn ; ohh zreamy is one of my faves on enhablr so y'all know this shit about to eat!!!!

triage by @maiverie [ series ][ ♡ ]

synopsis : heeseung is not, by any measure, date-able. he’s dorky, he’s nerdy, and he does this weird thing where he snorts loudly every time he laughs. in fact, he loves everything that normal people are allergic to — computer science, collecting rare comic books, and birdwatching on the weekend.given that you two have obviously nothing in common, you find yourself utterly flabbergasted when you receive a letter in your locker, on which heeseung has written, “hi. will you please teach me how to date?”

notes : nerd(adorable)heeseung x popular!reader ; this series owns my whole heart.

open sesame by @/maiverie [ series ][ ♡ ]

synopsis : you are uncontrollably, helplessly, and tragically in love with your roommate, heeseung. one night, desperate to learn more about him, you sneak inside his room and discover the reason why he always seems to keep his door closed. and then you realise that some doors, no matter how tempting, are better left unopened.

notes : roommates!au ; reader gives thirdhand embarrasment in one scene but we ball because this series is devouring.

waiting room by @heejamas [ 21k ] !!

synopsis : for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with.

notes : friendstolovers!au ; very cute most recent read :)

the space between by @fairyofhee [ 16.3k ] !!

synopsis : It was a mutual agreement between you and the boy with high status and reputation to say that the kiss you both shared was a mistake and meant absolutely nothing. But while trying to win over your crush, you were distracted by that mistaken kiss from the boy who's won over your heart.

notes : rich!basketball player!heeseung x flower shop worker!reader, cutesy very YA series vibes <3

the misfortunes and misconceptions of lee heeseung by @jayflrt [ ♡ ]

synopsis : by no means does lee heeseung hold any romantic feelings toward you. the mere possibility is jarring, considering his luck seems to take a turn for the worst whenever he’s around you. from getting hit with a bludger during quidditch to getting into trouble with filch for setting off dungbombs in his office, heeseung starts to think you’re some sort of bad omen. he’s prepared for disaster when you two become partners in potions, but why does the amortentia smell like you?

notes : harrypotter au! slytherin heeseung x hufflepuff reader ; i love love love hp aus with slytherins like yess goo slytherin! also anything by user jayflrt is the BEST.

doe eyes by @thatgorlnatalia [ 9k ] [ ♡ ]

synopsis : telling the truth is scary, but it’s even scarier when nobody can lie to the boy you like | you steal glances at him like everyone else, but what if you knew he looks back?

notes : highschool au! ; very sweet old fic i found and had read way long ago, just wanted to add it here because it deserves to be read <3

MY DEAR ANNOYING SEATMATE by @svnoohe4rts [ 17.1k ] !!

synopsis : there was only a few things you hated in life, but your dear seatmate lee heeseung was most definitely one of the few things you absolutely despised. with the two of you being paired up for an upcoming project, it seemed like life possibly couldn’t get any worse; so why did he suddenly almost look cute?

notes : nerdhee! ; i loved thisss smm i remember reading it, probs gonna re-read hehehe

[farfromharry]

Summary: A late night swim with Lando ends up in an admission of feelings that were a long time coming

lando norris x reader

w/c 1565

A vacation with friends were usually some of your favourite moments. You didn’t always get to see them as often as you would have liked. So when someone suggested a group trip to some island somewhere, you were up for it. But tonight, things just didn’t feel right. The first couple days had been nice, fun and relaxing. By day 4 you were burnt out. The constant presence of other people has drained you in a way you should have really anticipated. Maybe leaving your safe cocoon of your bedroom had been a bad idea after all. You just needed a little ‘you’ time.

At some point, when no one was looking and everyone was laughing, you slipped out. There was a pool outside that you had found yourself drawn to for the last few days. It was nice out there, with the view and the peace. 

You didn’t end up being alone for long. 

“Thought I might find you out here.”

You smiled into your knees. If there was one person that was going to find you out here, it was always going to be him. Some of your friends had mentioned the possibility of Lando joining at some point when the race weekend was over. Max didn’t think he would, what with how busy his schedule was. He would probably want to relax on his own. And then he’d seen the pictures, saw you there smiling and knew he couldn’t stay away. He didn’t see you anywhere near as much as he would like to. 

He came and sat beside you without a word. Any normal person would have asked if you wanted company. Sitting out here surely meant you wanted to be alone. Lando’s company was different. It didn’t feel like you were trying to put on an act. You could be yourself with him and there was no judgement. He knew things worked both ways. 

For a while you both sat quietly. Simply being. 

It was you who ended up being the first to break the silence. “Everything was just getting a little too loud in there. Needed to breathe.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He got it. A little too well actually. His whole life was a little too loud. He knew what it was like to be forced to socialise when it was the very last thing he wanted to do. Sometimes it’s important to take a break for yourself.

A sigh. He could tell it was one of relief. You didn’t need to pretend now. 

It was so nice to be around someone that just got you. “Missed you.” You remembered a time when you used to go to all his races. Back when he first started in F1 you were his number one cheerleader. Then life and work got in the way. Now it just wasn’t realistic. You wished you got to spend more time with him, but he was far too busy living his crazy lifestyle. And you would never make him feel bad for living his life. 

Your words created a flutter of something in his chest. “Missed you more.” That was the complete truth. There was something he felt when hanging out with you that he didn’t ever feel with someone else. You completed a part of him he was unaware was incomplete. 

Eventually Lando got tired of sitting still, something he did often. He got to his feet, pulling his hoodie over his head. Your brow furrowed. It wasn’t exactly boiling, so you had no idea why he was taking off his layers. It didn’t stop where you thought it was going to. Next came his shirt, then his joggers and finally his socks. Only when he stood there in nothing but his underwear did you have some idea what he was about to do. 

He noticed you eyeing him. Obviously he couldn’t just let it go. “What, you want the boxers off as well?”

You managed a laugh, a very nervous one at that, but your cheeks burned nonetheless. It wasn’t exactly something you hadn’t ever thought about. His flirting caught you off guard a lot though. He enjoyed every second of it. 

With a yell, he took off running, taking a dive into the crystal clear water below. 

“What are you doing?” The laugh that slipped out was completely involuntary. All your previous emotions were quickly replaced by bubbling laughter. 

He emerged from the water with a cheeky grin, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. You rolled your eyes, splashing him back. It didn’t phase him. He simply shoved his hair out of his eyes and continued looking at you with a menacing look. He was up to something. 

In response to your question, he shrugged his shoulders. “Taking a dip. It’s nice in here. You should join me.” He waved his arms in the water, keeping himself afloat, but his eyes were permanently locked on you.

Considering you had come out here to get away from the chaos inside, you didn’t seem to hesitate when he wanted you to join him. He was transfixed when you pulled off your shirt. It filled you with a sense of power you didn’t know you could feel. With anyone else you would have hated the attention, but you were hopelessly gone for this one. You didn’t want him to ever stop looking at you.

Your shorts came off next. He whistled. You rolled your eyes.

A split second was all it took for you to make the decision to go through with it. Your choice of dive was a cannonball. Something to make the biggest splash possible just to bother him. 

Swimming in your underwear with the man you were in love with was freeing in a way you didn’t expect. There was more laughter from you in the past 10 minutes than you’d had all holiday. It was the effect he had on you.

At some point he’d stopped messing around, his eyes softening when he looked at you. The look he was giving you was too inviting to turn down.

You were the one to swim into his arms. 

There had always been some kind of unspoken thing between you. Things were easy with him. They felt right. But it was unclear to both of them why they had never acted on it. Maybe he didn’t want to drag you into his crazy world, the one that included hate and expectations, not to mention the lack of privacy. Maybe you didn’t feel like you belonged in his world. You weren’t a celebrity, or someone who wanted all that attention. You were just you and you liked it like that. But you also like Lando. And you like Lando a whole lot more than any of those other things.

With your arms around his neck, his own took your waist, keeping you pressed close to him. His head tucked into your neck allowing you to card your fingers through his soggy curls. You felt his breath against your skin as he sighed with content. For a short period of time, you just held each other. 

The first kiss to your skin caught you by surprise. His lips against your neck. It was a foreign feeling, though one you could get used to; would rather like to get used to. When you didn’t immediately push him away or react with disgust, he kept going. Another kiss to your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Then he wanted your permission. 

His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, silently asking the question. It was a wonder he couldn’t hear your heartbeat. His nose brushed against yours, thumb tracing your cheekbone. He wanted you to know this was more than just a random act of lust. “I think I love you,” he whispered. There was no ‘think’ about it really. He was just scared of rejection if he bared his heart. 

A breath left your lips. Your heart was pounding. Oddly, you were still at ease. Where you thought a million and one things would be running around in your head, it was quiet up there. You had been unknowingly waiting for this admission. “I know I do. Now, please kiss me.”

Who was he to say no?

Your lips met in a kiss that had been coming for years. 6 years worth of affection poured into one single act. It was overwhelming. It was almost enough to bring you to tears. You never knew you needed Lando like this. Now that you had him, you didn’t think you could ever go back to the unspoken feelings from before. 

If it weren’t for oxygen, you would have kissed him for hours on end. He couldn’t resist stealing one more kiss though. 

The kiss had been coming for so long that it didn’t need to be addressed. So neither of you spoke about it. He focused on something else instead. “They’re totally watching us, right now,” he muttered. How he knew, you had no idea. Maybe he felt their eyes on them.

Your head turned, looking right at the sliding glass doors where your friends were in fact all standing there, watching. They scattered as soon as they knew they’d been caught, pretending they hadn’t done anything. You laughed. Nothing was going to spoil the bubble you were in.

[mimiyaru]

Inamorata

Yandere emo x (slight) bimbo reader

Erm.. part two is here.. btw this isn’t proof read. Part one is here

Tw- a bit suggestive…yeah

Yandere emo who has to be touching you in some way once he’s set on making you his.

Walking together? He either has his arm around your waist or around your shoulders. What? It’s totally normal for friends to do this! He just doesn’t want you to get lost if the both of you are in crowded places.

Sitting next to eachother? He has his hand placed on your thigh while he scrolls on his phone or working on whatever assignments his shitty teachers assigned.

Yandere emo who starts buying you even more expensive things. You said you wanted an eyeshadow palette but it costs $80? Next day at school during lunch he pulls out the same eyeshadow palette and hands it to you.

He spends so much money if the two of you are at the mall together. Oh you stared at some cute short tops or stared at some mini skirts that look like they barely cover your ass? He’ll get it for you but you have to try it on infront of him. It’s only fair because he practically bought your whole wardrobe.

Not that you mind, you always stand infront of him with a smile on your dolled up face.

“What do you think??” You excitedly asked, showing off the mini skirt you had your eyes on ever since you saw it on display.

He could only stare at the perfect curves of your body and had to hold himself back from grabbing your waist and pushing you up against the wall.

“Looks.. good” he shrugs but looks away from your gaze so you don’t notice the blush slowly forming on his face.

He loves it when you show up to school wearing the clothes he bought you but hates it when other guys stare at you as you walk by them, some even try to talk to you. Don’t worry he takes care of them later at night

Yandere emo who actually hates going to public places but goes out just to hang out with you. And to make sure that no one is hitting on you But if it were up to him, he would much rather have you hang out in his room where no one else can look at you.

Yandere emo who stares at you in bewilderment when one day during lunch you showed him some matching hello kitty keychains you bought.

“I thought these looked so cute and I really wanted to match with you! Unless you don’t like it…” you stared at him bashfully waiting for an answer.

You wanted to match with him?

You thought about him?

“I know it doesn’t go with your style but..!” you paused when you saw his scarred hand reaching towards the keychains and grabbing one with the utmost care as if they were fragile.

“The colors aren’t my favorite… but since you gave it to me I guess it’s alright” he muttered while staring at the keychain with such fondness.

Yandere emo who sometimes wishes you weren’t so dumb and oblivious.

Yandere emo who wishes that you would notice how he would frown for a moment everytime you called him your best friend.

Yandere emo who wishes that he could just ask you out, but this is all so new to him, he never expected that he of all people would be in love, not to mention in love with someone like you.

Yandere emo who wishes he could just kiss you roughly everytime you talk about another guy. What’s so good about him? He probably only wants to use you for your body.

The gifts he gets you start increasing, he even gave you a big bouquet of flowers that said I love you (Much to his dismay, he thought it was corny but maybe it would give you a sign that he loves you romantically?) it didn’t.

As the days pass by he’s starting to get impatient, he tried everything yet you just never seemed to get the hint.

So don’t be surprised when the next time you mention a guy he roughly grabs your shoulders and smashes his lips against yours. Doesn’t matter if he does it in public or somewhere private, he’s tired of you thinking that he just wants to be your friend.

“Are you really that dumb or are you just pretending?” He murmurs, his face inching closer to your neck after the kiss and his hands are now holding your waist tightly while your own hands grasp onto his shoulders.

“You really think I’d waste hundreds of dollars on a friend? Fuck, I love you, why can’t you see that?” You yelped when you felt him roughly bite your neck. You tried wriggling out of his grasp but his hold only tightened. He didn’t plan on letting you go.

“Or maybe I need to show you how much I love you in a different way?” He slowly lifted his head to look right at you.

His gaze was different this time, it was much darker.

If he has to fuck that pretty body of yours in order for you to understand that he loves you, then he’s all for it.

He would do anything for you, after all.

I spent 30 dollars in order to get phainon and it was so worth it lmao

also why is this one even more buns than the first one.. 🥀

[filthyjoelslvr]

Red, White, and Worn

Content: joelmiller x reader

Synop: When Tommy dragged Joel to the town's fireworks show, he was ready to hide in the shade and avoid the crowd. That is, until he locks eyes with you — the girl he can't help but want to always be around.

Warnings: no outbreak! joel, age gap (unspecified but mentioned), fingering, praise kink, lowkey sub joel, pinv, riding, creampie, joel and reader have a past

Word Count: 10k

(dividers by: @enchanthings) MINORS DNI!!!!

The sun was already beating down like it had something to prove, and Joel hadn’t even made it out of his damn driveway yet.

He slipped on his boots with a sigh, muttering something halfway between a prayer and a curse. The kind of groan a man makes when he knows he’s been tricked but shows up anyway, out of pride more than willingness.

Tommy had called the night before, talking all sweet about “spendin’ quality time” and “family traditions”, like Joel wasn’t sharp enough to hear the beer cooler slamming shut in the background.

“Be good for you,” Tommy had said. “Sarah’ll like it.”

“It ain’t even that crowded,” he’d lied.

Joel could smell the bullshit from three blocks over, but still — here he was. Climbing into his truck at ten in the goddamn morning, barely caffeinated, to go stand around in the heat and listen to country cover bands butcher Springsteen for the sake of freedom.

He rubbed a hand down his jaw, already tired.

Sarah had gone with a friend for the weekend, which left Joel squarely without an excuse when Tommy came calling. And Joel knew his brother — had known him since birth, in fact — so he knew damn well “family time” actually meant “Joel’s gonna be my designated driver while I get shitfaced and try to impress some bartender I dated in highschool.”

Still. He’d gone.

The festival grounds were already starting to fill by the time Joel parked behind the fire station. Kids running around sticky with popsicles, someone fiddling with busted speakers over a too-small stage, red, white, and blue streamers hanging like they were doing any real work against the Texas sun.

Joel spotted Tommy near the grills — beer already in hand — grinning like a man who knew he owed someone a big favor later.

“There he is,” Tommy called, arms wide like Joel was just returning from war. “Was startin’ to think you’d come to your senses and stayed home.”

Joel shoved his hands in his pockets. “Still considerin’ it.”

“C’mon now,” Tommy said, clapping him on the back, “You’ll have a good time. Might even get a smile outta you.”

“Doubt it.”

Tommy laughed and wandered back toward the beer tent, already pointing at someone Joel didn’t recognize, yelling something about flip cup. Joel stayed where he was, jaw clenched, hands still in his pockets, taking in the chaos.

He hadn’t been to this thing in a couple years — not since Sarah was little enough to want matching shirts and face paint. Now she was sixteen, and he was just the guy holding her water bottle while she bounced between booths, pretending he didn’t exist unless she needed cash.

He couldn’t blame her. She was growing up. Fast. And he was still… here. Still Joel. Still tired. Still stuck somewhere between grateful and lonesome.

He was about to go find some shade — or maybe just fake a heatstroke and leave early — when he saw you across the lawn.

Hands full with a stack of folding chairs, face flushed from the sun and effort, talking to some teenager who clearly wasn’t helping nearly enough. You hadn’t seen him yet, but Joel’s feet didn’t move. Not right away.

Something about the way you were frowning — all business, all fire — made his chest go still for a second. Like he’d forgotten how to breathe around you, even if it wasn’t the first time.

“Shit,” He muttered under his breath.

Because now there was no leaving. Not yet. Not until he talked to you. Not until he remembered what his voice sounded like when it wasn’t locked behind his damn teeth.

Tommy, the bastard, might’ve dragged him here — but Joel suddenly wasn’t so sure he minded.

Joel hadn’t even known you were back in town until Tommy brought you to the house one Sunday afternoon, carrying a pan of something that smelled too good for a recipe pulled off the back of a box. You wore a sundress, your hair pulled half up, and you laughed with your whole chest — the kind of sound that filled a room before anyone even asked what was funny.

Tommy had waved off Joel’s surprise like it wasn’t a big deal. Said you’d needed a break. That things back home got heavy, and Austin was “as good a place as any to catch your breath.”

And just like that, you started showing up. To cookouts. To game nights. To nothing nights, where Tommy flipped through channels and you curled up at the far end of his couch with a glass of wine and your bare feet tucked under you.

You and Tommy had history, sure — and that was part of what made Joel keep his damn hands to himself. You hadn’t dated long, not seriously. A couple months, years back. Tried something after a few late-night beers and one too many old memories. But it fizzled out before it got messy. You both knew it wasn’t the right fit, and you’d stayed close. Real close. Tommy still called you “trouble” and you still rolled your eyes at him like he was your annoying older brother, even if he wasn't really.

Joel hadn’t said much about it at the time. But it stuck with him — that you’d been close enough to try. Close enough to be around.

And now you were always around.

Sometimes you brought over a pie from that little diner off 290, sometimes you just brought a book and sat near the window while Tommy worked on his truck in the driveway. And Joel — well, he tried not to hover. He tried not to watch you trace your finger around the rim of your glass, or tap your painted nails against the arm of the couch when you were thinking. He tried. But he wasn’t made of stone.

The worst part? You noticed.

You never pushed. Never called him out. But there were these moments. Tiny ones. Moments no one else ever seemed to catch but him.

Like when your knees bumped under the coffee table and neither of you moved. When he handed you a fresh beer and your fingers lingered too long around his. When you sat beside him on Tommy’s couch — just close enough that your perfume slid under his skin — and crossed your legs slow, with your knee brushing his thigh like you didn’t even notice.

Except you did.

Joel would sit there, jaw tight, trying not to shift. Trying not to lean half an inch to the left and lose his goddamn mind. He’d stare at the TV, pretending like he wasn’t hyper-aware of your soft laugh, your bare shoulder brushing his arm, the way your voice dropped low when you asked him things you didn’t ask anyone else.

It was a slow kind of torture. Familiar. Intimate in a way that made it worse, because you were Tommy’s friend. And you were younger — not by a lot, not in a way that mattered to anyone else, just a little younger than Tommy — but enough that Joel noticed. Enough that it made him second-guess everything he wanted to say.

So he didn’t say anything at all.

He kept his hands to himself. Kept his voice even. Played the part. And every time you looked at him like you were waiting for him to stop pretending, he just gritted his teeth and looked away.

But it was there. The tension. The want.

It was there every time you sat next to him and laughed at something stupid Tommy said. Every time your thigh touched his and neither of you moved. Every time you passed behind him in the kitchen and your fingers brushed the small of his back just enough to burn.

Joel told himself it didn’t mean anything. That he was just imagining it. But sometimes, late at night, lying awake in a too-quiet house — he let himself think about what it would mean if he wasn’t.

He didn’t move until you looked up.

Not until that sun-flushed face tilted toward him, lips parting mid-sentence like the words had stalled the second your eyes found his. A beat. Then another. And then — the corner of your mouth quirked, slow and knowing.

You knew he was staring. Didn’t mind, apparently.

Joel swallowed, throat dry, and finally took a step. Then another. The grass crunched beneath his boots, loud even over the distant twang of country music and the crackle of a barbecue smoker. Some little kid ran past with a sparkler already lit, despite it being hours from dark, but Joel barely noticed.

You straightened as he got closer, nudging the teen beside you with your elbow. “Go help your mom,” you told the kid — sweet, but firm. “She’s drowning in potato salad.”

The boy groaned but obeyed, trudging off toward one of the picnic tables. You turned your full attention to Joel.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Did Tommy bribe you, or threaten you?”

“Bit of both,” Joel said, voice low and rough like it always got around you. “Said I needed to ‘get out the damn house.’”

You laughed. Not loud, like you did with Tommy — this was quieter. Softer. Just for him.

“Well, it’s good you came. Wouldn’t be a real country 4th without a Miller somewhere nearby, drinking beer and trying to pretend they’re not enjoying themselves.”

Joel’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile threatening his usual scowl. He nodded toward the chairs in your arms. “You always haul furniture around at parties, or is this a special occasion?”

You huffed. “Only when I don’t trust a bunch of teenagers to not break their necks sitting on a plastic cooler.”

“Smart,” he said, then reached out without thinking. “Here— gimme that.”

You hesitated. Just a second. Long enough to make him think maybe you’d say no, that you'd insist you had it. But then your hands lifted, slow and deliberate, and you let the weight of the chairs fall into his grip.

And Jesus, your fingers brushed his. Barely. But it was enough.

“Thanks,” you said, and he couldn’t tell if you meant for the help or the touch.

Joel cleared his throat, nodded once. “Where you want ‘em?”

You pointed to a shady patch under an old oak tree, where some red-checkered blankets were already laid out.

“Over there. Figured we’d claim a spot before the fireworks start and everybody loses their damn minds.”

Joel followed you, the chairs clanking in his grip, and tried not to think too hard about the we in your sentence. As if it was natural. As if he was part of it.

You bent down to spread out the last of the blankets, smoothing the corners with the palm of your hand, and Joel stood there like a fool, watching the sun catch in your hair. You looked up at him from your knees, squinting slightly.

“You gonna sit, or just stand there brooding all day like it’s your job?”

Joel grunted as he dropped into one of the folding chairs beside you. “Ain’t brooding.”

You gave him a look. One of those crooked, knowing smiles that made his stomach feel a little too warm, even in the heat.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said, leaning back and stretching your legs out in front of you. The sunlight slid down your thighs, bare and golden, and Joel had to look away before his brain short-circuited.

You were wearing cutoff denim shorts — frayed at the edges, soft and worn like they’d been in your drawer for years. Your tank top was cut off just above your belly button, red and sleeveless with little white stars that shimmered when you moved. And the boots — well, the boots might’ve killed him outright. Worn leather, scuffed at the toes, like you actually used them instead of buying them for show. And your legs? Jesus.

He tipped his hat forward just enough to cast a shadow over his eyes, hoping you didn’t notice how long he’d been staring.

Tommy had shoved it at him when he had arived — the damn hat — said it was “time to look the part.” Joel rolled his eyes but wore it anyway. Figured it wasn’t the worst thing if it kept the sun out of his face — and maybe kept him from looking directly at you too long, burning up like an idiot under your smile.

He wore his usual uniform: faded jeans, boots that had seen too many summers, and a dark button-down rolled to his elbows. But the hat… it changed things a little. He saw the way you glanced up at him when he first walked over. The way your gaze ticked up his chest and settled on the brim of his hat for a second longer than it needed to.

Now, though, he was trying not to look like a statue while you laughed — not with him, but with Tommy.

Joel clocked it the second his brother trotted back from the beer tent, all smug smiles and mischief.

“You ready, trouble?” Tommy asked, nudging your shoulder like a kid on the playground.

You gave Joel a little shrug, like this was nothing. “He signed us up for the two-step contest.”

Joel blinked. “He what?”

“She agreed,” Tommy cut in, waving a finger in your direction. “She just didn’t know it was happening right now.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t look the least bit reluctant. In fact, you stood up with a stretch, brushing the grass from your shorts and fixing your hair with a quick twist. “C’mon,” you said to Tommy, “before I change my mind.”

Joel watched as you walked away — boots kicking up dust, hips swaying just enough to make it hard to focus on anything else. His jaw clenched.

It was stupid. It was a damn dance. Just two people who’d known each other forever, having fun on a hot Texas afternoon.

It started innocent enough.

Tommy clapped his hands and offered you a dramatic little bow, grinning like the devil in front of the makeshift dance floor. You rolled your eyes but took his hand anyway, letting him pull you through the crowd toward the small space roped off near the main stage. Joel watched from his chair, legs stretched out and arms crossed tight over his chest, beer bottle untouched in his lap.

The fiddle picked up into something fast and familiar, a classic two-step rhythm that had the older couples already out there gliding in circles like they’d been practicing since the ‘80s. Tommy turned to you with that cocky grin Joel had known since childhood and gave your hand a tug.

“You remember how, right?”

“Please,” you said, snorting. “Try to keep up, old man.”

You were already laughing as you stepped into position, hands finding their place — one in his, the other on his shoulder. Tommy’s arm slid around your waist, easy and familiar, and Joel felt his jaw lock tight.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you and Tommy touch. There were always little things — hugs, play fights, a casual lean into each other on the couch when you were both half-drunk on a Sunday night. But this? This was different.

This was close.

You were pressed chest-to-chest, hips aligned, boots moving in tandem. Tommy spun you once, then again, hand sliding down your back to steady you. You laughed, breathless, your head tipping back as the brim of your hat nearly knocked into his.

Joel couldn’t look away.

Your tank top clung to the curve of your spine when you spun, and those shorts — they rode a little higher with every turn, showing off long, tanned legs that Joel had spent too many damn nights imagining wrapped around his hips. And the way Tommy held you — not crude, not possessive, but comfortable. Like he’d done it before.

And he had. That was the part Joel couldn’t ignore.

Tommy had kissed you. Held you. He knew how your laugh felt against his neck, how your skin felt under his hands. He’d touched you in ways Joel never had — ways Joel never would, not if he kept letting his guilt tie a noose around his own damn throat.

You twirled again, and this time Tommy caught you low — his hand firm on your waist, the other lifting yours high as your back arched into the dip. The whole crowd cheered, clapping and whistling, but Joel barely heard it.

All he could focus on was how Tommy looked at you.

Not like a man still in love. No, that wasn’t it. But with history. With knowledge. With the kind of easy intimacy that didn’t just vanish, no matter how things ended. It was in the way he grinned when you rolled your eyes, the way his hand lingered a second too long at the small of your back, fingers splayed across bare skin like it belonged to him.

Joel looked away, but it didn’t help.

The image was burned behind his eyes — you, flush with laughter, your body tucked against his brother’s, dancing like it meant nothing.

And maybe it didn’t. Not to you. Not to Tommy.

But it sure as hell meant something to Joel.

He stared down at his boots, breathing through his nose like that might ground him. The brim of his cowboy hat cast his face in shadow, but it didn’t hide the twitch in his jaw, or the way his fingers curled tight around the beer bottle in his lap.

What the hell was he doing?

Wanting you was bad enough. But wanting you while you danced like that with Tommy — with the man who’d once tasted you, touched you, maybe even loved you — that made Joel feel sick. Twisted up and mean. Like some bitter old fool watching from the sidelines, full of things he had no right to feel.

He didn’t know if it was worse that Tommy had had you, or that he’d let you go without a fight.

Joel hadn’t had either luxury.

He’d never even tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, tipping his beer back in one long, desperate swallow.

You were laughing again, clapping as the song came to a close. Tommy bowed with flair, and you gave him a playful shove before heading back toward the chairs — cheeks flushed, hair sticking to the back of your neck, eyes bright.

Joel schooled his face the second you looked at him, forcing something like a smile onto his lips.

“You two win?” he asked, voice flat.

You shrugged. “Doubt it. But we didn’t fall over, so I’ll take the moral victory.”

You collapsed into the chair beside him with a sigh, fanning yourself with your hand. Joel passed you his beer without a word. You took it, tipped it toward him in thanks, and took a slow drink from the same bottle he’d just had his mouth on.

And just like that, he was gone again — head spinning, heart somewhere around his boots, throat dry with wanting.

You handed the bottle back, licking a bit of foam from your bottom lip.

“I’m stealing you for the next one,” you said casually, eyes on the band.

Joel didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Not when he was still trying to breathe through the fact that his brother’s hands had been on you — and his would never be.

The sun had softened by the time you and Joel wandered toward the vendor tents, the heat finally letting up just enough to breathe. Cicadas hummed from the trees, and the scent of grilled meat and fried dough floated in from the food trucks parked near the edge of the park.

The festival booths lined the gravel path like a row of open-air treasure chests. You slowed for nearly every one, and Joel followed — always half a step behind, hands in his pockets, hat tipped low over his brow.

You picked up candles and sniffed them, laughing at one labeled Cowboy Kisses “Whatever that means,” you muttered, tapped your nails against little bars of soap stamped with lavender & cedar, and ran your fingers over stacks of delicate bracelets made from leather and colored thread.

At one point, you stopped cold in front of a little handmade jewelry table.

Joel noticed it immediately. The way your eyes drifted to a small silver necklace strung with a turquoise charm — just a soft glint of blue and polished stone, barely the size of a fingernail. It wasn’t flashy. Wasn’t expensive. But you stared at it like it had whispered something only you could hear.

Then you reached for it — only to let go the second you saw the price.

You laughed under your breath and stepped back.

Joel’s voice came from beside you, low and steady. “You liked that one.”

You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, but I didn’t bring cash. I wasn’t really planning to—”

He stepped forward and pulled out his wallet.

“Joel, no. Seriously, that’s not—”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, already handing over a twenty.

You stood there flustered, watching the woman wrap it up in a little square of brown tissue and tuck it in a bag.

“I’ll pay you back,” you said, voice firmer now.

“Don’t want you to.”

“Then I’ll buy you something.”

He gave you a look. “It’s a gift.”

You paused. Just stared at him, your expression softening in a way that made Joel’s chest go too still.

“…Thank you,” you said, quieter now. “Really.”

He just shrugged — but the truth was, something about it mattered to him. It wasn’t just a necklace. It was a chance to give you something, something small and good. And you let him.

You pulled it out and clipped it around your neck right there at the edge of the booth. Lifted your hair with one hand, fingers brushing the back of your neck, and Joel looked away — jaw tight — before his mind wandered too far down that road.

But he still smiled when he saw it hanging there.

Tommy appeared out of nowhere about fifteen minutes later, stumbling in from the beer tent like he’d been pulled in on a breeze. He had a red solo cup in one hand and a bag of peanuts in the other.

“Y’all serious-faced over here,” he slurred, jabbing a peanut at Joel. “You givin’ her a lecture or what?”

You grinned. “He’s buying me jewelry, actually.”

Tommy blinked. “What the hell—Joel?”

Joel didn’t answer. Just sipped his drink and looked at the horizon.

Tommy squinted at you. “Wait, is that new?” He leaned closer. “You didn’t—did you buy that from Martha’s booth?”

You nodded proudly.

Tommy clutched his chest. “I been savin’ up for that exact one.”

You shoved him. “Get outta here.”

“Dead serious,” he said, totally unconvincing. “I was gonna wear it to church next week.”

“Please do,” you said. “I’d love to see it over your fishing shirt.”

Tommy winked and wandered off again, spilling peanuts as he went.

By the time dinner rolled around, the crowd had thickened. Tables filled with families, lawn chairs clustered near the food trucks, and the sweet haze of mesquite smoke hung over everything like a cloud.

You and Joel grabbed plates from a big fold-out buffet line — brisket, ribs, pickles, baked beans, cornbread — and settled at a long folding table with plastic tablecloths and mismatched chairs.

A few locals were already seated — folks Joel nodded at in passing — and you made conversation easily, always knowing what to say to make people feel at ease. Joel sat beside you, mostly quiet, his arm brushing yours every so often when he shifted in his seat.

Halfway through your plate, Tommy reappeared. This time slower. Red-faced. A little sweatier.

“Damn near forgot where y’all were,” he said, pulling up a chair across from you. “Place is a maze.”

Joel arched a brow. “Or you’re drunk.”

Tommy ignored him and narrowed his eyes at your plate.

“You done with that?” he asked, pointing.

You blinked. “My cornbread?”

He didn’t wait. Just reached across the table and stole it clean off your plate, took a massive bite like it was owed to him.

You stared at him in disbelief. “You animal.”

“’S good,” Tommy said, mouth full.

Joel laughed — really laughed — shoulders shaking as he shook his head. “You’re gonna regret all this when you wake up tomorrow.”

Tommy raised his cup. “That’s future Tommy’s problem.”

He eventually wandered off again, likely in search of another beer or another girl, but not before trying — and failing — to flirt with the woman handing out sweet tea near the smoker.

You and Joel watched him go, shaking your heads.

“He’s a menace,” you said, stealing a piece of brisket off Joel’s plate.

Joel glanced sideways at you. “Doesn’t bother you?”

You tilted your head. “What? Tommy hitting on girls?”

Joel nodded slowly, not quite looking at you.

“No. It doesn’t bother me.” You took your time chewing before answering. “I don’t feel that way about him anymore. Haven’t for a long time.”

Joel looked at you now, his eyes shadowed but focused.

“I love him, sure. But not in a way that fits with… y’know. Marriage and mortgages and sharing a damn toothbrush holder.”

Joel smirked at that.

“I love him like… a dumb brother who once kissed me in a bar parking lot and then apologized with Whataburger fries.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at his plate. He didn’t say anything right away. But he reached over and slid his remaining cornbread onto your plate.

You smiled.

The sun sank lower. Music picked up. Families spread out across the open lawn with picnic blankets, dogs on leashes, toddlers holding glow sticks like magic wands.

You and Joel stood just outside the crowd now, sipping fresh lemonades. You’d dusted powdered sugar off your hands after sharing a funnel cake, and you were watching the sky turn from gold to lavender.

“Where’s Sarah tonight?” you asked softly.

Joel’s mouth tightened just slightly. “With her friends.”

“Oh,” you said. “I thought she might be here.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He glanced toward the far edge of the festival. “Figured I’d run into her eventually, but… haven’t seen her once.”

You watched his face quietly for a beat.

“She’s sixteen now,” he added. “Thinks she’s grown. Wants space. Can’t blame her.”

You touched his arm lightly, a quiet gesture, grounding.

“She’s lucky to have you,” you said.

Joel didn’t answer.

But he didn’t look away either.

The crowd was thick now. The air smelled like warm spice and charcoal. The lights strung across the trees blinked to life one by one, little firefly bulbs casting everything in a soft yellow haze.

Joel stood beside you, hat tipped back, the hem of his sleeve brushing your arm.

And in the distance — past the noise, past the laughter, past the blur of everyone else — he still felt like it was just the two of you.

Like something was building. Something inevitable.

The first few notes of the song filtered through the air — slow, steel-stringed, soft enough to hush a crowd. A waltz rhythm, warm and nostalgic, played by a local band who clearly knew what they were doing. Joel didn’t know the name of the song, but he recognized the feel of it. Something country. Old but familiar. The kind of song you held someone to.

He was just about to take another sip of his lemonade when your face turned toward the stage, lit up like someone’d flipped a switch inside you.

“Oh,” you breathed. “God, I love this one.”

Joel blinked. “Yeah?”

“C’mon,” you said, already stepping backward, fingers curling toward him. “Let’s dance.”

He froze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t—” He shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile stayed soft. “You can’t not dance to this.”

“Sure I can,” he said. “I’m doin’ it right now.”

You huffed, reaching for his hand. “Joel.”

He let you grab it, but didn’t move. His feet felt stuck. Too heavy.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I haven’t danced in years. And even then I wasn’t any good.”

You leaned in, eyes gleaming under the string lights, your grip tugging just enough to make his chest tighten.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said. “Pretend it’s just us. And I’ll lead if I have to.”

Joel stared at you for a second — at your sun-burnt cheeks, your messy hair, that damn necklace he’d bought hanging just above your collarbone — and knew he’d already lost.

“Shit,” he muttered.

You grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

And just like that, you dragged him to the edge of the crowd where couples were already swaying — boots scuffing against dry grass, arms looped around each other like they had all the time in the world.

Joel’s palms were already sweating. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself. But you turned toward him with your arms out, patient and open, and he stepped into them like it was the only place he wanted to be.

At first, it was awkward.

His left hand hovered near your waist like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. His right hand held yours too tight, too stiff, his thumb locked over your knuckles like he was bracing for something. His boots fumbled the first few steps, off beat, slow to match yours. He moved like a man trying to remember how to speak a language he hadn’t used in years.

But you didn’t laugh.

You didn’t flinch.

You just smiled — that same damn smile that wrecked him — and stepped closer. One hand found his shoulder, the other still curled in his, and you leaned in enough that your chest nearly brushed his. You fit yourself into the space between his arms like you’d been there before — like you knew exactly where to go and how to hold him.

Your fingers smoothed along the back of his neck, feather-light, a little bolder now. Joel felt it straight through to his spine. His breath hitched. His hand, finally, settled low at your waist — then a little lower, just above the curve of your hips, his palm broad and warm against your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. He could feel the heat of you through his rough palm.

“Relax,” you whispered, lifting your hand to toy gently with the hair curling at the nape of his neck. “You’re fine.”

And somehow, that was all it took.

Joel exhaled, long and low. His shoulders dropped. His hand on your back slid just slightly — no longer hovering, now holding. His thumb traced a slow, absent circle against your spine. You didn’t seem to notice, or maybe you did — but you didn’t pull away.

You shifted, just enough to press more of yourself into him.

Your bodies found a rhythm.

The two of you swayed in slow circles, boots brushing grass, the rest of the world dimming around you. You moved fluidly, letting him follow your lead for a beat or two — guiding his hips with the subtle shift of your own. Your chest grazed his with every slow turn. Your thigh slid alongside his, warm and firm and steady.

Joel’s hand curled more firmly at your waist, tugging you subtly closer. Not possessive — just... certain.

You didn’t back away.

Instead, you tilted your head and rested your temple near the hollow of his throat, and Joel felt your breath against his skin. Slow. Steady. Your fingers pressed lightly into his chest now, palm warm over his heartbeat.

“You’re not nervous,” he murmured, more a question than a statement.

“No.”

He swallowed.

“Why?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes — close enough he could count every fleck of gold in them under the glow of the string lights.

“Because I’m dancing with you.”

Joel didn’t breathe for a second. Didn’t move.

You looked at him like you’d been waiting. Not for this moment exactly — but for him. The way he held you. The way he looked at you like it cost him something.

His hand slid a little lower, fingers brushing the curve where your back met your hips. Not deliberate. Just instinct. Your hand, in turn, curled behind his neck, fingers threading lightly through the ends of his hair. The motion was slow. Intimate. Like you were trying to memorize him.

Joel wanted to say something — anything — but it was too much. You. The music. The warmth of your body against his. He could feel the subtle give of your thigh every time it brushed his. The softness of your stomach when it pressed against him during a turn. The perfume clinging to your collarbone, faint and sweet and dizzying.

He swore he could feel the outline of your necklace — the one he bought — pressed between your chest and his.

“Do you dance with Tommy like this?” he asked, voice low and tight.

You didn’t flinch. “Once or twice. He was always a good dancer.”

Joel nodded, eyes flicking down between you.

“But not like this.”

His gaze snapped back to yours.

“Not like this,” you repeated, quieter now.

Your fingers ghosted across his jaw, slow and soft. Like you weren’t sure where you were going with the touch — only that you needed to feel him. You let them drift down, over the curve of his throat, and rest just above his collarbone. His pulse thudded against your fingertips.

Joel didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. He just held you tighter. Pulled you in until there was nothing left between you but the thump of his heart and the music still turning slow around you.

The song stretched on.

And neither of you moved to leave.

Not until you shifted in his arms again, a little reluctant, and said, “It’s really crowded.”

Joel blinked. Looked around.

And yeah. The field was full now. Packed with people, laughter, music vibrating through the ground. Kids zipped between legs with sparklers. Someone tripped near the lemonade stand. The noise was rising now, voices layered over voices, the heat of the crowd closing in.

“It’s a little overwhelming,” you admitted, still half in his arms.

Joel hesitated.

Then swallowed.

“I got an idea,” he said quietly. “Could drive the truck up the ridge. Little hill just past the treeline — looks out over the whole fairground.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded, trying not to sound too eager. “Wouldn’t have to deal with the crowd. Be a good spot to watch the fireworks.”

You smiled — slow and genuine — and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Joel felt it then. That low hum in his chest. The quiet shift between maybe and more. And this time, he didn’t look away.

Joel felt it the second you pulled away from him — a quiet sort of ache, like his arms were still shaped around your body even after you'd slipped out of them. The space left behind felt colder than it should’ve. Emptier.

But before he could dwell on it, your fingers caught his again.

You didn’t look back. Just grabbed his hand and took off through the grass like the fairgrounds were on fire and only he could save you. Laughing, tugging, nearly pulling him off balance as your boots kicked up dust. The smile on your face lit up more than any firework ever could, and Joel — he let himself be dragged. Chest tight. Heart thudding. Somewhere between disbelief and wonder.

“Where’d you park?” you called out, already halfway across the field.

“Behind the fire station,” Joel answered, a little breathless.

You didn’t slow. Didn’t even hesitate. You just looked over your shoulder with a grin and said, “Perfect,” like this was always the plan. Like tonight belonged to the two of you and no one else.

By the time you reached the truck, Joel’s chest was tight with something he didn’t want to name. His brother — the festival, the rest of the night — it all blurred in the background. And suddenly, he was realizing what he’d just done.

He’d left everything behind. Because you asked.

You jumped into the passenger seat like it was second nature, throwing your legs up on the dash as he climbed in and turned the key. The engine rumbled to life, headlights flicking on as the gravel crunched beneath the tires.

The ride was short — a backroad trail Joel knew like the lines of his own hands. A hill just past the treeline, not too far but far enough. Quiet. High. The fairgrounds stretched out below like something out of a postcard, lights glowing soft against the dark.

“It’s so pretty up here,” you murmured, voice quiet like you didn’t want to break it.

Joel parked and killed the engine. For a second, he didn’t move.

“Y’know,” he said, glancing at you, “I didn’t plan on leavin’. Didn’t think I’d… end the night this way.”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “And now?”

Now, he can’t imagine wanting anything else.

But he didn’t say that. Just gave a small shrug and stepped out of the truck.

You followed close behind as he lowered the tailgate, reaching into the back for the old flannel blanket he always kept tucked under a toolbox. He spread it out like he’d done it a hundred times before — smooth and instinctive — then sat down with a quiet sigh.

You climbed up beside him, crossing your legs as the night settled in. The only light came from the moon and the distant glow of the fairground below. The music was still playing somewhere in the distance, muffled and soft, barely loud enough to recognize.

Fireworks would start any minute.

Joel sat with his hands resting loosely on his knees, careful not to let them drift too close. But that didn’t last long.

Without hesitation, you scooted closer and curled into his side — like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head settled on his shoulder, your arm wrapped around his waist, and Joel went still.

Completely still.

Like if he moved too fast, the moment might disappear.

His arm hovered for a second before he wrapped it around you — slow, deliberate — pulling you in until there wasn’t even air left between you. Your body was warm against his. Your hair smelled like sun and sugar. And Joel… he didn’t breathe right for a whole minute.

The tailgate was warm beneath you, the blanket soft against your legs, but Joel barely noticed any of it.

Not when you were curled into his side like that.

You fit against him so naturally, your head tucked under his chin, your arm wrapped around his middle. The distant noise of the fair was a low hum now, like it belonged to another world entirely. All he could hear was the steady rhythm of your breathing and the way the trees rustled gently above you.

“I’ve had an amazing day,” you said, your voice low, quiet against his shoulder.

Joel’s eyes flicked down to you, something pulling tight in his chest. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “Really amazing.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just squeezed your side gently, his thumb tracing slow, careful circles over the fabric of your shirt.

“I wish I could stay in this moment,” you murmured.

Joel swallowed. Hard.

You shifted slightly, enough to lift your head and look at him. The glow of the moon caught the side of your face, lighting up your features in soft silver. He could see every detail — the way your lashes fluttered, the faint crease between your brows, the corner of your mouth twitching like you wanted to smile but weren’t sure if you should.

“I know why you never said anything,” you said softly. “Why you never crossed that line.”

Joel’s breath caught in his throat.

You didn’t look away. “Because of Tommy. Right?”

His jaw tensed, but he nodded. Once.

You exhaled slowly, a warm puff of air across his collar. “But Joel… you can't let Tommy stop you from taking what you want."

Joel didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because you were leaning in — slow and sure — and his whole body went still, like something sacred was about to happen. His heart thundered in his chest. He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

Then you kissed him.

Soft. Barely there.

Just a press of lips, gentle and hesitant, like you were giving him one last chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he tilted into you — his hand sliding up your back, his fingers threading through your hair — and kissed you back.

And this time it wasn’t hesitant.

It was deep and slow, warm and certain. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself into his chest, and Joel’s hand moved to your waist, steady and sure. Your bodies fit like puzzle pieces, heat pressed to heat, and Joel felt his blood roar with something fierce and long-denied.

You kissed like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

And then — just as your lips started to part again — you pulled back, barely a breath between you, eyes half-lidded and glowing under the moonlight.

“Shit,” you whispered, breathless. “We’re gonna miss the fireworks.”

Joel looked at you for half a second — then reached up, cupped your cheek in his palm, and pulled you right back in.

“Don’t care.”

And then his mouth was on yours again, firmer this time, more certain. His other hand slid up your back, drawing you closer until you were half in his lap, arms still looped around his neck. The kiss deepened, grew slow and heated, like the two of you were speaking in a language no one else had ever understood.

And then — just as your lips pressed to his like you’d never get enough of him —

Boom.

The first firework exploded behind you, gold and brilliant, lighting up the entire sky.

You didn’t even flinch.

Joel kept kissing you like the world could burn behind him and he still wouldn’t let go.

Because this was it. The moment. The one he hadn’t let himself want for far too long.

And now that it was here — with you wrapped around him, fireworks blooming above, the world fading away — he finally let himself have it.

All of it.

All of you.

You crawled into Joel's lap with ease, legs straddling his hips, arms still wrapped around his neck. Joel's hands trailed down the small of your back, thumbs rubbing gentle circles at the small indented dimples before resting against the soft skin.

Your fingers gently tugged at the curls of his hair, deepening the kiss as his mouth parted wider, inviting you in. He felt the way your tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his own. You tasted of brisket, lemonade, and something intoxicating that he couldn’t imagine ever getting enough of.

It’s almost as if he could get addicted to you — like your lips are some drug luring him in, prepared to ruin his entire life — and he would let that happen without a fight. Fireworks continue to explode behind you, colorful sparks filling the night sky. Cheers a distant sound from the crowd below.

For a fleeting moment, he contemplates stopping this. He envisions a romantic moment—a cherished memory of witnessing the breathtaking display in the sky with a beautiful girl by his side. Fireworks are a rare occurrence, coming around only once a year. Besides, he could take you home tonight if you let him.

But the idea quickly fades from his mind as quickly as it had come to him when your hips brushed against the rough fabric of his jeans, seeking friction from him. In that moment, he found a kind of relief that he didn’t even realize he was craving.

The denim around his crotch tightened as he felt himself becoming hard from your movements. He couldn’t believe he had even considered turning this down for a light show he didn’t even want to attend.

His hands slide lower from your back, meeting the curve of your ass. He pulls you tighter, eliminating any space between you. The kiss becomes sloppy, your spit covering his lips, and drool probably dripping down his chin as if you were his last meal.

Your hands frantically search for the buttons on the front of his flannel, tearing them apart in a desperate attempt. Joel hesitates, wondering if he should be doing this. But what did you say? Take what you want.

So it isn’t long before he follows your lead, slipping his hands beneath the tight fabric of your tank top. Feeling the swell of your breasts, the peak of your hardening nipples. Of course a girl like you wouldn’t wear a bra to an event like this.

You pull away from him, admire the way Joel's eyes are heavy with lust, thumbs rubbing tenderly, circling along your nipples. He watches the way your eyes trail down his exposed chest, hands slowly trailing along his tough, tanned and sun-worn skin. Built for a man his age.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” you admit, a shy smile spreading across your face.

It makes Joel blush. Makes him realize you were down just as bad as he was.

“Me too.” He replies, kissing the corner of your mouth. For a moment, you sit there just staring at each other. Not awkward. Not scared or nervous. Just trying to grasp that this moment is real. That Joel finally has you in his arms. In a way he never thought would happen.

But finally you move, hands lifting at his belt, unclasping the buckle and almost ripping it from the constraints of his belt loops. The romantic and sweet moment quickly changes to something hot and dangerous. Something fast and needy.

Joel pulls your tank top above your head, revealing your bare chest. Your sacred skin. The way your breasts fit perfectly in the palms of his hands. He leans in, taking your aching nipple between his teeth and sucking lightly before flicking his tongue against it.

Your hands continued fumbling with his jeans, pulling them down when he lifted his thighs to help you out a little. And just as quickly, you pull down your own shorts — throwing them to the side like they mean nothing to you. Like they were in the way.

It drives Joel crazy when he feels how wet you are against his boxers. How wet you are through your own panties. He can’t believe you needed him in this way. Can’t believe he gets to tend to that need. Precum already seeps through his own boxers — especially with the way you grind against him, trailing yourself up his entire length.

You slide your hand down his waistband, palming him and feeling his entire length — rubbing your thumb across his leaking slit. This draws a long groan from somewhere deep within Joel's chest. The desperation in your touch makes Joel's head spin, dizzying yet electrifying. He knows how bad you want him, but as if he were questioning it, you confirm his thoughts.

“I want you so bad, Joel,” you say in a whisper so sweet it’s like Joel can taste it on his tongue.

“Yeah?” He groans, rubbing you through the soft cotton of your panties. “So fuckin’ soaked.”

“Touch me.” You beg, already pulling the fabric to the side. Joel likes how certain you are. How you tell him exactly what you want without a single thread of hesitation.

And he can’t help but admire the sight of you, wriggling into his thumb — chasing his touch.  He trails his finger through your folds, watching the way he glides between them. Watching the way your juices glisten in the light of the fireworks. He rubs soft circles over your throbbing clit, finally offering you some sort of relief. You throw your head back slightly, sighing at the feeling.

He takes this as an opportunity to plant small kisses in the center of your chest, traveling slowly to the insides of your breasts as his index finger slides past your walls. His rough hand grazes over the peaks of your other nipple before wrapping his arm around your upper back to hold you steady as his pace between your legs quickens.

Joel thought that he would be focused on the way you take him in as he enters a second finger. Thought maybe he would watch the way you play with your own breasts as you arch your back to his touch. But no, all his attention is on how beautiful you look underneath the light of the moon. How your lips form a slight frown and small whines escape your lips. How your cheeks glow with a small blush and your eyes become glassy underneath your lashes.

You look so beautiful and full of a type of pleasure that could make Joel do this for the rest of his life. It doesn’t matter that his wrist is cramping from the awkward, bent position he has it in his lap. It doesn’t matter that his arm is getting worn out from the pace of his fingers. It doesn’t matter that his back hurts from sitting straight up with you in his lap and nothing to lean against. As long as he gets to please you, hear those pretty moans trapped behind your clenched teeth.

“Joel… fuck me, please.” You basically whimper.

“Yeah— yeah. Of course, sweetheart,” because who is Joel to deny your wish? "Whatever you want."

Joel shoves his boxers down just enough to pull out his thick, throbbing cock. You take him in your soft hands — so different from his own calloused ones — and lift your hips just enough to line him up with your entrance.

You look him up and down, gaze trailing from his lips to is eyes, and rub his tip along your clit. Joel watches the way your jaw drops open slightly from your own pleasure. He loves the way you touch yourself with is own dick, as if he were just some toy — he didn’t mind.

“So fuckin’ hot, baby,” he says as you start sliding him between your folds.

“Want to feel me?” You tease, as if you didn’t already know the answer to that. You push his tip barely between your walls. Just enough to give him a little taste. Just enough to have him crying for more.

“God— come on,” he whines. He fucking whines. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Say please.”

And Joel can’t believe he’s doing this. He was never one to beg in bed. Never one to submit his control. But it’s like you make him a completely different man. So here he is, fucking begging.

“Fuck, please, sweetheart. I need.”

And with that, you slowly slide yourself down his length. Joel's breath stutters as you clench around him — adjusting to his size. He has no fucking idea how he’s going to last as he watches your pussy swallow every inch. Watches how you drip a trail of your sweet wetness along his shaft when you slowly lift yourself back up.

You start at a slow, steady pace, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck. He can feel your hot breath against his skin, feel every time you’re breath catches when you hit that perfect spot.

“Shit, sweetheart... feel so good.” He groans, grabbing your hips. He dips his fingers into your plump skin and helps lift you up —quickening your pace.

“No,” you say, pushing his hands away. “Wanna do it myself. Wanna please you on my own.”

You push him till he’s leaning back on his elbows. The truck bed now digging into his skin. You seat yourself fully on him. Joel has completely disappeared inside of you and it drives him crazy. He doesn’t know how he held himself back from you for so long. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to hold himself back again.

You roll your hips, gasping as your walls clamp around him. Your fingernails dig into his sides as you steady yourself — knees lifting just to fall back down. Feeling all of him in an overwhelming manner.

“Take your time, baby.” Joel coddles, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. You look so pretty. So breathtaking. The way you're dedicated to pleasing him, even though he would be more than willing to please you.

But, of course you refuse. What did he expect, honestly? Your pace quickens, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills his ears, mixed with the explosion of the fireworks behind you. His touch trails from your hair, down your neck, to the front of your chest.

His mouth has fallen open, taking in the way you squeeze around him when he palms your tender swell, grazing his thumb over your nipple. He loves the way your body reacts to him.

“My perfect girl.” He mutters, fingers now trailing down the front of your belly till they rest on your hip.

“I’m yours, Joel.” You moan, as you fuck yourself down on him deeper. Your legs start shaking around him and Joel can’t tell if it’s because you’re close or you’re tired. He pushes you farther though, pressing pleasure against your clit with his thumb.

Your movements falter. “Oh— oh my god.” His thumb starts rubbing quick circles around the tender nerves.

Your body gives out as you fall against him. It’s almost as if you’ll never be able to use your legs against. He knew that you pushed yourself too hard, but he knew you weren’t done yet. Quickly, he pulls your legs from underneath him and flips you over.

You’re on your hands and knees facing the edge of the cliff in front of you, arching your back — ready for him again. Joel positions himself behind you and grabs your ass harshly, pulling you flush against him as he thrusts himself back inside of you.

A small scream leaves you with the sudden stretch, a burning you can’t help but love. And Joel can’t help but love his view. He doesn’t think it can get any better than this — your ass agasint his lower stomach, soft skin clapping with each thrust, fireworks still exploding in the sky.

Joel digs his rough fingers into your skin, cock buried deep as he pushes you forward and pulls you back into him. Your moans are loud and untamed. He’d be afraid of someone hearing if the fairgrounds weren't filled with people and country music.

“Don’t stop, Joel. I’m so close.” You whimper. Joel reaches down between your legs and rubs the pads of his fingers against your clit. “Oh god— Joel.”

“Just like that, baby.” He whispers, fingers soaked with your juices dripping down your thighs. You pulse around him and start meeting his thrusts with your own. “Yeah, that’s right. Cum on my dick, babygirl.”

And you do, hard and loud. Your screams fill the night air, mixed with small curses and the moan of his name somewhere in between. And Joel isn’t much further behind — pounding into you with little forgiveness.

He can feel your wetness collecting at the base of his cock — thick creamy strands connecting your bodies togethers. He leans over you, keeping his rhythm.

“Good fuckin’ girl. Takin’ me so well.” He breathes into your ear. Your thighs tremble at the overstimulation. Tears pool at your lashes.

But he doesn’t stop. He continues chasing his high, determined on giving you what you’re meant to receive.

“Joel… want to watch you cum on me.”

“Fuck... such a filthy girl, aren’t ya?” He groans. But still, he pulls out and spins you around. Your back now flat against the truck bed, mouth parted and eyes wide — ready for him. Joel's knees cradle around your hips, hovering over you, as his hand tugs roughly down his entire shaft.

Something about the way you wait patiently for him draws him over the edge and hot strands of cum shoot straight for your chest. He continues pumping until he’s squeezed out every last drop — some beads fall across your cheek — then collapses on his side.

You lay in silence, only the sound of your breaths filling the air, chests heaving and sweat beading on his forehead.

“Oh my god, Joel, look.” You shout, pulling his attention from trying to regain his strength.

He quickly follows your gaze. Streaks of color fill the sky. Red, white, and blue sparks and explosions shoot up one after the other. So beautiful and captivating.

“Well, at least we didn’t miss the finale.” He laughs and pulls you closer to enjoy the view. Your naked bodies entangled with each other, watching the show in front of you.

When they finally end, he uses the blanket to clean you up and helps you dress — your legs so shaky you can barely stand.

Joel tossed the blanket in a nearby trash can and turned around just in time to see you smiling.

You hadn’t moved. Still sitting on the tailgate, legs swinging just a little, like you were trying to hold on to the last sliver of summer night. Your hair caught the moonlight in soft pieces. And your smile — that sweet, steady thing you aimed right at him — said more than you ever had to speak aloud.

You weren’t sorry. Not even a little. And God, that did something to him.

Joel didn’t say a word. Just swallowed hard and climbed back into the cab beside you. His hand hovered on the keys. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes still glassy from the glow of everything that had just happened between you.

Then—

“Aren't you supposed to take Tommy home?” You asked suddenly, a little breathless.

Joel blinked. “Shit.”

You were already laughing softly, covering your face. “He’s gonna kill you.”

“Or throw up on me.”

Joel started the truck, tires crunching down the gravel path as the fairgrounds began to glow again in the distance. But he could already feel it — the shift. Like the world had spun sideways a little, tilted just enough to show him something new. Or maybe something he’d been too afraid to really look at until now.

Because everything was different now.

And somehow… everything felt right.

He pulled into the fairgrounds to find Tommy exactly where Joel had parked earlier, leaning against the side of someone’s car like it was a wall made to keep him steady, arms crossed, hat crooked, one boot toe tapping in the dirt like a man who’d been waiting too long.

Joel didn’t even have time to put the truck in park before Tommy was pointing at them like they were late to their own trial.

“Where the fuck did y’all go?”

You were calm. Effortless.

“I got lightheaded,” you said, real serious, even though your eyes had a flicker of mischief. “Joel took me away from the crowd to get some fresh air and water."

Joel didn’t even look at you — didn’t need to. The lie slid so cleanly off your tongue it almost sounded like the truth. And it worked, because Tommy just squinted, rubbed his face, and muttered something about the heat.

“You okay now?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said quickly. “Joel took care of me.”

Joel’s fingers flexed on the wheel. His chest pulled tight.

Because that part was the truth.

Tommy climbed into the back seat like his limbs were too long for his body. He collapsed with a groan, smacking his lips like he’d just run a mile.

“Y’all missed it,” he slurred. “There was this girl. Blonde. Real sweet. Sat next to me. Think she’s in love.”

You turned to glance over the seat. “That so?”

“She gave me her funnel cake,” Tommy said proudly.

Joel side-eyed him in the mirror. “Maybe she just wanted you to shut up.”

Tommy ignored that. “Romantic as hell. Fireworks goin’ off, all dramatic. Then I turn around and you two are just gone. Disappeared like ghosts. Whole thing was suspicious as shit.”

Silence. Sharp and sudden.

Joel kept his eyes on the road, heart thudding hard in his ribs.

Tommy leaned forward between the seats. “Y’all are bein’ real weird right now. Like you’re hidin’ somethin’. Almost like…”

Joel didn’t move.

“…almost like y’all fucked or somethin’.”

You froze. Joel stiffened in his seat.

He felt the air shift. Knew Tommy did too.

And then, right as Joel thought his brother might actually see through him—

Tommy let out a loud bark of a laugh and smacked the back of Joel’s chair.

“I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”

Joel exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut.

You giggled beside him, face turned toward the window, shoulders shaking as you tried not to laugh.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, pulling into the driveway. “He’s gonna give me a heart attack.”

Getting Tommy out of the truck and into the house was its own little disaster. He dropped his wallet three times, claimed he didn’t need his boots, and muttered about calling the blonde from the fireworks until Joel practically dragged him to bed.

You followed behind quietly, hands full of whatever Tommy discarded along the way.

By the time they got him into bed — sideways, boots off, snoring already — Joel felt ten years older.

The hallway was dim. The house had that deep, quiet stillness that only came late at night, when everything else in the world had settled down. You stood in the doorway of the guest room, fingers resting on the frame, watching him like he might disappear.

Joel turned to head for the couch.

“You sure?” you asked quietly. “It’s not too late to run.”

Joel smirked. “Tempting.”

You smiled, soft and sleepy, stepping inside the room and reaching for the bedside lamp.

Joel lingered a second longer. Not ready to say goodnight just yet.

When you looked up at him again, something shifted in your expression — soft around the edges, still glowing from earlier.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

He swallowed. And gave a slow, careful nod.

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

Your door shut with a soft click.

Joel stood there for a moment, staring at it.

Then he turned back toward the couch, exhaled, and sat down in the dark — the sound of your moans still echoing somewhere in the space between his ribs.

He'd never been so thankful for Tommy dragging him out before. But tonight... tonight was worth it.

a/n: i am actually in love with this one ughhhh. but no worries guys, seattle tommy coming real soon i promise!!!! also check out @thewritergx for some more one shots (;

[bl3upi3]

See You Soon

A/N: Not proofread, but I’ve been wanting to write a long-distance one-shot for a while. Requests are open if you have any ideas!

Word count : 2,943

Summary: After a random Minecraft tweet catches the attention of rising music star 2Hollis, you never expected a flirty reply to turn into months of late-night calls, care packages, and falling in love from a distance. One year later, after months of slow-burn connection, he books a flight to finally meet you in person and everything changes.

You’ve been dating Hollis for a year now. It’s always been a bit of a weird situation, it was long-distance from the start, since he’s constantly busy with his career and you were still finishing up at your local university. Meeting him in the first place had been a total surprise.

It started with a dumb tweet actually, something stupid you posted late at night about Minecraft villagers sounding like tired dads. You didn’t expect anyone to see it, let alone someone like him. But then he replied. Not just a like or a retweet, a full reply. Sarcastic, funny, and way too specific for someone who wasn’t deep into the game.

You didn’t even realize who he was at first. His username didn’t have the usual blue check. It wasn’t until you clicked on his profile out of curiosity that you saw the link to his music and froze.

It was that Hollis.

You figured it was a one-off interaction. But then he followed you. Then DMed you. You talked on and off for months, it wasn’t really your priority, but he was actually nice. Chill. Funny. You two bonded over video games and skating. You told him you wished you’d learned how to skate when you were younger. At this point, you were a full-blown adult who barely knew how to stand on a board, let alone do anything else. He said that if he could, he’d teach you himself.

Even after eight months of talking, you still hadn’t fully processed that you were actually chatting with the 2Hollis. Not until he FaceTimed you for your birthday. You’d mentioned the date once, in passing, and didn’t think he’d remember but he did.

You were lying on your bed, wrapped in an old hoodie, scrolling aimlessly when your phone buzzed. Unknown number. FaceTime.

You stared at the screen, confused. Then it clicked. Your heart did this weird little skip. You sat up, hesitated for a second, then hit accept.

And there he was.

At first, all you saw was the ceiling of what looked like a studio. Then his face appeared, a little too close to the camera, slightly blurry, clearly not prepared for this call either.

“Happy birthday,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just blinked at the screen, trying to connect the face you’d seen in a million edited music videos with the guy who’d sent you memes at 3 a.m. about villagers and skeleton mobs.

“What?” you finally muttered, breath caught halfway between a laugh and a panic attack.

“I said happy birthday, dummy,” he repeated, teasing.

He looked tired, not in a bad way. His hoodie was half zipped, hair messy, eyes soft. No lights, only red LEDs. Just him, holding the phone with one hand and a cupcake in the other.

You snorted. “Is that… for me?”

He lifted the tiny cupcake closer to the camera. It had a crooked little candle stuck in the center. “Yeah. Don’t get too emotional, it’s store-bought.”

You laughed, really laughed, the kind that made your cheeks hurt and your chest feel lighter than it had in weeks.

He grinned at the sound, like he’d earned something. You didn’t know it yet, but he’d remember that exact moment later. The way your eyes squinted when you smiled. The way your voice cracked a little when you tried not to laugh too hard.

You thought the call would last ten minutes, tops. He had a session to get back to. You were supposed to be writing a paper. But somehow, three hours passed. Just like that.

You talked about your day, the annoying professor who still called roll like it was high school, how you spilled coffee on your notes that morning. He asked questions, real ones. Like he actually cared. You told him about your final exams coming up, about how burnt out you were but too stubborn to quit. He told you he got that. That he used to stay up all night editing his tracks with cheap headphones and half a clue what he was doing. That even now, with all the success, he sometimes felt like he was just winging it.

Then, he got quieter. He talked about the future, not just music, but what he wanted, even if he wasn’t totally sure how to say it out loud. He said he didn’t think he could do this forever. That the industry felt like a maze sometimes. That part of him just wanted peace. Maybe a place outside the city. Maybe someone to build stuff with.

You didn’t say much. You just listened. And he let you.

At some point, your battery dipped below 5%, but you didn’t care. Neither of you brought it up. It was like neither of you wanted to be the first to hang up.

You ended up falling asleep with the phone still in your hand, his voice the last thing you heard low, warm, halfway through a sentence you never got to finish.

The next morning, there was a message waiting for you.

“Didn’t wanna hang up first. Sleep well, birthday girl.”

That was the night everything changed. After that, things between you got more serious. He started FaceTiming you whenever he could, before shows, after interviews, sometimes even in the middle of events just to show you around. It was sweet, getting little glimpses of a world so far from your small city.

Then the texts started getting flirtier. Subtle at first. Jokes that lingered a little longer, compliments that felt a bit more intentional. And slowly, it started to feel like something more.

The shift was gradual. One day you were teasing him about his obsession with Red Bull, the next he was sending you mirror selfies captioned “Rate the fit, or just pretend you miss me already.” You played it cool, obviously but your stomach flipped every time his name popped up on your screen.

You’d never dated someone like him before. Not just the fame, but the way he paid attention. Like the tiniest things you said actually stayed with him. Like he was taking mental notes just to surprise you later.

One night, after a particularly brutal exam, you got home to a package at your door. Inside: a hoodie from your favorite show, a bag of those weird chips you couldn’t stop talking about, and a hand-written note that just said:

“In case today sucked. Call me if you feel like pretending it didn’t.”

That was the first night you told him you liked him.

Like, really liked him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just kind of blinked at you through the screen. Then he smiled. Soft, almost shy.

“I was starting to think I’d have to move to your city just to prove I wasn’t messing around.”

And from there, everything started moving faster. More late-night calls. More “I wish you were here” texts. More versions of you and him that started to feel less like a maybe and more like a plan.

It wasn’t official yet, no labels, no big talk but the way he said your name started to feel different. Like it meant something. Like you meant something.

And then, one night, you were on the phone, half-asleep, the screen dimmed and your voice low. You’d been talking about the stupidest things cereal brands, childhood cartoons, the weird kid in your class who wore flip-flops year-round and somewhere between a yawn and a pause, he said it.

“You know I’m not seeing anyone else, right?”

You blinked, sat up a little.

“What?”

He rubbed his face, like he wasn’t sure if he’d meant to say it out loud.

“I mean… I don’t know what this is exactly, but it’s not casual for me. Not just… fun. Not anymore.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a bad way, just in that overwhelming, oh-god-this-is-real way.

You were quiet for a second, long enough that he started to shift awkwardly on his end of the call.

“I’m not either,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Seeing anyone else. I mean. It’s not just fun for me, either.”

His whole expression changed. Softer. Relieved. Like he’d been holding his breath for hours without realizing.

“Cool,” he said, eyes flicking away from the camera for a second. “That’s… cool.”

After that, he started calling you his girl. Casually, at first. In texts. In the way he’d say “You’d hate this place, my girl doesn’t even like crowds.” But hearing it, feeling claimed in that gentle, stupid, sweet way made your stomach twist every time.

Then one afternoon, a couple weeks later, it happened.

“What’s your address?”

You stared at your phone, confused.

“Why?”

“Because I booked a flight.”

“Hollis. What do you mean?”

“I’m coming to see you. Like… for real.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just sat there on your bed, staring at the message, your heart thudding so hard it felt like it echoed in your teeth.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“When?”

“Friday.”

It was Tuesday.

You hadn’t even brushed your hair that day. You were still in sweats, still half-recovering from your last round of exams, and now the boy you’d been falling in love with, slowly, stupidly, digitally, was going to be standing in front of you in less than three days.

You almost threw up. Then you almost cried. Then you called him.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” you asked as soon as he picked up, no hello, no intro.

“Because I didn’t want to give you time to back out.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re such a dick.”

“Maybe. But I’m your dick now, remember?”

You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. “I hate you.”

“You’re gonna love me by Friday.”

You didn’t sleep much that week. Every time your phone buzzed, you jumped. You started noticing how messy your room looked, how uneven your nails were, how you didn’t own anything remotely cool to wear around a real-life superstar. Not that he’d care, but still.

Friday came faster than you thought.

You kept checking the time like that would slow it down. Your hands shook when you did your makeup. You changed outfits four times, then ended up in the first one anyway.

You got to the airport early, way too early. You paced near arrivals, trying not to check your phone every two seconds even though you knew exactly when he landed. Your leg bounced nonstop. You kept looking toward the automatic doors like a dog waiting for its owner.

You didn’t know how to act at first, your feet stayed rooted to the floor, your mind suddenly blank. You were kind of shy, frozen, like your body hadn’t caught up with what was happening.

But Hollis didn’t hesitate. The second he saw that hesitation in your eyes, the half-step back, the nervous grip on your sleeve, he smiled and pulled you straight into him.

His arms wrapped around you like it was second nature, like he’d done it a thousand times already in his head.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your hair. “Don’t do that nervous thing. It’s just me.”

You exhaled against his chest. That was the first time you really let yourself feel it, the warmth of him, the weight of him, the reality of him. He held you like he wasn’t in a rush to let go.

When you finally stepped back, he kept one hand at your waist, just resting there, grounding you. His other hand reached up to brush your cheek.

“You’re shorter than I expected,” he said, teasing but gentle.

“You’re taller,” you shot back, blinking up at him.

“Damn. You got jokes in person too.”

You smiled. “I’m funnier in 4D.”

He laughed. Neither of you really knew what to say after that. It was that weird limbo between we already know each other and we’re meeting for the first time.

So you just stood there for a second, looking at him, letting your brain catch up to your heart.

“Ready to get out of here?” you asked finally.

“Only if you’re the one driving,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a grin.

You shook your head. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting a sleep-deprived singer who just got off a five-hour flight take the wheel.”

“Fair,” he said, falling into step beside you. “But I still call aux.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers brushed his as you walked, and when his hand found yours without hesitation, you didn’t let go.

Hollis stayed for three days. He wanted you to show him around your town, your favorite coffee shop, the park near your apartment, even your campus. A few people recognized him as you walked together, especially near the university. You instinctively kept a bit of distance, unsure how to act. You weren’t ready for his fans to know about you.

You’d seen how they reacted online every time he so much as looked at a woman. The thought of them finding your account, tearing you apart, turning you into some meme, it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Still, he didn’t seem to care. He wanted to do everything with you, pay for every activity, take you on little dates like you were the only person that mattered. Movie theatres, late-night dinners, long conversations back at your place with your legs tangled under the blanket.

He didn’t rush anything. Just made space for you, like he’d always been part of your routine.

The last night of his trip, you stayed up way too late again.

You were both curled up on the couch, an old movie playing in the background neither of you were really watching. His hoodie was draped over your shoulders, still warm from his body, and your legs were tangled under the throw blanket like they’d always belonged there.

You were leaning into him, your head resting just under his jaw, when he tilted his face toward yours, voice low.

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m sleepy,” you lied.

“Mm.” He shifted slightly, his fingers brushing a slow line along the inside of your arm. “Nah. That’s your ‘I’m overthinking something’ silence.”

You hated how well he read you.

“I just… don’t want this to end,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours slowly. Deliberate.

“It doesn’t have to,” he said. “Not really.”

You turned your head toward him, your eyes meeting his in the dim, flickering light from the TV. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah. But I’m still yours.”

Your heart was a mess in your chest.

He leaned in a little closer, his voice lower now, softer. “You know I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

“I noticed,” you whispered, trying and failing to sound unimpressed.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, your lips barely parting.

He traced a fingertip along your jaw. “You want me to?”

You swallowed, your pulse thudding somewhere near your throat. “Yeah.”

“Say it.”

You hesitated, breath shaky. “I want you to kiss me.”

His lips ghosted over yours, not quite a kiss, just a test. A tease. His hand cradled the side of your face like you were something fragile, sacred.

And then he kissed you. Slow. Deep. Like he was trying to memorize it. Like he already knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Your fingers fisted the fabric of his hoodie. His thumb slid across your cheekbone.

He pulled back just a little, just enough to breathe, to look at you like he wasn’t sure how the hell he’d gone so long without doing that.

“That was worth the wait,” he murmured.

You smiled, dazed. “Yeah?”

He nodded, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved for a long moment. It wasn’t just the kiss it was everything behind it. All the calls. All the teasing. The random memes at midnight, the shared silences, the way he remembered things you didn’t even realize you’d told him.

You finally leaned your forehead against his, your voice soft. “You’re gonna forget what I look like the second you’re on the plane.”

He frowned. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He shifted a little, sitting up just enough to pull you fully into his lap, your legs on either side of him now. His hands rested on your hips.

“I’m not forgetting any of this,” he said. “You’re not… some side thing. You know that, right?”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t look away either.

“I’m gonna leave,” he continued, “and it’s gonna suck. But I’m gonna text you before I even get on the plane. And I’m gonna FaceTime you the second I land. And I’m gonna keep showing up. As much as I can. Until I can do it for real.”

“For real?” you echoed.

“As in… permanently. Not a visit. Not just three days. You and me, no lag. No screens. I want that. Eventually.”

Your heart twisted, in the best way possible.

And you knew deep down he meant it.

So you kissed him again. Not because it was the dramatic thing to do, but because you couldn’t not.

And later, when he finally did leave, when you stood at the gate and watched him disappear past security, your chest ached.

But it didn’t feel like goodbye.

It felt like see-you-soon.

Because you had something.

Something real. Something rare.

Something that started with a stupid Minecraft tweet and ended here.

And you were only just getting started.

[writersblockiskillingme]

Player 222 | Seong Gi-hun

Pairing: Seong Gi-hun x fem!reader (member of Gi-hun's team!reader)

Summary: After surviving absolute hell, Gi-hun finally returns home, but this time, he's not alone.

Warning/s: SQUID GAME SEASON 3 SPOILERS!!, fluff, hurt/comfort and just a bit of angst (maybe?), mentions of blood, fighting, death and such, short-ish?, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Request: "I saw you had requests open for Gi Hun and I had to jump in because the finale left me in a state 😩😩😩 Could I request some fix-it hcs of Gi-Hun returning home to reader after S3 with the baby?"

Author's note: Hi! I'm so sorry that this took so long but here it finally is! I truly hope that you enjoy!!

You were a member of Gi-hun's team for quite some time.

You were with him practically from the beginning back when he was hunting down the salesman.

Working with boss Kim made this possible.

You were one of his workers and once you heard that a man that boss Kim was after paid all of his debts willingly and once boss Kim started to work with him, you were automatically pulled along.

You spend most of your time at the pink moter or with Gi-hun at his car, monitoring the situation.

Mainly because you were the only woman on the team, plus you were like a daughter to boss Kim so he refused to put you in much more danger that it was necessary.

So after a lot of arguing you were left with no choice.

But after a while, something happened.

Something that neither Gi-hun nor you were expecting let alone were prepared for.

Neither of you were sure exactly when it happened.

Maybe it was somewhere between being introduced to each other and spending every moment together even when it wasn't needed.

Maybe somewhere along countless of empty cigarette packs on the back of Gi-hun's car and monitoring the train stations.

Maybe it even started the moment you met but couldn't be acknowledged because neither of you were ready just yet.

It was almost always unspoken.

Both of you were too busy with hunting down the man with ddakji to think about anything else let alone romance.

However both of you were hoping that once the games are finally brought down, you two could finally make the unspoken spoken.

You were always there for each other since the very beginning.

The moment you found yourself amidst the Russian Rullette between the salesman and Gi-hun just proved that.

Even though the salesman wanted you to participate, Gi-hun did everything in his power to save you from it.

"What is it? Are you two in love?"

Gi-hun's expression at salesman's taunting only proved that to him which he acknowledged with a wicked grin.

"How about this, if you loose, I'm taking her as my reward."

He didn't loose.

He knew he couldn't.

You two were almost arrested, too, once the detective walked in and saw a dead man on the couch.

However, you teamed up with him.

The news about boss Kim was a hard pill to swallow.

But you had to.

You had to because you had to help Gi-hun find the man behind the games.

You were outside of the club when you heard Gi-hun asking to be put back in the games.

You felt like screaming.

The worst thing was that you felt helpless.

You could do anything about it.

You could only listen and let it happen.

You couldn't stop it.

So when the detective went to the sea to find the island, he asked you to stay behind.

Someone had to stay at the motel and monitor the situation in the city.

With harsh circumstances, once again you had no choice.

The waiting was the worst part.

You felt like you were falling apart.

Like you were slowly destroying yourself.

You smoke more.

Some days you drank more than it was necessary.

You were overworking yourself.

Overwhelmed.

Always on your guard.

It got to the point where you would always carry a gun with you, even when you were doing something so simple like going to the store.

"I just hope they find you in time."

"I just hope you're still breathing."

"God, I just hope he's still alive"

Hope was all you had left at that moment.

However, after a week you were beginning to loose it.

The games are over.

Still no trace of Gi-Hun.

You were starting to loose the last thing you had.

But what you didn't expect was for someone to be at the motel at the moment you came back from the store down the street.

You were on high alert.

As you always were.

Bag left forgotten by the door in the hallway, a gun squeezed firmly in your hand so much so that your knuckles turned pure white.

You were slowly walking up the stairs until you reached your bedroom.

Well, Gi-hun's bedroom that you slept in ever since he returned to that cursed island.

The door was wide open.

And there he was.

Dark circles under his eyes, a cut on his cheek, bloody shirt.

But he was breathing.

He was alive.

And he was staring right back at you with a small, barely there smile on his face.

Dropping the gun on the floor and running into his arms, passionately kissing him was as easy as breathing.

"You-you're h-home!"

"You're alright."

What shocked you more was a sight of a small baby girl wrapped in two jackets looking at you curiously with her gorgeous big eyes, chubby cheeks on full display.

222

456

The last one was Gi-hun's number, you knew that because he told you that the first time he was in the games he had that number.

But 222?

He explained everything to you once you calmed down a bit.

He explained who her mother was.

How she died as he tried to save her after she begged him to save her baby.

How her father tried to kill her for the money.

How he saved her.

How they both won.

How they got away after the island was destroyed.

Finally he told you about the promise that he made to her mother.

A promise that from that day on both of you fiercely kept.

You both raised her as her own.

Filling her life with safety, laughter, joy and most importantly, love.

And even though there were days when both Gi-hun and you were in your own heads for too long, her laughter and the love you held for each other and your family always always brought you back.

One day she will know who her biological mother was.

One day she will know how brave she was, how much she sacrificed for her.

One day she will know how much she loved her, how much her grandma and auntie loved her.

One day she will know all of it.

One day she will understand or she won't.

That is entirely up to her.

But one thing is for sure.

Jun-hee will know how much loved she truly is.

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@ivanttier @shadow-tumbler

[superbpiratesandwich]

It's the Little Things

tags: fluff, angst if you squint, mention of blood and a gun, John acting like the cute little housewife he is, illusion to smut, mention of reader having a period, gender neutral reader, no use of y/n, gluten and corn allergy mention (IBS gang), cussing, one-shot, let me know if i missed any tags/warnings. 

writers note: this is so fweaking long i was debating turning it into a two-parter but then i realized you little cuties probably read smut scenes longer than this so hang tight through the tooth rotting fluff while we all join hands and think about John Walker wearing a ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron and cooking.  

3.3k words (dont look at me like that) 

John Walker doesn't love loud. He doesn't declare his feelings to the entire team, hell, he waited months to tell you how he felt. And even then, he didn't say anything, just let the silence, the way he’d pause on certain words, he let the unspoken speak for him. The main reason (at least this is what he tries to tell himself) is because when Olivia left, he decided he’d never tell anyone how he truly felt, wouldn't let anyone in the walls he so carefully built. But the truth is... the man doesn't know how to get his thoughts out of his head. He’ll blankly stare at you, silently willing you to understand what his poor blonde-haired head is trying to get out.  

He’s tried to think about when he started to fall for you, tried to pinpoint when exactly he fell for you, but for the life of him he can't see it, can't picture the moment he looked at you and said “Yep that's the one I want,” he simply remembers staring at you across the kitchen island, the dim lights of the communal area making your soft features seem almost ethereal, he recalls thinking “Holy shit, so that's why my heart aches.” 

You didn't notice it at first, how he felt about you, you just thought he’d grown a little soft after working with you for almost a year. 

It started with his cooking, John found himself idly cooking for the team, not meaning to make it a habit, but the words “Make dinner for team,” found themselves on his to do list. No one dared to mention the act of casual kindness. Even when Mel visited to see the Tower. “Wow Walker you're making dinner?” She remarked with a surprised tone. You all just glared at her, even with Johns back to the group, you could see his back tense as he registered her comment.  

He didn't cook for three nights, before he realized that, “Nobody in this fucking tower eats unless someone shovels it onto a plate like a fucking mama bird,” he grumbled as he dropped a pan of lasagna onto the table.  

You had mentioned having an allergy to gluten to Yelena on an op, complaining about how hard it is to find good snacks to bring on stake outs. When you came down to the communal kitchen to search for something to eat, that was the moment you noticed gluten free crackers in the pantry, yes, they tasted like chalk, but that was beside the point, who the hell got you gluten free crackers? You wanted to complain about the taste, but the gesture alone made you eat the entire box in one sitting. More gluten free options started popping up around the kitchen, it was only on taco night that you discovered the ‘gluten-free chalk-flavored crackers culprit’.  

John moved around the kitchen with surprising, but not totally graceful, movements. Like a soldier adjusting to a new environment, brandishing a slotted spoon in the stead of an M4. When you entered the kitchen behind Ava, he had glanced over his shoulder at you, giving a soft “Hey,” before nodding to the plate of gluten-free tortillas. You cocked your head at him, before giving a sad smile, “Are those corn?” after he nodded, you laughed quietly “I appreciate it, but I can't have corn either,” To which he rolled his eyes, groaning “Fucks sake, what can you eat?” You laughed but mentally filed away the information that he was in fact the gluten-free snacks appearing bandit.  

Another thing was how he took notice of your off days. The days that you were sloppy on the field, not checking your blind spots, making too much noise on a stealth op, letting bullets graze you when you could've easily dodged them. The ride on the Quinjet was silent, you let your head fall back against the steel interior, trying to catch your breath despite not having had been in a fight for almost a full 15 minutes, you should've been calm by that point. You both knew it. You and John, who had been staring at you from the corner of the jet, didn't turn his head, just let his eyes bore into you from the corner of the blue irises. You beelined off the jet, didn't crack jokes with Yelena or Ava like usual, heading straight for your room.  

You wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the reason as to why you felt so off, you just did. But then again, you were also a mentally unstable ‘superhero’ paired with a bunch of mentally ill criminals—correction, mentally ill ‘ex-criminals-turned-avenger' or whatever bullshit Val cooked up. You were halfway to the elevator when you heard his footsteps behind you, heavy boots thudding against the sleek grey linoleum as you made it to the elevator, pressing the button and waiting. The motherfucker waited until you were trapped in the elevator with him to grunt out, “You good?” 

It was so quiet you probably could've imagined it, “What?” you turned your head. He was already looking over at you, his blue eyes stared back at you, “Are you good?” he repeated his question, cocking an eyebrow. You nod slowly, “Wh-” you're tempted to ask why he was asking, but you opted to just nod, “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine,” you turned back to face the elevator doors.  

The air changed when you said that you could practically hear his eyeroll, his resignation to be a pain in the ass, “You didn't seem fine back there. You don't seem fine now.” He counters. Your shoulders dropped, you shook your head, “Walker. I am fine. Okay? I swear if you ask me if I'm PMSing I'm gonna lose my shit,” You scoffed. A beat passes, the doors chimed open as he shrugged, walking onto his floor, “Are you?” He asked, the doors close before you could respond, but he smirked as he saw the formation of the middle finger on your hand. Later that night you found a small grocery bag of...sigh pads and tampons. The worst part? He was right, you were PMSing like a mofo, cramps hit hard the next morning.  

You started to suspect something else was afoot with him when you realized he’d only really talk to you. Yes, he’d bullshit with Yelena and Bucky, bicker with Ava, roll his eyes at everything Alexi said, and would just shake his head if Bob said anything dumb, but he’d try his best to not come across as an asshole to you. Yelena pointed it out on an op one day. 

The two of you sat in a black truck, tinted windows, with her mouth full, hand reaching into the bag of chips sat between you, perched on the console,  

“Why-- only--” you laughed softly at her attempt to speak. “Huh?” you asked.  

She nodded, swallowing the bite before repeating herself, “Why does it seem like Walker only talks to you?” 

You stared over at her for a long while, took a bite of the sub in your hands before shrugging, “He doesn't only talk to me,” she shook her head, “Mm, he talks to you more than the rest of us, he doesn't even... how do you say that? He doesn't act like an asshole with you like he does with the rest of the team.”  

You laugh, replying as you stared out the windshield “He’s still a major asshole,” You assured her. “Just saying-” you would never know what she was going to say, because the building you both were assigned to stake out had just had the entire fourth floor bombed.   

After your conversation with Yelena, you started to see even more things that made you realize something may be there, in the unspoken words between you and the blonde super soldier. How only you seemed to be able to convince him not to rush a plan, the way the two of you always found your way into a conversation, no matter where you were. In the middle of a gunfight? You two discussed the newest episode of some shitty tv you watched when neither of you could sleep.  

But the day you didn't show up to the Quinjet when bucky announced departure over comms? Walker was panicked, he tried his hardest to not let it show as he stood at the walkway that slid out the interior of the steel jet, now fired up and ready to take off. It was a difficult mission, one that required the entire team. Artillery bots, automatic fire and aim, latching on to anything with a heat signature and releasing hundreds of rounds into it, a pain in the ass to take down. He called your name over comms, asking Yelena, Ava then Alexi if any of them had seen you out on the field, when they all tried assuring him that you'd be walking down the city street any time now, he took off.  

He didn't know why he just knew that he needed to find you, he felt this innate want, no a need to know that you were alive. He yelled your name, jogging then sprinting down streets, his boots hitting the pavement with heavy thuds. His voice was raw as he came to the edge of the city, the street leading into a large highway, where life continued to happen, cars honked at each other as they travelled. He tried to keep his heartrate steady, trying to make his superhuman ears tune in, trying to find you. Then he heard it, a hiccupping cough, a ragged breath before a small groan floated in the air. He whipped his head so hard he was surprised he didn't hear a crack.  

He bolted down the street, the sound of your coughing leading him to a small alley. He didn't freeze at the end of it like they show in the movies. The main character stuck in a state of shock as they’re eyes find the one they care about covered in blood. No, his feet were moving before he fully registered it was you, like his body knew you before his mind did. He sprinted to your heaving body, his eyes scanning you, trying to pinpoint where all the blood was coming from. The second his hands hit your side you jolted; tears pricked at your eyes at the pain. You looked at him in silence, coughing up more blood. 

“Shit,” is all he managed to get out, his large palm pressed against the wound, “You’re gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay.” He said it twice, like the second time was for him more than it was for you. He pressed his comms on “Barnes! Yelena! I need help! They’re hurt!” His voice was laced with panic; he couldn't hide it anymore and that terrified him even more. You passed out moments before Yelena rounded the corner, helping Walker get you into his arms without jostling your wound too much.  

Walker must’ve been a helicopter parent, because the way he treated you when you were out of the med bay, after a two-week mandatory bed rest, was akin to the way one would hover over their kid playing with fire. Every time you turned the corner, he just happened to be in the same room as you, never acknowledging that he was following you, but when you got up, he counted to ten (usually he counted to thirty) before getting up and following you out of the room.  

He’d make your favorite foods every night for a week, don't even bother asking how he knows what they are. You had hobbled down to the common floor without him, for once, just to smell something that shot you back to your childhood, your mom hovering over a pot, the fragrance filling your nostrils gave you an instant shot of dopamine. He’d give you your plate first, ignoring Alexi scowling at him as he was warned to leave leftovers which magically ended up in your fridge.  

It came to a breaking point when you were almost completely healed, your side no longer aching, just a dull throb, like a bruise that made itself known whenever you twisted.  

It was early, or late, depending on the person, and you found yourself in the kitchen, digging through the pantry, which was empty. You were a little disappointed, you couldn't blame John for not restocking it, it's been a rough few weeks, Val sending the team on ops around the world like you all are her personal superheroes... well, you are technically. Still, the soreness in your body felt bone deep. 

“What’re you lookin’ for?” John’s voice cut through the haze of the morning, your thoughts interrupted by him. His voice surprised you, rough from sleep, a hint of a Georgian accent creeping into it. You look over at him, your eyes grazing over his form like you had all the time in the world. His voice matched his appearance, rough, sleep-worn, blonde hair mussed from tossing and turning no doubt. A soft navy shirt on his broad chest, somehow the man wearing it made the material look softer.  

“Nothing... just hungry,” you shrug, turning back to the empty cabinet. You hear keys jingle, “Going on a run, text me what you want,” He grumbles, picking up his keys off the counter, acting like him running out to the grocery store at 5:43am is normal. You step towards him, “Hey. No. You don't have to, I'm fine, I should probably wait a few hours to eat actually,” you offer, feeling guilty for making him feel like he has to run out. 

The blonde stares at you for a few minutes, the look on his face speaking for him. It screams ‘are you dumb?’ like even the notion of him not going and getting you something to eat was possibly the dumbest thing he had heard in the last year. You shake your head, “You don't have to run out this early, Walker, I’m fine seriously, I'll survive a few hours without food.” you laugh, trying to make him realize he doesn't need to go. “You’re hungry.” It's not a question, a statement rather. “I mean... yeah but I'll be fine,” you counter, “Don't be stupid. I'm going out, text me what you want,” he turns and heads for the elevator. You jog towards him, “Hey, hey, wait, just... I'll go with you.” you offer, he turns his head as he presses the button to call the elevator. “Fine.”  

The walk around the grocery store is quiet, given that it's not even 7am. He walks ahead of you, you don't see how he checks in random reflections to make sure you're still following him, or the way his ears strain to hear your steps quietly padding behind his. It all feels oddly domestic, the two of you shopping together like this is natural. You stare at his back for a while, taking note of the way the muscles move under his soft shirt, rippling like waves as he reaches for something or turns the cart. God forbid he reaches for something on the top shelf, your eyes dart to the dark blonde hair trailing down his abdomen, disappearing under his sweatpants. You catch a glimpse of his V-line, taunting you like some sort of forbidden fruit you can never have. You force your eyes onto the carton of milk in the cart so he doesn't catch you staring.  

“You don't like these.” Again, a statement as he holds up the box of gluten-free crackers that had appeared oh so long ago. You furrowed your eyebrows, knowing you ate the entire box out of sheer guilt, “What?” 

“You didn't like this brand.” He shrugs, grabbing a different brand. You pause for a moment, following him as he continues pushing the cart down the aisle before you grab the box out of the buggy. The wheels of the cart stop squeaking, he turns around to see you put the box back, grabbing a different brand. You show him the label, “This brand is good,” you mumble softly, now standing next to him. He stares down at you for a moment, noting the label as he continues walking down the aisle, putting your favorite chips, sweets, drinks, and other essentials for the common kitchen pantry in the cart.  

Later that night, as you both sit on the couch, re-watching his ‘favorite’ western Rio Bravo (he has about 5 westerns that are all his favorite), you glance over at him. You can't help the way your eyes skate over his profile, the way his hair falls, freshly dried from a shower, free of gel or hairspray, the blonde strands looking more and more soft, almost inviting you to run your hand through them. The crooked line of his nose, like he broke it when he was younger and the cartilage never quite healed right. The way his jaw juts out ever so slightly, forming a discreet underbite, mostly covered by his beard. His features are oddly delicate, like something you'd see in a statue carved out of marble. The lights of the tv flicker on his face, making his blue eyes seem more vibrant, especially when you realize they're staring back at you.  

You’re not sitting close enough that it's obvious you're staring at him, but your close enough that he raises an eyebrow, “What?” That infamous gruff voice makes you smile softly, “Why did you- why are you-” you find it hard to put into words what he's been doing for you, the cooking, the snacks, the care, the concern, the overall protectiveness. He continues to keep his eyebrow arched, keeping silent. Then you notice it, not only the slight upward turn of his lip, but the tinge of fear in his eyes. You just stare at him, blinking and looking at his chest before your eyes drift back to the movie. He doesn't question it when you move closer, simply hangs his arm around the back of the couch. If anyone walked in, it wouldn't look like you two were cuddling, just two teammates watching a movie, comfortable next to each other on the couch.  

After the movie ends, neither of your move, you just sit there. Your head slides until it rests on his chest, your body turning. You tilt your head up to look at him, his blue eyes already looking down at you. His left hand comes up to cup your cheek, his arm moving to wrap around your shoulders. “Don't ask.” He mumbles, his nose bumping against yours. You don't say a word; you just tilt your head until your lips meet his.  

Its soft, tentative, like he's still afraid you're going to pull away and get up. He pulls away, staring down at you, his lips a hairs breadth away from yours, his eyes searching yours before he moves back in. His beard scratches softly at your cheeks, your hand coming up to splay on his chest, the soft material of his shirt warm beneath your palm. The kiss slowly evolves, your mouths melding together, your head cocks to the side as you push it closer to his. You let out a soft hum as you feel his tongue prod at your lips, you gladly open your mouth, relishing in the taste of spearmint and something salty on his tongue. Your tongue slides over his, your saliva mingling with his.  

You both move in unison as you hear the chime of the elevator, moving apart a few feet. Alexi’s loud footsteps thud down the hallway, stopping at the entry way to the living room. He stares at the two of you, he may be a stupid motherfucker, but he could see the mussed-up state of your hair, both yours and Johns lips shiny with spit, the way you both were fighting to get your heartrate under control.  

“Ah ha! I knew it! The undertones were sexual! Yelena! You owe me twenty dollars!” He yells out as he turns and heads back to the elevator.  You groan and hide your face in the blonde's chest, hearing him laugh softly, his fingers pushing your hair behind your ear before leaning into it and whispering, “Wanna make sure Yelena knows she owes him twenty bucks?”  

[gothicfied]

Can you please do this one? 💛

Basically takes place after 4th game. Nam-gyu finds out he lost the necklase with drugs and goes to the guard, asking if he can go back, after the confrontation that happened in the scene. He goes to the reader and she just basically takes care of him (comforting, hugging him, giving him her water, holding him in her sleep, helping him etc.) And if you want to (you dont have to), you can add there, where she helps him in the jump rope game.

Save me, my love! - a Nam-gyu Oneshot

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x Reader

Word Count: ~950 Words

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, drug usage, addiction, violence, death, gunshots, blood (typical Squid Game stuff), I obviously have no idea how addictions or withdrawals work😭, other than that it's just fluff/comfort, not proof read (English is not ny first language)

A/N: He was genuinely so pathetic in that scene, I loved it. So sorry if any if these descriptions are unrealistic or wrong, I just wrote it like I remembered the scene lolololol Also: I am doing a pt2 on the teen reader thing, so stay tuned. Enjoy!

You never imagined that in this place, drugs would be someone's biggest issue. You thought maybe people dying left and right and the sound of the never ending gunshots would wake someone up and make them vote 'X', but no. Some of these literal animals still think money has more value than a humans life. Sadly, one of those people is also someone you grew quite close to.

Nam-gyu somehow felt like you guys were making a great team, or maybe it was because he was madly in love with you that he tolerated someone who voted to get the hell out of here. After Thanos was stabbed to death, as Nam-gyu vividly described — with a fork, he kind of... just lost it.

You did too, after the rebellion failed. You were so sure everyone could do it, but no. Originally, the man laughed at you for even trying to get through the guards or for supporting the idea in the first place, but he was still very glad you didn't.. well, die. He couldn't have handled another death like that (he could've on drugs, but he didn't tell you that, obviously).

The fact that he has used before, outside the games, became more and more apparent. Constant ticking, scratching, sniffling, rocking back and forth... whenever the effects of those little pills started to wear off, Nam-gyu became this angsty, disturbed mess that just wanted to be held by you. And you did hold him tight. You didn't know what it was about him, maybe it was because he made you feel somewhat grounded and not all alone in this place, or maybe it was trauma bonding. Probably the second thing.

During Hide and Seek, the most disturbing game you almost didn't survive, he had apparently lost the little cross necklace that held the remaining pills. Based off of how Nam-gyu acted (because, yes, you could hear him scream and sing through the halls), you were able to figure out at what stage this addiction process was. Whatever those things held in them, they were really addicting, scarily even so. It's only been like four days and Nam-gyu's acting like that.. it's weird.

Granted, you didn't quite understand how addictions worked. Because his veins were blown out by all the stuff he used to shoot up his arm, you thought a little pill couldn't make you so erratic.

From your bed, you could see how Nam-gyu scrambled to the pink guards, first asking and then eventually yelling at them to let him back because he lost the goddamn necklace. You sighed while seeing and hearing it — Man, you felt bad for him. He didn't act like this the first day or the second day and you thought that he didn't deserve this, to go through withdrawal.

After he was threatened by one of the guards, Nam-gyu quickly shut his mouth and walked back over to you, looking at you like you were the light of his life. He sighed, slowly sitting down next to you on the bed. "They.. they won't let me in! Oh my god, I know I lost that fucking thing in there and they won't give it to me."

Nam-gyu whined next to you, actually sounding like he was in pain (or that he was, at least, very desperate). His blood-covered hands covered his face as he started to rub his eyes to come back to his senses. After a pause, you put your hand on his back, drawing slow and soothing circles, because what else were you supposed to do?

"I'm seriously dead without.. without—"

"It'll be okay."

"Ohhhh— No, you have no idea how bad this is!"

The man looked at you with blood shot eyes, that were probably just there because he couldn't sleep well when high. He was exhausted, too exhausted to even explain to you what was bothering him right now when you asked him. He knew he was worrying you, but it wasn't like he didn't try fixing it yet.

Your eyes scanned his face, trying to come up with a solution. There was nothing you could do to help, mainly because you don't know what withdrawals feel like.

Nam-gyu clawed on your shirt and basically threw himself onto you, breathing like he just ran a marathon. You cradled his face against your chest, taking a quick peek to see what was going on — Nam-gyu looked like he was about to cry from frustration, anger (at himself), because he was panicking.. his eyes told a whole story and it broke your heart.

You tipped your head back to lean it against the metal railing of the bed while your hand was lightly grazing his cheek. Eventually, Nam-gyu's breathing began to calm down and it seemed like he had finally fallen asleep completely, which he wasn't able to do the past couple of nights. Just yesterday he woke you up in the middle of the night to 'talk to you' because he couldn't sleep. He had been chronically awake the whole time, which really messed with his perception of things, at least that's what you thought.

Carefully, you pushed some of his hair out of his face, calming at how peaceful he looked. You heard faint whispers of the other players talking to each other, most of them just as worried as you. You were scared, of course you were. You were scared for your life, for Nam-gyu's life, because something told you that he couldn't and wouldn't make it any further in this condition.

You truly hoped you would, though, because at the end of the day, you did truly care about him.

[sunkissed-feathers]

Just thinking back to that one patch note about Icarus (and his dad by extension) from SuperGiant, and how it confirmed exactly what I’d thought since that one piece of dialogue between Melinoë and Icarus where I could tell exactly what Icarus was implying- that his father only ever expected failure from him, likely also viewing him as a disappointment as well.

Just as Icarus believes in death that he will never measure up to his father’s achievements as an inventor, his father likely enforced that belief in life, even if just through his actions and not his words. Even in that brief moment when they were free, before he flew too high, I imagine being held prisoner wasn’t the only weight on Icarus’ shoulders. There was probably the pressure of having a father who thought lowly of him. The pressure of wanting to live up to meet his father’s standards and expectations, to make him proud. Especially when you also add in the context that Icarus was his apprentice for a time as well.

From the way Icarus talks in game, it can be assumed his father wasn’t very warm or loving towards him. Maybe when he was a toddler or a little kid (as Icarus does mention directly that he was still a young boy — likely a pre-teen given the context —when this happened, but by no means was he a small child anymore), but as he grew up while they were kept in that tower year after year? No.

More likely than not Daedalus would’ve been critical, cold and distant in the time leading up to their escape, only going as far as the bare minimum of trying to make sure Icarus at least escaped with him. Part of it definitely could’ve been the stress of being a prisoner, and maybe Icarus let it go for that reason, but it definitely stuck with him regardless.

And that makes me wonder— did Daedalus ever regret it after he held his son’s dead and broken body on that shore; regret not showing more love to his son?

Did he ever let Icarus know he loved him at all, or did Icarus grow, live and die believing he wouldn’t ever measure up to the expectations of such a master craftsman. His own father? Or worse yet, did Icarus die believing in a false hope that his father would show him that warmth, love and pride in him once they were free? Did he drown with his last thoughts being, ‘surely my father will save me’, only for the Fates to cut his life short before he had the chance?

I’d like to also mention that the way Icarus treats himself and degrades himself in game after his death (seen in conversations with Melinoë) is honestly so important to me, because it showcases exactly what growing up with a parent like that can do to a child- believing your parent(s) must still care somewhere deep down. You tell yourself time and time again that it’s fine- that you don’t care what they say, how they treat you, or if they show you any kindness, because you’re used to it by now, and besides, that’s your parent- someone who is supposed to love you and care for you anyway!

But as you grow up, you start to spiral and drown in self-doubt when you eventually realize you are not their priority, and that they must not care nearly as much as you’d hoped (in some cases, if at all). You give up trying to prove yourself, because you start to believe it no longer matters.

And in a lot of cases, a child will also start to believe that it wasn’t their parent to blame, but something they must’ve done to deserve their parent(s) treating them that way. That they earned it somehow, by not measuring up- by not being enough.

And that shows in the way he talks to Melinoë. He believes himself — especially after she lost her arm to help him — to be a burden to her, the way his father likely made Icarus believe he was a burden to him.

That doubt has long since planted its roots in Icarus— in his very core. It’s probably one of many reasons he attempts multiple times to ignore how he feels about Melinoë and push her away.

After all, if he wasn’t able to prove his worth and value to his own father.. what worth and value could he possibly have to her?

.

.

.

ANYWAYS sorry for that lengthy thought vomit, I love them very much I’m so glad Melinoë made Icarus start to realize he doesn’t need to actually have anything to give her other than just being himself and letting go of that guilt and grief and self-doubt. She’s so good for him, and I hope we get more dialogue between them about it. I also really hope we can see him heal or at least get some kind of closure with his dad?? Even if it is him telling his dad he no longer cares to prove himself anymore to Daedalus’ face. Please let my boy have that at the very least SuperGiant 🙏🏻

Side note— I’m someone who grew up with a father who was extremely close to me when I was a young child that later grew distant and harsh towards me after some years and I know firsthand what it did to me.

So when I saw Icarus’ relationship with Daedalus in the game it spoke to me and resonated with me in a way I never thought possible. Because I know what it can do to a person to grow up with that kind of parental relationship and just. God hearing him say those lines?? That hurt and I just wanted to kinda speak on it once I saw the patch note myself and confirmed my thoughts on it, I may also be thinking too hard on it? But yeah

Anyone seeing this after the edits, I made changes bc of grammar errors + wanting to expand even further once I had more concise thoughts to add.. ALSO ALSO HERES THE PATCH NOTE IN QUESTION!!!

sorry for my rambling guys I’ll take my leave now OOPS

[sammywritesweirdness]

TW: suggestive, MDIN, Bakugou being Bakugou, Aged up!!

a/n: sorry guys I had to get these thoughts out but some are pretty long!!

FWB! Bakugou whose first time between you two was like ripping off a bandaid after tensions were building for week, He didn’t plan it but he also didn’t stop. Bakugou’s not impulsive… except when his emotions override logic. That night, he didn’t think, he just acted. And when he heard you moan his name for the first time, any hesitation vanished

FWB! Bakugou who afterwards laid there awkwardly, he didn’t know what to say. You didn’t either. The silence was heavy charged with questions neither of you dared to ask. Eventually, he muttered a rough “That didn’t mean anything.” Even though he knew he didn’t just fuck anyone.

FWB! Bakugou who then fucked you again, and again like a man craved, and he was for you and then it stopped being so awkward and then it was just a normal occurrence to have him on top of you.

FWB! Bakugou who declared that nothing had changed between you two.. but the lingering touches in the hall as you pass, the cuddling after the most intense moments, the way he would glare at anyone who made you laugh just a *little* to hard, not to mention the way he would look at your lips while you talked or glanced down your shirt. Everything had changed.

FWB! Bakugou who leaves his hoodie at your place “on accident.” Glares at anyone who stands too close to you. If someone flirts with you at a bar, he’ll glare and get snappy if you don’t immediately come back to him.. but you aren’t together obviouslyyyyy

FWB! Bakugou when he starts catching feelings he accidentally starts to act ‘couple’y’ called you “babe” in front of Kirishima and Denki once. Denied it. And how he makes you breakfast and brings it to bed. Grumbles about how you “look like you were gonna pass out from hunger”

FWB! Bakugou who marks you up like you are his, neck, thighs, shoulders, hips. He’ll sink his teeth in and mark you because you’re his tonight. Doesn’t care if it bruises. In fact—he wants it to.

FWB! Bakugou who is surprisingly vocal with you, growls, grunts, low, breathy curses, he moans and grunts when you touch him justttt right

FWB! Bakugou who if you two fight even over something dumb he always storms off first. But later, he shows up at your place looking annoyed and desperate, dragging you into bed like it’s the only way he knows how to say sorry or using you as a stress reliever.

FWB! Bakugou who uses petnames in the dirtiest ways. He doesn’t say “baby” or “sweetheart” sweetly, it’s said low and taunting when he uses it

FWB! Bakugou who loves to pull you in his lap whether you’re hanging out or arguing, if the vibe shifts and he’s had enough teasing, he’ll yank you into his lap and start grinding you down against him

FWB! Bakugou who knows the line between friends with benefits and a relationship had definitely been crossed

[voitier]

I feel bad about making you all wait for the next chapter of HANS so I decided to put here my current reading list in case someone would want to start a new series!

WELCOME TO... nina's fic recs! (with tiny reviews even though I suck at writing them, just so yk)

enjoy!

⋆˚࿔⊹ ࣪ ˖

off the record by @dreamersparacosm

hey! so.

IT'S ACADEMIC RIVALS TO JOB RIVALS TO LOVERS GOOOOD THIS IS MY SHIT. YES YES YES. FUCK YES.

ok sorry, I am a sucker for enemies to lovers, even more when it's ACADEMIC RIVALS GOOOOODDDD.

listen, I hope that you will know at least ONCE in your life what it means to have an academic rival. like I'm 100% serious. lived it once, was amazing. the tension? the lowkey soft spot you grow for them? fuck yeah.

this is a GOOOD one.

fuck me up by @jungkoode

Kiki. the queen of slow burns.

if you decide to read this one, just know that it truly is a slow burn. slow because we're at chapter 25 I think ? and THESE TWO ARE STILL NOT IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER and burn because Kiki knows how to write something that will lure you in, convince you to touch fire and then retract your hand in pain when you inevitably get burned.

anyway, great read, definitely recommend it to those who love longer fics and characters that feel more human than a real life human. 10/10

just this once by @ggukivrse

I wanna say "this one's cute!" but there were moments where I had to lock the phone before doing something stupid like throwing it off my bed.

there's a tiny bit of angst, nothing crazy, but these two are STUPIDDDDD

the smut is fire tho

the art of pretending by @ggukivrse

I'm still hurt from chapter 6.

listen, if angst is not your cup of tea I would not recommend throwing yourself in this one, maybe start with "just this once" and see how it goes.

when I say... that I cried while reading most of these chapters??? I am NOT kidding you guys, the author is coming for our ASS (and emotional stability).

this one hits a bit too close to home, but now I'm hooked so I cannot just leave it like it is without reading till the end 😔

cradle robbers by @wintrbears

YEEEEES YES YES YES

YES all over the board everyone.

cute, smutty, fluffy, very little angst (like seriously, there's just a hint of angst in the whole work), three chapters but LOOONG.

this one's amazing, it's the light read you need after a long, harsh day, it's exactly what you need to read when laying on your bed freshly showered, sheets clean and the AC on.

I love this, it's amazing, I'm plotting for their marriage fr

honorary mention:

the doms next door by @tatertotthethot

listen. this one goes back to 2018. I read it for the first time in 2019, found it through Google since I didn't have tumblr back then. THEN, a few months ago I randomly got a flashback about this fic. I suddenly remembered that it was on tumblr, and I went on a MISSION to find it.

here it is. this is gold. this is history. this is the beginning of my obsession with dominant tattooed men who know exactly how to touch a woman and not sound overbearing, disrespectful or straight up abusive. this. is. IT.

oh it's a taekook x reader, btw. and taehyung has tattooed "your throat here" right where the thumb is connected to the index finger. absolute cinema.

fics between 2017 and 2019 used to hit different ngl, they're forever ingrained in my brain

[mvskedxrtist]

Sit Boy!

Tᴇsᴛ Sᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ: Caleb from Love and Deepspace

Pᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Fem!Reader x Caleb

Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Mommy kink, orgasm denial, slight degration, cockwarming, edging, bondage, Caleb being a bit overprotective, slight pet play, slight praise

Nᴏᴛᴇ: Well... Guess who's back and better than every! I'm revamping my account but I thought I might as well feed you guys while this account gets a new look. Requests, I've now opened them up so send in the requests for any of the fandoms that are in my masterlist! Have fun reading, my beloved scientists!

Caleb and Y/N had been hanging out around Linkon the whole day to catch up and let's just say... While it was fun to reunite with the guy she thought was dead, he changed for sure, and it turned into something embarrassing because of a certain someone. Someone had been just chatting with Y/N as she were paying for some food when she heard some growling coming from behind her. She had turned around and saw the fearsome coronal growing at a guy for flirting with someone. In public.

"What are you doing?" Y/N muttered to him as he held her shoulder and pulled her closer. "He was getting too close to my pipsqueak." Caleb explained while she rolled her eyes and got her food before pulling him away from the vendor. "Let's get back. Quick. Please..." She muttered as she dragged Caleb back to her apartment.

Caleb looked confused as he walked into Y/N's apartment. Why was she upset, he protected her from someone stealing her attention away from him. So he had set his stuff down and smiled at her. "Cmon Pip, it's not like everyone saw or heard that." He mentioned before he noticed her face and got a bit closer. Y/N looked over and grumbled as she turned around. "Sit boy!" She ordered him and seemed surprised when Caleb sat on his knees, looking at her like a dog.

"You think no one saw.. Hm." She muttered before dragging him to her bedroom, pushing him onto her bed before she took some string and tied his hands together to the bed, looking at him. "If you think no one saw or heard it, then no one should be able to hear this, right?" She asked him as she undid his pants, pulling them down to look at his cock. "Is my dog already hard for me?" She asked as Caleb blushed furiously, knowing he could easily break the string but didn't. "Shush Pip..." He muttered.

Y/N took her clothes off as she looked at him and slowly slid herself down into his cock, humming softly as she reached for a leash and placed it on his neck. "Pip... Oh cmon, you're not gonna move?" Caleb asked as she chuckled and tightened her grip on the leash, pulling him closer to her. "Not much, Caleb. Not until you're whining for a dog." She mentioned as she stayed where she was, grinding against him slowly while he was inside of her.

The male looked flustered as he grunted softly. "Pip..." He muttered, slowly reaching his orgasm before he saw you get off his cock. "Wha-" He looked annoyed as he whined and whimpered for her. "Y/N....Pip..please~" Caleb whined, wanting his release before he moaned from her sitting back down on his cock, feel her grind on him more before getting off him again.

"Mommy, no.... This isn't fun~" He whined for Y/N as she chuckled softly. "So growling like a dog was? That sounds like being a bad boy, and bad boys don't get to cum." She told him and smirked as she grinding on Caleb's cock before getting off him when he was about to cum. She could see how he was slowly breaking as he whined annkelt his head close to her shoulder.

"Mommy~" He called out for Y/N. She looked at him and kissed him gently, looking into his eyes. "Did you learn your lesson?" She asked while Caleb nodded. "Yes. I won't do that ever again, I promise. Just let me cum!" He whined as she smiled and started riding slowly, letting him finish inside of her before she sat on his dick and kept cockwarming him.

"Will you be my good boy in public?" She asked him as Caleb smiled slightly. "Of course, mommy." He nodded and kissed her cheek while she untied him. Well... He was good for a bit and did the exact same thing, so it was time for another punishment for her pup.

[chaotic-toasters]

Thunderbolts x Sick!Teen!R hcs

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol, drinking, mentions of underage drinking (sort of), mentions of vomit, Black Widow movie mentions

Yelena Belova

-Knows you're sick before you do

- “Are you shivering? Why? I did not teach you that.”

-Believes that Walker must have infected you with something- she trained you to be tough, not to be bedridden by some common illness. If you were sick, it must have been Walker's fault

-May act slightly annoyed that her partner-in-crime is stuck in bed- but Yelena is the one who won't let you get up to go to the bathroom by yourself

-“No! I will be right outside the door. You could pass out in there. What happens then?”

-Will be ready to wait you on hand and foot should you need anything. She'll drop whatever she's doing, no matter how important.

-“Eat shit, Valentina. I have better things to do than run your errands.”

Bob Reynolds

-Turns into a nurse the second he hears you cough or sneeze

-Quietly there for you. Brings you your medicine every few hours, makes sure you drink plenty of fluids, and makes sure that no rambunctious and excitable visitors (Alexei) bother you when your head hurts

-Would like to stick around to make sure you’re okay, but understands the need for space and will only stay with you if you ask him

-“I’m gonna head out, I hope– really? Are you sure you want me here? I… yeah, I can stay. But if you want me to leave– okay, okay! I’ll stay, I’ll stay.

John Walker

-Doesn’t believe in getting sick. Even when he himself is feeling under the weather, he chalks it up to tiredness

-“Yelena, there’s no such thing as getting sick. Also, I definitely did not infect the kid. Seriously.”

-Will ignore how you feel unless you’re bedridden. If you can stay on your feet, you’re fine. If not, maybe something’s wrong. Maybe.

-If you are running a fever and are stuck in bed, he’ll act very disgruntled when bringing you medicine

-Does his best to avoid Ava and Yelena when he’s carrying things to your room because he doesn’t want to be seen being soft (and they will tease him. Relentlessly).

-“Oi. Thought you said being ill wasn’t real.” “ShIT! Fuck off, Ava!” “No, no. Don’t deny it. Is that medicine?” “ShIT! Where the fuck did you come from, Yelena?”

Alexei Shostokov

-Absolutely does not notice you’re sick until someone tells him directly. If you’re coughing, he doesn’t hear it. If you’re shivering, he doesn’t see it. If you’re emptying the contents of your stomach, he’ll think it’s for a very different reason than you being sick.

-“Ah, little one, you finally start drinking? Don’t worry, you get used to it. Vodka go down easier more you drink.”

-Will definitely feel bad when he finds out you’re sick. Doesn’t really know what you need for the illness, but he’ll sing you old Soviet songs at the top of his lungs to cheer you up.

-One time, he decided to switch things up and sang American Pie by Don McLean to you, remembering how much Yelenalced that song when she was young

-Was very proud of himself when Yelena happened to poke her head in while he was singing American Pie. She was unsuccessful in trying to hide her smile, and even sang along quietly towards the end– something that Alexei boasted about to the others for the next two weeks. Yelena was mortified.

Ava Starr

-Like Bob and Yelena, she catches on to your illness very quickly. She’s spent most of her life observing other people, and she’s very attuned to everyone around her.

-Is slightly less dry towards you when you’re sick– she feels a little protective of you, though she’d never admit it.

-Makes sure you rest enough and does not tolerate you doing any strenuous physical activity until you’re better. Any protests from you is met with a stern look and a firm order to sit down and relax.

-“Ava, come on, I can’t just lay down and do nothing.” “You’re not going out for a run when you’ve got a 39°C fever. Go back to bed, I’ll bring you some books to read if you’re bored.”

-Doesn’t hover, just periodically checks on you by phasing and sticking her head through the wall.

-Will never let the others see her entering your room. Phases into the wall upon entry, and phases out of the wall upon exit. Like John, she doesn’t want to ruin her image by being caught caring for you.

Bucky Barnes

-Instantly changes from Bucky to Dad. Brings you your medicine, water, and food at the same time every day like clockwork, and completely ignores the rest of the team’s teasing at how much he babies you.

-Is the exact opposite of Ava. Bucky doesn’t let you do anything without supervision. It doesn’t have to be him, but either Bob or Yelena has to follow you around like a shadow if you’re doing anything other than lying in bed. He doesn’t quite trust the others enough to watch you yet when you’re sick, even though you’re perfectly capable of going to the fridge to get a snack by yourself.

-Puts a time limit on your screen time. It doesn’t matter that you’re almost an adult. Until you’re 100% better, he refuses to risk you getting a headache or making your eyes hurt. You get an hour at a time with three hours in between. Nothing more, unless you want to risk his wrath– aka a 3 hour lecture of him whisper-yelling (to prevent giving you a headache) all the reasons why you can’t ‘overexert’ yourself when you’re not feeling well.

-Is a firm believer in “recovery after sickness”. You’re not better until a week has passed without you having a cold. No one gets to make you do things until then– not even Val.

-“Yeah, no. She’s unavailable, Val. Incapacitated, actually. Yeah. She’ll be free in a month or two. Why? Her fever’s gone, but she still has to get rid of her cold. N- what do you mean, ‘that’s stupid’? No it's not!”

-

Thanks for reading :) Very experimental hcs - I’ve never written hcs before and this is my first Thunderbolts work, so I’m still trying to get a feel for how to write everyone. Thoughts?

[chlauraform]

okkkkk well guess this is gonna be primarily trans and gay stuff cause thats something i could talk sbout for who knows how long, but im also sure not many people are interested in me talking about i dunno frank zappa or something.

soooo heres a little storytime i guess cause it features an important topic when people like me come out for the first time. my first experience with coming out was like incredibly heartbreaking. and id just love to talk about how actually horrible it can feel to come out to someone and have them be dismissive while not being "aggressive" per se, which is something im pretty sure most folks like me are gonna be worried about. were a minority after all. and people are dickheads.

so. a little bit of a backstory on why this even happened. id say a couple of months after i figured myself out and also started feeling gender dysphoria quite often, i would usually look quite sad most of the time. indifferent and bored, at best. i kind of still struggle with pretending im happy when im not, cause after some time, i really cant do much.

anyways, i was just casually walking somewhere with my sister and i assume she noticed, well, how i am. and then she started pressuring me. until i cried and just admitted that im trans. yeah, so immediatly im practically outing myself without wanting to. that shouldve immediatly been a huge warning to me, but i gave her the benefit of the doubt.

the reason for that benefit of the doubt is because in the past years, she has been a very, very accepting, progressive and socially radical person. from gay people to trans people to womens rights, you name it. but that changed. and im not gonna go into details how, since thats not my businees, but overall, shes now not that.

basically, after i told her, she maintained the position of still loving me and supporting me in absolutely everything and whatnot. then again, she said that ill "always be her brother" and also that im "too young to know this yet". now if theres anything i know best, it would be myself, even if im still practically just a teenager. frankly, at that point, i just kinda wanted to collapse. i played it off as being fine and just never mentioned it again to her.

it felt like i was being shoved back in the closet, like im being ignored and also like shes just trying to make me just think im cis or something. and after realising that, frankly, id rather she just called me a slur and told me she hated me or something. because theres something incredibly painful about getting not only my hopes up, but also feeling like shes gonna support me, only to be met with a complete contradiction and frankly belittling comment.

you cannot claim to be supportive while calling me your brother. i am not that. dont act like a saint because you arent hucking slurs at me. at the same time, i despise the assumption that someone like me is too young to know their gender, sexual orientation or whatever that isnt the norm. just like with typical heteronormativity, kids can know that theyre straight, but not that theyre gay. absolutely not, theyre too young for that. the same goes for gender.

and all this dilemma just lead to her completely ignoring it ever happened. still misgendering me, still calling me by my deadname. all while knowing exactly who i am.

then again, i dont care, cause i know myself, i know who i am and what i want to become. hell, a lot of people will go through something similar if not worse. ive accepted this kind of attempted fence-sitting as a total bullshit excuse and i wont bother with it.

phew that was a lot. again, actually. clearly i like getting the big sads out this way.

no but seriously to think even a few people will look at this and think "damn, i can relate" or just read through it totally randomly.

thanks yall!!!!!

sleep time gwuh