#and I like the song but for whatever reason I never looked up anything else by Billy Talent

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: May 14

"Diamond on a Landmine” by Billy Talent

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

[prdx-invdr]

୨୧⸝⸝﹕if you call me a fool, then i’ll be a fool.

SUMMARY! you’ve been in love with park wonbin since the day the two of you met and never found the courage to tell him. why is it that you find yourself yearning to confess the moment someone else comes into the picture?

PAIRING! park wonbin x fem!reader

GENRE! college!au, slice of life, fluff, angst (an attempt was made), friends to lovers, IDIOTS to lovers omg WC 8.1k

WARNING! swearing, jealousy, y/n likes wonbin an insane amount girl get up, insecurity, anton instigates like it’s his job and he’s up for a promotion, random female idol is mentioned many times (nothing against her!!), not proofread

NOTE! do u guys know what song the title is from lol.. LOL also i had another wonbin fic i wanted to post and deleted it bc it sucked so actually im posting this one as a coping mechanism

you don’t realize the way you’re staring at the back of wonbin’s head until a voice snaps you out of your trance. “do you know what you want?” shotaro asks you, waving a hand in front of your face.

currently, the two of you, along with wonbin, seunghan, and anton, are standing in line at a beverage kiosk. the latter, having already received his drink, stands to your right while shotaro stands to your left. seunghan recites his order to the employee while wonbin stands idly behind him.

“don’t even bother asking,” anton chortles, lips still wrapped around his straw. “she’s probably gonna have wonbin order for her, like always.” you lightly slap him in the arm after the words leave his mouth, eyes darting to the aforementioned boy standing merely 2 inches in front of you, hoping he hadn’t heard anton’s teasing.

“i didn’t even say anything wrong! he orders for you all the time!” the boy whines, jokingly rubbing his arm where you had hit him.

shotaro lets out a curt laugh at the interaction, knowing that anton’s words held truth to them, whether you liked to admit it or not. “it’s because she’s shy. right, y/n?” he turns to you, attempting to diffuse your embarrassment. one look at the smile on his face and anyone would be able to tell that his words were complete bullshit. the two of you knew that the real reason you liked having wonbin order for you was because you liked him.

however, for your own sake, you sigh and choose to agree with shotaro’s statement, only offering a small nod. “whatever,” anton mutters under his breath, walking over to seunghan who has his own beverage in hand.

now that you, shotaro and wonbin were the only people in line, shotaro grabs your sleeve and gently pulls you backwards, putting more distance between the two of you and the boy who was now placing his order. before shotaro says anything, you know what the topic of conversation is going to be.

“do you ever plan on telling him?” is all he inquires, his voice lowering to a whisper. you avoid his piercing gaze, instead turning to look at anton and seunghan, laughing in between sips of their respective drinks. anton is already nearly finished with his, you note.

when you’re done observing them, you shift your attention to wonbin, who has his arms crossed as he points at one of the cup sizes the kiosk has on display, indicating that it’s the one he wants.

you’re unable to see his face but you’re able to picture it better than anything. the way his lip quirks upwards in an attempt to be polite to the employee. the furrow of his brow as he asks a question.

shotaro sighs at your silence and finds it astonishing how you’re able to ogle wonbin without even looking at his face. that very sigh brings you back into reality, finally meeting the gaze of the boy currently interrogating you.

“he… doesn’t think of me that way,” you slowly tell him, as if the words would physically pain you if you uttered them too quickly. shotaro lets out a noise you can only assume was meant to be a scoff, but being passive aggressive simply doesn’t run in his blood.

“are you kiddi-“ shotaro is interrupted by wonbin holding a drink in front of your face, thus putting a barrier between the two of you. “here, y/n,” the long haired boy hums, not moving from his spot until you take the beverage filled plastic cup. if you didn’t have park wonbin tunnel vision, as shotaro likes to call it, you’d see the way anton is shaking his head and letting out a short laugh in disbelief upon witnessing the interaction. “called it,” he tells seunghan, who only blinks in confusion.

“i wasn’t sure which one you wanted, but i remembered that time we went to that other drink place and you said you really liked the strawberry one, so i got you that,” wonbin explains, holding his own straw up to his mouth. he says it nonchalantly, as if you could either finish the drink in about 5 seconds before proclaiming how much you enjoyed it, or you could throw it to the ground and curse at him for assuming the flavor you wanted, and he wouldn’t flinch either way.

“um— yes— yeah, i..” you stutter, and shotaro swears it takes everything in him not to slap his own forehead at your sudden jumpiness. “i like it, thank you. you didn’t have to, wonbin,” you exhale, holding your drink with both hands.

“yeah, well, force of habit, you know?” the boy laughs. “since i’m always ordering for you anyway.” his words cause you to tense and you can just picture anton’s shit-eating grin after he heard what wonbin said. “right, yeah,” you nod, wanting the conversation to be over with. the 5 of you continue walking throughout the mall, seunghan complaining about what a ridiculous amount of time you had all just spent at that beverage kiosk.

“force of habit is crazy,” anton decides to tease you again, earning another slap on the arm. “stop hitting me!”

besides ordering drinks for you when you hadn’t requested for him to do so, anton has noticed that wonbin also tends to subconsciously let you get away with… a lot.

he doesn’t even attempt to hide the way he rolls his eyes when he walks into the living room and sees none other than you and wonbin, the latter seated on the carpeted floor while you’re situated on the couch behind him, playing with his hair.

“i shouldn’t have come in here,” he mutters, barely audible. he’s unsure if he wanted you and wonbin to hear him, but your head snaps in his direction nonetheless. “hey, anton,” you greet him despite knowing that he’d have a lot to say about your current position. he nods his head in acknowledgement before pursing his lips. you brace yourself for whatever comment he’ll inevitably make next, morphing your lips into a straight line.

“you know,” anton starts, and you’re already holding back the urge to groan. “wonbin never lets any of us touch his hair like that.”

“right, because you guys are always so eager to play with my hair, huh?” wonbin quips sarcastically. anton shrugs, although wonbin isn’t looking at him. “so you’re saying if we wanted to, we could?” anton questions, moving across the living room to grab his phone charger, finally remembering why he had walked into the room in the first place.

“nah,” wonbin replies, “not sure why you’d want to, anyway.”

“i don’t see you questioning why y/n wants to do it,” anton insists, already making his way out of the room, pausing momentarily to hear wonbin’s response.

“she doesn’t need a reason,” his older friend says, “she’s y/n.” anton shakes his head and continues on his way. you resume treading your hand through wonbin’s hair as if nothing had happened, but unbeknownst to the boy sitting in front of you, your heart rate had increased at his words.

“he’s just jealous,” wonbin jokes. you only let out a short laugh in response. you wonder how he would react if you informed him that anton had actually sprung up that conversation because he knows about your tremendous crush on the raven haired boy.

“do you think you’d ever go blonde?” you inquire, changing the subject. he lets out a snort and tilts his head to look back at you. you’re grinning, trying to ignore the way your heart does somersaults in your chest.

“i don’t think the world is ready for that,” he laughs.

“what are we laughing about in here?” a voice sings from the door way, ripping your attention away from wonbin. you turn to the perpetrator and lock eyes with sungchan, who sends you a smile. you wave at him and he takes it as an invitation to sit himself down on the couch beside you.

“nothing much,” wonbin answers. your hands finally retreat from his hair and you miss the way his shoulders slump in response.

“right,” sungchan nods, turning his attention to whatever you and wonbin are watching on tv. in actuality, neither you nor him have been paying the television any mind for at least an hour, and only now do you realize that some sort of ocean documentary has been playing this whole time.

a few minutes of silence proceed before sungchan clasps his hands together and stands up from the couch abruptly, startling you.

“man, this has been boring,” he announces, eyes darting between the two of you, seated in the same positions as when he first entered the room. “do you guys even talk?”

“we were, actually, before you walked in,” wonbin mutters, not meaning for his words to come out as sourly as they do. sungchan raises his hands in the air in defense. “hey, my bad. i didn’t realize the two of you were having an ocean documentary date,” he retorts.

“we’re not having-“ you’re about to correct him, only for him to cut you off.

“but, you know, bin,” he says, “i’m not sure how sangah would feel about you having a movie date with another girl.”

you feel like your entire world freezes over the moment you hear those words leave sungchan’s mouth. you quickly rid your face of your crestfallen expression, not wanting to give yourself away.

“who?” you can’t stop yourself from asking, and sungchan just stares at you. wonbin waves his hand dismissively, shaking his head in annoyance. “shut up, dude.”

“wait, y/n doesn’t know about sangah?” sungchan asks, a genuinely confused look crossing over his features. “i thought you guys told each other everything.”

wonbin groans in irritation. “i haven’t told anyone, actually, because it doesn’t matter. you only know because you’re nosy as fuck.”

sungchan chuckles, and you would attempt to let out a halfhearted laugh if you didn’t feel like your chest was aching. you lick your lips and stare questioningly at the side of wonbin’s head.

“look, bro,” sungchan gestures towards you, causing wonbin to turn around and meet your disheartened eyes. his face drops slightly, and you’re not in the correct headspace to try and pinpoint why. “she’s upset because you didn’t tell her!” his friend chimes.

wonbin shakes his head, still looking at you. “she’s just some girl,” he huffs. “i don’t even know her that well.”

you scoff before plastering a wobbly smile onto your face. “i’m not upset,” your voice quivers and you hope that wonbin doesn’t notice it. you’re not sure why he decides to reassure you about sangah— whoever that is— but you pray that it’s not because he’s known about your pathetic crush on him all this time and is now feeling bad for you because he’s currently seeing someone.

of course, only your cruel mind could formulate such a sickening thought.

“i’m just.. surprised,” you conclude with an unconvincing nod. wonbin closes his eyes in annoyance, and you know it’s because of his intrusive friend standing in the doorway. “sungchan, just stop spreading shit around, alright?” he gives him a tired look, finally getting up from the floor. as wonbin makes his way past sungchan in the doorway, the taller boy gives him a playful slap on the shoulder. with wonbin having left the room, you find yourself looking to sungchan with urgency.

“who is sangah?” you plead, trying to keep your emotions at bay. the boy furrows his eyebrows, confusion settling into his features once more. “why do you care, y/n?” he asks. you know that his question doesn’t come from a place of mockery, but rather genuine interest. it hits you in that moment that sungchan, as smart as he is, happens to be absolutely terrible at taking a hint.

somehow, when it came to the long lasting feelings you harbored for one of his closest friends, sungchan was none the wiser. you surmise that he wouldn’t have teased wonbin so openly about another girl had he known about your feelings for the long haired boy.

that, you suppose, you can’t really blame him for.

“um,” you start, “he’s one of my closest friends.” your words are spoken through gritted teeth and clenched fists. “i’m just curious, you know?” the lie comes out easier than you think it should’ve.

sungchan hums, crossing his arms and giving you a curt nod. “just some girl,” sungchan tells you, repeating wonbin’s words from a few minutes ago. “yoon sangah. she’s in our music fundamentals class. like, 2 days ago, i think, she wrote her instagram handle on a slip of paper and gave it to wonbin right in front of me.” your face falls for what seems like the millionth time in the past 10 minutes. you can only offer the tall boy a nearly inaudible hum in response.

“do you think it’ll lead to anything? you know, between her and wonbin?” again, you can’t stop yourself from asking. you feel sick at the thought of playing into the role of ‘jealous, overthinking girlfriend’, and even sicker at the fact that you and wonbin aren’t even dating. what right do you have to be inquisitive about his love life?

still, you can’t help it. when sungchan takes a bit longer to respond to your question you fear you’re treading on dangerous territory, afraid that even the dense boy you’re conversing with may have cracked the code. the grin that he aims at you a few seconds later serves as reassurance that, no, he still doesn’t know anything.

“that’s a good question, y/n dearest,” he pats your shoulder lightly. “i guess only time will tell.”

you hate yourself for what you’re doing right now.

looking back on the conversation you had with sungchan hours prior to this moment, you recalled him mentioning that sangah had given wonbin her instagram. thus, like any normal person would do in your situation, you took it upon yourself to go through wonbin’s following list in an attempt to find her.

you scroll past your own account, past the accounts of your mutual friends, and a few people who you presume are some of wonbin’s classmates.

when you finally stumble across sangah’s account, your body fills with dread before you even see a proper photo of her.

judging by her profile picture alone, you can tell that she’s pretty. you’re fully looking at her profile now, and your frown only deepens. she’s beautiful.

you shake your head as if it would help ease your racing mind. she’s beautiful, yes, you think, but looks aren’t everything. you find yourself childishly crossing your fingers that sangah had the personality of an evil witch, so that even if wonbin fell victim to her physical charm, he’d be pushed away by her true nature.

you let out a quiet scoff. you can’t believe you’re sitting here thinking badly about another girl just because she might have a crush on the same man you’ve been in love with since the day you met him. in the same sense, you can’t believe that when you say that sentence out loud, it actually sounds a bit reasonable. you blame sungchan, for a moment, drawing the inference that you wouldn’t feel so insecure right now if it hadn’t been for his previous teasing.

you can’t stop yourself when you click on one of sangah’s posts. she doesn’t have many, but the few that she has have seemed to gather thousands of likes. despite this, you take note of the fact that wonbin doesn’t have any of them liked— thank god, you think to yourself. you start to analyze her photos, the faces she makes at the camera, the outfits she wears, the way her hair is styled. when studying her facial expressions, you wonder if she’s made those same faces while looking at wonbin. when taking her outfits into consideration, you wonder if wonbin has seen her wearing any of them and thought she looked particularly nice. whilst examining her hair, you resist the urge to rip out your own. it’s perfect. she’s perfect.

she’s perfect, and from what you can tell, you aren’t anything like her. so what does that make you?

you move to close the app, feeling filled to the brim with self doubt when you suddenly freeze as your phone vibrates. you hesitantly open your dms and your eyes widen as they fall upon the newest message.

[3:02 AM] 1bin_02: why are u awake

your heart races and you momentarily contemplate if wonbin had somehow set up a security camera in your bedroom without your knowledge because how on earth did he know?

you don’t ponder on the matter for long, the aforementioned boy sending another message merely a few seconds later.

[3:02 AM] 1bin_02: u have ur activity status turned on btw

exhaling a breath of relief, you type a response to him.

[3:03 AM] you: why are U awake park wonbin

[3:03 AM] 1bin_02: i just woke up like 5 minutes ago. my y/n senses were tingling and my unconscious body felt a disturbance

[3:04 AM] 1bin_02: kiddinggg

[3:04 AM] 1bin_02: but fr why are u awake

you hold your breath as you type out your next response, choosing to be daring. you decide that, even if it’s only for a few seconds, you’re no longer going to be a coward.

[3:06 AM] you: i was thinking about u

[3:06 AM] 1bin_02: ditto

[3:07 AM] 1bin_02: i know im amazing and everything but don’t let me stop u from getting ur beauty rest 🙄 jk

[3:07 AM] 1bin_02: gn dummy

you decide against saying anything else, shutting off your phone with a sigh. you are a dummy, you think, and the boy who had just given you that title has no idea that it’s all because of him.

you’re exhausted the next day, concluding that being awake at 3 in the morning despite knowing that you had a class at 8AM was not the best idea.

wonbin is quick to take note of this, poking you on your side as the two of you follow your usual route to your next lecture of the day. “i bet someone regrets staying up until 3AM, hm?” he doesn’t bother to hide his smirk as you swat his hand away. “like you weren’t up at 3AM, too,” you mutter. he clicks his tongue in response. “that was only for a few minutes,” he says, “who knows how long you were awake for, though.”

before you’re forced to dignify wonbin with a response, anton and seunghan walk up to the two of you, the latter offering a wave while the former only smiles.

“where are we headed, guys?” seunghan asks, throwing an arm around wonbin. the boy attempts to shrug him off to no avail. “anton and i wanted to go get drinks and we were wondering if you guys wanted to come with,” he grins before quietly adding, “and maybe also pay for them.”

you laugh and wonbin turns to you upon hearing it, letting out a playful scoff of his own. “can’t, y/n has class in 10 minutes or so,” he turns to the two boys who now have their eyebrows raised in apprehension. “that’s where we were headed,” he finishes.

“and you’re walking her there,” anton nods, his words posing as more of a statement than a question. you can only dramatically roll your eyes. wonbin doesn’t seem to pick up any undertones, only nodding in response. “i might be able to tag along afterwards, though. no promises.”

“well, anton,” seunghan sighs, turning to his friend, “we’ll just have to take shotaro inste-“

the boy is cut off by the sound of a girlish voice calling out wonbin’s name. all 4 of you turn around in unison, and you feel like your heart has physically sunken into the floor. sangah.

wonbin’s at a loss for words for a moment and you want to run away more than anything. you’re not prepared to see the two of them interact, especially after looking at her instagram page last night. “hey, sangah,” is all he says, a smile plastered on his face that pains you to look at.

the girl is practically beaming. “what are you up to?” she grins, her eyes not daring to look anywhere but him. his eyes flicker to you momentarily, who is struggling to breathe.

“i’m walking her—” he gestures to you and sangah finally looks away from him, eyes now trained on yours, “to class. well, i was, before these two showed up.” wonbin waves a hand in anton and seunghan’s direction, the two boys adorning matching confused expressions on their faces. nobody moves a muscle for a few seconds and you’re afraid that your rapid heartbeat can be heard atop of the pin-drop silence.

“oh! my bad,” wonbin clears his throat, “guys, this is sangah,” he gestures towards the girl, “sangah, this is… guys.” he gestures towards his friends. “and y/n,” he gestures towards you for the second time, giving you a tap on the shoulder for good measure. sangah’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and she reaches out to shake your hand. you’re positive that if it weren’t for the freezing hallways of your university, your hands would be sweating, so you silently thank whoever’s in charge of the ac for seemingly always having it cranked up to the max. you and the girl shake hands, her smile noticably brighter than yours.

“nice to meet you, y/n,” she says. “you, too,” is all you’re able to respond with, smile tight.

“nice to meet you guys, too,” she waves at anton and seunghan with both hands and they wave back, offering their own respective greetings in return. awkward.

you cough, attempting to break the silence. “this has been fun,” you press your lips together for a second, “but i’ve gotta get to class. hope you guys have fun at that drink place later, or whatever,” you trail off, the last part of your sentence aimed towards anton and seunghan. “and it was nice meeting you, again,” you add, making eye contact with sangah. she smiles. you don’t say anything to wonbin as you attempt to squeeze past him, but he grabs your arm. “i’m walking with you, remember?” he says. you resist the urge to look at sangah or anyone else in your vicinity for that matter, surprised at his words. this random girl who’s obviously into him is standing only a few inches away and wonbin still insists on walking you to class.

“it’s okay,” you shake your head, unsure. wonbin can tell that you’re beginning to feel upset and he desperately wishes that sangah and even seunghan and anton were anywhere but here. “y/n-“ he starts, you cut him off. “it’s fine, wonbin,” you reaffirm. it isn’t, though.

you begin to walk in the direction of your class and release a breath that you hadn’t known you were holding. deep down, you wanted wonbin to disregard your words and resume walking with you, leaving sangah and his friends standing in the hallway. but wonbin was too polite for that, and you couldn’t even turn around to see if he had continued to engage in conversation with the 3 of them because you felt tears forming in your eyes. stupid, stupid, stupid, you think to yourself.

unbeknownst to you, sangah was able to sense the tension in the atmosphere before anyone had even said anything to her. she kisses her teeth, scratching the side of her head. “i should probably go, too,” she tells wonbin. the boy can tell that she would’ve liked to talk more, but he wasn’t looking to become friends or even acquaintances with her. doing that would only give her the wrong idea, and he didn’t want to have any bad blood with someone he’d be forced to see nearly everyday in class. the boy nods in understanding, giving her a wave. “nice.. talking to you,” he bids her farewell, unsure of what to say, because whatever had just transpired definitely did not qualify as a conversation. the girl waves back with an unwavering smile, walking in the opposite direction you had gone.

“oh, man,” seunghan lets out a laugh he had been holding in, “that was the worst. please don’t ever put me through anything like that again.” anton silently agrees, cringing.

“is it just me,” wonbin starts, ignoring his friend’s remark, “or did y/n seem kind of upset before she left?”

anton stretches his arms slightly, eyes looking anywhere but at his dark haired friend. “wonder why that might be,” he muses under his breath, but wonbin catches it. “what do you mean?” he pushes, looking his younger friend in the eye. anton puts his hands in the air in mock surrender.

“anton, what the hell do you mean?” wonbin asks again, voice tinged with annoyance. anton shakes his head, “figure it out.”

seunghan watches his friends go back and forth, a bit confused himself. much like sungchan, he seems to be completely oblivious when it comes to the way you feel about wonbin.

you’re currently sitting in class wondering why you even bothered to show up.

you knew before you even sat down that you wouldn’t be able to process a single word of the lecture, your mind thinking over your first official encounter with sangah.

ever since last night, you’ve started to dread moments like these— none of your friends being around to distract you, leaving you alone with your own miserable thoughts. it feels as though each minuscule moment of silence is filled with your insecurities being pushed to the forefront of your mind.

what did they talk about after you had left? did seunghan and anton decide to leave shortly after, leaving wonbin and sangah alone? did they grow closer in the small amount of time they were left together? even worse, what if the amount of time they spent together wasn’t small at all? oh god, what if they’re still together right now?

had anton, seunghan or, worst of all, wonbin decided to invite sangah to their aforementioned drink hangout? your mind drifts to the image of wonbin ordering a drink for sangah, the same way he always does for you, and you feel like bursting into tears similarly to the way you had almost done so on your way to class.

and sangah— god, you wanted to hate her so bad. your prayers that she had the personality of a wicked witch were thrown out the window the second she opened her mouth. she was so nice to you. the guy that she likes had openly expressed that he wanted to walk you to class and she still smiled at you. she’s got the most perfect appearance and most perfect attitude and you feel like you can’t compete with any of it.

you check your phone for the first time in approximately 30 minutes, eager for a distraction. you’re dismayed to see only 3 notifications, one from the boy who seems the root of every current problem in your life, and two from sungchan.

[10:04 AM] bin 🫶: everything ok??

[10:16 AM] sungchani: hey

[10:16 AM] sungchani: we’re all gonna hang out on friday night (as decided by me just now) and u will be coming! (also decided by me just now)

you open your phone, typing a quick response to wonbin about how everything is fine (lie) and sending another short message in hopes of steering the conversation in a different direction. you open the two messages from sungchan, shaking your head as if he’d be able to sense your attitude through the screen.

[10:48 AM] you: who’s “we” exactly…. and what will “we” be doing

[10:50 AM] sungchani: don’t act dumb girl… me, you, taro, seunghan, anton and wonbin obviously. was gonna see if eunseok and sohee could make it but i doubt eunseok would wanna and i think sohee’s doing some group assignment lolol

[10:51 AM] sungchani: as for your other question i was thinking about going to the movies yay or nay? (say yay)

[10:51 AM] you: pass

[10:52 AM] sungchani: perfect see u there!

you don’t bother responding to sungchan’s final message, knowing that no amount of opposition from you would deter him. he’d probably drag you all the way to the theater himself if he had to. but you really don’t want to go, feeling drained from the thoughts that have been plaguing your mind ever since sungchan mentioned sangah for the first time. you’d much rather spent your friday night in bed, trying to give your brain a much needed break. maybe if you really felt like torturing yourself, you’d pull up sangah’s instagram once more.

when class ends, you’re shocked to find anton waiting for you outside of the lecture hall. he’s holding a plastic cup filled with chai tea, leaning against the wall leisurely as he sips through an orange straw. he doesn’t look in your direction, which confuses you, because you’re undoubtedly the reason he’s currently standing outside of your classroom.

“lee anto-“ the boy in question cuts you off by lifting his index finger in front of your face, still not looking at you. you scoff in irritation, not wanting to deal with his antics in your current state.

“you’re coming on friday, yes?” he questions, his voice slightly above a whisper. “not if i don’t have to,” you say, your voice at a normal volume. anton, finally looking you in the eyes, presses his index finger to his lips as if to indicate that you need to be quieter. “you do have to,” he nods.

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “why the hell are you whispering?” you scowl, and he keeps his index finger on his lips. you groan before reluctantly lowering your voice to match his, despite the fact that you still don’t know why he wants you to do so. “what’s going on?” you inquire.

“you have to come on friday,” he repeats quietly, “and you’re gonna tell dark star that you’re in love with him.”

you blink. “who?” anton leans his head back in annoyance before mouthing, “PARK WONBIN.” you recoil for a myriad of reasons. “first of all, i’m not coming on friday,” your voice slightly increases in volume, “and even if i was, i most definitely would not use it as an opportunity to confess to wonbin. and why in the world did you just call him that?” you finish, exasperated.

anton only sips his drink, his aura calm and collected. “you’re going,” he answers pointedly, “because if you don’t, dark star is gonna find out either way.”

your eyes widen and you feel like all of the air has left your lungs. “what do you mean by that? you wouldn’t actually-“

“i would, though. if telling dark star about your crush on him would get you to stop pining after him like a fool, why wouldn’t i? and, in addition,” anton fully turns to you, his voice raising to a light mumble, “i saw the way you reacted when sarah started talking to him earlier.”

“it’s sangah,” you deadpan. anton waves his hand dismissively. “not the point. with the way you acted earlier, you would’ve thought they were getting married right in the middle of that hallway,” he sounds concerned as he speaks the words, not looking anywhere but at you.

“i’m not saying that wonbin— dark star, i mean, has a thing for sandra right now. frankly, i don’t think he cares about her at all,” anton continues, “but if you’re that worried about some random girl taking him away from you when they’ve known each other for like, a week, i think that’s a sign that it might be a good idea to tell him how you’re feeling.”

you look down, letting his words settle into your mind. “i’ll come on friday,” you nod, and the boy in front of you smiles at your words, “but i have to give the whole confessing to wonbin thing a bit more thought. i mean, it’s kind of sudden.” anton’s advice actually made sense, you think, but you’re not sure if you’re ready to tell the boy you’ve been harboring feelings for all this time that you’re in love with him on a random friday night.

“sudden?” anton asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. “i think it’s long overdue. fire tornado hector thinks so, too,” he tells you.

you turn to him, dumbfounded. “where the hell are you getting these names from?!”

friday night comes in the blink of an eye and you’re standing in the lobby of the theater with shotaro, anton, seunghan, and sungchan. wonbin is nowhere to be seen.

“i told him 7PM sharp,” sungchan murmurs impatiently, checking his watch. shotaro turns to anton, jokingly hitting the younger boy on the arm with a laugh. “imagine he just decided to stay home,” he chuckles, “i bet y/n would be relieved.”

“why would she be relieved?” seunghan intrudes curiously. anton shrugs. “i told her she had to confess to wonbin tonight,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just revealed your not-so-secret secret to an unsuspecting seunghan. the older boy’s eyebrows raise at anton’s words, his lips parting.

“you like wonbin?” he questions you eagerly. “dude, i can’t believe you didn’t know by now,” anton answers in your place as you press your lips together. “and we won’t be using the name wonbin when he arrives. he’s dark star. the codename helps when you’re trying to be discreet,” he finishes.

“yeah, because you know all about being discreet, right?” you reply, voice laced with sarcasm. anton knows that you’re referring to the way he had exposed your feelings for wonbin merely 30 seconds ago, avoiding your gaze as he whistles idly.

“sorry i’m late, guys,” the man of the hour exhales as he walks up to the 5 of you. sungchan studies wonbin, unimpressed. the latter can sense his older friend’s agitation, clicking his tongue. “you’ll forgive me once you find out why i’m late,” he assures, “look who i brought with me.”

you can’t prevent the way your heartbeat escalates, both at the mere presence of wonbin and the words that have just left his mouth. you’re unsure if you even want to find out who he’s brought with him, fearing the worst.

“sohee! eunseok!” you hear sungchan exclaim, excitedly making his way over to the two figures that have just entered the theater. he wraps his lengthy arms around both of them simultaneously.

“guess our invitations got lost in the mail, huh?” eunseok muses, returning his friend’s embrace. the three of them return to where you and the others are standing and sungchan scratches the back of his neck. “my bad, man,” he utters bashfully, “the movie we’re watching is pretty lame. didn’t think you’d be into it.”

“still, it’s an excuse to see you guys,” eunseok shrugs, turning to greet everyone else. sohee does the same, wrapping his arms around you before anyone else.

“y/n! it’s been forever,” he grins, you return it. “it’s been… 2 weeks,” you tell him, hugging him back nonetheless. “i still missed you, though,” you hum. “stop hogging him, y/n!” seunghan teases, “we haven’t seen him in weeks either!”

the two of you release each other, and when you turn, wonbin is at your side. he taps your arm. “why don’t you greet me like that?” he feigns jealousy, pursing his lips. you smile at him, hoping to mask your nervousness, “i see you everyday.”

he rolls his eyes. “that doesn’t mean you can’t miss me.”

“i always do,” you say absentmindedly. by the time your words register, wonbin is already grinning. “ditto,” he mutters, his words meant for only you to hear.

he turns away before you can comment, and eunseok takes his place beside you. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, greeting you. you think nothing of his actions before he leans down, angling his head so that it’s directly next to your ear. “i heard about healing michael’s plan,” he whispers, “the one about getting you to confess to dark star.”

“please don’t start this,” you plead, “i cannot deal with these nicknames right now. and how do you know about that?”

“um,” he starts, moving his head away from yours, “obviously healing michael filled me in on everything. just because we don’t physically see each other everyday doesn’t mean we don’t have a group chat.” he moves back to the previous topic, “he threatened to tell dark star about how you’re madly in love with him, right? he’s bluffing,” eunseok explains, “if you confess to dark star tonight, it should be because you really love him. not because anton frightened you into doing it.”

you nod at eunseok’s words, unsure. “and,” he continues, “it shouldn’t be about some other girl that might like him, either.” he takes note of the way your eyes widen a fraction. “yeah, anton told me about that, too,” he nods as you make a mental reminder to yell at anton later for airing out your business.

“what i’m saying, y/n, is make sure that you’re telling him how you feel, not for anyone else, but for you. well, and for him. and for you and him, together,” eunseok concludes, “don’t let healing michael or sandy get in the way of it.”

“it’s sangah,” you sigh, in awe of the fact that you’ve had to correct both him and anton. sungchan appears to have heard your final words, perking up at the mention of wonbin’s classmate.

“sangah? we’re talking about sangah?” he blurts out, turning to wonbin with a smile. “bro, we totally should’ve invited her,” he jokes, slapping his friend on the arm, “seeing her and wonbin interact in the theater would’ve been hilarious.” everyone grows tense at sungchan’s teasing— he was somehow still the only one unaware of your feelings for wonbin.

wonbin only shakes his head in response, his first instinct being to look over at you. you’re wearing that same disheartened look on your face as the first time you found out about sangah, and he can hardly breathe. his eyes narrow at the sight of eunseok’s arm still hanging off your shoulders.

“sungchan, when does the movie start? we’ve been standing here for a while,” shotaro states, attempting to alleviate the situation. “oh, we still have about,” sungchan checks the time on his watch, “ten minutes before the trailers even start playing,” he responds.

shotaro ushers the group over to the concession counter, quickly making some excuse about everyone needing to choose their snacks for the movie. “amateurs,” sungchan mutters, “who doesn’t bring their own snacks to the movies?”

wonbin finds his place beside you again, briefly studying your features. he notices the way you stand stiffly in your spot and the slight wrinkle between your brows. “hey,” he tries to get your attention. your eyes soften as they meet his that are flooded with worry. “i’m sorry,” he frowns, “about what happened back there. i don’t know why he keeps mentioning her.”

you’re puzzled and, yet again, asking yourself if he’s apologizing because he knows that you have feelings for him or if it’s because he still thinks you’re upset that he didn’t tell you about sangah sooner.

you prayed that he wasn’t apologizing due to the former, but why would he even need to apologize if it was the latter? if nothing was going on between wonbin and sangah, he had no reason to tell you about her. you press your lips into a tight line. maybe that was it— something was going on between them. that’s why he’s saying sorry to you right now, because he regrets not telling you before when you’re supposed to be one of his closest friends.

and that’s all you’ll ever be to him, because you were too much of a coward to confess to him when you had the chance. you think about how disappointed your friends are going to be once you break the news to them that you wouldn’t be confessing to wonbin tonight, or ever.

“don’t apologize, wonbin,” you quietly tell him, and he wonders why it seems as though you’re about to cry. he shakes his head, getting the sense that you misunderstood his words. he looks back at your mutual friend group, seeing that they’re all preoccupied. wonbin seizes the opportunity, grabbing your hand and taking you to a secluded area of the theater.

“please don’t tell me not to apologize,” he breathes, “because i have so much to apologize to you for.”

you’re confused and concerned, your lips parting slightly. you don’t have the chance to savor the feeling of wonbin’s hand still holding yours because you’re mentally preparing yourself for whatever words he’s about to say. this is it, you tell yourself. you stare at the ground, anticipating the feeling of disappointment and rejection.

“i like you so much.”

you stop breathing as the words leave wonbin’s mouth. you’re terrified to look up, unsure if you’d even heard him correctly. he responds to your unvoiced worries by repeating the statement.

“i like you so much, and i’m sorry for holding it in this long,” he says breathlessly, “i’m sorry for letting sungchan talk about sangah all the time, because i didn’t want you to think that i could ever like anyone else.”

he continues despite your silence. “and i’m sorry for telling you all of this in a movie theater, of all places. i’ve been psyching myself up for weeks, but i couldn’t stand the thought of you not knowing any longer. i’m tired of misunderstandings.”

he finally takes a deep breath, and you look up at him for the first time. “are you serious?” is all you’re able to say. you want to be 100% sure that your mind isn’t being as cruel as it normally is when it comes to park wonbin.

he nods, appearing to be just as nervous as you are, and you think that’s good enough of an indicator that he’s not joking.

“you fool,” you breath out in utter disbelief, not knowing if your words are directed at wonbin or yourself. the boy looks troubled for a moment before he hears a noise similar to a sob leave your mouth.

you hide your face with your hands. “i was supposed to be the one to confess to you.”

it’s wonbin’s turn to be silent now, listening to you rant. “it was this whole thing— healing michael, dark star.. eunseok knew about it, and shotaro..” you trail off. your words don’t even make sense to yourself, and you doubt they make any sense to the boy in front of you. “my god, wonbin— i’ve liked you since the day i met you!” you cry, hands still obstructing your vision.

wonbin hesitantly takes it upon himself to grab your wrists, removing your hands from your face. “do you mean that?” he asks, trying to meet your gaze.

you don’t look him in the eye as you continue rambling. “i was so scared,” you tell him, “sungchan mentioned her out of nowhere that day and i was so scared. i thought she was your secret girlfriend, or something.” you feel stupid for telling him all of this, finally admitting to your jealousy.

“when i saw her for the first time, i thought it was over,” you shake your head, “someone so pretty having a crush on you? i felt like nothing next to her. sungchan even told me that she wrote down her instagram and casually handed it to you— i’d kill to be that confident in myself,” you’re not even paying attention to the words leaving your mouth anymore, wanting to get everything you’ve been holding in out of your system.

when you finally look at wonbin’s face, he looks sad, which startles you. you’re afraid that you’ve just killed his mood with your venting. “i’m sorry— i didn’t me-“ you’re interrupted by wonbin pulling you to his chest, shaking his head at your words. “you fool,” he repeats your words from minutes ago. “i can’t believe you’ve been feeling that way about yourself.”

he keeps you in his embrace as if you’d run away if he were to let go. “i can’t think of anyone prettier than you,” he mutters, “or nicer, or funnier. or anything, really, because i think of you more than anyone else. i guess it’s my fault, kind of. i could’ve expressed it in ways other than walking you to class and ordering dumb overpriced drinks for you.” you let out a quiet laugh at his last sentence and he smiles, pulling away slightly so he’s able to see your face.

“i guess we’re both kind of stupid,” you conclude, earning a nod from the dark haired boy. “only when it comes to you,” he says, “i happen to think i’m very intelligent on every other occasion.”

when you finally regroup with everyone, they’re all wearing looks of disappointment on their faces. upon asking what happened, eunseok shoves a thumb in sungchan’s direction, the brown haired boy adorning a sheepish expression. “this fucker got the time wrong. the movie was at 6:15, not 7:15,” eunseok grimaces, “i better get a refund for my ticket.”

“you didn’t even pay for it,” wonbin says, “i did. sohee’s, too.”

anton, having been the first one to notice both yours and wonbin’s disappearance from the group, narrows his eyes at the boy. “and where were you?” he raises a brow, attempting to look intimidating. wonbin dismisses him with the wave of a hand.

before you and wonbin decided to rejoin your friends, you had to tell him not to hold your hand, much to his dismay. only after discovering the reason why, did he reluctantly agree.

you stand as far away from wonbin as possible, putting on a melancholy act. shotaro is the first to take notice of this, putting a hand on your shoulder. “did you tell him?” he questions, your silence serving as an answer in itself. eunseok overhears, looking at you with pity in his eyes.

when anton finally sees the distance put between you and wonbin, he concludes that you weren’t able to tell him about your feelings. he sighs, shaking his head.

as if on cue, you look at wonbin with determination burning in your eyes, beginning to advance towards him. the group is silent as they watch the two of you curiously.

“dark star,” you begin straightforwardly, “i’m in love with you.” wonbin tries concealing his laughter as he swiftly takes in the reactions of his friends. eunseok smiles knowingly while anton and shotaro are wide-eyed. seunghan wears an amused expression, sohee’s eyebrows are raised, and on top of it all, sungchan looks incredibly confused.

wonbin, keeping up the act, covers his mouth in mock astonishment. “did you guys hear that?” he turns to his friends, who are now all aware that they’re being pranked. “my girlfriend is in love with me!” wonbin beams, “metal blaze, i accept your confession.”

eunseok clicks his tongue, nodding. “metal blaze, that’s a good one,” he notes under his breath.

“alright, we get it,” anton groans, “it took you guys long enough.” he turns to you, unable to stop a smile from forming. “i hope you know i was never actually going to tell him myself. i only said that in hopes of scaring you into telling him.”

you nod, “eunseok told me that already. and it wasn’t me that confessed to wonbin— he confessed to me.” everyone is shocked at your comment, seunghan walking behind wonbin and giving him a congratulatory slap on the shoulder. you purposefully skip over the fact that you all but cried to wonbin immediately after said confession about how much you liked him in return, and he pinches your side.

“you know, when you guys disappeared, i made a bet with shotaro that you guys were probably making out somewhere,” eunseok adds, “he said you guys were probably just in the middle of the whole confessing thing. i owe him seven bucks now.” shotaro pats him on the back with false sympathy.

as the topic of conversation shifts to something else, sungchan’s jaw is still practically on the floor. he looks at the way wonbin has his arm around your shoulders, head practically buried in your neck. he can’t stop himself from blurting out his next words.

“has y/n had a crush on wonbin this entire time?!”

AUTHOR’S NOTE! congrats to u if u survived reading all that ohhh lord i promise i’ll make y/n less unbearable next time but for now u guys are just gonna have to find it in ur hearts to forgive me… also it’s 5am rn and idk if i hate this fic umm we’ll see if i regret posting this when i wake up tmr

[wcnderlnds]

loser of the year | peter maximoff

SUMMARY: peter thinks you hate him because you avoid him at all costs but he soon figures out why. WORD COUNT: 1243 WARNINGS: none! brief mention of she/her A/N: i couldn't think of a name so spotify did me a solid and played my fave simple plan song and i rolled with it.

Peter couldn’t understand it. Days, heck, weeks had been spent with him trying to figure out what he’d done wrong for you to constantly avoid him but he was coming up blank. Nada. So, if he hadn’t done anything then what was the reason? Why did you always avoid him in the hallways? Why would you always make an excuse to leave whenever he came over when you were talking to Scott or Jean? It absolutely baffled him. Drove him insane actually. Once Peter got something in his little speedster head, he tended to obsess over it. He also didn’t like when he couldn’t figure something out. And, you were the biggest puzzle of all.

It happened again one day when you were sitting in the common room of the mansion. Lazily, you were laying across the couch, legs dangling over the arm while your head rested on the other side. Scott was sitting in the chair next to you, the two of you chatting about Logan’s latest lecture. Peter had been speeding through the hallways causing his trouble like always when he came to halt hearing your voice.

He jumped into the free chair on the other side of the couch, blowing a bubble with the gum in his mouth. “What’re we talking about?”

“I have to go,” you mumbled as you got to your feet. “See you later, Scott.”

Once you left, Peter scoffed, arms crossing over his chest like a spoiled child. “What’s her problem?”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

“She hates me, dude. I don’t even know what I’ve done,” Peter threw his hands up in the air, his frustration more than evident.

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“Pfft, yeah right. That’s why she always leaves whenever I show up. Whatever, doesn’t matter. It’s fine. Completely fine. I don’t want to talk to her anyway.”

It wasn’t like you wanted to avoid Peter – you really didn’t but you didn’t know what else to do. Usually, you were this confident person who could strike up a conversation with anyone. The easiest thing in the world for you was to make friends but when it came to Peter that all flew out of the window. He made you nervous. One look at him and you were flustered. It was like you lost your tongue, you couldn’t speak a word to him or even look at him unless you wanted to look like a human tomato. It was a problem – a huge problem.

Of course, you’d had crushes before. Many times but this was different. Never had you been so flustered by someone that you couldn’t stand to be around them. This was all new for you. Sure, Peter was attractive. He was probably one of the most attractive guys you’d ever laid your eyes on but what really drew you to him was his personality. He was so fun, carefree. Everything seemed like it was one big adventure with him. Not that you’d really had a full conversation with him but you’d seen how he acted during training. Scott had told you many stories about Peter. It really seemed like everyone loved him. Sure, maybe he came across a little annoying at times but you found that endearing.

Lost in thought, you were walking through the hallway, a book in hand. It wasn’t until you were hit by a brick wall - or what felt like a brick wall at least anyway - and knocked to the floor when you came back to reality. Your eyes instantly bore into Peter’s who had managed to knock the two of you down to the floor, his body laying on top of yours. His hands braced either side of your head so he didn’t completely crush you.

“Oop, my bad.”

Your cheeks instantly turned red at his nonchalance. How could he be so collected when his body was literally pinning yours to the floor? 

“Wasn’t paying attention,” he added.

Okay, so, he knew he should get off you. He knew he should get up and let you go on your way but this was the first time he’d got to speak to you without you instantly rushing off. What was a few more minutes pressed together on the floor? He looked at your face, your eyes avoiding his now, the faint tint of pink on your cheeks. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you squeaked out. Suddenly, you forgot how to breathe.

“What’s your issue?” Peter blurted out.

“What?”

“With me? Why’d you act like I’m the walking plague and avoid me at all costs? If I said somethin’ to ya at some point then I’m sorry but I’ve been wracking my brain and I don’t think I have.”

“I…” The words got lost on your tongue. ‘Seriously, get it together, brain,’ you thought. “You didn’t.”

Peter scrunched his face. “Then what is it? What’d I do to you?”

With his face so close to yours, his body pressing into you so you could feel every part of him, it was like someone had removed your brain from your head. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in there. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed as he noticed you avoiding his gaze at all costs. Then, it hit him. The way you couldn’t look at him, the blush on your cheeks. You liked him. A smirk graced that stupidly handsome face of his as he finally got off you, holding his hand out to help you up. Of course, you took it. His hand felt warm in yours, a little sweaty but you figured that was just because he had spent five minutes in that compromising position with you.

“You like me,” he pointed accusingly at you. His tone was smug. So damn smug.

“Wh-what? No!” A bold face lie.

“That’s why you avoid me. You got yourself a little crush on ol’ Quickie. I mean, who can blame you?” His grin lit up his whole face.

Now you really were flustered. Credit had to be given – he’d figured you out within five minutes of being around you and that was exactly why you had wanted to avoid being anywhere near him. This was going down as one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. Your hands went to cover your face that was now burning hot. 

Peter shoved his hands in jacket pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “S’cool, babe. Think you’re pretty cute too.”

That made you peer at him through your fingers. “Really?”

“Yeah when you’re not avoiding me anyway.”

“Sorry.”

He waved his hand at you to dismiss your apology. “All good. I’ma need you to stop running away everytime you see me, though.”

You nodded, bringing your hands away from your face. Suppose that was something you could do now you’d broke the ice. Or, well, Peter had broken the ice. You’d done nothing but say five words and break the world record for blushing. “Okay, yeah but… uh, I do have to go. Um… need to return this book.”

He stepped out of your way, letting you pass. As you walked away, he called after you with that shit-eating grin still on his face. “See ya, cutie. Might ask you on a date next time I see you if it doesn’t make you spontaneously combust.”

Peter snickered to himself, feeling pretty confident with himself as he walked away. Meanwhile you were sure you were about to melt into a puddle on the floor.

[erwinsvow]

𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

summary: rafe's realizing how much better he is now, ever since he met you

word count: 1.6k

now spinning: love song by lana del rey

author's note: can't think about anything else but rafe being happy n content.... eeeee <3

part of this little universe

Rafe’s beginning to think you’re really good for him. 

It starts off pretty small—little things, here and there. The way he doesn’t go to bed completely angry and pent up anymore—that’s because you text him good night, every night, without fail. Even when he doesn’t say it first, even when he’s not on his phone and told you he’d be busy taking care of stuff with his dad all day.

After your first date, when you were sitting in the passenger seat of his truck—licking on an ice cream cone he’d bought you after dinner because the two of you were have a difficult time trying to find a reason to end the night—he opens up his phone to add your number to his contacts, and you hover over his shoulder, choosing little emojis to have next to your name and being very picky about it. 

When you finally decide on the perfect combination, he turns to look at your face, which is way too close to his. He decides then and there that you wanted to be kissed, because you’d never get so close if you didn’t. The truth was that you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from how the little blue heart and butterfly and flowers looked next to your name in his phone, but he doesn’t need to know that, not if he’s going to kiss you like that every time. 

And now whenever he picks up his phone and sees those little blue shapes, he feels better, instantaneously. 

So much so that he doesn’t yell at Wheezie and Sarah so much anymore. That’s another small thing— Rafe can’t even recall what he used to get so annoyed about, so angry that he’d pick fights over it. Sarah’s never home anyways, but when she is, you’re making conversation with her, smiling up at Rafe trying to involve him in the discussion about whatever the hell you guys talk about. 

Wheezie’s always home, and he actually realizes how funny she is, especially with you. He sits on the couch with his laptop, looking at things that you don’t understand and don’t really care about, while Sleepless in Seattle plays on the television.

You and Wheezie sit next to each other, half-eaten popcorn and candy scattered between you two, a box of tissues within reach because you told her they were absolutely necessary, even though she didn’t believe you.

Rafe only looks up when hears the unmistakable sound of you sniffling and crying—panicking briefly, trying to make sure he handles this correctly, properly, so he doesn’t scare you away—when he realizes it’s just the movie. 

He lets out a sigh of relief, of which you take note. You turn to hand Wheezie a tissue and then look back at Rafe, worried he’s going to be annoyed that you’re crying over this movie.

It’s silly, because he’s been nothing but nice to you, sweet as sugar all the time, but you remember what your friends used to tell you, the back-and-forth with Sarah, Wheezie’s comments about how much nicer Rafe’s been recently. How he’s been nicer since he met you. You look at him for a little, seconds passing by as your heart thuds in your chest. 

“I can’t believe this-” you hear Wheezie sob in the background, reaching for another handful of popcorn. “They just left!”

You almost turn away from Rafe just then, not wanting to see his reaction, when he closes his laptop and slides his body over to sit closer to you, one hand around your shoulder pulling you close and the other reaching to grab a clean tissue, holding it in his hand for you, for when you need it. You smile against his chest, clasping your hand around his. 

“You really cry over this crap, kid?” You whine, a muffled noise of protest spoken against his shirt, half-hearted. “We all knew they were gonna end up together.”

“Yeah, I guess we did,” you murmur, not paying attention to the movie anymore, eyes hyper-focused on the shiny metal of Rafe’s ring on his fingers. 

“Shut up, Rafe, I’m watching this-”

“You shut up, Wheeze, and pass the chocolate.”

It’s become a regular occurrence, actually, having you around at Tannyhill. You go through plenty of movies with Wheezie, occupying her time while getting to be with Rafe. You join them for their periodic family dinners, dolled up in your nicest clothes even though Rafe tells you it doesn’t matter. He wants you down there in his hoodie, but you refuse.

You want to make a good impression on Ward, you tell him, that it’s important to you if his dad likes you, if he approves of you, if he likes having you around. Rafe doesn’t get why you care—you’ll still be in his life whether Ward approves or not—but he plays along with it.

You wear pretty blue dresses and bring chapter books from the library for Wheezie and some history novels for his dad. You’re all smiles and conversation at their normally silent table, which he thinks is nice. Rafe still believes it would be nicer if it was just the two of you, but he doesn’t say anything. 

A picture constructs itself in his head—you and him at the dinner table of your house, the house you two will have together. You’d decorate everything all cute—he can picture it now—but he’s really focusing on when you and he can have these family dinners together, a couple of high chairs and pureed food and screaming toddlers running around. He doesn’t know where the image came from, probably from the sweet way you are with his family, but now it’s rooted itself like an infection that’s impossible to get rid of. He thinks of it, and feels better, and it must be obvious to everyone around him, but you never say anything.

It’s gotten to the point where even Ward notices it, though he refrained from commenting for as long as he could. Besides for dinner and the occasional Good morning sweetheart when you’re passing through the kitchen with Rafe, he doesn’t bother you two much. 

That’s why it really surprises Rafe when he brings you up one day.

“You seem… better, son,” his father says, and he wants to summon up some kind of retort to fire back, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe the impact you have on him is bigger than he thought. “It’s good. She’s good for you. Make sure you take care of her.”

He thinks for a second. There was a time where the first thing out of his mouth would be Don’t tell me how to treat my girl. 

“Yeah, I will. Thanks, dad.”

And then, suddenly, you’re everywhere, a part of everything. He can’t even sit in his truck without thinking of how you should be in the passenger seat. His house feels empty when you’re not curled on the couch trying to decide on what movie to rewatch for the millionth time. He can’t even find any insults for your stupid Pogue friends, because of course they want to spend time with you, when you make everything brighter like this. 

Rafe used to think it’d be humiliating to feel like this, actually being dependent on someone for once, acting and doing better because of you and feeling better even when you’re not there. He doesn’t feel humiliated at all though, he feels surprisingly content, despite everything that’s going on. It’s all background noise now. He feels even better when his door opens, and you make your way into his bedroom.

“Hey,” you say, setting down your bag on his desk. It lands with a thud, probably filled with your current read and another couple of books for his sister. “They all went down to the Chateau to smoke, so I just came over, I hope that’s okay-” You stop talking when you turn and see how he’s looking at you, getting up from his bed to walk up to you. “Rafe? You okay?”

You look at him real sweet, like you’re wondering what could be wrong and how you can help fix it. It’s precious, but he already knew that. His father’s words run through his head again—he has to make sure to take good care of you. 

“Perfect. Even better ‘cause you’re here now.” You shove your hand against his chest, letting out a breath of relief.

“You scared me,” you say with a laugh. You go back to your bag, rustling through it to produce three books, just like he guessed. He starts smiling when you turn around to offer it to him.

“Got one for you this time.” You're beaming, eyes looking at him expectantly.

“Thanks, kid,” he says, and he can’t help the smile that’s growing. He brings you in for a hug the way he always does, arm around your shoulder and guiding you to his chest, and you lean against him like that, holding on tight, breathing steady in his grip. Whatever anger and frustration was bubbling inside melts away with every passing second of touching your soft skin and smelling the scent of your hair. 

It’s no surprise when you two end up a tangled mess in bed hours later, your head resting above his heart, wrapped in his grip, while you start reading the book you got for Rafe aloud.

“Y’know what we should do?” he starts, quietly, interrupting you while you’re flipping to the next page. 

“Hm?” you murmur back, feeling your eyes fluttering shut without the book open and ready to read to distract you into staying awake. Rafe’s skin is warm and his grip is tight. You could fall asleep in seconds right now.

“Get married.”

[slvttyplum]

pls pls pls write a gojo angsty smut based off the song wasted times by the weeknd, ILL GIVE YOU A KISS 😘

the nights got longer, dinner got colder, by the time satoru would come back home you would already be in deep sleep. you didn't want to believe whatever bad thoughts your mind was telling you, but everything pointed to satoru being someone else's, a part of you didn't want to believe it, but your heart ached.

your heart ached for him every night, sliding your arm on his side of the bed where the sheets lied cold, it hurt, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything about it, that was until you smelled a scent that never came through your nostrils, a sweet hint of vanilla, and before you could smell it again, his clothes were already in the washer.

“what was that?” crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame, watching him walk out the laundry room, his eyes tracing over you before smiling, taking a few steps closer to you before leaving an open distance. weird, all of this was weird, and you couldn't bare to be in this uncomfortable state he left you in every day.

“what was what, baby?” his eyes trailing over you again before mirroring your body language and crossing his arms, stepping closer again before leaving another open space. it was like he was scared to come closer to you because he wasn't expecting for you to be awake.

“who are they? who have you been fucking?” the words crawling out of your mouth with no hesitation and satoru's opening his with nothing coming out, just a few stammers before he tried to find his standing.

“no one. where is this coming from?” his eyes glossy as he stares directly into yours, before your eyes divert from his. you couldn't care to look at him until your heart believed that you were the only one living in his. all the signs were clear as day, but there was still a part of you that wanted you to believe that satoru wasn't that kind of man.

“where have you been? and what is that smell? why won't you touch me?” you start to choke up but hold yourself back when you realize he doesn't need to see you cry, there was no reason to, there were no answers given yet, you had to wait it out.

“they've been working me-” satoru didn't have time to finish his sentence before you cut him off, fuck this.

“whose they?” your eyes running back up to his eyes and he wasn't shaking, his body was still and even though you weren't looking at you before, his eyes were still on you, even if you didn't want to look at him. his eyes were always going to stay on you no matter what, you were always in the back of his mind, when he was sleep, taking a shower, eating, working, everything he was thinking about included you.

that's why when he came back from work he would walk to your side of the bed and crotch down and look at your beautiful face, not wanting to leave you but having to. his hand on your hip as he rubbed his thumb around a tiny spot on you, giving you a peck on the lips before taking a shower.

“work baby, work. what? am i getting cheating accusations now?” a little laugh coming out as he walks closer to you, holding out his hand and grabbing yours, putting his other hand on your cheek, leaning in and giving you a peck on the lips.

this shouldn't have made you feel at ease, but it did, you should've gotten more answers before letting him kiss you, let alone touch you, but his touch and scent made you melt under, why did you believe him? and why did you need him?

your hand slipping out of his grip and your arms going around his neck as he continues to kiss you, his kisses slipping lower to your neck and licking over your sweet spot, his hands sliding in your shorts and gripping your ass. the bulge in his pants pushing against your core, his sweet taste slipping into your mouth, making your eyes flushes.

his touch felt so good, especially the way he was gripping you, you were almost about to fall over from how good you felt, but satoru wasn't done. sliding his hands out of your shorts and pulling them down to your legs, letting them slip down while he slid your panties to the side, even one second would be too long so he just did your panties to the side while he pulled down his pants and briefs with the others.

his dick popping out, eager to be inside you, wrapping his hand around his length and lining himself up with you, sliding his length on your wet core, a small whimper coming out. still kissing him as your moans fall into his mouth, your back pushed against the wall and satoru slowly pushing himself inside of you.

“fuck… i missed you.” pushing himself deeper inside of you, satoru running his hands down your sides and on the back of your thighs, picking you up. his dick pushing into your wet spot making you throw your head back, satoru taking the opportunity to kiss your neck, that sweet taste he missed dispersing into his mouth, his cheeks flushed red.

your legs wrapped around him and his hands gripping your ass, your flesh all i his hands, each time he thrusts into you, he grips you harder, your moans coming out nonstop, he could touch your sweet spot with ease so you were in constant pleasure. holding your head back up and looking him in the eyes, they weren't the vibrant blue you would usually look at, but instead dark, almost unsettling until you realized his eyes were dilated.

satoru still pushing into you as he taps his forehead on yours, kissing you again before looking at you again.

“i'll never stop loving you, okay?” kissing again and looking at you, repeating the pattern, he never wanted to take his eyes off of you, like you were going to disappear from his clutch if he did.

“okay.” your eyes fluttering up at him as he goes in for a deeper kiss, before he pushes into you harder, his tip pressing into you making you yelp with pleasure, it was overstimulating.

“i want you to know that, baby, you're the only one for me.”

[houpss]

SKZ have a crush on you

you can come up with the ending yourself...whether the reader will be with the member or not is up to you!

light angst, a little fluff, uncertain relationship

Bang Chan

oh...this man talks about his feelings openly and without fear.

He literally phrases: "I'll steal and fuck your girlfriend while you're not looking."

He has a huge amount of female and male attention, but...

But it doesn't work out that way with you...

You were out of his reach.

You were too beautiful, too sweet, too good...he wasn't like that.

Chris is the one who will call you his muse and write romantic songs for you, some of which have been published.

His love is manifested in acts of care, he is always there, he is more tactile with you than with others.

He will give you whatever you want, just ask.

Chan has 8 members so he is like a dad...he protects and cares for them

And he also wants to take care of you.

He wants to love you openly.

But you didn’t notice his feelings.

Although...you loved Chris. Literally loved to the moon and back.

For some reason, it seemed to you that Chris only saw you as a friend or family member, just like his Members.

Yeah...close friends....

He will say exactly the same phrase to you:

"You came..."–"You called"

It seems you are both fools.

Maybe he's too soft with you? Maybe he needs to leave?

He won't be able to give up on you.

I will kill myself, I will destroy my soul, but I will be with you.

But i'll wait for you

I love you to the moon and back

기다려 여기 me and max

서운해해도 don't be mad

너한텐 할 수 없는 game (Bloo-But i'll wait for you)

Lee Know

How could Minho let this happen?

Lee Minho was head over heels in love with you.

No one has seen his loving eyes, no one has ever felt his gentle touch.

How did he allow himself to fall in love with you?

This is a completely crazy idea, he didn’t love to love.

But you turn his world upside down, he is literally lost in you.

You clearly feel like Minho hates you.

Minho is like cold winter, he is like snowy weather, he looks like frosty weather.

And you were in summer, you're complete opposites.

But even after the coldest winter, love comes.

He calls you the most beautiful adjectives, it’s like he’s trying to silently scream about his feelings.

He speaks directly and harshly, he loves the truth straight forward.

"And you will be obsessed with me, I will be everywhere: I will be in your favorite songs, I will be between the lines of books, I will be in every passerby... I am your addiction"

Lee Minho couldn't fall in love, but he wanted to love.

All the pretty stars shine for you, my love

Am I the girl that you dream of? (Lana Del Rey–Pretty when you cry)

Seo Changbin

He loved and hated you at the same time.

Oh.. Seo Changbin can hate?

Yes, he did it with you. He loved you so much that he hated you for it.

You were everywhere, you were ingrained in his existence and mind.

He was very sweet and friendly and loved people.

It didn’t work out that way with you, it was as if he deliberately didn’t want to have much contact with you.

He loved you silently, probably without asking for anything in return.

Before he even notices, he begins to pay attention to you... be it small acts of attention or dialogues with you.

"You can take Changbin out of first love, but not first love out of Changbin."

Again, it was like you were different, you weren’t like anyone else. He noticed you immediately when he met you.

He seems upset that you will never be his.

Oh...the boy is gloomy. The boy looks like a thunderstorm.

Conquer your lonely heart, get used to the emptiness.

When you ran your fingers over your lips

I bought it from glossy magazines

Everything you asked for and even what you didn’t ask for

How can you be so terribly beautiful? (Rocky-WITCH)

Hwang Hyunjin

Oh yes, you and Hyunjin have been friends since childhood.

It even got to the point that you are idols in the same agency. No wonder Hyunjin adores you, he's obsessed.

Fans loved your interactions, they were sure there was something between you and Hyunjin.

Hyunjin wants to get into your soul, he wants to take your heart into his cold hands.

You were the forbidden fruit, and forbidden fruit is always sweet.

It’s as if you’re chasing him, you’re everywhere, he feels you everywhere.

But you're just his friend, his sweet best friend.

It was normal for you to peck Hyunjin on the lips, naturally in private or during greetings (while no one was looking). Hyunjin feels addicted.

You are worse than drugs, you cause an addictive effect. You are his absolute delight.

The boy will paint your portraits, he will exalt you like a goddess.

So why do you only see him as a friend?

Hwang Hyunjin doesn't deserve to be your friend, he wants to be your boyfriend.

The boy loves to hurt himself, he loves hardcore. He loves pain and whines a lot.

He just replaces you with pain, it helps.

Touch me, yeah

I want you to touch me there

Make me feel like I am breathing

Feel like I am human (The neighbourhood–A little death)

Han Jisung

You never paid attention to Jisung.

But Jisung was so loud and cheerful that he started to annoy you.

Jisung did this on purpose, he liked you.

The boy will notice you immediately, you immediately fell into his soul. So cold and inaccessible.

He wants to melt the ice on your heart, he wants to become your sun.

Every day he fell more in love with you, the cold intensifying his desire.

“Your love is addictive” – your words

He is very kind and cheerful with you, he is so easy to talk to.

He won't give up to get you. Even when you send him the rudest obscenities

I'm your boy.

He will sing to you, and you will ask him to shut up. You secretly love it, his voice is so beautiful.

But you should hate Han Jisung because it's the right thing to do.

You would get closer to him, but...

No.

"Is it fashionable to jerk off to him?"

"hit of the season"

Lee Felix

It was impossible not to fall in love with Felix.

everyone loves Felix!

And he loves you.

This sunny boy literally drowned in his love for you, it completely absorbed him and did not allow other feelings to pass through.

But you don't seem to notice him.

Felix dreamed about you, you are in his thoughts. The first thought in the morning, a relieving thought when he is busy and the last thought before going to bed.

He's trying to get as close to you as possible

He will become your best friend.

Felix is too good, he is an angel in a human body.

The world is not worthy of Felix, so why did he love you?

Every day, like a painful melody, this unrequited love sounded in his heart. He experienced all emotions - from boundless happiness to deep sadness - alone

He couldn't imagine life without you

If you leave, there will be no point in living.

He writes you poems, he gives you the most expensive gifts, he just wants you to love him. Love him at least a little.

Perhaps his efforts will remain irretrievably lost in time. But one thing is certain: he will continue to love you, deeply and truly, even if he never hears your answer.

Come on scratch my back

So as to reach the heart

Both you and I want this (ЩЕНКИ–dirt)

Kim Seungmin

It's like he's afraid to get close to you.

On the contrary, he moves away. Every day it gets stronger, he loves you so much and doesn’t want to see you so much.

Seungmin took this step not because of a lack of love; in fact, on the contrary, he was struck by this love.

In every breath you took, every word you said, he found the perfect embodiment of his dreams. You were his sun, his muse, his everything.

But he knew he couldn't be with you. He saw how disappointed you were in your past love, how your trust and heart were damaged. He couldn't afford to repeat the same mistake. He couldn't risk their relationship knowing that the end could only be pain and disappointment.

It hurts so much to give up on someone you love.

He deserved happiness, he deserved love, but he couldn't have it with you.

He didn't want to ruin your life or be the source of your pain.

He will go away and it will be easier for everyone.

He will disappear from your life as suddenly as he appeared.

He will never forget you, he will never stop loving you. But he knows that sometimes the best decision is to let go of the one you love. This is exactly what he did because to him, your happiness was much more important than his own.

He looks at the dawn and remembers you.

Your nose is covered in cocaine, you can barely stand

I am the secret that you cannot hide

I think about you too much (Pharaoh-unplugged 2)

Yang Jeongin

You are his first love.

He sees a future with you, he sees stars in you.

It was the first time he felt such strong feelings for someone.

Oh, he is just learning about love, but it can hurt or beat sometimes. Love can completely break the psyche.

But he doesn't care as long as you exist.

Jeongin will turn to the Hyuns for advice. how to get your attention and make you fall in love.

He will be so romantic...he will be so gentle with you.

He is afraid to do something wrong so as not to scare you away

He will be a gentleman and will wait for the moment until you fall in love, he will do everything for this!

He will wait for you all his life if necessary, but I am sure that you will fall in love faster.

“He replaced my home, love and friends. He is my everything.”

Jeongin is like warm weather, everyone is waiting for him and wants him.

Feeling so lonely, 'cause it's not enough

Missin' you only ever since we fell in love (Ciggarets after sex–Touch)

[hyeinism]

( ♡ )⠀𝒆𝒏𝒉𝒚𝒑𝒆𝒏 as . . . 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 .ᐟ ❝ boy you're such a dream to me ❞ ꒷꒦ ot7 𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝜗𝜚 ⟢ headcanons & established relationship fluff ৲ 𝖒𝖞 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩𝔰 ㅤ ♡ ㅤ

𐙚 . . via's entry ❫ ilysm plz enjoy my first thingy, 2239wc | fem reader .

✦ . . 이희승 ！

bf!heeseung who does aegyo for you and only you! he’d make sure no one else was in close proximity and then go “heedeungie!!” before cringing, and shutting his eyes closed, only reopening them to see your pretty smile.

bf!heeseung who always knows what you want, even if u’ve just glanced at a cute plushie at the store for one second best bet he’ll buy you every plushie from that brand, becoz ur his prince(ss) ofc

bf!heeseung who’d write little romantic ballads for you and call you randomly throughout the day (even during sleep hours!) so that you can hear his melodic voice sing the most shakespearean lyrics about his love for u 🥰

bf!heeseung who is like a bf and a therapist all in one! literally send as many voice messages ranting abt ur life as u can to him becoz he will listen to all of them and then respond with a voice message 10x longer

bf!heeseung who gets a bit impatient… likes listening to u talk but did u know that if u go longer than 42.32 seconds without kissing him he will eventually just stare at your lips and mumble random words while u rant every now and then; it gets you all hot and flustered when you realize where his attention actually is. soon enough, you just go “just kiss me if you want to.” and that’s enough for him to look back up at you, grin and softly press his lips against yours (contrary to popular opinion his kisses would be very soft! 🤓☝️) while grabbing both your shoulders with his hands

bf!heeseung who loves ur shoulders for some reason?? i just have this gut feeling that his favorite part about you is your shoulders?? like idk why, my heeseung senses r just tingling. anyways yes, he’d rest his head on your shoulders, kiss ur shoulders, put his arms over your shoulders and around your neck and whatnot!

✦ . . 박종성 ！

bf!jay who’d spent astronomical amounts of money (willingly :)) in just a week!! he refuses to buy you cheap counterparts, expensive is what his pretty lover deserves !

bf!jay WHO WOULD COOK THE MOST GOURMET MEALS FOR YOU! if it is a cultural dish, he will take time out of his day to cook in the kitchen with you until he learns how to make said cultural dish, then he will make it for u 4ever and ever!!! jay is certainly a caring partner

bf!jay who gives u sm partner privilege it’s insane. like he’d do anything for you without a second doubt. ask him to help you look for ur phone? no need, he’s already bought you 10 different new ones!

bf!jay who is such a romantic partner?? like if ur at work late, he will set up a whole candlelit dinner (hand made cuisine) with “moonlight” by kali uchis playing in the background. (jay looks like that song :3)

bf!jay likes tracing his fingers over your delicately placed features like you were sculpted by Greek Gods, and he’s nothing but a mere commoner admiring your beauty.

bf!jay gets matching things for you two ☹️ matching pandora rings, matching shoes/heels, what is there that he wouldn’t wear to twin with you! hell, he’d even do that cute thing where he matched the color of his tie to your dress!

bf!jay who does likes to go out with you, but he also likes to stay in! no matter what, he wants to be with you.

bf!jay who thinks that reading a romcom cuddled up with you under rain is a perfect way to spend saturday afternoon! (hint: he doesn’t usually like to read romcoms, he just loves spending time with you too much to say no 💖)

to conclude, jay just loves to do things for you. he always tries to impress you/make himself the perfect boyfriend for you by planning dates, getting u gifts, and doing whatever you need at all times (i feel like he believes he’ll never be good enough for u 😕)

✦ . . 심재윤 ！

bf!jake who gets so shy around u?? like stop u could stare at him and when he finally notices he’ll giggle like a little girl about it. he has the biggest crush on you ever it’s unbelievable

“okay fine, i love you more than my dog. i love you more than anyone, actually. is that weird?”

bf!jake who is a playful and lighthearted person, he truly does not have the capability to get mad at you 💞

but ofc he’s human, so when you two (somehow) get into arguments, he’ll always be the one to show up at your door at like 3am with a cute pout on his face because he misses you (it’s been 6 hours since you guys have last talked??) anyways how could you say no to his puppy face! obviously, u let him in and you two cuddle the night away

bf!jake who calls you layla’s mom and gets like cuteness aggression when he sees you and layla together

bf!jake who would say “this is for you” before shooting a hoop (and missing) for shits n giggles

bf!jake who clings onto you like his life depends on it……. this guy is so clingy???? like stop u won’t be able to use your non dominant hand at all because jake is just grabbing onto it for dear life

bf!jake who would LOVEE if his girlfriend had soft and plush cheeks. he’d squish ur face and giggle continuously at how cute you looked, pouty-faced and all.

bf!jake who likes simple yet planned out dates. picnics, arcade dates, carnival dates, and more are all apart of his comfort zone! but if you wanted to try anything new, he’d totally be up for it

bf!jake who loves u sososo unconditionally and always sticks by your side!! he’s like the type to agree with you in public and softly correct you in private.

bf!jake who smothers you with affection hourly reminds you everyday that he loves ur hair, ur face, ur body, ur legs, ur hands, and most importantly, YOU!!!

✦ . . 박성훈 ！

bf!sunghoon who would take you on ice skating dates and then take photos of you slipping on the ice (which don’t even come out that good because he’s busy laughing 🙄 )

bf!sunghoon who teases you then smirks when you get flustered like you teasing him doesn’t result in him having a mental breakdown of some sorts??? like boy plz

bf!sunghoon WHO IS SO SASSY OVER TEXT?? he’s literally your princess. “🙄🫸” is his go to emoji combo

bf!sunghoon who posts mirror selfies of the two of you and tries to be mysterious in the captions: “me n my girl 🖤”

bf!sunghoon who learns random english phrases (or ur main language) to impress you with

bf!sunghoon who wants to match styles with his s/o. would love to be the classy, romantic, sort of private couple.

bf!sunghoon who isn’t that into pda but if someone else starts flirting with you or even looks at you he’ll start being all touchy until the other person goes away. he’s super protective of u but doesn’t really show it that often

bf!sunghoon who pretends to be annoyed when you steal his hoodies knowing damn well he likes when you take his hoodies because they always smell like you after you give them back!!!!!

bf!sunghoon who loves to go on late night walks with you. everytime he sees a wildflower, he’ll pluck it for you and tuck it in your hair

bf!sunghoon who definitely can not fall asleep unless he gets a goodnight kiss from you 💖

✦ . . 김선우 ！

as your boyfriend, sunoo would love your hair sm.

especially if you had long hair he’d buy you shampoos, conditioners, everything! he’d also love to blow dry your hair for you and style it and everything

bf!sunoo would 100% let you sit on his lap and practice your makeup on him!!

bf!sunoo who would love to bake with you!!!! like he would make cakes and then use icing to spell out you two’s intials on the top

bf!sunoo who’s favorite form of affection is holding hands 💞 he’d do the thumb thing and adores when you grabs his hand randomly throughout the day, it gives him butterflies!

bf!sunoo who gets you small bouquets of tulips everytime he sees you!

bf!sunoo who loves to lay on your chest while cuddling and listen to your heartbeat (not in a creepy way, it’s just super comforting for him)

bf!sunoo who places gentle kisses all over your face before you fall asleep. he always makes sure to fall asleep after you so you’re comfortable

bf!sunoo who goes over your drama with you and hates whoever you hate. he’s your best friend and your boyfriend all at once!

bf!sunoo who is insanely creative when it comes to date ideas. he will make sure that he is the one planning dates most/all of the time!! his favorites are picnics, art dates, café dates and museum dates!!

bf!sunoo who loves to have a runway show in your bedroom after every one of your shopping trips!! he would coordinate the outfits and then cheer you on as you strut down the hallway

sunoo would tease you (not that much tho) about your height (would love a short gf!!) and then giggle about it and you just have to accept it cuz it makes him happy and his smile is literally the prettiest thing ever

bf!sunoo who genuinely does not know how to hate you, he’d give the softest love ever ☹️

✦ . . 양정원 ！

bf!jungwon who loves to tickle you. ik it sounds weird but just hear me out 🥰 he’d definitely just tickle the side of your waist randomly while you guys are cuddling just to hear your laugh and annoy you

bf!jungwon who prefers to be called “won” or other nicknames/petnames by you rather than his real name. would pout if you ever called him “jungwon” and go “hey!”

bf!jungwon who keeps a collection of cute photos of you on his phone to go through when he misses u ☹️ it’s genuinely so wholesome.

bf!jungwon also would keep a folder of just a bunch of 0.5 photos of you doing random things and make them your pfp on all messaging apps.

bf!jungwon who does silly little tiktok couple trends with you whenever you ask him to

bf!jungwon would ask you to do a spin everyday to see your outfit and then gush about how good you look!!

bf!jungwon, who often stays up late at night with you while the two of you talk about the future family you will have. | a conversation between the two of you would go, “we’ll have two kids! or three? or four?” “no, we’ll have cats instead. two cats, and one of them is you!”

bf!jungwon who ruffles your hair teasingly only to fix it again, pulling at each strand and placing it in its place gently

bf!jungwon who texts you random romantic song lyrics throughout the day, which never fail to fluster you and make you giggle

bf!jungwon who is a sucker for cheek kisses. before you leave him, he’d be like “oh, you’re forgetting something :(“ and you’d always play along, “what?” you’d say with a giggle as he’d point to his cheek, the place where you’d leave a small but loving peck!

✦ . . 西村力 ！

bf!riki who gets butterflies whenever you call him his real name, riki, over his stage name. it makes him feel closer to you 💞

bf!riki who would make playlists for the two of you, naming them with you guys’ initials.

bf!riki who’d always had this fantasy of teaching his future girlfriend to dance, and that’s exactly what he does with you. he’d slowly wrap his arms around your own and guide them to the music.

bf!riki just would not let you get out of bed?? like every morning it’s a struggle for you 💔 “ni-ki let me go i’ll be late!” “no, 5 more minutes 😠” and how could u say no

bf!riki who always giggles in between kisses, causing you to pull away and lean your forehead on his while the two of you smile at one another fondly

bf!riki who LOVES to see u in his hoodies!! in fact, he’d even leave his hoodies at ur house just to see you wear it, and then tease you for it. “ew, give me back my hoodie, stinky.” he’d say, but in his head he’s kicking his feet at how ur body is engulfed by the cloth which is 10x too long for you.

bf!riki who pulls you out of bed late at night for impromptu 3AM walks to the convenience store.

bf!riki would teach you japanese and absolutely die everytime you try to say something in japanese for him

bf!riki who would tease you so much, especially if you were shorter than him, he’d misplace your things, putting them on high shelves and whatnot so you have no choice but to ask him to grab it for you

bf!riki who is super shy in front of other people, but when it’s just you two he gets super physical and touchy and affectionate!

bf!riki who mumbles sweet nothings into the crook of your neck while you two are cuddling after he’s sure you’ve fell asleep 💤 💖

tysm for reading! 𓂃 back to the library !

⠀

[owatazumi]

needed me. nishimura riki

— featuring nishimura riki female!reader warnings reader being called ‘beautiful’, fluff fluff and a bunch of flustered reader because they don’t call him rizzimura rizzki for no reason side note i recommend listening to ‘needed me’ by riahanna ;) word count around 737

riki decided to show you the new choreo he recently finished choreographing on a monday at 3.43 am… you weren’t exactly happy about the time he picked since you were quite occupied with your studies yet when he insisted on showing it to you today you gave in and met him at the dance practice room.

“i hope the choreo is worth the precious time i could have spend on my studies” you roll your eyes in annoyance yet the corners of your lips just couldn’t stay down as you saw his excited expression while he got the song ready.

as soon as you noticed what song he was going to perform for you, your eyes widen and the heat rushes to your cheeks in an instant.

“are you— seriously?” you look away from him in fear that he’d see your flustered face yet he had obviously already figured it out.

“what? don’t like the song choice? i think it’s perfect, especially for a late night session like this” he winked at you before pressing play and rihannas voice could be heard through the giant speakers.

his footsteps echo slightly through the room as he makes his way over to you, guiding you backwards so that he could have some more space.

“good god—“ you let out with a shaky breath as you look back down to the wooden flooring before managing to look up at him again, paying close attention to how he tugged on his hoodie, his pants and then rolling his sleeves up just for them to roll right back down since his hoodie was pretty loose and thin.

“you ready?” as he notices your pink cheeks and the way you fiddled with your phones case he started to smirk and let out a small chuckle of victory. he had you right where he wanted you.

“whatever…” you spit out nervously but your voice sounded more annoyed and irritated than nervous and flustered. “oh— somebodies feeling feisty” you roll your eyes at his remark once again.

bet you never could imagine never told you you could have it you needed me

his body moved with the rhythm of the song like he was one with it and his eyes never look away from yours to make sure that you’re actually paying attention and hell— you were paying attention to him…

oooh you needed me

he hits every beat and makes it look so effortlessly good yet you know that it was everything but effortless. his tongue glides along his lower lip, his gaze locks with yours and your heart skips a thousand beats as you pay attention to how the fabric of his top flies up whenever he lifts his arms, revealing a tad bit of his toned skin to you which makes you look away, covering your lower face with the sleeve of your hoodie. as soon as the part of the song ends to which he had choreographed something to he turns the volume lower so it could be heard in the background as he walks towards you. your face was turned the other way, not daring to look into his eyes at all.

“come on, beautiful… tell me what you think? anything i should change?” he knew exactly what effect he had on you. the way your flushed face was turned away, sleeve still covering your face making it too obvious that you liked everything about it. you were just too shy to admit it.

“was good…” he chuckles as he takes your face in his hand, tilting your chin upwards so you would look at him. “was good? got nothing else to say?” his face leans down to your level, mouth right beside your ear to whisper in a low and raspy voice

“i think there’s a lot on your pretty mind, don’t you think, beautiful?” he was playing with you, with the fact that you were so affected by everything he did and said, by everything about himself just in general. “w-was great… i-i liked it…” you notice the way his face was also slightly flushed, probably because of his performance just now.

“wanna show me how much you liked it?” his head tilts to the side as he leans further down to you, that smirk never leaving his handsome face.

“wanna show me how much you like me, hm? show me, beautiful…”

<33

[writing-mlm]

Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours. 

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings. 

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up. 

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him. 

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course. 

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch from staring at his sketch to staring at you. 

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation. 

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus. 

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long. 

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit. 

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else. 

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes. 

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps against your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down. 

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you. 

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches. 

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on. 

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there. 

“I have— thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick down to the first floor. 

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder as the doors close. There’s a silence in the elevator as it goes up to the second floor where you see your teacher waiting at the door to the waiting room, talking to a pair of students. 

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile. 

“You will.” 

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people. 

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat. 

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced. 

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek. 

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform. 

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it. 

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving. 

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.” 

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building. 

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes. 

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!” 

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus. 

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks. 

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.” 

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade. 

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush. 

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?” 

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone. 

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster. 

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it. 

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper. 

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.” 

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order. 

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force. 

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a chomping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?” 

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room. 

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves. 

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods. 

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

— 

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t stink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did. 

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne. 

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there. 

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted. 

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck. 

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face. 

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand. 

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside. 

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you. 

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd. 

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his. 

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn. 

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid. 

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.” 

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner. 

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare. 

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why. 

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.” 

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed. 

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes. 

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally. 

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence. 

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay. 

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile. 

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!” 

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,” 

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod. 

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show. 

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her. 

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him. 

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them. 

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art. 

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him. 

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself. 

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art. 

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it. 

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it. 

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance. 

The description catches your eye next. 

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life. 

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows. 

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it. 

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening. 

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake. 

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you. 

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me. 

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been. 

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him. 

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his. 

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling. 

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears. 

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus. 

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and there are several ghostly figures of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles. 

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look. 

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you. 

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting. 

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people. 

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before. 

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs. 

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you. 

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod. 

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it. 

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it. 

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing. 

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.” 

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees. 

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.” 

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone. 

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.” 

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug. 

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,” 

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his. 

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance. 

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinky curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss. 

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you. 

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue. 

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles. 

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”

[chaoticace2005]

Reasons why I, Husk, will not get involved with the spider demon known as Angel: (now complimentary to Angel's list on why he wanna be fucked by BE WITH Husk)

Literally why would I? He’s so damn fake. And his movies suck. And he talks so damn much.

He’s too damn tall. What am I supposed to do? FLY to kiss him?Note: His annoying older brother is significantly shorter. But TOO short. Also not my type. Not that Angel IS my type.

Alastor wouldn’t like it (but who the fuck cares what some radio bastard thinks)

He’s decorated in hearts. IM decorated in hearts. That’s too many damn hearts.

Shedding.

Too many damn arms. Would probably be a good cuddler and I’d never get out of bed. Leading to both of us being killed by the radio demon.

He’s trying to get into heaven. I’d just mess it up.

Literally has any better option and deserves better.

He’s probably get into my stash and drink me dry.

If we’re both power bottoms at rock bottom how would that work?? (AN: this is just a joke from the song 😂 Husk may not be one)

We’re both under soul contracts. Our lives are messy enough as is.

The princess might explode from happiness.

Niffty’s gone on killing sprees against spiders in the past. Don’t want to get him tangled into that.

Don’t want him to get tangled into ANY of this

I purr around him. I am NOT a cat.

I’m stupidly soft around him. I’m NOT soft.

I’m an addict. He’s trying to recover.

He has a cute pig that eats all my damn cherries.

I don’t want to ruin whatever the fuck we DO have. He’s not his trauma, but there is trauma and I don’t want him thinking I’m using him for sex like everyone else seems to.

I lost the ability to love years ago.

Shitty ass poker face.

Drinks the fruitiest damn cocktails that are honestly an affront to bartending.

Looks TOO good in drag (looks too good in anything.)

Too good a parent to Niffty. Kid will get even more spoiled.

Would I really date someone named ANGEL DUST?

His mafioso brother would probably kill me if shit happened

Sounds too good when speaking Italian

Gives people a way to hurt us.

It's better if I'm a man with nothing to lose. (It might be too late for that now though.)

[buckyalpine]

pleaseee idk if uve done this yet but can u do a fic where bucky is so afraid to be close with u. Then one faithful day an agent starts flirting with u and bucky loses it like he doesn’t understand this feeling, he gets all hot headed and all he knows is he wants u all for himself. AND SHIT GETS ALL HOT N STEAMYYYY. this was inspired by the song close by nick jonas

I. Love. This. 

18+ Jealously, possessiveness, desperate rough sex, sweet sex, horny Bucky got out of his cage. 

First of all, he really doesn't even understand the feeling of liking someone (he doesn't like most people anyway). He's been on dates. Plenty of them actually and they were all fine. Just fine. He never cared about seeing them again, figuring it was a result of how his brain was fried over and over again.

Then you came along. He doesn't understand a damn thing that's happening to him. When you smile, his heart beats a little faster. When you laugh or talk to him, his tongue stops working and all he can do is blush. When you say his name, he swears his body heat shoots up. 

This is the first time he's felt anything like this after decades.

He swore to himself it was nothing, sure you were adorable, sweet, beautiful but that was it. You were so kind to him, your voice was soothing like honey, It didn't matter that you were gorgeous, sexy, such a doll-

What was he doing.

The intensity of what he felt scared him. He didn't want to get close to you and it wasn't like he had feelings for you, something was just going on with him. It'd go away eventually. He told himself that every single day. He continued to keep his distance from you, figuring all these feelings would disappear soon.

However.

Tonight was something else. He wasn't feeling a light pitter patter in his heart. No. It was raging and thumping. His nostrils flared each time he looked over and he didn't even know why. He had 0 reason to feel like this but it was all happening on its own. 

"Fucks wrong with you" Sam snorted, watching Bucky's jaw clench, his eyes trained on the new agent that was caressing your arm while you both sat at the bar. His ears felt hot the second the agent leaned over to whisper in your ear, Bucky saw red. Whatever he was feeling was at another level, it wasn’t a cute little blush on his cheeks, his heart wasn’t lightly racing. Seeing another man try to touch what he already wanted drove him up the wall. 

You were his. 

What-

He shook his head at the rogue thought that kept intruding his mind, but only more followed.

He wanted you. 

All to himself.

He wanted every part of you, you’re pretty sweet face, soft voice, gorgeous body. 

All to himself. 

No other thoughts occupied his brain anymore, all logic out the door, he didn’t give a fuck who was trying to get near you, that was no concern of his. His body felt hot, he couldn’t just sit and watch anymore. He stalked over to the bar, disregarding the agent that was desperately flirting with you, he was going to take you and claim you. 

“James!” You gasped, feeling the cool metal of his hand grasp your wrist, tugging you off the stool, dragging you through the crowd and up to the hall of your rooms. “James, what are you-

Before you could finish speaking, he cut you off, caging you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head. 

"I want you" His chest rumbled against yours, pressing you further against wall. You squeaked, gasping when you felt his hands trail onto your waist, his nose nudging against your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. “Now”

"If you don't tell me to stop, I won't control myself" That was the best warning he was able to muster, using all of his will power not to rub his erection on you. You nearly felt light headed, the scent of his cologne evading your senses, his body heat warming your skin. He smelled so fucking good, his beard rubbing against your skin causing shivers to run down your spine. 

“James, I-

“Tell me to stop” He growled, his hands gripping your waist tighter. “s’getting harder for me to keep my hands to myself baby” 

“Don’t stop” You whimpered, moaning when he smashed his lips onto yours, walking you back to his room without breaking your lips apart. He kicked the door closed, nipping and kissing your skin, sucking dark bruises onto your neck until the back of your legs hit the edge of his bed. 

He panted, his forehead resting on yours, trying to collect himself, his hips rutting against your core causing your dress to ride up. You couldn't hold back your moans, feeling his length press and rub onto your clit, spreading your legs further and wrapping your thighs around his waist. 

“You gonna let me have you?” He mumbled against your lips, groaning when you tugged at his shirt. His mind was all over the place, usually when it came to you, he thought of softness and sweetness. After seeing you tonight, he needed you to be covered in him, filled with him, fucking smell like him. “Baby, m’telling you, if you don’t tell me to stop, m’gonna fucking ruin you” 

“Don’t hold back James”

That was all he had to hear. 

He stripped his clothes off, throwing them aside, giving his cock a few tugs before pulling you up to take your dress off. 

“I need you naked baby, wanna see all of you” He didn’t waste any time pulling the straps down, along with your tiny panties, throwing it aside before crawling on top of you. He trailed kisses down your body, licking and nipping your skin, smirking each time you whimpered, his arms spreading your legs apart. You felt your body heat up, wanting to cover yourself up but he wasn’t having any of that. He spread them further apart, loving the way you squirmed, biting your lip while he nearly drooled at the sight of your dripping cunt. 

“S’pretty baby” He looked mesmerized, licking his lips, “So wet” 

“Jamess” You whined, your thighs flinching under his hold, wanting to close your legs so badly but he held them apart firmly, tossing them over his shoulders. 

“All shy for me pretty baby?” He groaned at your perfect scent, his cock leaking onto the sheets. His fingers spread your pussy apart, getting the perfect view of your needy clit and fluttering entrance. He licked a thick stripe through your folds, lapping your wetness before getting to his absolutely favorite part. He started off with soft kisses onto your clit, his cock growing harder with your whiny moans needing more. His lips sealed around your sensitive nub, suckling you making you cry out, grabbing his hair, back arching off the bed. He moaned around your clit, softly sucking while grinding his cock against the mattress, his hands digging into your thigs.

“You taste-” He sucked your clit again, his eyes rolling back “So sweet baby” He let his tongue move in circles, flicking and teasing it repeatedly, loving the way you gushed and soaked his beard. “Go a head, cum on my face doll” He pushed two fingers in you, pumping and curling them to stroke that spongy spot making you cry out. “Cum baby, fucking cum, soak my face doll”

“JAMESJAMESFUCK-” Your thighs closed on his head, tugging his hair making him groan, his balls throbbing as he felt your juices soak his face further. He kissed your sensitive clit before crawling on top of you, stroking his cock, rubbing it through your wetness.  

“Can’t wait any longer, need to be inside you” You brought your legs to wrap around you, your arms gripping onto his tight biceps, waiting for him to stretch you. You moaned, feeling his cock nudge against your entrance, his thick swollen tip making your stomach flutter. 

“Fuck James” You cried out as he started to fill you inch by inch, his hands fisting the sheets already, your pussy clenching around him. “Fuck me baby” Your nails dug into his shoulders making him groan. He didn’t bother with warming you up first, bringing his knees up slightly, and fucking you hard and fast without holding back, his balls slapping your ass with each stroke. 

“I want you” He grunted, pushing his cock in as deep as it would go with each thrust, desperate to be all the way inside you. “Fuck, I want you” He let his body fall onto you, legs nearly slipping against the sheets, his hips rocking and grinding against you while he gripped onto your wrist with one hand, the other grabbing onto the head board. 

“You have me baby” You cupped his cheeks, stroking his face while he groaned, fucking you harder. 

“Not enough, fuck, I want you all to myself, wanna be the only one to have you like this, only one to touch you, fuck you, make love to you” He wrapped his arms around your body, panting against your neck, his cock starting to twitch. 

“You already do Bucky” You kissed his lips, rubbing yours hands all over his body, his skin hot, “M’all yours baby, just yours” 

“Yeah?” He grunted, bringing his knee up to fuck you even deeper making you scream, his cock swelling, balls growing heavy. “You’re mine?”

“FUCK JAMES I-” You couldn’t formulate words, your legs shaking as he slammed into you, “YOUR COCK-S’DEEP” You claws onto his back, your juices squirting and dripping onto the sheets, your pussy clenching around him. 

“C’mon baby, I want your cum” He moaned, fucking you harder, desperate for you to make a mess all over his bed, “Give me your cum angel, cream on my dick, it’s your cock baby, go on, make a mess on it baby, make a mess on this cock” 

“OH GOD FUCKKK” You sobbed, feeling your orgasm rip through you, “pleasepleaseplease- “ You let out a silent scream and he continued to fuck you through your high. 

“That’s it sweetheart, look baby” Bucky cupping the back of your head, making you look at where you were both connected, his cock nearly white covered in your slick. “My cock’s all covered in your cum baby, would stroke myself with your cum if I could” 

You gave him a dazed look, a smirk flashing across his face, pulling out of you for a moment, moving up so his cock was hovering above your face. 

“See what a mess you made on me baby?” He wrapped around his soaked cock, giving himself long slow strokes, moaning at how wet and silky his length felt covered in your slick. “Feel’s so fuckin’ good baby, I’d be touching myself way more if it always felt this good” He threw his head back, letting his metal hand come down to cup his balls, moaning. You sat up slightly, pulling his cock into your mouth, catching him off guard.

“OH Shittt- He nearly came on the spot, feeling your plush lips wrap around the head of his cock, your tongue working in circles. “My hungry greedy baby” He smirked, letting you lick the tip of his cock clean before pulling you off” I wanna cum inside you baby, s’too sensitive right now” 

He pushed his cock back inside you, moaning at the way you wrapped your body around him, kissing his skin, cupping his face, your eyes glassy and hazy. 

“Can feel your cock throbbing baby” You cooed, kissing his nose, licking up his neck, “Feel’s so good Bucky, cum in me baby, let me feel you” His pace grew sloppy, clinging onto you, he’s starved his orgasm for as long as he could. 

“Oh fuck, you’re all mine, you belong to me baby, not gonna ever let you go” He grew more desperate, his cock throbbing, your tight heat fluttering and clenching around him. “I’m gonna cum” 

“Cum for me Bucky”

“M’gonna cum so fucking hard for you angel-I-SHIT-I-M FUCK M’ cumminggg” He moaned into your neck, giving you three hard thrusts, spilling his load into you. “This is all for you baby, all just for you” He couldn't help himself, nearly rolling around the bed with you, rutting his softening cock into your soaked cunt, making sure he gave you every single drop. “S’all for you sweet girl” 

You both laid down, wrapped in the sheets, sweating and panting, bodies still convulsing with post orgasmic shocks. You gasped, feeling his arm wrap around your waist pulling you over to cuddle, his fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. 

“Y/n?” You blinked, looking up to meet his soft blue eyes looking down at you, his hand cupping your cheek. “I meant what I said baby, I want you all to myself”

“You-you like me?” You whispered, your heart soaring. You’d liked Bucky for ages but you were certain he wouldn’t be interested. You were prepared for him to kick you out at the end of the night, indulging in a one night fantasy if that was all you could get. But now..

“You’re such a darling baby, how can you expect me not to fall for you” He brought you closer to kiss your lips, biting his lip nervously, wondering if you wanted that with him, “If you don’t feel the same, it’s okay I-

You cut him off, kissing his deeply, only pulling away for air. 

“You promise?”

“I promise baby doll” He nodded, cradling your body to his, the soft pitter patter returning, and cheeks blushing. “M’all yours doll” 

Tags: @glxwingrxse  @hungryyeyess  @sebsgirl71479  @beabutterfly987  @teambarnes72  @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass  @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan  @buggy14  @whimsyplaty92  @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec   @pono-pura-vida   @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z  @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog  @happyt0exist   @emmabarnes  @bethyruth @matchat3a  @cjand10   @getwellsoontana  @cherryschaos   @lokisasgardianvampirequeen  @ashenc-blog  @buckybarnessimpp   @potatothots  @goldylions  @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog  @kingfleury   @peaches1958   @spiderman-stilinski   @peaceinourtime82  @gublur   @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46   @lolawassad  @almosttoopizza   @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess   @buckycallsmeaslut    @kamaria-sweet-writes  @charmedbysarge    @xnorthstar3x  @kryoee7 @alina02  @gh0stgurl    @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club  @eralen   @carrotfantasimp

[bigtreefest]

Details

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Ransom can’t help the way he pays such close attention to every detail regarding you

Word count: 1,081

Content/warnings: very sappy Ransom, no dialogue, ransom’s internal monologue?, references to intimacy, kisses, lots of timeline switching? (Flashbacks and returns to present)

A/N: Below is the song which inspired this fic. It’s been a longtime favorite and I think it definitely fits the summer vibes

I guess we can call this a part of my summer celebration! It’s a vacation at a beach house, and probs an equal partnership? Based off a song. Yeah, I make the rules.

Anyway, comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

Ransom didn’t really have a name for this feeling, despite his vast vocabulary. The main reason was that he had never really felt it before, so how could he be sure? It was definitely beyond the simplicity of the lust he had felt on several occasions. Was it admiration, adoration? Whatever it was, he was sure it went both ways from the crooked smile you gave him as you stretched in the dim morning light.

After a week of your getaway, it was the last morning the two of you were waking up in his family’s coastal home. He loved the way the rays coming through the curtains graced your face, especially today, as you laid tangled in the sheets of the king-sized bed.

The past week had been filled with relaxation and enjoyment each day. Beach picnics, sunbathing, swimming, and…other…enjoyable…things. Those were his favorite. He was desperate to get to that, but not desperate in the moment, where he was worshipping you and your body, and every little thing that he could commit to memory. He never wanted to forget this time; it was simple, with no deadlines, no responsibilities besides each other, although he’d never call you a chore. You were a pleasure. One he was sure he didn’t deserve.

Ransom watched closely as you sat up, the sunshine creating a crown around your head and hair. He couldn’t help but notice you. All he saw was you.

His entire life, Ransom had always noticed the details. That was his strength: little things no one else picked up on, and they were all around him, but honestly, when he was looking at you, he couldn’t tell you anything going on in the background: what he had planned for today, or what he’d done before you woke up the day before.

When you’d gone out to eat at that one restaurant, the one that he thought probably had an ocean view, he couldn’t remember, he wouldn’t be able to recall a single song that had played during dinner.

What he does remember, though, is everything about you that night. The way the sea salt in the air from the long day had added a little extra wave to your hair- tightened the coil, how your skin glowed from the golden hour sunset shining through the glass by the table, the way you got a little tongue-tied after you shared your third glass of wine, which the waiter so rudely interrupted your story to ask if you wanted. No one deserved to stop your beautiful voice from talking, not even Ransom, and especially not the weirdly kind young man pouring the bottle. What was the waiter so nice for, anyway? That quickly left Ransom’s mind, though, attention switching to something much more important. He was completely focused, just not on the usual, external things. There were different details his brain favored these days.

Ransom had visited the coastal home since he was young, playing with the neighbor’s kids while his parents were off doing who knows what. Now, he couldn’t care enough to retain the name of the guy who lives next door. That sort of information was trivial when there was someone else who he would’ve rather had take up every corner of his mind.

That night after dinner, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you in the car, stealing every glance he could without veering off the road. Hundred dollar bills could be falling from the sky and he wouldn’t even notice, which carries its weight when all that Ransom’s ever valued, all that’s ever been steady in his life, is money. That was until you and whatever feeling you were giving him for the first time. It was as if he finally hit the threshold of realization to what’s been creeping up on him this whole time.

Upon your return to the beach house, the two of you laid in bed, cuddled up close as the light from the TV playing late night talk shows danced across the bedroom. You were tucked up into his side, your head on his shoulder as one hand crossed his body and rested on his hip, his one arm doing the same to you as the other tangled in your hair, gently massaging your scalp. He watched as your eyelids fluttered shut, heavy with tiredness of the day and comfort in his hold. Another moment to be savored: your absolute trust in the security of his arms. He smiled to himself as you mumbled in your sleep, studying every little quirk of your lips, every barely intelligible word he could catch, not judging, but committing to memory.

In another life, Ransom would’ve tried to deny that you were any more than just another girl, but there was no use. He was too far gone. Finding ways to surprise you, shower you in gifts, and all the quality time you asked for. Whatever you could desire, really, it was yours, and he had no business withholding from you. His heart wouldn’t allow him.

Ransom was in tune with everything you were doing right now. He pushed aside the thoughts of the week’s earlier memories with you for a second, and cleared everything else nonessential from his mind. He only needed space for what was going on currently. He observed as you scooted closer to him, pushing aside the pillows that were often just so as you slept. Absorbed the way your head tilted to the side at that certain angle when you were leaning in, just about to kiss him. He surely didn’t want to miss it as he closed his eyes and let you fall into him, tongues dancing in an amatory rhythm. So in sync, so naturally that he didn’t care about anything else. Every detail was something he wanted to devote his attention to; memorize and hold onto forever.

Yeah, he should probably get up and make you your coffee. How he loved to see you stir it, just the simplest task, but this felt more pressing. The warmth in his chest from your touch, the way your kisses filled his lungs with light, with life. How your fingertips traced up and down his chest, tucking into the waistband of his boxer briefs. He shuddered at the sensation, at what even your gentlest touch could do to him. Breakfast could wait. You offered enough to feed his soul forever. This feeling? The new wholeness? It was love.

Bonus A/N: Soft!Ran. I only know him. Could you imagine a nice little rainy day in bed, looking out the window at the coast?🥺

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[samkerrworshipper]

exile | alexia putellas x reader

songfic based off of the song exile by taylor swift

warnings: pure angst, hurt/no comfort, cheating (sort of), divorce

I can see you standing, honey

With his arms around your body

Laughin’, but the jokes not funny at all

Tonight isn’t much different from your normal Sunday night.

Barca had beaten Atletico convincingly early in the day, unsurprisingly.

Locker room celebrations had very quickly been moved to a popular Barcelona club, a place that a lot of your teammates were thriving in.

There was dancing, drinking, partying.

It was the Barca way, Sunday nights were a good time.

You were seated in a corner of the club, surrounded by the likes of Keira and Aitana, your more introverted group watching your friends on the dance floor.

Your eyes didn’t budge from your girlfriend, who was on the dance floor.

It wasn’t abnormal, Alexia was one of the first people to hit the floor after a good win, you were happy with that.

The part you were less happy with was who Alexia was choosing to dance with, and how she was choosing to dance with said person.

Alexia was tipsy, which was clear in her mannerisms and the constant laughter falling from her plump and beautifully red lips which were softly singing along to the song that was thrumming against the floor of the club.

She was in the middle of the floor, surrounded by other teammates, grinding up against Jenni to the beat of the music.

Their bodies were practically intertwined, Jenni’s arms tangled around Alexia’s waist whereas Alexia’s arms were reached behind her back, resting on the small of Jenni’s back.

It was almost pornographic the way they moved up and down against each other, more like an organised rhythm that was well practised in contrast to an alcohol influenced jig.

You don’t want to feel jealous, but you can’t help it when Alexia is grinding up and down on her ex girlfriend in ways that you wished she would to you.

No, the grinding, the public displays of attention, any evidence of love between the two of you, that had faded long ago.

I think I’ve seen this film before

And i didn’t like the ending

You’re not my homeland anymore

So what am I defending now?

You’d love to be able to say that this isn’t a common occurrence, but it would just be a lie. Alexia is shamelessly attractive and dances like a stripper in all of the best ways.

You have appreciation for that, but a part of you always feels betrayed when Alexia so openly flaunts herself on somebody else, especially her ex, but it’s also something you’ve become accustomed to, whether you want to admit it or not, Alexia was never yours to keep, maybe for a short amount of time, but never long enough for her to take a permanent place in your life.

You don’t try and make excuses for her inattention to you anymore, not like when at the end of your honeymoon phase when Alexia started to drift.

It just hurt more, making up excuses when they were all untrue, you couldn’t defend Alexia’s actions, not to yourself, not to anybody on the team, not to the general public.

You were my town,

Now I’m in exile seein’ you out

I think I’ve seen this film before

For whatever reason it doesn’t bother you as much anymore.

You’ve watched Alexia walk out the door hundreds of times, and every single time she’s come back.

It’s some kind of weird toxic attachment where neither of you really love each other anymore but for whatever reason Alexia has chosen you to become attached to and you can’t do anything but sit by and watch as she detaches herself everyday only for her to reattach herself when she falls into your arms every night.

Once upon a time, Alexia was your everything, the reason your heart kept pumping, the solution to every single one of your problems.

I can see you starin’, honey

Like he’s just your understudy

Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

The worst of it all, Alexia looks, Alexia dances, Alexia smiles that same way she used to with you. You wonder if she’d smiled at Jenni the same way when they’d been together, if she’d loved her so viciously before becoming bored with her.

Alexia dances with Jenni like they’re the only two people in the room, and you’re frightfully aware that if anybody were to even attempt to get between them Alexia would put up a fight.

Second third and hundredth chances

Battling on breakin’ branches

Those eyes add insult to injury

It’s not like the whole situation is new to you either.

There has been plenty of women before Jenni, and there will be plenty afterwards.

You’ve stopped trying to count the amount of women that Alexia has toyed around with whilst being in a relationship with you.

She doesn’t cheat, she doesn’t break that barrier, she dances, she smiles, she laughs, she gives away every part of herself that matters the very most to you.

Sex and libido be damned, you’d spend every single day of your life in pain if it meant you got to experience Alexia smiling at you once again, laughing or craking jokes in front of you.

Those moments, those chances, are long gone.

Her eyes, the beautiful greenish hazel orbs no longer bother themselves with you, it’s almost insulting how she so easily can smile at Jenni when she can never manage to even give you a little quirk of her lips here and there.

I think i’ve seen this film before

And i didn’t like the ending

I’m not your problem anymore

So who am I offending now?

You don’t even flinch when the dancing turns into an extremely intimately looking hug, the two women continuing to grind up and down on each other as they stare at each other with a kind of earnestness and conviction that would make any girls’ heart flutter.

Alexia long ago learnt that you would never dare to object to her rather unprofessional moments with her teammates, you didn’t have the heart to.

She didn’t care if she hrut you, didn’t care if it killed every single organ and burst every single blood vessel in your body if it meant she was having a good time.

You were my crown

Now i’m in exile, seein’ you out

I think I’ve seen this film before

So I’m leavin’ out the side door

Ever since your Alexia, your heart, your soul, your home, became La Reina, she hasn’t been the same.

She had her crown, she had her throne, she had the world beneath her feet.

You would never be good enough for her, how could anyone be?

It’s fine, you're used to it, you're used to the sideways glances at other women, your okay with Alexia partying with other women. What you aren’t used to, or okay with is Alexia making out with her ex girlfriend, right in front of you, in the middle of a club, with all of your teammates surrounding.

Suddenly, before you can think or breathe or do anything your standing up, before Keira can try to stop you and bolt from the club, finding the nearest door and pushing it open.

The cold rush of the Barcelona air in the empty alleyway is the only thing that forces you to take a breath, the brittle cold air forcing it’s way into your lungs and burning against your wet and tearful eyes.

So step right out, there is no amount

Of crying i can do for you

All this time

We always walked a very thin line

You don’t want to cry, not when subconsciously you are crying over a woman that hasn’t been remotely yours in a long time.

You are though, big fat tears are rolling down your face unceremoniously as you try to regain your composure.

You don’t ask much of Alexia, you don’t expect much when it comes to receiving affection from her or receiving anything much from her.

You do expect one thing, if she’s going to be in a relationship with you, then she is going to stay loyal, there is no room for infidelity in your life.

You can’t handle that, you can’t handle spending every minute of every day that you are apart from Alexia wondering what she’s getting up to behind closed doors. You trusted Alexia with one thing, and she managed to betray that one piece of trust you harboured for her.

You know that Alexia has always teetered on the line of things, often blurring the lines of infidelity, but she’s never crossed it, she’s never kissed another girl, she’s never stepped out on you.

So this, it feels like a train has hit you straight in the chest.

You didn’t even hear me out (you didn’t even hear me out)

You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

You're not left out in the cold by yourself for long, the sound of the club side door opening, pulling you from your own mind.

Alexia is standing in front of you, hands fidgeting in front of her stomach as she looks at you, her front teeth biting down on her front lip as she tries to assess the damage.

“Bebita-I.”

You cut her off with your teary eyes and croaky voice.

“Ale I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to know.”

The Alexia you’ve grown used to would walk away, leave you in the dust and go back to whatever fun she’s having, but she doesn’t.

“You won’t even hear me out?”

You look up at her, the tears instantly drying and your look of pure agony transitioning into something of anger.

“I won’t hear you out? Alexia you just fucking cheated on me, no warning, no signs, just kissed your ex girlfriend in front of me, I don’t want to know why, I don’t care, clearly you didn’t care when you were making out with another woman in front of me.”

Alexia bites down further on her lip, teetering on the edge of drawing blood as she observes you.

“It’s not like that.”

All this time

I never learned to read your mind (you never learned to read my mind)

I couldn’t turn things around (you never turned things around)

‘Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

So many signs, so many signs

You didn’t even see the signs

You’ve known Alexia for ten years, you’ve been dating her for seven, married for four.

Those years don’t matter to her, they hardly matter to you anymore, but they mean something, you’ve devoted ten years of your life to a woman and sure, she’s not perfect, she’s everything but, it’s ten years of history though.

“It’s not like what? Alexia I can’t read your fucking mind, I can’t decipher everything you are thinking, so please, enlighten me, how the fuck is this not like that?”

Alexia, in all her years, has never seen you like this, you’ve never once raised your voice at her out of anger, she figures it’s a long time coming but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Can we just forget about it?”

That hurts you even more, unless Alexia has a magical brain wiping machine, you know that neither of you will ever be able to forget this, your teammates won’t forget it, it’s not something forgettable.

“Of course, let’s just forget about it, god forbid La Reina ever had to put in the work to turn her shit around and get her life together and admit she fucked up, no we just have to forget about all of this. Let’s just go home, sí? We can go hop into bed together and I’ll just pretend that the woman sleeping next to me doesn’t have her ex girlfriends scent and kisses all over her.”

Your tone is cut throat, as harsh as a sharp knife.

“Nena, please.”

Alexia looks genuinely upset, and your kind of glad, she deserves to feel a fraction of what you are feeling, a slither of the turmoil and insurmountable pain that you’ve experienced in the last five minutes.

“Did I miss the signs? Was I so blind to realise that you love Jenni more than me? You sure kiss her like you love her more than me. God I don’t even remember the last time you kissed me like that. Our honeymoon? The first Ballon D’or? It’s been years Alexia, years of me sitting around waiting patiently for you to turn this all around, to realise that I love you more than anything else in the world. It’s fine, you want out, you can have out, I’ll get my lawyer to draw up divorce papers, I’ll move out, I’ll move clubs.”

Alexia’s face drops, that;s the last thing she wants, the very bottom of her list.

“Bebé, no, we can work this out, I’ll go to couples therapy, we can make this better, we can turn this around.”

You shook your head, a new wave of tears dripping down your face and onto your favourite night out top as you struggle to keep your composure.

“Alexia, I won’t be married to somebody who’s cheated on me, you broke our vows, sacred vows that we made in front of god. Marriage to me is a commitment, it’s a promise, you swore to me, for better or for worse, until parted by death. One of us might not have died, but a part of our relationship did when you kissed Jenni, I’m done, all the sleepless nights, the lack of love, the borderline cheating, you’ve toed the line but this time you’ve obliterated the line, so I’m done.”

You push past her, back into the club so you can collect your things.

You don’t even make it to the table before Keira has you in her arms, shielding you from the music and people.

“Need to leave, I need to go.”

Keira nods at you, Lucy has now joined the huddle around you, the two of them working together to keep you away from the eyes of any of your teammates or general bystanders in the club.

“We’ll get you home, let’s get you out of here, hmm? You can come back home with us, you're always welcome in our spare room.”

From back out in the alley, Alexia feels sick to her stomach, and there is not much more she can do than pick her phone out of her pocket and dial the only number she can think of.

“Mamí, I’ve ruined it all.”

[weasleykisses]

You’re So Pretty I (Remus Lupin x Reader)

(GIF not mine)

A/N: Remus and you very clearly like each other, however, hes convinced you have a crush on a mutual best friend. Friend-to-lovers, fem!oblivious!reader, jealous!Remus, mutual pining

Loosely influenced by the song “ur so pretty” by Wasia Project.

word count: 3.9k

________

“Going on another study date, Y/N?” Marlene asked as she watched her dorm mate gather up her books and a couple scrolls into her bag. Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t lie to yourself. You aren’t just going to study.”

“As a matter of fact, I am going to just study.”

The blonde haired girl wasn’t the only one that pestered Y/N about her crush. Despite never admitting to it directly, her friends ganged up on her and joked about it fairly often. “You won’t learn anything from drooling over Lupin the whole time,” Marlene laughed.

“I do not drool over Remus. He’s just a good study partner.”

“Whatever you say.”

She finished packing her bag and making sure her uniform was straight. Her hands slid down her skirt to smooth it out and through her hair as she looked into the standing mirror. Wanting to look presentable did not mean she was trying to impress him. Definitely not. She just didn’t want to look unkempt, is all.

When she was confident she didn’t look like she just rolled out of bed, she turned to leave her dorm and head to the library. She waved to Marlene who made a heart shape with her hands jokingly. After so long, she’d gotten used to the teasing though, just dismissing her with a ‘tsk’.

She left the common room without another confrontation by one of her friends, walking leisurely to the library where her transfiguration textbook waited. She was never the best in transfiguration, or charms, or defense against the dark arts; truthfully she wasn’t very good at anything most people would would consider important. Her saving grace was care for magical creatures.

Sometimes she felt herself grow so embarrassed by her lack of skill, but Remus never made fun of her for it. He helped her fix the issue, and she was grateful to him for that. He was probably the only reason she passed her classes the past few years.

Kids bustled around the halls and the stairways as she walked through the castle. The sound of her feet clicking on the marble floors kept her occupied as she walked through the familiar walkways. She listened in on some conversations as she passed by, eavesdropping when she shouldn’t.

The only other thing on her mind was her study partner, who she found herself growing awfully attached to over their years at Hogwarts. Now that they were in their seventh year, she occasionally felt herself completely consumed by her crush on him, which she quickly tried to correct by thinking of something else.

It wasn’t that she wanted to smother down her crush on the boy, she just didn’t want it to take over her life. It would never happen, and the inevitable rejection would destroy her. It was normal for her to not get her hopes up, terrified of being disappointed in the end.

Sometimes, she just wanted to forget about him and fancy someone actually obtainable. Someone like the hoard of boys that confessed to her over the years, bringing her flowers and candy and sweet love notes. Only she didn’t like them and couldn’t bring herself to pretend. Her friends asked why she never accepted any of the propositions, to which she would just say she was waiting for someone specific.

Eventually some of her friends figured out who she liked. At first it was Lily, and then the rest of the girls followed suit after seeing her interact with the tall boy enough times. She suspected that Sirius knew as well, knowing how perceptive he was. He would send her some suggestive looks now and again when Remus wasn’t looking, which she just ignored for the most part.

Still, no matter how hard she fought it, she fell deeper and deeper into her infatuation with Remus Lupin. She thought he was the most handsome, smart, kind boy she’d ever met. He was just perfect in her eyes. He could do no wrong.

And so, she found herself drowning in her feelings for the boy. Honestly, it was difficult to keep afloat. To be around him and pretend she just wanted to be a friend. To pretend she didn’t want to cuddle him when they sat on the couch together. To pretend she didn’t want to kiss him every time he smiled her way.

Before entering the library, she took a deep breath and smoothed down her hair once more. Confident in her ability to socialize with him without completely falling apart, she pushed open the heavy wood door and into the large room filled with whispering voices and floating textbooks.

Remus sat in their normal spot towards the corner where not a lot of people crowded around. It was quieter, and he preferred that. For Y/N, she was just happy to get more one on one time with him. The other marauders wouldn’t step foot in the library so she didn’t worry about them. Lily maintained her distance when she was studying. She wanted to give the pair some “private time”, as she had said once when teasing her friend.

“Hey, Rem,” she quietly greeted him, giving him a small wave. He peered up from the novel he was reading, giving her a warm smile back. It was adorable. Everything he did was adorable, really.

She took a seat beside him, setting her bag to the side. She pulled out her transfiguration textbook. He was particularly good in this subject, so this would be easier than something like Charms.

“How are you?” He asked.

“I’m fine. How was your day?”

“It was okay. The guys are planning a new prank for tomorrow so they’ve been pestering me about that,” he told her, and she nodded. He loved their pranks secretly, not wanting to come across as immature. Not to mention, James could be a little overwhelming. Especially when he spent the nights with Sirius planning, keeping the other two boys awake.

She grinned brightly. “Oh really? What are they gonna do?” She loved pranks, as long as they weren’t directed towards her. They were an escape from the strictness of the school, not to mention a relief when certain Slytherin were involved.

“Stink bombs in the Slytherin locker room. Nothing fancy.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“I suppose.”

Her eyes trailed down the book that was sitting in his lap now. To get a better look, she leaned closer to him and tried to read the upside text. “What are you reading today?” It was normal that they exchanged books after reading it, that way they could discuss the novels together once they were both done.

“Shakespeare.”

Her eyes widened and she urged him on, “What play?”

“Midsummer’s Night Dream.”

“That’s my favorite! I'm so glad you’re reading it,” she told him happily, clapping her hands together from excitement. As a muggle born witch, she loved when her friends experienced a bit of her world. Shakespeare was just a taste. He’d read a couple other muggle books before, but mainly it was novels by famous wizards and witches.

He smiled, tucking the book into his own bag. “I know. That’s why I picked it.”

“You remembered! I’m excited to talk to you about it when you’re done.” He had to look away from her face. She was so beautiful when she got excited, it made him want to swoop in and give her a thousand little kisses. Of course, he wasn’t insane, so he wasn’t going to do that. He was always looking at her, catching glimpses of her captivating smile and her sparkling eyes. When she looked away, he peered over at her and just watched, regardless of where they were. In class, while studying, in the common rooms. He couldn’t help but stare.

It wasn’t a coincidence he picked her favorite play. He wanted to see her get all giddy because of their two person book club. Anything to see her happy. It seemed he had successfully achieved that, too.

“So what did you need help with?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure. I’m doing well in all my classes right now. Probably because of you, but still,” she told him. Honestly, she never really wanted to study, it was just her way of hanging out with Remus for a while. “Do you want to do something else other than sit in here?” Y/N asked, a bit nervous he might say no.

He leaned on his elbow, cheek pressed to his palm. “Depends. What do you have in mind?” He asked, even though he knew he’d say yes to basically anything she could ask. She could ask him to join her in the broom closet for a snog and he would agree.

She thought for a moment, tapping a finger on her lips as she pondered what they could do. There wasn’t anything she desperately needed done, and it wasn’t close to dinner yet.

“Do you want to come with me to feed the nifflers and diricawls?” It was the only class she excelled in. Hagrid allowed her to come and visit the animals as often as she wished, knowing her to be quite talented at the subject. It was rare to be so compatible with the beasts, but she’d done it.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of the class, and had not taken it for a couple years. Still, he was willing to do just about anything for her. “Let’s go then.” He nodded, gathering up his belongings and tucking them down into his bag. She did the same with her textbook which she never actually opened anyway.

He took her bag from her without her asking. He always carried her books if they were walking somewhere together. She figured it was just him being polite. James would do the same, bragging about his impressive strength. She was grateful though, and walked beside him with her hands in her cardigan pockets.

As they turned the corner, entering the main corridor, she caught the eye of a familiar face, one that Remus thought was busy with Quidditch practice for the time being. “Sirius!” she called, waving over at him with a newfound grin on her face, teeth showing and eyes bright. He looked up from Mary and Alice, who also waved in the pair’s direction.

“Fancy seeing you here, Angel,” he hummed, but opened his arms as he usually did for a hug. She threw herself into his arms and he squeezed her tight, maybe even too tight in Remus’ opinion. She pulled back, peering up at him before nodding to the other two Gryffindor girls.

“Hi, Mary, Alice,” she hummed sweetly. They happily greeted their friend with warm smiles.

Remus almost felt himself move past his surge of jealousy, if he hadn’t seen Sirius rest the palm of his hand on her lower back when he stepped to the side to face the rest of the group. He never understood why the two of them were so close, and why Sirius practically hung off her shoulder when the two were together. The two were just best friends, from all he could tell, but it sure felt like more. Sirius wasn’t known for settling for one girl, he preferred to leave his options open. Surely, he didn’t have a crush on her.

Remus could only hope.

“Moony, where are you two off to?” Mary asked. While Remus looked at the brunette, answering her question, he missed the look that Alice sent Y/N. She raised her brows, her eyes flicking between the pair. Y/N felt her cheeks heat up at the notion that her and Remus were hanging out as anything other than friends. The girls loved to taunt her, probably because they consistently got a rise out of her.

“The creature pens outside,” he replied, gloomier than he wanted to sound. “I thought you guys had practice today?”

Sirius shrugged, “It was postponed for an hour. Something about the weather. I thought you two normally studied on Thursday afternoons.”

“I’ve been doing well enough in my classes that I figured I deserved a well earned break,” she told the three of her quidditch-playing friends.

“Well, I guess we should leave you to it, right, ladies?” the raven-haired boy asked. Bidding the two study partners a goodbye before trailing off with Alice and Mary in tow. Y/N waved while Remus just watched with a defeated look on his face. He always felt defeated when seeing Sirius and Y/N together.

For the rest of the trek out to the animal pens, they walked beside each other silently, just navigating the halls in thought. She could only think about how close he stood beside her, and how attractive it was that he carried her bag for her. A dazed smile was left on her lips and she stared at her feet to avoid him seeing how happy he made her. She was such a lovestruck fool. It was obvious.

It was cold outside but not quite snowy yet. She cuddled into her thick cardigan, wondering if he was cold in just his sweater and uniform shirt. The leaves had fallen from all the trees, crinkling under their footsteps. The sky was white, indicating a storm was brewing, potentially snow considering it was December. A few other students hung out in the courtyard, playing games with each other or sitting by the gardens talking. Not a single person was hanging around the animal pens.

She stopped when they neared the small building beside the care for magical creatures classroom. The diricawls and nifflers were inside this time of year so she pushed open the door to the shelter. Inside, they were met with a dozen or so diricawls walking around on some freshly laid hay.

She turned to Remus and grinned, pointing to a diricawl with three black spots on its head. “This one is my favorite. His name is Cookie. Isn’t he just the cutest?” She asked.

He shut the door behind them so none of the creatures escaped. “You named him Cookie?”

“Yeah, because he’s so sweet.”

She walked over to the food barrel and scooped out two handfuls of food. She tossed onto the ground beside the animals, but kept a few pieces in her hand. With her free hand she urged Remus to come closer.

He did as she asked. “Here, you can feed Cookie this time,” she told him, handing him the pieces of kibble. It was exciting to share her passions with him. He was happy she just included him in the first place. He wanted her to invite him into all aspects of her life. What classes she liked, her favorite books, favorite songs, her favorite holiday, and favorite food. It was like a collection he wanted so badly to complete. To complete her and all her quirks.

He took the kibble from her hand. “How do I feed him?” He asked.

“Didn’t you pay any attention in class?” She joked, but patted his shoulder nonetheless. “By hand, if you want. He doesn’t bite,” she laughed. He knelt down closer to the creature and extended his hand, looking to her for guidance. She gave him a very enthusiastic thumbs up. Soon enough, the little bird was taking food from his palm and munching on his snack.

When he was finished and stood back up, she couldn’t help herself but hug him from the side, pressing her face to his arm. “Y/N?” His heart was skipping a beat. He patted her on the head gently, feeling a bit too awkward to hug her back. Even if he loved her being pressed so close to him, he couldn’t function when the real thing happened.

She answered with so much glee in her voice, “I’m just so happy you came with me. No one ever comes with me to feed these little guys. Always too busy with quidditch or hanging out in the common rooms.”

“It’s no big deal. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy too.”

Her stomach was doing somersaults and her heart raced at his kind words. She took a step back and straightened herself out again. “Thanks, Rem. You’re such a sweetheart.”

If his face wasn’t red already, it certainly was now. She looked like an angel standing there, the diricawls gathered at her legs like her own little army of birds. He loved the way her Gryffindor cardigan swallowed her up. He loved the way some stray hairs fell into her face as she glanced down at the ground. He thought it was adorable how she fiddled with her fingers when she was nervous.

It was admirable how she treated the animals, the things she loved. Even if she wasn’t the smartest book-wise, she was friendly and kind, to animals and humans alike.

Most importantly, there wasn’t any judgment from her when she found he was a werewolf. She caught the boys carrying him up the common room stairs one day in the early hours of the morning, and from then on she doted on him. She gathered ingredients from her furry or scaly companions, persistent in making healing potions for him, different creams and salves for his wounds. She worked long hours in the Potions room with Slughorn’s permission, desperate to make something that would ease his suffering.

She’d come up to their dorm after the full moon and take care of him each time, cleaning his wounds and doing the best she could with her limited knowledge of healing spells. Over time, she got better, nearly perfecting her spell casting, all for him.

That was when he started to fall for her. No one had ever cared for him like she did. As Sirius liked to call her, Y/N truly was an angel, he was sure of it. Sirius might have meant it as a joke, but Remus came to find the nickname truer than any other. True like he was Moony and their friend was Padfoot.

She pointed over to a few cages to their right, where the nifflers lived. The cage was decorated with shiny things, silver necklaces and some gold coins, probably the result of a thieving niffler.

“Do you want to feed the nifflers now?”

“Anything you want, love.”

———

While James was chasing after Lily Evans, and Sirius was busy romancing Marlene McKinnon, Y/N sat back on the couch beside Remus Lupin. Peter sat on the floor by her feet, resting his head against the sofa cushions. She’d grabbed three cups and a pot of hot tea for her and her couple of friends as they watched the flickering of the fire before them.

While the more outgoing of the friend group were always off doing something, this left just the quieter three hanging around amongst themselves. It was peaceful. Remus read his book silently while Y/N and Peter talked about the newest gossip from that day. Peter was great to talk to. He always listened intently, and could discuss basically anything she could think of. She supposed he was just happy that the cooler marauders let him hang around.

She took a sip of her drink and sighed, the warmth of a nice cup of tea soothing her otherwise freezing cold frame. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped herself up. It was nearing Christmas, which meant many things.

It meant that she would have to sit outside in the freezing cold during every quidditch match. It meant going to Hogsmeade every weekend and filling up on butterbeer and goodies from Honeydukes. It meant spending more time huddled up on the couch with her friends sitting around the fire, laughing all night long.

She drifted off into her own thoughts for a moment, completely missing the question that Peter had just asked. She felt a tap on her knee and blinked away that dazed look in her eye.

“What was that, Peter?”

“I asked, do you have any plans for Hogsmeade this weekend?” he said once again. She tapped the side of her teacup in thought. She originally planned on staying inside over the weekend to finish up some homework due the next week, but she couldn’t resist the urge to go out and visit the little town, get some candy, and drink in the Three Broomsticks. She couldn’t miss out on a fun outing with friends.

Y/N shook her head ‘no’.

“Wanna come with?”

“Of course.”

She stirred her cup of tea, her eyes scanning the room. “Any specific plans you all have this weekend? Zonko’s, Honeydukes, Spintwich’s?” she asked. Usually they followed some sort of routine. Visit the Three Broomsticks for drinks, head to Honeydukes to stock up on sweets for the rest of the week, and either stop at Zonko’s for the newest gadget or Spintwich’s so James could see if there were any upgrades for his broom.

Her personal favorite was Brood and Peck. Sometimes they had special creatures that you could only find in the forbidden forest. She was still waiting for a unicorn, but in the meantime there were always mooncalves, nifflers, and diricawls to play with. She also liked spending her time in the bookstore too.

Not that she wanted books, she just liked going there with Remus so she could watch him out of the corner of her eye. He furrowed his brows as he scanned the books for one that he was interested in. She would pretend to do the same thing, but really she just went for him. To watch him get excited by a new book that was just released, or half priced older novels he’d been meaning to buy, books they would read together. Seeing him happy made her feel soft inside, and that’s all that mattered to her.

“Well, I heard that Lily and the rest of the girls are going to Honeydukes around noon and I plan to be there,” James said confidently. He was obsessed with that girl, but Y/N couldn’t judge. She was just as obsessed with Remus as James was with Lily. She was infatuated, and had been for years.

“Speaking of which, why aren’t you going with the rest of the girls, Y/N?” Peter asked the girl sitting beside him.

Originally, she declined going to Hogsmeade that weekend altogether. She was far too preoccupied with her schoolwork to even think about taking the day off to fool around, but she couldn’t say no to spending the day with Remus. She had to say yes to the boys, on the off chance she might get some quality time with the boy she fancied.

She shrugged, “They offered, but had to say no. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to finish my potions essay in time. Gladly, I got it done this morning, so I should be fine to go with you guys.” She wasn’t exactly lying, but she certainly wasn’t telling the entire truth. She wasn’t doing well in her Herbology class either…

Remus found himself tense up at the mention of Hogsmeade. He always found himself nervous when she was around, and somehow, they always ended up singled out by the group when they went places. It was always Sirius and James goofing off with Peter following closely after, leaving Remus standing in the dust with Y/N at his side. He was never prepared and felt like he made a fool of himself every time just trying to strike up conversation. He could be so terribly awkward.

He just hoped that on the day of the actual visit to Hogsmeade, he would be normal. That all his friends would stick together instead of separating and leaving him to be his embarrassing self in front of the girl he so desperately fancied.

Part Two out.

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter two:

➴ warnings: none <3

➴ word count: 2.5k

➴ author’s note: this is pure fluffiness, the calm before the storm, the hughes being the best family in the world and jack making my heart MELT (i literally wrote him). i hope u guys enjoy this too. let me know what u think of this one:))

“AND that, my loves, it’s a wrap on ‘rip to my feelings’!” Grace yelled, and everyone yelled too.

You were in your studio with all of your producers and song-writers, plus Grace, and you had just finished recording the last song on your album.

You were beyond happy. Finishing this meant getting over everything Harris did to you. It was like closure. It was like restarting again.

“Guys, I’m so fucking happy, I love you all so much I could kiss you on the mouth right now,” you said, hugging John— the main producer.

“Don’t think Jack would appreciate that,” Grace mumbled when you hugged her, and you smacked her butt.

Jack.

You had sent him the demo of the album as soon as it was sent to your phone, not really sure why. You just wanted his opinion, that’s all.

Not much fuck buddy of you but whatever!

“Fuck off, Grace Morgan,” you fake whispered, laughing.

You all celebrated and laughed for hours, the time passing quickly whenever you spent it with the people you loved. You were grateful for having so many amazing people in your life, helping you to make your dreams come true.

Your phone rang, and you picked it up, unlocking it and smiling when you saw who had texted: Jack.

It was funny seeing how he complimented you in his own little, weird way. It made your heart beat in the wrong— right— way all over again.

“Did he just ask you on a date?” Grace whispered, probably reading your texts over your shoulder. Everyone else had already left— it was late, after all— and only Grace was left. You were sure she was probably going to sleep at your place anyway.

“I guess? We never just ‘hanged out’ before.” You sighed, replying to Jack’s texts.

“Woah,” she whistled, sitting back on the couch, looking at you funny. “Are you in love?”

“What?” You laughed, locking your phone. “What do you mean, we’ve been fucking for six months only. Chill.”

“Girl, like time matters to you!” She raised her arms. “You fell in love with that piece of shit in like three weeks, imagine with Jack, who fucks you every other week and treats you like you’re the most precious thing ever.”

“Excuse me? Are we talking about the same Jack?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Jack doesn’t treat anyone differently. Besides his family, that is.”

“Like the shit he does for you isn’t anything special, right? Like knowing your Five Guys order, or your favorite movies, or how you eat apple pie before your concerts,” she started listing those things on her fingers.

“He doesn’t know those things!” You raised your voice, trying to convince both you and her.

“Girl, I love you but stop playing dumb. He knows and you know he does! Why are you pretending that he doesn’t care about you? He just asked you on a date, for fuck’s sake.” She rolled her eyes.

“First of all,” you started, mentally listing your reasons. “We don’t know if it’s a date. He just said: dinner. He didn’t say ‘I wanna take you out on a date’. Second of all, I’m not denying anything, but I think I would know if I was in love with him, wouldn’t I?”

Actually. The answer was probably no. Harris fucked up your perception of love, and even though it’s been more than a year that you broke up with him, you still feel like you can’t really trust anyone anymore.

So you wouldn’t exactly be able to tell if you are in love or not. At least, you don’t think so.

But talking about love with your fuck buddy? Hell. No.

“You piss me off.” Grace bickered, turning the TV on. “Go change to your little date. I’ll be here, all alone and sad.”

“Pff, shut up. You’re just alone because you and Nico are dumbasses.” You said like it was a matter of fact and left the leaving room, leaving a very pink Grace behind.

Changing didn’t take long, and applying a light makeup didn’t either. You weren’t going to do anything special because, let’s be real, if you and Jack decided to be reckless and fuck somewhere, that makeup wouldn’t last long. So, why bother?

You left your house, saying goodbye to Grace and kissing her cheek. Jack’s fancy ass car was in front of your garage and you smiled, entering it.

“Hi, Jackie boy,” you greeted him, noticing how fucking good he looked, wearing his burgundy suit. Thank god to whoever created the suit rule in hockey. You’ll forever be grateful.

“Hey.” He greeted back, and did something surprising. He kissed you. Softly, and not like any other kiss you’ve shared in the past.

And that didn’t do anything to help the little cardiac arrest you had every time you were around him.

“Are we ready to rock our lasagna?” You asked, half embarrassed and half confused with what you were feeling. Food always made it better though.

“We sure are.” He smiled before starting the car again.

The silence was comfortable but your thoughts were too loud so you took the liberty of turning the radio on, scaring yourself with how loud the music playing was. And, shockingly, your music. Already Over was blasting through the speakers.

You looked at him, and he just shrugged, cheeks red.

“Were you listening to my music on the way to my place?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s good,” he blushes so cutely you find yourself wanting to chomp a piece of his cheek.

“You’re so cute, Jackie. Thanks, means a lot,” you had a feeling you were blushing too, and you thanked God he wasn’t looking at you. “I’m excited to release it.”

“When are you doing it?” He asked, making a U turn.

“Beginning of the next month. Now I have to take pictures and set up the concept for it. It’s my favourite part.”

“Are you doing any music videos with a guy dying?” He asked and you stared at him, once again surprised. Had he been watching your music videos? All of them? “What?”

“Are you a fan?” You giggled, genuinely happy. Harris hated to talk about your work, and he never listened to your songs for more than ten minutes.

“Nico forces us to listen to your songs and watch your music videos,” he answered, nonchalantly. You smiled, nodding your head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” You played dumb.

“Like that. You have this little minx stare that you do whenever you’re plotting something.” He smiled this time, and God if the sight didn’t make you feel full.

“You’re no fun,” you sighed, looking at the view. “Also, where is this restaurant? We’ve been driving for at least twenty minutes and nothing in Jersey takes more than that.”

“The restaurant is actually my parents’ house.” He says, like it’s nothing.

“What?!” You yelled, turning your head in his direction. “What do you mean you’re taking me to your fucking parents’?”

“Yeah. Ma’s making lasagna for you.”

Your cheeks were burning hot and you had this bubbly feeling inside of you. You were feeling something really weird and you started to wonder if Grace was right and—

“Soph?” You heard his voice, gentle and soft. You looked at him, noticing that he wasn’t driving anymore, and that the car was now parked in front of a big, beautiful, colonial house. His parents’ house. “We can go back if you want to, baby. Ma won’t be angry or anything like that.”

Stop making me want to trust you, Jack.

He caressed your cheek, and you snapped out of it. “No, it’s fine. I just… you could’ve said something, y’know? I’m wearing sweatpants.” You tried to make a joke, smiling. He smiled too.

“I’ll put on some sweatpants too, so we’re matching,”

“Right.”

You left the car, taking a deep breath. It was just his parents. You weren’t even dating so it would be fine.

Wait.

“What did you tell them? That you’re bringing one of the girls you’re fucking home?” You asked just before you walked in their property.

He raised an eyebrow at you, scowling. “First of all, I’m not fucking anyone else. It’s just you. Second of all, I told them I’m bringing a friend.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to do anything else.

He’s not fucking anyone else? Jack Hughes? The man whore of the NJ Devils?

Yikes, sure.

You both walked into the house, Jack not bothering knocking before entering it. A delicious smell of fresh tomato sauce and herbs reached your nose and you could swear your mouth was watering.

“Ma, we’re here!” Jack yelled, making you jump a little bit. You eyed him before facing the woman in front of you, who was absolutely gorgeous. She looked so fucking young and pretty, and you were biting your tongue, trying not to say something stupid. “Hi, Ma, this is Soph. Soph, that’s Ellen, Ma Hughes,”

“Hi, Mrs. Hughes. Nice to meet you.” You said, certain that your cheeks were on flame.

Ellen took a step closer, smiling. “Hi, darlin’. No need for formalities, dear, it’s just Ellen. I would hug you but,” she pointed at her apron and shrugged. “A bit dirty.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“No, thank you for making this guy over here visit me,” she slapped Jack’s shoulder, both of them smiling together. “He only called because he said you wanted to eat lasagna and he loves mine so that’s why he’s here.”

If your face wasn’t going to melt before, it definitely was now. You were going to kill Jack. For real this time.

“Come on, Ma, I can’t be worse than Luke and Quinn. They don’t even remember your address anymore,” was Jack actually pouting? Jesus. Your heart was not ready to see that.

“Stop throwing us under the bus, dickhead.” Luke’s voice was heard and you and Jack both watched as both Quinn and Luke entered the room. “‘Sup, Soph.”

“Hi, Luke. Hi, Quinn,” you greeted them with cheek kisses, not even wanting to acknowledge that you had actually missed them. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, Soph,” Quinn quietly answered, not a single thought behind those eyes. “Great to see you.”

“I hope you’re all hungry because your mom outdid herself tonight,” Jim, the dad, said, smiling when he noticed you. “Hello there. I’m Jim.”

“Hi,” you whispered, mortified with all the attention you were getting. Some would think that performing for big crowds would make you less anxious to meet people. Nope. “I’m Sophia. Thank you for having me.”

“It’s fine, as my baby was saying, we do need our son to visit more.”

As they discussed why Jack didn’t visit them more frequently, you felt Jack’s arms around your waist and his mouth on the tip of your ear. You froze. “Yeah, they call each other baby and honey. Sorry about that.”

You managed to smile, trying not to get his family’s attention. They certainly wouldn’t understand why he was this close to a friend.

“I think it’s cute.”

The dinner went awesomely well. The lasagna was amazing and Ellen and Jim were the cutest couple ever, you could see how they’ve raised three amazing men.

They asked questions about what being a postar meant nowadays, and what was it like during your tours, and how could someone sing and dance at the same time, and have you ever met Adele?

They’re great people. Even Quinn and Luke, who had talked to you before on different occasions, made sure you were included in every topic, and Luke even asked for a signed cap so he could wear it at UMich.

“Do you guys know what we should definitely do?” Ellen started, after forcing all of the boys to organize the kitchen and do the dishes, while you sat with her drinking wine. Yeah, you loved her. “Karaoke. Let Soph here show us how good she is.”

“Maa,” you could hear Luke whining, while running his hands through his beautiful curls. “You do this every time.”

“You’ll make her work on her day off? That’s wild, Ma.” Jack joked, putting his arms around your shoulder. You froze again, looking at the expressions of his family, trying to picture anything out of place.

No one was looking at you weirdly, besides Ellen who plastered the most gorgeous smile you’ve ever seen, which made you smile too.

“I don’t mind singing…” you said, softly.

“Perfect!” Ellen stood up from her seat, pouring more wine on her glass. “Jim, set the karaoke thing on.”

“It’s called YouTube, Ma.” Jack rolled his eyes.

“Leave your mom alone, ugly face,” Jim called him out, on his way to do exactly what Ellen asked. “Sophia, can you sing some Elvis?”

“Yes, ‘course.” You also got up, discussing with Jim which song he wanted you to sing.

“Tell her to sing our song, honey!” Ellen yelled from the dinner table.

“Ah, yes, yes.”

Turns out that their song is Can’t Help Falling in Love, which was so freaking sweet. You sang the romantic lyrics while Jim and Ellen danced with each other, swinging slowly and delicately.

Quinn and Luke were recording themselves with you singing in the background, while you waved happily to the camera.

Jack was sitting on the couch, watching you sing. You could feel his eyes on you, observing your every move, smiling whenever you’d hit a high note or change the song’s rhythm.

It was nice. So, so nice. The Hughes were such nice people and you felt so safe and adored around them. They asked you to sing more songs and when you noticed, you were singing an upbeat song with Jim and dancing between Quinn and Luke while Ellen filmed everything. Until Jack grabbed you again and made you sing in front of him, for him. And boy, how you wanted to kiss him. His blue eyes were shining brightly and he looked just as happy as you felt.

You ended the singing when it was around midnight, everyone exhausted and sweaty— even if it was winter.

You started saying your goodbyes and thanking Ellen and Jim for the best lasagna you’ve ever eaten and for the hospitality too.

“I hope you come back soon.” Ellen whispered in your ear when you were hugging her, and you held her slightly tighter.

When you left the house with Jack, you couldn’t contain your happiness inside you. Grabbing his arm, you pulled him until you were near his car, and standing on your tiptoes, you kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, both of you moaning inside each other’s mouth. His tongue made its way inside your mouth, pillowy and so soft. You were finally melting into Jack’s arms and nothing could be better.

Until you realized what was going on.

You had just had dinner with Jack’s family, sang and danced with them, and now you were in the middle of the street of a fancy neighborhood, with Jack Hughes holding you close to his chest, while devouring your mouth.

And instead of not feeling anything, instead of keeping things casual, you were feeling everything. Each tiny part of every emotion there is in this world were making their way into your heart and, unfortunately, you didn’t want to take them out.

Because for the first time in more than one year, you wanted to feel.