#get it. b. because. the things he wants. are

[daddyjackfrost]

Wanna Be Yours ; B. Barnes

Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought

Pairing: Avengers!Bucky x Avengers!F!Reader 

Synopsis: Bucky’s been in love with you for longer than he’ll admit. But when a moment of clarity after a misunderstanding on his part cracks the tension between you wide open, he finally gets to show you just how much.

Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor hurt/comfort, bucky yearns like a mf, brief misunderstandings, insecurities, friends to lovers, ft. the avengers & friends, sam being sam, minor jealousy, pining, SMUT, minor romanogers (not sorry), cursing, Bucky’s sort of shy and awkward (at first), praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, MDNI, pussy pronouns, mutual obsession, kissing, switch energy, soft!dom bucky, begging, gentle possessiveness, religious imagery, oral (f and m rec), riding / WC: 7.7k

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! This was meant to be short…a drabble…but then I started to listen to Hozier and well…yeah. Title inspired by I wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys. 

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever met someone like you.

He’s told himself it’s because you’re kind. Because you don’t flinch when he walks into a room, because you laugh at all his dry one-liners, because you bring him coffee without asking and leave notes that say “don’t forget to eat after training” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

But, the truth is, he likes the way you exist. The way you fill space with warmth without trying. The way you somehow make him feel like he’s part of this new world, that he can exist here too. 

With you. 

He doesn’t know when it started—not exactly. 

There wasn’t a single moment where the light shifted or the heavens parted. No slow-motion entrance, no dramatic realization. 

But somewhere between your half-sleepy smiles over morning coffee and the way you laugh at his dry sarcasm like it’s the best thing you've heard all day—he fell.

Hard.  

Somewhere between the early morning training sessions and the late night chamomile tea, his heart grew, both in size and fonder, and it became an innate feeling—the love—the want. It became embedded into his bones, in his DNA. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

And maybe it was always going to happen. Maybe it was inevitable. Because you’re the only one who never looked at him like a ghost of something broken, like he still had to search far and wide for the man he became. You don’t flinch when his fingers twitch or treat him like a ticking time bomb, or a relic, or worse—an object of pity. 

You treat him like he’s just…Bucky. Someone who deserves kindness, a friend. 

You bring his favourite kind of bagels without asking. You mock his grumpy scowls and tease him into smiling. You sit with him in silence and don’t try to fix the quiet. You seem to enjoy it with him—understand.

You once fell asleep with your head on his shoulder during a movie night, and he thought he might die from how carefully he held his breath, afraid of waking you. 

He wants you—so badly it aches.

But he’s never said anything, never dared. Not when being your friend already feels like more than he deserves. 

He gets to see you every day and that should be enough—it never is.

Tony announces it during a briefing: an Avengers Gala. Hosted at the Tower. Black tie. Heroes and allies from across the globe. Sponsored by Stark Industries and curated, of course, by Pepper. 

Bucky half listens, frowning, until you perk up beside him.

“Oh, fancy,” you murmur, nuding him with your elbow, capturing his attention, though it had always been yours. “You gonna wear a tux, Barnes?” 

He smirks faintly, something easy and familiar and yours. “Only if it comes with a hidden holster.” 

You snort, hiding part of your face when Pepper’s eyes meet yours. “As if you need a hidden holster to hide a gun. Don’t you have three somewhere on you right now?”

Bucky shrugs, lips lifting into something brighter, simply because you’re right. “Guilty.” 

You roll your eyes and blink innocently at Pepper, pretending that your attention isn’t on the man beside you. Bucky’s eyes soften into something stupid and he leans further back in the chair, pressing his arm against yours. 

You giggle and lean in close to whisper something snarky about Tony’s need for dramatics, and he feels your breath against his neck—he swallows hard. 

You turn back to the front, eyes falling on the screen, none the wiser. 

Bucky spends the rest of the meeting barely hearing a thing. 

Later that night, after you bid him goodnight, he lingers by the window of the communal lounge, half-lost in thought as city lights blur beyond the glass. 

Steve finds him like that—arms folded, jaw tense, quiet in the way only Steve knows means he’s thinking about you—something beautiful yet horrid about himself. 

“You should ask her,” Steve says softly. 

Bucky exhales, having heard Steve’s light footsteps and seeing his reflection. “It’s not that simple.” 

Steve shrugs, stepping up beside him. “Sure it is. You like her. She likes you.” 

Bucky exhales louder. “She doesn’t—”

“She does,” Steve interrupts, nuding Bucky with his shoulder. “Trust me.”

Bucky huffs a tired laugh. He would trust Steve with his life—with more, but not with this. Not when his blonde friend couldn’t see Natasha’s feelings for him. “And what? Ruin this? She’s the best thing in my life. If she says no—” 

“She won’t.” Steve gives him a look, one Bucky thinks he wore many, many years ago, back when he would Steve in alleys. “You think she touches everyone like that? Laughs like that?” 

Steve crosses his arms, raises an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think she looks at anyone else the way she looks at you?” 

Bucky doesn’t answer, just shoves Steve back with his shoulder lightly. Part of him wants to believe it, like there’s a world where you like him—love him, the way he loves you. Wants to care for him the way he wants to care for you. 

But, the other part of him, the one that often wins, is scared—scared he’ll ruin everything, that he might see the flicker of pity in your eyes. The last thing Bucky wants is for you to think that his feelings for you, his honest adoration for you comes from anything except his care, his heart. 

He loves you, but you were his friend first. He’ll always be your friend, even if he aches for more.

Steve lays a hand on his shoulder, something warm and solid. “Even if I’m wrong, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Buck. A few weeks, and it’ll be past you.” 

Bucky hums like he agrees, but he’s not sure. He doesn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, or feel like you aren’t safe with him. Because he cares—so much. He’d rather live in silence and the brief touches then make you feel like your friendship isn’t enough for him.

Because, God, it is. It’s everything to him, a root in his heart that’s grown into branches and leaves.

Still, that night, he lies awake for hours, hand resting over his chest, heart thudding too loudly. 

I’ll ask her tomorrow, he thinks. I will. 

He almost does. 

He finds you in the lounge the next evening, curled up with a book and a half-drunk coffee. You’re wearing one of those soft hoodies that always make you look impossibly cozy, socked feet tucked beneath you. 

He steels himself, breathes in deeply—thinks back to the lines he said over and over to himself in his bedroom. 

Then he hears it. 

“I don’t even have a date for this thing,” you’re saying to Sam, voice light and faintly exasperated. There’s something there, something familiar, something he hears in his own voice sometimes when he talks about you but he can’t register it, can’t pinpoint it. 

You shut your book with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly? I’m kinda glad. No one to impress, no pressure.”

Sam snorts and swats your feet away, pretending to shuffle back when you inch your toes closer to him. “I’ll take you.” 

You raise a brow, legs stretched weirdly. “You?” 

Sam grins, lets out a quiet laugh. “No need to look so surprised.” He shrugs, “Come on. Low expectations. No romance. Plus, I look good in a suit.” 

You tilt your head, hum thoughtfully. Sam spreads his arm, putting himself on display. “Deal. You’re my date.” 

You clink mugs, laughing. 

Bucky stops in his tracks, his stomach twists and he can’t breathe. 

He doesn’t hear the teasing edge, he hasn’t been good at noticing these things. He doesn’t see the subtle glance Sam casts toward the hallway, like he knows Bucky’s there. Doesn’t realize this is Sam’s own way of pushing him. 

No—he just hears the words. You’re my date. 

And something in him goes quiet. 

It’s quick, the way everything inside him shuts down and he almost sags against the wall. Like the wind has been knocked out of him. He’s breathing hard—but at least he’s breathing. He shuffles back, quietly, hiding in the shadows. 

He’s fine—he would have been fine if you had said no to him, if you had told him that someone else had asked—but Sam?

Momentarily, very briefly, something akin to anger—jealousy—flickers in his chest, loud and bright and instantly, it's put out, dies quickly until the ashes spread across his chest. He hears you laugh, soft, carefree, and his heart settles. 

He’d do anything for you, for that laugh. 

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, the jealousy he’d never admit to and the question on his lips and turns, walks down the hall and tosses the single rose into the trash.

He gets you flowers often, whatever he passes by on his runs that he thinks you would like, might brighten your floor, but he’s never gotten you roses. 

It was a line he drew for himself. 

He glances at the folded rose and sighs. 

The line gets thicker. 

The gala is a blur of silk and glass and lights that glitter like champagne bubbles. 

Every year, Bucky swears that Pepper has outdone herself. And every year, she proves that she’ll always have more up her sleeve. 

Bucky wears a classic black tux. His hairs slicked back, neat, and beard trimmed. He looks sharp, clean, polished. But inside, he feels like he’s unraveling. 

Because you walk in and you look—

“Jesus,” he breathes, barely audible. 

You’re radiant, glowing and beautiful—perfect. Your dress, a deep purple, hugs you in all the right places, glittering like stardust with every step. He tries to think back to you mentioning the dress at all, but all he can remember is the way you winked at him. 

Your smile could bring a man to his knees. 

He knows, because he’s halfway there, legs weak. And all he can think is, I was going to ask her. 

I could have had this. 

He looks away, blinks a few times to remind himself of his place. If he’s caught gawking at you—well, he knows what would happen. 

He keeps to the shadows most of the night, nursing a glass of whiskey, tucked into the quiet corners. He mingles briefly, making sure to be polite, to be seen. Tony put a lot of effort into this, made sure that it curated to all of them, the least he could do was make his appreciation shown. 

But you? You’re a firecracker on the floor, bright and loud and so fucking radiant. Laughing, twirling, dancing with Clint, with Nat, with whoever grabs your hand. You’re drinking and smiling—magnetic. 

But your eyes—they’re fleeting, looking for something, someone. 

Bucky can’t look away. 

Until you find him. 

You corner him outside on the balcony, where the air is cool and quieter and he can breathe. 

“There you are,” you say, hand on your hip. “Avoiding me?” 

Bucky’s throat goes dry. He’s leaning on the railing and tilts his head towards you, resisting the urge to turn completely. “No. Just needed some air.” 

He can’t look at you—not your eyes or your dress or your smile. It’s blinding, too much. He just needs one day—one day and he’ll be fine, one day and his heart will settle, make peace with you and Sam. 

You take a step closer, head tilting in that curious way that always makes his heart soften. 

His eyes flick up. There it is—that sharp breath he always seems to take when he sees you.

You smile at him softly, lay your hands on the railing next to his. “You gonna ask me to dance” 

He blinks. Then, slowly, pushes himself off the railing, turns his whole body to face you properly. The muscles in his face smooth out and his shoulders drop, relaxed. 

“I should be the one asking you that,” he murmurs, so softly, delicate. 

Your grin tugs wider. “So ask me, then.” 

He swallows, eyes flickering between yours before he offers his hand. “May I have this dance?” 

You take it. 

The music is warm, old jazz bleeding through the speakers as bucky pulls you onto the floor. His hand is strong at your back, the other gentle at your waist. He moves like he was born to this—measured, smooth, leading you without hesitation. 

You’re laughing, a bright smile on your lips as your eyes shine. You spin, twirl, your head tilts back as he draws you close. 

“You’re good at this,” you breathe. 

Bucky leans in, lips near your temple. “Used to be the only way to get a girl to notice me.” 

You turn into him, mouth brushing his ear. “Now I know you’re lying. Steve told me you were quite the heartthrob.” 

Bucky laughs, low and deep. Your eyes flutter shut and you hold onto him tighter. He’s so warm, so solid under your hands. Your eyes meet his and you notice that the smile on his lips—while small—is the most genuine one you’ve seen on him tonight. 

“Not anymore,” Bucky says, quietly, his body guiding yours. 

“Debatable,” you answer, giving him an exaggerated glance over. “You clean up nice, Buck.” 

He tilts his head towards you, almost bashful. You breathe out a quiet laugh, soft, but it awakens something in him and he lifts his eyes to meet yours. 

Blue—electric, so deep and filled with so many unspoken things. 

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, earnest and soft. 

People have been complimenting you all night, but you only really cared about one—his. His words settle something in your chest and you smile, gloss shining under the glittering lights. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” 

He swallows, steps in line with you. His eyes glance around the room once and he frowns. 

“Where’s your date?”

You raise an eyebrow and scrunch up your nose in thought. “Date? What Date—Oh. You mean Sam?” 

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he nods, looks away when your eyes search his. You find what you’re looking for and duck your head to hide your smile, biting your bottom lip. 

You lift your head and meet his stormy eyes, a gentle smile on your lips. “He wasn’t really my date. We just came together. He immediately disappeared.” 

You look away, search the crowd until your eyes land on Sam’s familiar figure and the beautiful woman he’s flirting with. You laugh quietly, shake your head at his antics. 

Bucky’s staring at you like you’ve just stabbed him in the back.

You both sway in time, the world shrinking until it’s only the two of you. 

You lean in, pressing close. “I wish you’d asked me to the gala.” 

Your words were nothing more than a whisper, quiet, melting into the music and noise, but they were honest. As soon as Tony had introduced the idea, your heart had been set on going with Bucky. He looked at you once during the debrief—like he was trying to imprint you into memory—it gave you hope, something light and soft igniting in your chest. 

But then hours passed, a day. It was approaching fast and you had slowly made peace with the idea that he wasn’t going to ask, that he didn’t see you the way you saw him—whole, permanent—a part of your DNA. 

So, when Sam asked, you said yes. Simply to have someone there, an arm to hold.

But you had looked for Bucky all night, saved the best dance for him. 

It didn’t stop the want, though—it burned behind your fingertips, deep behind your eyes. So you let it slip, the quiet admission. “I was hoping you would.” 

His heart stops and he tenses—eyes wide. 

Before he can respond, someone whisks you away—Steve, grinning as he twirls you into the next number. 

Bucky stands there, stunned. He knows how he looks—gaping, eyes wide, heart stuttering wildly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter look over, concerned. He waves away the concern and walks off the dance floor, finds a seat he knows is taken, and readjusts his tie. 

Everything inside him feels tight, like his own fist is closing around his organs. Your words ring in his ears and he has half a mind to pour some water in his ear, just to drown out your voice. 

He watches as you dance with Steve, bright smile on both your faces. A drink appears in front of his face and he grabs it, mutters a quick thanks and tips it back, enjoying the burn, if just to get his mind off what he could have had if he had just not been a coward.

Sam finds him a few moments later, sipping something sweet with a mint leaf. He takes the seat next to him, leans back. 

“You looked good out there,” he says, nodding toward the dance floor. 

Bucky glances down at his empty glass before he places it on the table. “Why’d you ask her?” 

Sam shrugs, his smirk softening. “Figured if I make you jealous enough, you’d finally make a move.” 

Bucky tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. Of course, he thinks. It was such a Sam idea, so childish and filmy. Suddenly, Peter’s look makes more sense. He huffs, throws him an annoyed look. 

“I was going to. I had it all planned out. Then, well…” 

Sam slowly nods, smile twisting into understanding.

“She said yes to me.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky doesn’t mean to sound so defeated, he just can’t help it. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not even a big deal. He knows—now—that Sam has no romantic interest in you and you didn’t seem to have any for him. 

But, like most things of the heart often do, it felt like the end of the world. Like his life would have been so much better if he had walked in with you, his arm supporting you—his cologne surrounding you. 

“Why didn’t you ask her sooner, Buck?” Sam’s voice is quiet as he leans in a bit, wanting to hear the answer over the music. 

Bucky almost rolls his eyes but catches himself at the last second. Instead, he twists his fingers together. “We only found out about the gala the day before and it took me hours to build up the nerve.” 

Bucky swallows and Sam tries to hide his amusement. He loves seeing ex-assassin Bucky Barnes being bashful, almost shy. 

“I like her,” Bucky admits, quietly, like it wasn’t written on his heart and on his fucking sleeve. “So much. I didn’t wanna rush and ruin everything.” 

Sam goes quiet, smiling softly. “Is that why I saw a rose in the trash?” 

Normally, Bucky would have made some stupid comment about Sam going through the trash, but all he could do was sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Sam’s eyes flick up, behind Bucky, and his smile widens into a grin, eyes bright with something akin to pride and amusement. 

“Well, seems like you have a lot going on,” Sam offers, quickly. He pushes himself up, grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands them to Bucky. Bucky stares up at him, half confused and half annoyed—a look Sam is quite familiar with. 

“Hi, Y/n.” Sam wiggles his fingers at you and briskly walks away, gets lost in the crowd, leaving Bucky with his spine straight. 

Before Bucky can turn around, or book it across the dance floor, you walk from behind him to Sam’s chair and take a seat. Bucky’s staring at you like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide. A mixture of warmth and love, soft and heavy, fills your body and your lips curl into something secretive. 

You gently take the glass from his hands and stare at him, admiring. You let the silence settle between you both, build into something welcoming before you lightly clink your glasses together. 

While you bring it to your lips, Bucky simply sets it beside him, staring at you like you might disappear any second and he rather just take you in. 

Eyes on him, you place the glass next to his, heart warm and butterflies in your stomach as you slowly stand. Everything inside you almost melts when he instinctively leans closer, hand hovering in case you need him. 

You step forward, lean in close, your breath brushing Bucky’s ear. “Can I have one last dance?” 

He doesn’t even think, just nods. He stands up slowly, lets you lead him back onto the floor. 

This time, the music is slow, intimate. No twirls, just you, in his arms, your cheek against his chest. The hand on his shoulder now rests at his neck and his fingers curl around your waist, his thumb brushing skin. 

He feels your lips near his ear, almost collapsing from the sensation alone. 

“Do you like me, Bucky?” 

Bucky’s throat bobs and his fingers curl into your skin tighter, almost like he could will the answer out of his body. Over your shoulder, Steve and Sam both gave him a thumb’s up before turning. 

Bucky clears his throat and pulls you closer. Your eyes lift to meet his and he slowly nods.

“Yes,” he tells you, quietly. “I do.” 

It wasn’t just like—it was love. He knew it was. He hadn’t felt it before but he knew it, like a stranger you saw often enough to recognize. But he didn’t want to scare you, push you away. 

Bucky was familiar with your smiles, the way you brighten when you’re happy, but it was nothing compared to now—nothing compares to the way you were glowing as he sways you, the way your eyes shine and your smile—oh, your smile, it was so soft and so loving. 

“Me too,” you tell him, just as quiet. “So much.”  

His heart slams and a shiver runs up his spine. He blinks at you slowly, lips parting. You lean back, eyes shining, wanting to take this moment in its entirety. 

Inside, everything is warm and burning. The way he holds you, like you’re something precious has your mind reeling and all you want is to hold him, for him to touch you and smile at you the way you ache for. 

Then—he smiles at you. 

It’s beautiful. Heart-breaking. 

Utterly devastating as it lights up his face, smooths out all the crevices and worries in his face. 

He pulls you flush against him and you giggle, something soft and airy but it lights Bucky up in a way you’ve never seen before. Your fingers brush the hair at his nape, nails scratching his skin. 

You lean forward, press your lips to the edge of his jaw. His eyes flutter shut and a deep rumble escapes him. The fire in your belly burns brighter and the need inside you cracks alive and all you see is him. 

“Take me home.” 

You barely recognize your own voice. The want—something you keep hidden, locked away for months or years—you hardly remember—has been pulled to the surface. 

Bucky stares, breathless. He doesn’t even know if the music is still playing because all he can see and hear is you. Everything else fades to the back and his neck is warm but he’s so happy—confused, but all warm inside. 

Your smile turns slightly wicked, the slight alcohol and confidence burns through your veins. 

“You gonna make me beg, Buck?” 

Oh, he’s in for it. 

His voice is low, a rasp, barely hanging on. “Ask nicely.” 

You laugh, bright and beautiful. 

The Bucky you know, quiet, warm, confident, is staring back at you with a small smile, heat and want and love dancing in his eyes. 

“Please, Bucky,” you whisper, teasing. “Take me home.” 

He takes your hand and leads you out, without looking back. 

The elevator doors close with a soft chime. 

The silence settles—electric. 

You’re still holding his hand—the metal one, cool and solid, familiar. 

Bucky stands opposite you—broad, strong, flushed from dancing. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run ten blocks, suit tight across his shoulders. You lean back against the mirrored wall, flushed, breathless, heart still pounding from that last dance. 

Your eyes lift to meet his. 

He’s on you in a second, hands gripping your waist, mouth slanting over yours with desperate, open-mouthed hunger. It’s not gentle, or soft. It’s heat and need and years of unspoken want bursting at the seams. 

He kisses like a man who’s been starving for you, like he’s trying to memorize your mouth with his tongue. You moan into him. His tongue slides against yours, and he groans like he’s tasting something forbidden.

He kisses with desperation. With reverence. With a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat as your hips slot against his.

You break the kiss with a gasp. “Bucky—”

He dips to your throat, tongue licking into the space just below your jaw.

“Christ,” he breathes. “You’re killin’ me.”

“Good,” you pant, fingers curling into his jacket. “You deserve it. For making me wait this long.”

Your hands fist in the lapels of his tux, pulling him closer, closer, like there still isn’t enough of him touching you. He groans into your mouth when you bite his lips, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

“Fuck—” he breathes. “You taste so good.” 

You gasp as his metal hand slides beneath your dress, gripping your thigh and hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around his waist, dress riding high, and thank God for the slit.

“Been wantin’ to do this for so fucking long,” he rasps against your throat, kissing, biting, sucking bruisses into your skin. “Didn’t think I could—didn’t think you’d want me—” 

“I do,” you whisper, dazed, fingers in his hair. “God, Bucky, I want you—” 

“And you’ll have me,” he kisses your neck, the skin below your ear. “You said please,” he pants, “and I listen when you ask.”

The elevator dings. The doors slide open.

He doesn’t put you down.

Your back hits the wall just outside the elevator, on his floor. He pins you there with his body, mouths at your neck like he hasn’t enough, like he’s been starving. 

You drag your fingers through his hair, tugging, pressing your chest flush against his. 

“I wanted you,” you whisper, losing your mind. “All night. I kept looking for you—” 

His voice is hoarse, Brooklyn accent thick and strong. “I was tryin’ not to fuckin’ look at you. Drove me insane.” 

You arch into him, gasping when his hips grind into yours. You can feel the thick press of him through his slacks, rubbing against the soaked lace between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you moan. “Bucky—please—” 

“I got you, sweetheart,” he whispers,  kissing your collarbone as he moves through the space blindly, holding you tight against him. “You’re mine tonight and forever. All fuckin’ mine.” 

He lays you down on the couch gently, like you’re something sacred and precious—and you are. 

Then he sinks to his knees in front of you, hands warm and pressing into your thighs as he drags them down your legs, eyes aflame. 

You barely have time to blink before he’s pulling your legs over his shoulders and pushing your dress higher, higher, until your thighs are bare and open and trembling. 

He stares at your panties—dark with wetness, delicate against your skin. His thumb rubs circles into your skin, like he can’t help but touch you, but remind you that you’re safe—loved. 

“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs, thumb stroking the damp lace. You gasp, legs trying to shut. His hands, big and warm, hold you open with little force, like he can command your body by sheer will. “Can I take ‘em off?”

You nod, breathlessly. All your dreams, fantasies you’d had but kept to yourself, were coming true. “Yes, Yes—please—” 

Bucky slides them down your legs, kissing your skin as he goes. His heart is about to jump out of his fucking chest and go barraling down the tower. He can hardly believe he’s on his knees—nose almost pressing into your cunt—can barely remember the gala itself. 

He spreads your thighs wide and groans—low and deep, almost painful. 

Bucky tried to be a gentleman, tried to be the good boy his mama raised, but some nights, when his hand wrapped around his cock, all he could picture was your pussy—how soft and beautiful it must have looked, how he’d make her drip for him.

The real thing didn’t even measure. He can’t believe he thought his imagination could do her any justice. 

“Fuck me,” he breathes, eyes wide and shiny. “You’re so wet. Fuckin’ dripping, baby.” 

“Only for you,” you whisper. 

There’s something warm in your voice that makes him look up, into your hooded eyes. You smile, nothing but love and promise on your face. It’s like you're telling him that you know—know he’s thought about you, that you want him as bad as he wants you, that you want everything he has to offer. 

His eyes are blazing, chest heaving. 

The curve of his smile presses against your skin as he presses soft, open mouthed kisses to your thighs. You barely notice his trailing hand until it lands on your ass and he squeezes hard. You yelp at the feeling and jerk forward, his other hand steadies you easily. There’s laughter in your breath as you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut. 

Bucky licks a harsh stripe of your core, holds you down as you writhe under him. He presses his face closer to your cunt as his tongue licks and suckles, laps up all your juices. The sweetness, the unique taste of you has his eyes rolling back and he knows he’ll never taste anything that would compare.

The sounds of slurping and his lips smacking around your clit make your legs shake as you try to breathe. He tilts his head further, pushes his tongue deeper within you and you moan, broken and obscene. 

He curls the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost scream, tears falling down your cheeks at the pleasure.

“Yes, yes,” you chant, words falling from your lips like praise.

Lifting his eyes, Bucky hums at the sight of your pleasure, the way the tears fall prettily down your cheeks. One of his hands slides up your body, just to feel you, but before he could bring it back towards him, you grab it with a tight grip and settle it around your throat. 

He groans into your folds and your legs shake. Needing more, you begin moving your hips feverishly against his face, grinding down on him. Bucky moans into cunt as you smear all your slick over his face, his chin dripping with drool and arousal. 

“Bucky—oh my god—fuck—”

He grunts, and the sound vibrates through you.

“Could do this forever,” he pants.

“You taste so good—so sweet—gonna make you cum on my fuckin’ tongue—”

Your sweet scent and taste overwhelm his mind and he begins losing it, ruts against the edge of the sofa like a schoolboy, his lips latch onto your clit as he pushes himself closer to your dripping cunt, nose rubbing deliciously against your bud as he slides his tongue in and out of you. 

“James,” you cry, eyes barely open as you watch him suck you dry. The hand on your throat slides down to yours and he threads your fingers together and squeezes once, twice, thrice, before your legs pulse erratically and your walls clench around his tongue.

“I’m so close, baby.” 

Bucky’s brain short-circuits at your words, at the term, and he spreads you open wider and licks at you harsher, licking long strips as he teases your clit with his nose. 

“Cum, sweetheart,” he edges, lulling you closer to your orgasm. He needs this as bad as you do. “Cum all over my face, Y/n.” 

His words are enough to break you and your vision blurs as you moan, your stomach coils and recoils as your orgasm washes over you like cold water, soaks him completely. 

Bucky continues to push his tongue into your gushing pussy, lips coaxing all your juices down his throat, making you throw your head back as you arch into him. He licks and sucks harshly, even as you mumble incoherently about it being too much. 

When he pulls away, face covered in your slick, he smiles. Your whole body trembles and you lift your head just in time to watch him coat his fingers in your juices before he plops his fingers into his mouth and sucks. 

He looks so pleased, so completely, irrevocably and ardently in love with you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, pussy fluttering. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

He grins—messy, flushed, lips shiny with your cum.

“You think I wasn’t dreamin’ about this? Every fuckin’ night?”

He lifts you easily, arms secure beneath your thighs and back. You melt into him, still dazed, as he carries you into his bedroom.

Just before he lays you down, you grip his shoulders.

“Wait,” you murmur, breath hitching. “Let me.” You unwrap your legs from around him but his hold on you stays tight, keeping you close. 

You push him until he stumbles back, landing on the bed with a grunt. He stares up at you, dazed. 

You climb into his lap, straddling him. Your dress is in bunches, and you remind yourself to apologize to Nat…she probably won’t want it back. 

Bucky tries to touch your hips, tries to breathe, but you grab his wrists and pin them to the bed. You’ve been in this position before, but it was in the training room, briefly, before he flipped you over. Now you know why. 

His breath catches when you press down on him, your wet cunt dragging across his hard bulge. 

“Hands to yourself,” your words are soft, teasing. 

He groans, tips his head back. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart—” 

You push yourself off him and start to stop. The straps of your dress slide off your shoulders slowly. You shimmy it down your body, piece by piece, letting it fall until you’re completely naked in front of him. 

He stares like you’ve knocked the breath from his lungs, like he’d follow you anywhere—take a bite of the apple simply because you looked at him. 

He’s been cast from heaven but he doesn’t mind, because Eden stands in front of him, beautiful and soft and looking at him—like he’s worthy of it. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathes out, groanign at the sight of you. 

Grinning, you twirl for him. There’s scars on your skin, burns and patchy stitching, but you don’t care. You never really have and with the way Bucky’s looking at you, like you’re his salvation, you can’t help but move closer. 

“You like?” 

It’s a bizarre question, because you can see how much he likes it—how beautiful you are to him. But, still, because he’s always been sweet, he smiles something soft and nods, fingers twitching like he might reach out.

“You’re beautiful. Absolutely stunnin’.” 

You giggle and slide onto his lap again, kiss his throat and then move lower, kissing down his chest as you begin undoing his shirt. Bucky’s hands stay at his side, curling into fists because all he wants to do is touch.

You pull off his tie, undo the buttons slowly—torturously—and push the fabric open to reveal his bare chest. You’ve seen him shirtless a few times but every time, it knocks the wind out of you. 

Broad, defined, and hard. 

You kiss every inch. 

His abs flex as you drag your mouth down to his waistband, slowly getting to your knees. You undo his belt and pants slowly, hand grazing his cock through the fabric. 

He’s so hard—big—straining, leaking. 

You free him and his cock slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy and beautiful. It’s everything you thought it would be and more. 

“My God,” you almost whine. “No wonder you’ve got such an ego.” 

He laughs—then gasps when you kiss his inner thigh—close, so close. 

You kiss and bite his skin, etching your name into his skin so the ghost of your lips can live on. Once you’re satisfied, you lift your eyes and almost gasp at the way his cock was leaking, his tip red and veiny. Mesmerized, you lean forward and shift your eyes to his, finding nothing but darkness staring back at you. His blue eyes, the ones you love so dearly, have been replaced by something predatory, almost possessive. 

Still, you could see the softness threaded into the crinkles of his skin, the way he refuses to move, to touch you, until you make it clear that you want him to. You rest your cheek against his inner thigh and smile up at him. 

“I like you, Bucky.” Your voice is low, a mere brush of air against his skin, but he hears you. You need him to know—that this is more than lust for you, that it’s for life. “You gonna let me show you how much?”

Not trusting his voice, he simply nods. You blink up at him, unmoving. Swallowing the lust that claws in his throat, Bucky tilts his head forward. “Yes,” he breathes out. “Whatever you want.” 

Bucky barely had enough time to cry out your name before you lick a long stripe from his base to his tip, circling your tongue around him once before you repeat the action once more. All his empty words die in his throat as he releases a shaky breath at the feeling of your warm mouth taking him in completely. 

Pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, you taste the salty taste of his sweat and precum. It takes over your senses and you shift forward, circling your tongue around his tip. Pooling some spit on your tongue, you let it drip down his length as you wrap your hand around him, pressing soft kisses to his tip. 

Bucky groans, breathing heavier as his legs spasm around you. He moans out your name and you look up to the sight of his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back. His chest rises rapidly and he looks so beautiful, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his forehead, hair brushed back and unruly. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, his voice cracking as you push him further down your throat, ignoring the burn because he tastes addictive, sounds sweeter than anything you’ve ever heard. 

You hollow your cheeks, spit dripping down your throat as you work him with your mouth, humming when he hits the back of your throat. 

“Fuck—baby—” His voice breaks, raspy. “That’s it—that’s so fuckin’ good—” His thighs tremble and his abs clench. 

He twitches in your mouth and you push him deeper, practically begging. Before he can cum—

He pulls you off, voice and body wrecked. He pants, cock standing straight and leaking and harder than it’s ever been. 

“Wanna cum inside you,” he whimpers, pulling you off the floor and into his arms. “Wanna feel you, Y/n, baby—please.” 

You’re nodding, still reeling from the emptiness in your mouth. You straddle him again and he surges forward, captures your lips in a hot, messy kiss. It’s all teeth and lips and his hands are everywhere on you. 

As he kisses you senseless, you reach between your legs and guide him to your entrance, hissing into his mouth when his tip drags between your folds. 

The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls make you both moan in unison, your body falling limp into his as you sink down completely, the base of his cock hitting your core. The stretch feels amazing, so good, and all you can do is tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob. 

His hands grip your hips, jaw slack. He can’t breathe—can barely think with your pussy wrapped around him, warm and tight and so perfect. 

“Fuck—you feel so fuckin’ good—so tight—” 

He nips at your jaw, tongue dragging across your skin as you roll your hips, bracing your hands on his chest. You feel so full, leaking all over his lap. You press a soft kiss to his neck and his hips jerks upwards, filling you to the brim, his tip reaching parts of you only he could. 

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he interrupts you by crashing his lips against yours, swallowing your gasp greedily. His lips move roughly against yours, so perfect, as one of his hands slide down to your ass, gripping tightly as he moves his hips against yours. 

He kisses down your body, pressing wet, open mouth kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, tongue brushing against your nipples. 

You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pull and scrape his hair and the nape of his neck. 

He twitches inside you, against your sensitive walls and you almost cry out. As if sensing your distraught, one of his hands grip your waist protectively and he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

You slowly move, sliding him in and out of your pussy. His hold on your waist helps lift you up and down, guiding you to a delicious pace. His hands slide from your waist to your ass, resting there. 

Bucky throws his head back when you begin jumping on his cock, his balls slapping against your cunt. You grip his shoulders and he can feel his skin break as you dig your nails into his skin, the creak of his bed loud as the room fills with your mixed moans. 

You slow down, press down on his length to catch your breath. Grinding on his laps, his cock brushes against all your sweet spots, stretches your walls with a delicious burn. You wiggle around on his cock and Bucky’s eyes fly open and he stares at you with a heavy gaze. 

He sits up straighter, wraps his arms around you and kisses your throat. “Can’t—fuck.” He thrusts his hips up, almost animally. “Gotta have you—” 

Holding you close, he flips you onto your back and thrusts. 

You gasp as he drives into you, pressing you into the mattress. He grips onto your hips and pulls you towards him, flush against his pelvis as he rocks his hips forward, fucking his cock into you.

Back arched, you moan when his hand travels to your throat and he holds you firmly beneath him, tilting your head backwards as he applies just the right amount of pressure to your jugular veins, making you lightheaded as he slides in and out of you at a bruising pace. 

He smiles when you whimper, teeth grazing the side of your throat as he bites down, pressing your hips flush against his pelvis, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix, making you see stars. 

His hand cups your jaw and his mouth claims yours, softer, despite the rough and messy pace of his hips. He kisses you slowly, traces his devotion into your gums. 

“I love you,” he whispers, like he couldn’t help it. “I love you.”

Your heart stutters and you wrap your arms around his neck—tighter. You kiss his nose, the edge of his lips, before his lips.

“I love you too.” 

It was inevitable, you think. You were always going to fall in love with him. There was so much to love. 

He groans like he’s about to lose it, like your words have single-handedly freed him from all of his crimes and sins. 

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. 

“Inside,” you whine, begging. “Cum inside me—please, Buck.” 

His hips stutter and he practically growls. “Fuck—my pretty girl. Gonna cum inside you,” he moans. “Fill you up—want it to stay—wanna make you—”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, his cock filling you to the brim. 

You clench around him, vision going white as you gush around him and he shudders, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken moan of your name. 

He thrusts through it, panting, pressing kisses to your cheek, your neck, your lips. 

Once he’s sure he’s emptied himself completely inside you, he slows his pace and presses kisses all over your face, slowly halting the movement of his hips. You fall into a slump underneath him and he wraps his arms around you tightly, body pressing against yours, mumbling quietly to you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered after a moment. 

You hum, eyes too tired and droopy to open. He rubs your stomach soothingly, tries to ground you before he moves. “Are you okay, Y/n? Do you need anything?” 

Slowly, you shake your head and open your eyes. He’s staring back at you with so much love in his eyes, nothing but softness and concern bright in his eyes. He nudges his nose against yours and you smile, cracking his chest open. 

“Just you,” you whisper, finger curling into his dog tags as you pull him in for a kiss. 

He laughs into your mouth but kisses you with the same fervor you kiss him with. Gently, Bucky pulls out of your sopping cunt and you both bite back a hiss. He shifts his weight and maneuvers his body until you’re laying in his arms, your chest pressing against his, legs intertwined. 

He knows he has to clean you up, get you a glass of water and maybe something to eat, but your eyes flutter shut and your hand rests on his heart so he puts it off, knows you need him more. 

He runs his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he’s right here—for good. You snuggle into him, press a kiss to a scar above his heart. 

He strokes your spine with trembling fingers, his heart full and warm and content. 

“You’re mine now,” he whispers, voice rough and soft and questioning. 

You lift your eyes to meet his and kiss his jaw. “Was always yours.” 

He smiles—small, awestruck. 

“You’re still my best friend,” he says, quietly. Like he needs you to know. 

“And you’re mine,” you respond, just as quiet. 

He presses his lips to your forehead, holds you tight against him. 

It’s all he’s ever wanted—to be yours. In every way. 

[marvin-facts]

Does Marvin always get the things he wants? Asking for a friend

no. didn’t you hear? whizzer died

[andy-15-07]

Hey, can I request Joel Miller x reader where reader is Dina’s older sister (like late 20s). They secretly like each other, nobody knows – Joel doesn’t want to pursue anything because he thinks she’s too young for him, and she thinks he doesn’t really like her. Everything changes when they go on patrol together, she gets him to talk and open up a bit. They come back to Jackson and there’s some party at Tipsy Bison, so they join everyone else. They end up at Joel’s house (smut) and Ellie walks in in the morning, catching them in the act…

What the Morning Brings

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1752| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Most days in Jackson passed with a quiet kind of peace. Your mornings started with coffee on the porch, evenings with a book and maybe a slow walk around the fence line. You’d lived a whole life before this,losses, grief, survival,but Jackson was the closest thing to stability you’d known in years.

And then there was Joel Miller.

Ellie’s pseudo-dad. Grumpy, grizzled, quiet. Rough hands. Warm voice. Eyes that watched too much and gave away too little.

You were Dina’s older sister by seven years,not exactly a kid, but Joel still looked at you like you were one foot in adolescence. He talked to you politely, never too much. Never too close. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t eat at you.

You liked him. A lot. Not just for the obvious reasons,the broad shoulders, the drawl, the way his hands flexed when he fixed a boot or lifted a crate,but for the way he carried everything, like it was his responsibility to hold up the world.

And you hated that he’d never do anything about it.

“Patrol?” you blinked at Maria. “With Joel?”

“Yeah.” She handed you the clipboard. “Ellie’s got a sore ankle, and you’re next on the list. South ridge and back. Shouldn’t take more than half a day.”

You didn’t know whether to groan or thank God. Instead, you just nodded and left to pack your rifle.

The ride was quiet. Typical Joel.

Snow crunched under hooves and the distant mountains glittered with frost. You’d always liked the cold,it made people slow down, made silence feel heavier. More honest.

“You always this chatty?” you finally asked after an hour of walking the fence.

Joel gave a grunt. “Ain’t much to say.”

You cast him a glance. “Bullshit. You’re just good at pretending you don’t have thoughts.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. “You don’t give up, do you?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Not when I want something.”

He raised a brow. “And what is it you want?”

You hesitated. The question was casual, but your chest felt tight.

“To know why you act like I’m off-limits.”

Joel’s eyes flicked away immediately. “You’re young.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“Still young.”

“And you’re what? Fifty?”

He frowned. “Not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He turned to you, voice low and even. “The point is, I’m not gonna be the guy who messes up a young woman’s life because he’s lonely and wants a warm body in his bed.”

You stopped walking. “Is that what you think this would be?”

He didn’t answer. The snow fell gently between you, and his jaw was clenched tight.

“I’m not some little girl who doesn’t know what she wants,” you continued. “I’ve lived through the same shit you have. Lost people. Survived. Fought. I’m here. I’m whole. And I want you. Not because I’m bored. Not because I need fixing. Because I see you.”

Joel stared at you for a long time, expression unreadable. Then he turned and muttered, “Let’s keep moving. Snow’s picking up.”

You didn’t speak the rest of the patrol. But something was different.

He walked a little closer. He handed you jerky when you stopped to rest. He looked at you like he didn’t know what the hell to do with the way you cracked him open.

By the time you got back to Jackson, the sky was a watercolor of pale oranges and purples. You were chilled, tired, and emotionally drained,but then you saw the warm glow of the Tipsy Bison.

“You going in?” you asked as Joel tied up his horse.

He hesitated. “Maybe for a bit.”

You smiled. “Buy you a drink?”

His brow arched. “You offering?”

You didn’t answer. Just pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The Tipsy Bison was loud. Laughter, music, the clink of glasses. Dina waved from across the room, her hand wrapped around Jesse’s. You nodded at her, then slid onto a stool near the bar, Joel settling beside you like muscle memory.

You bought him a whiskey. He didn’t say thank you, but the nod he gave you felt heavier than words.

Two drinks in, Joel’s shoulders relaxed. Three in, you caught him watching your mouth when you laughed at something someone said. Four in, his knee brushed yours and didn’t move.

“Wanna get outta here?” he asked softly, close to your ear.

Your heart pounded. “Yeah.”

You didn’t talk on the way to his house. The air between you was taut, electric. The moment you stepped inside, Joel barely got the door closed before you grabbed his collar and kissed him.

He responded like a dam breaking.

His hands cupped your face, then your waist, pulling you in like he’d starved for this. He groaned into your mouth, low and needy, like it had been years since he’d touched someone like this. Maybe it had.

You pulled your coat off blindly. He fumbled with the buttons of your flannel. When you reached for his belt, he grabbed your wrist gently.

“You sure?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.”

Joel swore under his breath and kissed you again, slower now, like he was savoring the moment.

He picked you up, lips on your neck, and carried you to his bedroom.

Clothes hit the floor. His mouth mapped a trail across your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. He took his time, like he needed to memorize the taste of your skin, the sounds you made when his hands gripped your hips, when his tongue flicked over your nipple, when his mouth dropped between your thighs and stayed there until your legs were shaking and you were moaning his name like it was holy.

“Fuck, Joel,”

“Say it again,” he muttered, mouth hot against your inner thigh.

“Joel,” you whimpered, nails curling into the sheets. “Please.”

He hovered over you then, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. “Condom’s in the drawer.”

You reached, handed it to him. He rolled it on with shaking hands.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

He paused. Then kissed your cheek, your jaw, the shell of your ear.

“More than okay.”

He slid into you slowly, watching every inch disappear inside you, his breathing ragged.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Jesus, Joel…”

He didn’t say anything, just rested his forehead against yours and moved,slow, deep thrusts that made your toes curl. His hand slid under your thigh, lifting you for a better angle, and when you clenched around him, he grunted.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he murmured. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

You cupped his face. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He made love to you like it was the only language he knew. No rush. Just raw, burning need wrapped in something tender. Something honest.

You came first, legs trembling. He followed soon after, groaning your name like it was ripped from him.

He collapsed beside you, breathing hard. You turned toward him, chest still heaving.

“Still think I’m too young for you?” you teased softly.

He smiled, real and unguarded. “Still think I don’t like you?”

You grinned and kissed his jaw. “We’re idiots.”

“Big ones,” he agreed.

You curled into his side. His arm wrapped around you.

And then,

The door creaked open.

“Joel? Are you,” Ellie’s voice cut off.

You both froze.

She stared from the doorway, eyes wide and very aware of your very-naked bodies.

“Oh my fucking GOD,”

Joel sat up, yanking a sheet over you both. “Ellie!”

“Jesus Christ,” she gagged, backing up. “Nope. Nope. Nope. I’m erasing this from my brain. Goodbye forever.”

The door slammed shut.

You stared at Joel, wide-eyed. “Well… that’s one way to make it public.”

Joel groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

You giggled, unable to help yourself. “At least now she knows I’m not just your ‘young friend.’”

He glanced over, smirking. “She’s gonna kill me.”

“She’ll live.”

Joel reached out, brushing hair from your face. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You kissed his fingertips. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

The next morning, sunlight filtered through thin curtains, painting lazy gold stripes across the rumpled sheets. You blinked awake to the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway,and then a cautious knock.

“Joel? You in there?” Ellie’s voice was muffled but unmistakable.

Joel groaned and threw an arm over his face. “Ugh. Give us a minute?”

You propped yourself on one elbow, sheet wrapped around your chest. “Early bird, huh?”

Ellie’s footsteps paused. “I,look, I’m sorry I,I didn’t mean to barge in last night. I just… I had a nightmare and thought you weren’t here.”

Joel peeled back the sheet just enough to flash his trademark cranky grin. “Scared of the dark?”

Ellie’s head poked through the door. She was wearing Joel’s old flannel,half buttoned, one sleeve hanging off her shoulder. She cleared her throat. “Couldn’t find Dina. Thought I’d check on you.”

You leaned forward and gave her a gentle smile. “Hey pumpkin. I’m fine.”

She hesitated, then hopped onto the edge of the bed, perching awkwardly. “Right. I’m sorry if I made things weird last night.”

You sat up fully, pulling the sheet snugly around you. “Not weird,” you said softly. “Just… not exactly what we had planned.”

Ellie looked sheepish, glancing at Joel. Joel rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled. “Ellie, you know us. We’ll be fine.”

Ellie nodded, eyes darting between you two. “Okay. But, uh… breakfast?” She managed a small smile. “I’m starving.”

You exchanged a grin with Joel. “Sounds perfect,” you said, swinging your legs over the side. “We’ll make pancakes.”

Ellie beamed. “Yes! Pancakes!” She stood, then paused. “So… no one’s gonna talk about last night?”

Joel reached over and ruffled her hair. “Not unless you want to.”

Ellie rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. As you grabbed Joel’s worn T-shirt to throw on, you felt his hand find yours under the sheet. In that simple squeeze, you both knew: whatever awkwardness lingered, it would dissolve over breakfast and laughter,and maybe a playful,just maybe,long nap later.

You caught Ellie’s eye as you headed toward the kitchen. “Don’t tell Dina, okay?”

Ellie laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me… for now.”

And with that, you stepped into the morning light, hand in hand with Joel,no longer hiding, no longer afraid of what people might think. Because here, in Jackson, family meant more than blood. It meant loyalty, love… and sometimes, a very unexpected wake-up call.

[holylulusworld]

Dinner for found family

Summary: You host another dinner for your found family. Your “real” family doesn’t like it one bit.

Pairing: Biker(Alpha)Bucky Barnes x Neighbor (Omega) Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Brock Rumlow, Yelena Belova, Okoye,

Warnings: fluff, a/b/o, courting, cocky Bucky, protective Bucky, awful family

Catch up here: Dinner for a pack

“Hey, neighbor,” Bucky grins as he lazily leans on your door frame. “Do you mind lending me some sugar, Y/N? I’m out of sugar, and no one has the good stuff.”

You giggle at his playfulness, even slap his chest because his eyes roam your body in your simple sundress.

Over the last few weeks, you and the alpha have been going steady. This doesn’t mean you’ll allow him to undress you with his eyes.

After the dinner you hosted for his friends and Bucky, he finally declared he wanted to court you like a good alpha. “I don’t know, sir. You never bring my cups back.”

“Well, you could just move in with me and have them all back,” he challenges like the cocky man he is. “I told you; my omega can have everything I own.”

“I told you that I need time to think about it, Bucky,” you whine when he purrs low in his throat for you. “No, don’t use your alpha moves on me.” You stand your ground. “I want this to work out, and for us to bond, but…”

“You’re scared,” he concludes, seeing the uncertainty in your eyes. “They really did a number on you.” Bucky nods slowly, a little disappointed that you do not trust him yet. “I’m here to stay, Y/N. But I understand that you fear that I’ll let you down, too.”

“It’s…” You avert your gaze, wringing your hands. “I told you how they always left me outside alone. Even on my brother’s wedding day, I was an outcast. I wasn’t allowed to sit with the family. People asked who I was because I sat in the back with his colleagues and his neighbor.”

“Assholes,” Bucky grunts, making you chuckle. “I mean it, Y/N. Who does this to his sister and daughter? You outdid yourself preparing the anniversary dinner. The food, the pie, the decoration, and you even had little gift bags for all guests.”

“Brock got the good stuff.” You snicker. “Shaving cream and strawberry jam with lavender.” You wave at Brock, who looks your way. “Did you already try the jam, Brock?”

“I ate it all, sweet cheeks. Do you have more for Brock? I like me some good jam.” Brock makes his way toward you and Bucky before you can stop him. “Morning, do you have more?”

“Sure thing,” you wink at Brock before grabbing Bucky’s wrist. “Buck will bring you some later. He needs some sugar first.”

“Can I have it now?” Brock’s stomach growls loudly. “I haven’t eaten anything yet.” It almost looks like Brock pouts when he looks at you.

“Dammit, Brock. Get off her back,” Bucky grunts at his friend. “She’ll give you some later. Have a little patience.”

“Wait a moment. I’ll get you some,” you laugh as Bucky makes a face. “Don’t be like that, Bucky. He’s hungry and hasn’t eaten yet.”

“Y/N is an angel. You must keep her around, Bucky,” Brock grins wildly when you move inside your house only to come back with two jars of jam in your hands. “More jam!”

“Here you go, Brock.” You place the jars in his hands, smiling softly. “I grew the strawberries in my backyard. I hope you like these too.”

“Thank you, sweetness.” Brock hurriedly runs off with the jars in his hands. He shoos Sam and Yelena away. He won’t share his prey with any of them.

“Do you want to come in now, Bucky, or do you want to wait here for the sugar?” You crook your finger to lure Bucky into your house. “I want you to help me decide on what to cook for dinner tomorrow night. I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be perfect because you are going to be there.” Bucky moves closer, cupping your face with both hands. “The gang already loves you. You can feed them dry bread and water, and they’ll praise you.”

“I want to give them something better than dry bread, Bucky,” you whine. “You know them better than anyone else. I need your help.”

“Brock is easy. He eats everything edible. It doesn’t matter if it tastes good.” He grins at you. “Just saying, give him food, and he’s your best friend.”

“I thought about…” You want to tell Bucky about the menu you put together for your dinner when your phone vibrates. You ignore it and retrieve your cookbook, explaining the ingredients and details of the main dish.

“Your phone,” Bucky points at your phone, furrowing his brows as you ignore your phone once again. “Angel, don’t you want to see if it’s someone important?”

“What is it now?” You huff when your phone vibrates again and again and again. Message after message pops up, but you still don’t unlock it.

“Your menu sounds delicious, Y/N.” Bucky nods, not giving away that he understood only half of the recipe. “So…will you check your phone or…just ignore it?”

“What?” You look at Bucky, blinking a few times. “Oh, my phone. I guess it’s one of those apps wanting to tell me about the latest updates or something.”

“Six times in a row?” He huffs. “If there’s someone else…just tell me.” Bucky sniffs when you unlock your phone.

“Bucky, there is no one else. It’s just that…” You take a deep breath and show Bucky the latest messages you received. “It’s my family not leaving me alone.”

“What? Why? Do you want me to break someone’s face?” Bucky looks at the messages, mostly from your brother and parents, blaming you for the shitstorm they got online. “What happened?”

“Yelena and Okoye posted some pictures from our dinner and explained that the food and everything else were meant for my parents’ anniversary. Apparently, the daughter of my parents' best friend found the post, and well…” You shrug. “I didn’t know about the post, and I don’t mind. It’s the truth. We had a wonderful evening after they stood me up last minute.”

“I should do something about this,” Bucky grinds his teeth. “Give me their address, and they’ll leave you alone.”

“No…no,” you grab his wrist, shaking your head. “They soon will lose interest. I told you, they never wasted much thought on me.”

“That’s not right, and you know it, Y/N. They are the assholes in this story, not you.” He thumbs through the angry messages from your family, getting angrier with every line he reads. “Maybe you should block them.”

“I tried a few times, but—” You sigh deeply. “They are still my family, and it’s hard to cut them out of my life forever. I’m not saying you are wrong in this. I only need a little more time.”

“I get it.” Bucky wraps his arms around you, gently holding you in his arms. “Family can be shitty, but it’s still family. I want you to know that you have a new family waiting across the street. They won’t let you down, I swear.”

Everything looks perfect. Bucky helped you prepare the table while you and Okoye checked on the food. She was a great help, unlike Brock, who tried to steal food more than once.

You are in a good mood, ready to serve the first dish, when your doorbell cuts through the cheers and happy chatter. “Who is this?” Brock grunts. He was so close to finally tasting your food, only for someone to ruin his chance to get a filled plate.

“I don’t know,” you reply, looking at Bucky. “Everyone we invited is here. Did you invite someone else?”

Bucky looks around the crowded room. Natasha, Yelena, and Okoye shake their heads. Brock is busy stealing some potatoes while Sam, Clint, and Steve fight over the best seat. Thor and Loki fight over beverages, but shake their heads.

“Guys, did you invite someone else?” Bucky asks. “I didn’t invite someone, either.”

“Hmm… I guess we should check.” Brock is quick to get up, if only to grab a chicken leg before he walks toward the door, ripping it open.

“Brock…wait…” Bucky groans as he follows Brock close behind. “Who is this?”

“I don’t know, man,” Brock replies, taking a large bite of the chicken. “They are yelling and told me to get out of their way.”

“What?” Bucky shoves his friend aside, only to face your angry family. They scream at him and try to enter your house. “What do you want here?”

“My sister is holding another dinner, and we are not invited,” your brother snaps at Bucky as if this explains why they came here tonight.

“Yeah, for a reason,” Bucky bites back, squaring his shoulders, ready to fight your brother. “You let her down and didn’t invite her for your fancy dinner. She cooked and baked and got all these nice gifts only for you to ignore her. So, get fucked.”

“Get … what?” Your brother splutters. “I want to hear it from her.”

You step next to Bucky, looking at your family. They act as if you did some horrid thing. All the times they let you down and ignored you come to your mind. You laugh and say, “Bucky is right. Get. Fucked.”

Slamming the door in their face, you smile. Bucky and Brock watch you walk off. They are both stunned, but Bucky, he’s damn proud of you too…

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Summertime [B. F.]

Bob Floyd x fem!reader

wc: 1k

summary: Rooster and Hangman spot a mysterious woman… who turns out to be already taken.

“Hey, Rooster. Hottie at 12 o’clock.”

Jake's voice broke the euphoria of the moment. Bradley was energetically celebrating a perfect pass he'd just thrown to one of his teammates, capping off an intense round of the improvised beach game. The sun was blazing high, the clear sky seemed to melt onto the sand, and the waves crashed in a slow rhythm as the pilots—sweaty, wet, and covered in sand—ran back and forth amid shouts, laughter, and tanned bodies.

“That fatso?”

“On my 12, idiot,” Hangman replied in annoyance, rolling his eyes. “Turn to your left.”

Bradley obeyed, curious. And then he saw her: leaning elegantly against the railing of the beach cabin, a woman observing the scene. The wind gently ruffled her hair, and the sun cast golden glints on her exposed skin. She wore a simple bikini top, denim shorts, and a light white robe that barely covered her back. Hanging over her shoulder was a jute bag adorned with a colorful scarf tied to the handle.

“I think for the first time we agree, Hangman.”

They both stood motionless, watching her from a distance as if the world had slowed down. She seemed to be searching for something—or someone—in the crowd, her face turning intently while her sunglasses obscured her intentions.

“What do you think she's here for?” Rooster asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe she just wanted to see a bunch of shirtless machos," Jake replied with a crooked smile. "I hope so, man. Because that doll looks like something out of a damn dream."

As if she'd heard them, the woman raised her hand in their direction, greeting them with a broad, bright smile. They looked at each other, puzzled.

“She’s waving at us. Wave back!” Brad ordered, nudging the blond.

They both raised their hands enthusiastically, thoughtlessly using that charming smile that had worked so often for them. But just when they thought they'd captured her attention, a third player entered the scene: someone was running from the side toward the woman, with determined steps.

“Bob? Does he know her?”

“So it seems”

Floyd approached her urgently, his smile widening with every stride. He didn't even let her descend the cabin steps: from his lower position, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground in a surprise hug. She let out a loud, genuine laugh that pierced even the sound of the waves.

“Maybe it's his sister or something,” Hangman suggested, still trying to grasp a reasonable idea.

But the illusion shattered in seconds. As soon as Bob placed her on the ground, he leaned down and kissed her with such confidence that it left no room for interpretation. She responded with the same intensity, wrapping her arms around him as if they'd been searching for each other for centuries.

“Well, unless incest is seen as a good thing in Lemoore…” the black-haired man began, “I don’t think she’s his sister.”

They both froze, watching the scene with a mixture of amazement and envy. Bob's arms settled naturally around the woman's waist, while she took off her sunglasses to get a better look at him.

She spoke animatedly, gesturing with her hands and smiling with every sentence. Although they couldn't hear the conversation, it was clear they were in their own world. When she wasn't speaking, she rested her hands on Bob's chest, with a familiarity that was impossible to fake.

When it was his turn to speak, she looked at him with such devotion that even from a distance, the intensity was palpable. Her eyes practically glowed, her expression screaming a deep crush. Just a few girls had ever looked at them like that in their lives.

Bob's index finger pointed in the direction of the beach, as if he were telling her about his crewmates, and she waved her hand in that direction again.

“I think she’s actually waving at us now.”

“I hope so. Say hi, idiot.”

The two of them repeated the gesture, this time with some nervousness. To their surprise, she waved again. She laughed at something Bob whispered to her and then turned her attention back to him, caressing his face before stealing another kiss. Small, soft, close together. He placed one more on her cheek before taking her hand and starting to walk toward the beach.

“Don’t run away, coward”

“I wasn’t planning to” Rooster replied, though he was lying. The step he took back had given him away.

They stayed where they were, waiting. Bob and the girl finally approached.

“Huh, have you seen Maverick? I need to talk to him.”

“I think he’s sitting in his lounge chair… or something,” Jake replied vaguely. Then he looked at her with interest “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“Sure. Guys, this is my wife. Honey, this is Lieutenant Jake Seresin and Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

They both stood with their mouths ajar, trying to process what he had said. They wondered if they had heard wrong, but sure they hadn't. 

“Nice to meet you,” she said with a smile, extending her hand. “I’m sorry to burst in like this. I wanted to surprise Bob. I hope my arrival doesn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Not at all,” Rooster said quickly. “It’s a pleasure to meet Mrs. Floyd.”

The pilots glanced at each other and couldn't help but notice the slight blush they both—she and Bob—shared, as if the expression 'married couple' still sounded new and shiny to them. 

“Let’s go find Mav. See you later,” Bob said, before leading her by the hand.

“Bye, Bobby” 

“Nice to meet you,” Rooster added.

They waited until the couple had walked a few steps away before spilling their guts.

“His wife? Can you believe it?”

“Of course. The guy is a true gentleman. I'm sure he won her over on the first date.”

“The world is so unfair,” Jake hissed. His friend laughed, resigned.

“Or we are idiots”

“Rooster, I think, for the first time, I completely agree with you too.”

taglist: @littlemsbumblebee

[paucubarsisimp]

yearbook yearning

pairing: pablo gavi x reader

summary: in which pablo finds your 7th grade yearbook where he finds a very intriguing comment about him...

warnings: none!

a/n: js found my 7th grade yearbook and i saw this little message from my friend and came up with this idea! 😭😭

the sun was setting outside your window, painting your childhood bedroom in warm gold. pablo was stretched out on your bed, one arm behind his head, the other scrolling aimlessly through his phone. he looked way too comfortable there—like he belonged. like this wasn’t his first time hanging out in your tiny teenage space, surrounded by old posters and fairy lights you never took down.

you were sitting on the floor next to a half-opened cardboard box, pulling out old notebooks and birthday cards and laughing to yourself every couple of minutes.

“what’s so funny?” he asked, glancing up.

you held up a glitter-covered yearbook, the kind schools used to hand out with cheesy superlatives and poorly edited photos. “found my seventh grade yearbook. this thing is cursed.”

pablo’s eyes lit up immediately. “give it.”

“no.”

“give it,” he repeated, already rolling off the bed to sit beside you. “you’re not keeping that kind of content from me.”

you tried to hold it out of reach, but it was pointless. he was taller. and stronger. and way too interested.

“this is gonna be amazing,” he muttered, flipping it open. “okay, where are you... oh my god.” he burst out laughing, holding up a class photo. “wait, is this you?”

you groaned. “yep. the one with the braces and the very unfortunate headband.”

“you look like a cute little nerd with the glasses and braces.”

you shoved him lightly. “i was thirteen.”

“adorable,” he grinned, still flipping through.

you thought maybe he’d get bored and move on, but then he got really quiet.

too quiet.

you looked up and immediately knew something was wrong.

“no,” you said quickly, reaching for the yearbook. “don’t—”

he held it out of reach and smirked.

“‘always chase your dreams (gavi) ❤️ — naia.’”

you closed your eyes. “i hate everything.”

pablo laughed—like, full belly laughed—before looking at you like he just found out his favorite secret.

“wait. wait. you had a crush on me back then?”

“i didn’t write it,” you argued, snatching the book back and slamming it shut. “naia did. because she knew i had a thing for you and she thought it was funny.”

“so you were out here in middle school fangirling over me while i was getting red cards on tv?”

“i was like thirteen. it was a celebrity crush. it doesn’t count.”

he leaned in, grinning. “nah, it definitely counts. you manifested this.”

“you’re insufferable.”

he bumped your shoulder with his. “so, what, you had pictures of me saved in your phone?”

“i had a folder,” you admitted, deadpan.

he choked on his own laugh. “no you didn’t.”

“yep. i even named it 'love of my life.’”

“you’re actually killing me.”

“good.”

he leaned back against the bed, still smiling to himself. “i love this so much. you really went from daydreaming about me to dating me. middle school you would lose her mind.”

you snorted. “she’d cry. scream. faint.”

he glanced over at you, his voice softer now. “you know what’s wild? when i first got signed, i used to joke with the guys about whether girls were ever gonna have posters of me on their walls. never thought one of them would end up being my girlfriend.”

you didn’t say anything for a second—just looked at him, warm and quiet.

then you said, “i guess we both got what we wanted.”

he reached out and took your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “guess we did.”

and just when it was getting sweet, he let go and picked the yearbook back up.

“okay but seriously,” he said, flipping back to the message. “i’m framing this.”

“pablo—”

“i’m gonna hang it in the living room.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he grinned, leaning in close enough that your noses almost touched. “and yet... dream come true.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too.

because honestly?

he kinda was.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay@joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09 lmk if you want to be added!

[drewsephrry]

Love Island - Episode 13: Pick me, Choose me, Love me

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 4.9k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

series masterlist

The girls are gathered in the makeup room, getting ready for the recoupling. The atmosphere is thick, awkward and tense, like no one really wants to say what they’re thinking.

“So…a recoupling.” Cleo ventures, trying to break the silence. “That’s gonna be…interesting.”

No one really reacts. She clears her throat and turns to Y/N.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” She asks and Y/N offers a small, instinctive smile. 

“Honestly? I’m just excited to recouple with Rafe.” She says, a hint of giddiness slipping through. “But I do need to have a very uncomfortable conversation with Ryan first.”

“You’re going to talk to him?” Sarah asks, glancing up from her eyeshadow palette. Her eyes flick briefly to Kiara before returning to her brush. Y/N catches it and nods.

“It’s what he deserves.” Y/N says simply. “I can’t just leave things hanging like that. He needs to hear from me that I don’t see it going anywhere. Even if it’s hard. It’s not fair to let him think I might pick him when I won’t.”

The girls nod, quietly agreeing.

“You’re such a good person.” Cleo says warmly.

“I’m just trying to be honest.” Y/N replies with a shrug, meeting Kiara’s eye as she fans her eyelash glue dry.

Across the room, Abigail is rifling through her clothes in silence, round curlers perched on her head.

“Need a hand, Abi?” Y/N calls over.

Abigail turns with a soft smile and shakes her head. 

“I’m good, thanks.” She responds.

Y/N gives her a knowing nod before turning her attention back to her makeup bag, the buzz of tension still lingering beneath the surface.

Later, when the girls make their way downstairs, Y/N spots Ryan sitting on the couch with Kelce and John B. She walks over, steady but warm.

“Hey.” She says with a soft smile as she stops in front of them.

The boys greet her and she turns to Ryan. 

“Mind if I steal Ryan for a minute? I promise I’ll bring him back.” 

“Keep him.” John B teases, earning a few light laughs as Ryan stands up. He places a casual hand on Y/N’s waist as she leads him toward one of the quieter couches, away from the others.

“You look incredible tonight.” He says as they sit down.

Y/N’s cheeks flush with color as she glances at her dress.

“Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Ryan leans back slightly, already sensing where the conversation is headed.

“I pulled you for a chat because…”

“You’re picking Rafe.” He says, cutting in gently and she freezes for a second. 

“Ryan…”

“It’s okay.” He says quickly. “I see you two together. I get it.”

“I did feel something between us. I want you to know that.” Y/N swallows, her voice quiet.

“I did too.” He says with a nod. “I really like you, Y/N. But I also know what you and Rafe have is different. I’m not here to fight for someone’s attention. I’m here to enjoy this and maybe find something real.”

Her expression softens, worry flickering in her eyes. 

“I never wanted to hurt you.” She mutters.

“You didn’t.” He reassures her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “I had a crush, I took my shot and it didn’t work out. That’s life.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs again.

“Don’t be.” He smiles, sincere. “I’m glad we got to know each other. I want you to be happy. And if Rafe makes you happy, then I’m rooting for you.”

“This kind of feels like a breakup.” Y/N lets out a soft laugh. He laughs too. 

“It does. ‘I’m just focusing on my career right now.’ ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’” He jokes, tossing out the clichés. She laughs louder this time, before they fall into a brief, easy silence.

“I’d still like to be friends.” She says suddenly, sitting up.

“I’d really like that too.” He agrees and she opens her arms.

“Come here.”

He leans in, wrapping her in a warm hug. She breathes in the familiar scent of his and lets herself settle into the moment before pulling back with a smile.

“So…” She says, leaning back. “Thoughts on tonight’s recoupling?”

“What do you mean?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, have you felt a spark with anyone else? Who do you think might pick you?”

Ryan hesitates for a second, then leans in slightly like he’s sharing a secret. 

“Okay…don’t tease me or tell anyone yet, but…I think I’m getting a bit of a vibe from Abi.”

“Really?” Y/N’s eyes go wide, her smile lighting up. 

“Yeah.” He says with a grin. “She’s sweet. Funny. And I don’t know, maybe it’s because we entered the villa together, but there’s this comfort between us.”

“I can see that.” She says thoughtfully. “Have you talked to her about it?”

“I want to.” He admits. “But I’m not sure where things stand between her and JJ.”

“Well.” Y/N says with a shrug. “You’ve got nothing to lose. I think you should go for it.”

“Thanks, Y/N. Really.” He nods, eyes warm. 

She smiles again, proud of the way things turned out, even if it wasn’t the easiest conversation to have.

Confessional - Ryan “I really respect her for pulling me aside and having that conversation. She didn’t just leave me hanging or make me look stupid…I mean she’s not the type to do that. She’s way too kind for that.” He says with a small sigh. “Honestly, I’m just grateful we got some closure.”

Across the villa, Kiara and Abigail are on the lounge beds, drinks in hand. The night air is warm, but the energy between them is noticeably cooler.

“Okay, so…” Abigail starts, her voice low and hesitant. “I pulled you for a chat because…shit, I’m really bad at confrontation.”

She takes a long breath before continuing.

“Last night, some people saw you and JJ going into the villa…and then coming back like twenty minutes later. And I’m not saying something definitely happened, but I guess I just wanted to ask...did…did something happen? If so, do you feel something there? Like…is there an actual connection? Or is it just friendly?” She winces. “God, I sound toxic. Just-just forget I said anything.”

She starts to rise, embarrassed, but Kiara gently reaches out and catches her hand.

“Abi, wait.”

Abigail pauses, then sinks back down beside her. Kiara exhales slowly. 

“There’s…been a vibe between JJ and me for a while. I didn’t act on it because I didn’t want to overthink it or make things messy. But last night, during the challenge… something shifted. It was this undeniable spark everyone talks about.”

She hesitates.

“Afterward, he told me to meet him upstairs. And I swear, I didn’t know what he was planning or what he was thinking.”

“So…what happened?” Abigail frowns. Kiara looks down at her drink, then back up.

“We kissed. Just once. But…it felt real. Like the first time I’ve had butterflies in this villa.”

Abigail’s face tightens. She looks away, staring into her glass. 

“You could’ve told me.” She mutters.

“I would. I swear.”

“When, Kie?” Abigail presses, her voice strained. “When you would have stood up and picked him at the recoupling?”

Kiara’s heart sinks. 

“No. I would never do that to you. Please…just trust me on this.”

“I want to. But the way you both hid this from me? I just…I didn’t expect this. Not from you.” Abigail shakes her head, eyes glassy but holding back. 

“I’m sorry, Abi. I really am.” Kiara's shoulders slump as the weight of her guilt settles in.

“I am too.” Abigail replies quietly as she stands. “I just need some space.”

Kiara nods silently, watching as Abigail walks away.

Confessional - Kiara “I would’ve told her. I should have told her.” She insists quietly.

Maddy and Sarah are in the kitchen, casually snacking and sipping on drinks, when Y/N strolls in and hops onto one of the stools.

“Hi, girlies.” She sing-songs, flashing them a bright smile.

“Hi, gorgeous.” Maddy beams, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “You good?”

“Just had the talk with Ryan.” Y/N exhales.

“Oh, shit.” Sarah’s eyes widen. “How’d it go?”

“He was actually…really chill about it.” Y/N says. “I think he saw it coming. He wasn’t upset and we agreed to stay friends, so…it went as well as it could have.”

“Yeah, no.” Maddy shakes her head, already unimpressed. “Boys and girls can’t just be friends.”

“I hate to break it to you, Mads.” Y/N says with a smirk, “But I have to disagree.”

“Nope. Every guy I’ve ever said ‘let’s be friends’ to, whether that was exes, flings or even random guys I’ve ended up hooking up with at some point. It’s literally impossible. Unless they’re gay.”

“Honestly, I have to side with Maddy on this one.” Sarah raises her hand like she’s seconding a motion.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen with me and Ryan.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“Whatever you say.” Maddy says, folding her arms. “But it’s impossible when there are feelings involved.”

“There are no feelings involved.” Y/N insists, shaking her head. “Not like that.”

“You like him.” Maddy replies immediately, raising a smug brow.

“I don’t like-like him.” 

“But you like him.”

“I don’t have a crush!” She argues.

“But you like him.” Maddy says again, grinning.

“I just think he’s-”

“Charming?” Maddy laughs. “Yeah, you've said it a million times, babe. You like him.”

Y/N sighs and turns her gaze to the beanbags, where Rafe is sitting, relaxed and glowing under the villa lights.

“Well…if I do like Ryan, it’s not the way I like Rafe.” Her voice softens as she watches him. “Ryan’s a great guy. He came in when I was all over the place. And he helped, you know? He pulled me out of my head when I was still dealing with the whole…cheating thing. But at the end of the day, he’s not Rafe.”

“You’re falling for Rafe.” Sarah lets out a squeal.

“D-Don’t say that.” Y/N warns, instantly flustered.

“Oh my god, did you stutter?” Maddy gasps, pointing at her. “You totally stuttered. You’re so falling for him!”

Y/N groans and hides her face in her hands as the girls burst into giggles around her.

Just then, Kiara steps into the kitchen, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor.

“Y/N?” She says, carefully.

Y/N lifts her head from her hands, eyebrows raised. 

“Kie? What’s going on?”

Kiara glances at Maddy and Sarah, who go quiet, sipping their drinks. Then she turns back to Y/N, nervous but determined.

“I...I feel like a hypocrite.” She says quietly. “Calling Rafe a liar, saying I didn’t trust him and that he’d hurt you…when I messed up too.”

Y/N’s eyes widen slightly, already sensing what’s coming.

“Kie-” “I kissed JJ.” Kiara blurts out.

The room goes still. All three girls look up at her, stunned.

“And...we didn’t tell Abigail.” She continues. “She found out. And it sucked. Seeing her face like that…seeing how hurt she was.”

Y/N immediately opens her arms and Kiara walks into her embrace. Y/N rubs her back gently as she speaks.

“I think I know how Abi feels.” She murmurs. “And honestly, the best thing you can do is give her some time. Let everything breathe a little.”

She pulls back to look Kiara in the eyes.

“Was the kiss just in the moment? Or…did it mean something?” Y/N asks.

“I wanted to kiss him. And…I think he did too. He made the first move.”

Y/N sighs, but it’s not judgmental, it's more thoughtful.

“Then yeah…I think what hurt Abigail most wasn’t just the kiss, it was the fact you kept it from her.”

“So I should just… give her space?” 

Y/N nods and Maddy and Sarah follow with quiet agreement.

“And the recoupling?” Kiara asks, almost in a whisper.

The girls exchange glances. No one jumps to answer.

“Just…go with your gut.” Y/N says gently. “If you talked to Abigail first, explained what happened and how you feel about JJ, then she probably will understand your choice. But if you’re unsure about JJ or if there’s no real feeling behind it...maybe it’s not worth the fallout.”

Kiara nods again, taking it all in. Then she leans in and hugs Y/N one more time.

“Thank you.” She murmurs.

“Anytime.” Y/N gives her a soft smile. 

Confessional - Kiara “That talk with Y/N definitely helped me make up my mind.” Kiara says, nodding. “Honestly, someone should just hand that girl a psychology degree.”

Rafe sits by the firepit with JJ and Topper, the three of them nursing their drinks.

“Rafe?” Topper says cautiously.

“Yeah?” Rafe’s jaw tightens as he glances up at him.

“I just wanna say I’m sorry for what I said the other night.” Topper starts, shifting in his seat and Rafe gives a small nod, letting him continue.

“I shouldn’t have called Y/N fake or said she was playing you. I thought I was looking out for you, but...I was out of line. I’ve had time to think it over and I see both your sides now. I just want you to be happy, man.”

Rafe exhales slowly. 

“Then don’t talk shit about her again.” He says simply. “And really, you owe her the apology, not me.”

“I figured you’d say that.” Topper nods, already expecting that. “And yeah, I will. I promise. So...we good?”

“We’re good, man.” Rafe lets out a quiet chuckle and nods.

They dab each other up and JJ leans back on the bench with a sigh, clearly growing impatient.

“Alright, can we get to the real crisis here?” JJ says.

The guys glance over at him.

“What now?” Rafe asks, lifting his glass.

“I, uh…I kissed Kiara last night. And I haven’t told Abigail.” JJ reveals.

“Shit.” Topper’s eyes widen.

“I know. It just…happened. And I don’t regret it. Kiara and I had a moment. I kinda wanna see where it goes.” 

“And Abigail?” Rafe presses.

“I like her too.” JJ admits. “I’m a mess.”

“Then be straight with her. Don’t leave her in the dark.” Rafe says, the memory of his own screw-ups flickering behind his eyes.

“She’s gonna hate me.” JJ mutters.

“She might be pissed, sure. But she deserves the truth, JJ.” Rafe looks at him, voice softer now.

“And you better do it before the recoupling.” Topper adds.

JJ stands up  like he’s ready to go and then a loud ping echoes.

“I got a text!” Sarah shouts from the kitchen. “Islanders, please gather at the firepit. #decisiontime #whowillitbe.”

JJ freezes, then drops back down onto the bench with a groan. 

“Fuck.” He mutters.

Rafe gives his back a sympathetic smack while the boys let out a collective sigh.

Confessional - JJ “I’m fucked. This whole thing is fucked.” He runs a hand down his face. “Fuck.”

The Islanders begin gathering slowly, one by one taking their seats beside their current partners. A phone chimes, slicing through the chatter.

“Boys.” Pope reads. “Please stand at the front of the firepit.”

The guys exchange a few glances before getting to their feet and making their way to the front. The girls shift in their seats, anticipation building as they prepare for the recoupling.

Maddy’s phone buzzes first. She jumps up with a grin, practically glowing.

“I’d like to couple up with this boy.” She begins, her voice light. “Because he’s made me laugh more than anyone before. He’s sweet, he’s fun and I always feel at ease when I’m around him. So the boy I wanna couple up with is…Kelce.”

He jogs over, plants a kiss on her lips and she giggles as they sit back down together, his arm draping naturally around her shoulder.

Next up is Sarah, who stands and delivers a short but heartfelt speech. She smiles as she chooses John B and he walks over, grabbing her and kissing her. Their kiss turns intense fast, drawing whistles and laughter from the others.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough!” Someone calls and they break apart, laughing as they return to their seats.

Alyssa stands next. Her expression is a little more serious.

“I'd like to couple up with this boy, because even though things haven’t exactly been smooth between us lately.” She says. “I still believe there’s something worth holding onto.” She glances at Topper. “So I’m choosing to couple up with…Topper.”

He walks over, hugs her a little longer than expected and they sit down quietly.

Y/N stands up slowly, smoothing out her dress and letting out a small breath as all eyes fall on her.

“I wanna couple up with this boy because…” She begins, voice a little unsteady. “Even though we haven’t known each other that long...being around him just feels easy.”

She lets out a quick breath, eyes flicking toward him.

“Okay, not always easy.” She admits with a small laugh. “It’s been a bit messy, if I’m honest. But somehow, it still feels real.”

Rafe watches her, lips twitching into a subtle smile.

“We’ve had our ups and downs already. But there’s something there. And no matter how things have gone…I keep coming back to him.”

Her voice softens at the end, eyes lingering on him now.

“So yeah. The boy I wanna couple up with…is Rafe.”

He’s already on his feet before she finishes, crossing the space between them in a few steps. He wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her just slightly, kissing her without saying a word. She smiles into it, arms winding naturally around his neck like she’s done it a hundred times.

“Hey!” Sarah calls out, teasing. “You told me and John B to keep it PG!”

Everyone laughs as they finally break apart and settle on the bench together. Rafe turns to her, eyes scanning her face.

“You’re not wearing that…lip stuff tonight?” He asks, voice lower now.

“You always kiss it off anyway. Figured I’d skip the routine.” She grins. He chuckles, hand settling on her waist again as she leans into him. He presses a kiss to her temple, then turns his attention back to the firepit, still holding her. 

Abigail rises slowly.

“I’d like to couple up with this boy.” She says. “Because he’s funny, he’s sweet and from the moment we met, he’s had this really kind and calming energy. I’ve loved getting to know him, and I’d really like to see where this could go.” She exhales. “So the boy I wanna couple up with is…Ryan.”

Ryan’s eyes widen. He turns instinctively to look at Y/N, who mirrors his expression before giving him an encouraging grin.

He walks over to Abigail, kisses her cheek and takes the seat beside her.

JJ, still standing at the front, furrows his brow in confusion. He glances at Abigail across the firepit. But she doesn’t meet his eyes.

“That was…unexpected.” Ryan whispers to Abigail.

“Not really.” She replies, calmly meeting his eyes.

Ryan relaxes a little more in his seat, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Cleo stands next and confidently chooses Pope. Their kiss is sweet and unhurried before they settle down again.

Finally, Kiara rises.

“I’d like to couple up with this boy.” She sighs. “Because he’s really handsome, really funny and somehow always has me laughing until I can’t breathe. And...there’s a spark there. Something worth exploring. So, the boy I wanna couple up with is…JJ.”

JJ walks over slowly, hugging her a little awkwardly in front of everyone before they both sit down with matching sighs.

When the recoupling wraps up, the islanders scatter. Some heading toward the fire pit, others toward the daybeds, settling in with their partners.

Ryan and Abigail walk over to one of the couches, drinks in hand, the warm night buzzing around them.

“I gotta say.” Ryan starts, settling in beside her. “I’m really glad you picked me.”

“You are?” Abigail asks, her smile soft but a little surprised.

“Yeah.” He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was actually telling Y/N earlier…I feel like we’ve got something. A connection, I guess. I mean…we came in together, which probably made it easier. But being around you just feels…natural. Comfortable. You’re really sweet. And stunning, obviously. And now I’m rambling.” He lets out a nervous laugh.

Abigail laughs too. 

“No, it’s okay.” She pauses, then adds more seriously, “I do feel that connection, too. But I want to be honest with you. Right before the recoupling…I found out something happened between JJ and Kiara. And I won’t lie, it did influence my choice.”

“Okay.” Ryan’s smile dims just a little, but he nods, taking it in.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m using you or that it’s not real. Because I meant what I said up there. I chose you because I see something with you.”

Ryan leans forward slightly, his expression earnest. 

“I didn’t know about the JJ and Kiara thing. I knew he wanted to talk to her, but that’s it. And honestly? I don’t think you’d ever use me like that. I see you. Or at least, I’m starting to. And yeah, maybe everything's moving fast and it’s all a bit chaotic right now, but I’m here and I want to see where this goes. Whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you. That really means a lot. It is a lot right now.” Abigail nods, her shoulders relaxing a little.

“Come here.” He opens his arms gently. She leans in and hugs him tight, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Confessional - Ryan “Yeah, I know she’s got a lot on her mind and things are messy right now…but I’m genuinely glad she chose me.” He grins. “I wanna keep getting to know her. See where this goes.”

The islanders start making their way into the villa to get ready for the night. Rafe walks through the flower-lined corridor, carrying Y/N in his arms like a bride. She giggles the whole way, her laughter echoing as they step inside and the boys, already lounging around, erupt in cheers.

“Here comes the bride!” JJ hollers, grinning as the others join in with whistles and claps.

Rafe gently sets her down at the foot of the stairs. She turns to smile at him, but before she can fully walk away, he catches her hand and pulls her back into him, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Don’t take too long.” He murmurs. She giggles, giving him another quick peck before heading upstairs.

In the dressing room, the girls are wiping off their makeup and chatting about the day. The door swings open and Y/N walks in to a chorus of playful screams.

“There she is!” Maddy teases. “How are you feeling Mrs. Cameron?”

Y/N blushes, grinning wide. 

“Honestly? My cheeks hurt from smiling. I feel…giddy.” She replies as the girls laugh with her, the energy light and warm.

A few feet away, Kiara is taking off her earrings when Abigail approaches her quietly.

“Hey.” Abigail says.

“Hey.” Kiara glances over. 

“I just...I wanted to say sorry. If I came off mean earlier.”

“You didn’t.” Kiara assures her gently. “But you have every right to be upset. I should’ve told you. I get it.”

“I’m not mad.” Abigail shakes her head. “I was just... frustrated, I guess. But I see the way you and JJ are with each other. And I don’t want to be in the middle of that.”

Kiara steps in for a hug and Abigail wraps her arms around her without hesitation.

“I love you.” Kiara whispers. “And I’m really sorry for how it all happened.”

“Love you too.” Abigail says softly, pulling back with a small smile before going to change into her pajamas.

Confessional - Abigail “Me and JJ…it was fun while it lasted. All two days of it.” She lets out a small laugh. “But this is Love Island. I can’t be mad at him for wanting to see where things go with Kie. And I’m definitely not mad at her either. It is what it is.”

Later, as the girls trickle downstairs, Abigail makes her way over to JJ’s bed. He looks up, running a hand through his hair as she approaches.

“Hey.” He says.

She sits down where he pats beside him.

“I know about you and Kiara.” She starts, voice calm. “And I’m not mad. Or hurt. I’ve had time to think and I can see she really wants to give whatever’s between you two a shot. And I don’t want to be in the way of that.”

JJ nods, his expression sincere. 

“I should’ve pulled you aside sooner. I messed up, and I take full responsibility for that. I’m sorry, Abigail.” He apologizes and she nods, a soft smile on her lips. 

“Thank you for saying that.” 

He nods back and with a quiet understanding between them, she stands and heads to her bed, where Ryan is already lying down, looking up at her with a warm smile.

Meanwhile, Y/N steps into the bedroom, the soft swish of silk the only sound as she crosses the room in her yellow pajamas. The camisole clings delicately to her frame, lace tracing her bust and hem, matching the floral silk shorts that sit snugly on her hips. Rafe doesn’t even try to hide it as his eyes follow every step, the straw from his water bottle paused at his lips.

He shifts under the covers and lifts the duvet for her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That color.” He mutters, voice low and a little hoarse. “Looks too damn good on you.”

She smiles, settling on her side of the bed and placing her phone and water bottle on the bedside table. But before she can fully lie down, Rafe reaches over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest. She melts into him, a quiet laugh leaving her lips as she tucks her face against his neck.

Then, a hesitant voice breaks the moment.

“Hey…Y/N?”

Topper approaches slowly. 

“Hey, Topper. You alright?”nShe sits up slightly, turning to him with a concerned smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly as he glances between her and Rafe. “I just…I wanted to apologize. For what I said the other day. Calling you fake, saying you were playing Rafe…that was outta line.”

“It’s fine, really-” Y/N shakes her head.

“No, I need to say it. I was out of line and you didn’t deserve that.” He cuts in, firm but sincere.

She exhales softly, then moves to crawl across Rafe to reach him. She opens her arms and Topper doesn’t hesitate to hug her back.

From behind her, Rafe’s eyes drop to the way her shorts ride up, his gaze darkening slightly.

“Yo, Rafe.” Topper teases as they pull apart, catching the look. “You’re drooling, man.”

Y/N giggles, looking over her shoulder to find Rafe still staring. She smacks his chest playfully.

“My eyes are up here.”

“I know.” He murmurs, eyes finally lifting to meet hers.

She turns back to Topper with a gentle smile.

“Thanks for apologizing.” She mutters and Topper nods, offering a final glance to them both before heading to his own bed.

“Good man.” Rafe calls after him.

As soon as he’s gone, Y/N moves to her side of the bed again, but Rafe isn’t having it. He pulls her back into his lap with ease, arms around her waist and she laughs as her arms drape over his shoulders.

The villa goes dark, a chorus of sleepy goodnights floating through the air.

Rafe leans in, not wasting a second, capturing Y/N’s lips with his. She kisses him back eagerly, fumbling to pull the duvet over them as if it might shield them from the intensity brewing between them.

His hands find her waist, fingers splaying and sliding down to her hips, then lower. Her body shifts, brushing against him in a way that makes him let out a low, guttural groan.

“Sorry.” She breathes out, her voice shaky as she adjusts the blanket.

“Don’t…don’t apologize.” He murmurs, eyes fluttering open in the dark. “Fuck, I-I want you.”

“Ray…” She pulls back just enough, the air between them cooling. There’s hesitation in her voice now and it makes him blink, thrown off.

“Wh-Am I moving too fast or something?” He asks, voice suddenly laced with concern.

Her hand finds the back of his neck, her fingers trailing gently through his hair, grounding him even as she hesitates.

“I…is kissing okay? Just kissing, for now?”

Relief and restraint flash across his features as he nods quickly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s more than okay. We don’t even have to do anything. I just wanna be with you.” He murmurs. She exhales, her shoulders relaxing. 

“It’s just…it’s our first night back together. After everything that’s happened, I don’t wanna rush anything.”

“I get it. You lead the way.” He reaches up, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear with the softest touch. 

She gives him a grateful, almost shy smile, then leans in again. Their lips meet gently at first, a slow burn, until she deepens the kiss with a quiet hunger that still makes his head spin.

Rafe’s hands slide back to her waist, gripping her just right, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t go further.

He’s content kissing her like this. Wanting more, but respecting the pace she sets.

And when she finally rests her head against his chest, his arms instinctively wrapping around her, he presses a kiss to her hair.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers like a vow into the dark.

to be continued...

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[brooklyn-duo]

It was so much more than he had expected, Bucky had anticipated that Tony would flash his usual charming smile and reassure him with a joke or teasing and then they would be off to the medlab. But then Tony’s pulling him close, and he immediately moves to hold him too, both arms wrapping around his waist and it hits him that this is the last time he’s going to hold Tony with this metal arm

He melts at the hand in his hair, his eyes sliding shut as he just holds Tony close, finally feeling something through the numbness. The cold feeling was slipping away the longer he held him and he was shocked by the tender affection Tony was showing him. They were more touchy with each other sure, just casual contact, but this cracked something open inside of him that he hadn’t known he’d locked away.

He takes a slow shuddering breath when Tony tells him exactly what was going to happen and he nods weakly, expecting that to be it but then Tony’s kissing him again and pressing their foreheads together.

He opens his eyes again and his stormy blues are shining with tears, he doesn’t know why and god he wants to hit himself again. But he doesn’t, he just holds Tony’s waist gently and looks into his gorgeous brown eyes, they were so worried for him and he feels his guilt build. He upset Steve and now he’s worrying Tony god..god what was wrong with him?

He knows Tony is being helpful, but for some reason being told he’s in control makes his anxiety worse for a moment. He wasn’t meant to be in charge what if he messed up? But he just tries to breathe, looking at Tony for a long moment

“I’m scared b..but I don’t want to call it off. I feel better knowing you’re there and..and once it’s over I’ll be fine, I can do this..” he whispers softly, “please, I want to do this, don’t want to put it off anymore because it’ll only make things worse, I..please?”

He doesn’t know why it’s a question but it’s like he needs Tony’s permission to want this, to get the surgery, and he doesn’t know if that’s alright. What if he’s freaking Tony out right now and once the surgery was done and they didn’t need to work together anymore on the arm, he..he decided Bucky was too much?

He tries to push that thought away, he didn’t need to worry about that on top of everything else.

It feels like a wave of cold water washes over him, right right they needed to get this surgery done. So many people had worked hard, Shuri, Helen, Tony, the teams of people, Bucky needed to get his shit together and go let them do this amazing thing they were willing to do for him.

His enthusiasm about the new arm dimmed, he was terrified now, his heart felt like it was stuck in his throat and he wasn’t sure he could breathe. But his expression was the same, neutral, and he set down the arm and shoved his hands into his pockets to hide any possible tremble he had. He presses back into Tony’s touch, leaning against his shoulder and trying to remember to breathe

But something takes hold of a small part in him and he turns to Tony again

“Tell me it’ll be okay, please, please Tony? Tell me I’ll..I won’t be hurting anymore, won’t..” he reaches out to hold onto the hem of Tony’s shirt, “tell me that when I wake up you’ll still..still be here and I’ll be alright..even if I wake up without an arm cuz..cuz they gotta fix the shoulder like you said,” his voice is quiet but becomes more pleading with each word.

As scared as he was, there was no hiding that in this moment he needed Tony and needed to know he wasn’t going to be alone.

“Tell me I won’t have to go through it alone,” he whispers, looking down at his hand that held a fistful of Tony’s shirt.

[christopherisfoive]

LEVELS

Pairing: Changbin x Producer!Reader Prompts: 14. Enemies to lovers tension , 18. “Don’t go. Not yet.” Setting: Studio, late-night session (REQUEST)

The beat had been looping for ten minutes.

You leaned back in the creaky desk chair, fingers tapping impatiently on your phone, trying not to sigh out loud. Across the studio, Changbin stood with his arms crossed, brow furrowed like the fate of his entire career rested on this one snare hit.

"You changed it," he said finally, not looking at you.

You didn’t flinch. “Yeah. The old one buried your vocals.”

"I liked the old one."

You turned to him slowly, meeting his eyes. “You like a lot of things that don't work in the final mix.”

Behind Changbin, Chan and Jisung froze. Chan was mid-sip of his energy drink. Jisung paused with a chip halfway to his mouth. Slowly, they turned to glance at each other—wide-eyed, silently communicating the shared pain of being stuck in the room during this again.

Changbin scoffed. “Right. Because you always know better.”

Your fingers tightened around the mouse. “You asked for feedback. Don’t whine when it’s not what you want to hear.”

From the couch, Jisung audibly inhaled like he was bracing for impact. “Uh… should I go warm up the other studio?”

Chan gave him a sharp look and whispered, “Don’t move. She’ll hear you.”

“I heard that,” you muttered, clicking back into the project.

Changbin stepped closer, ignoring the others. “I’m not whining. I’m disagreeing.”

Your chair creaked as you turned to him. “Then disagree. But don’t waste my time.”

He opened his mouth to fire back—but didn’t. Instead, his eyes flicked toward the screen behind you, watching the waveform quietly. His jaw ticked. You could practically feel the tension vibrating through the small room.

Chan shifted awkwardly. “…You guys want us to, uh, go get dinner or something?”

“No,” Changbin said at the same time you muttered, “Maybe.”

The quiet that followed was thick and awkward, broken only by the low looping beat and Jisung’s slow, cautious chip crunch.

Finally, Changbin mumbled, “I’m not trying to fight. Just… want it to sound right.”

You softened, slightly. “So do I.”

The tension didn’t dissolve—but it curled, subtle and strange. You felt his eyes on you even after he stepped back, like the last word hadn’t really been said yet.

Chan and Jisung gave each other another look—somewhere between “they’re hopeless” and “they’re definitely in love”—but wisely chose to say nothing.

Not yet, anyway.

The fluorescent lights in Studio B buzzed faintly as you sorted through vocal layers alone, trying to decompress from the earlier chaos. You didn’t expect anyone to follow you—definitely not him. But the door opened anyway, and in walked Changbin.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes flickering around the room like he was still arguing with you in his head.

You didn’t look up. “What?”

“I didn’t like how that ended.”

You tapped the spacebar a little too hard, stopping the track. “What, us fighting in front of your members? Yeah, not my favorite either.”

He scoffed. “I wasn’t the only one with an attitude.”

Now you looked at him. Really looked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set, but something behind his eyes looked…off. Like he wasn’t here to pick another fight, but didn’t know how to do anything else.

“Well, I guess that’s what happens when someone acts like they know everything about production because they’ve been in a booth a few times,” you said, voice clipped.

“That’s not fair,” he snapped. “I’ve been working on my own music longer than you’ve been at this company.”

“And yet,” you muttered, turning back to your screen, “you’re still in my studio.”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud—but it was full. Heavy with things neither of you would say out loud. Not yet.

He moved behind you then, not close, but enough that you could feel the weight of his presence. Close enough that the silence shifted into something else entirely.

“You’re good at what you do,” he said, voice lower. “I just hate when you act like you’re the only one who cares.”

You didn’t reply at first. You couldn’t.

Because the thing was—you did care. A lot. And so did he.

You just showed it by keeping everything tight. Professional. Controlled. While he pushed back, challenged you, pressed into every soft spot like he was trying to find the line you wouldn’t cross.

And maybe this was it. Or maybe not yet.

“I’m going home,” you said eventually, standing.

But before you could grab your bag, his voice cut in, sharp.

“Running off again?”

You met his eyes. “I’m not running. I just know when to leave before something gets said that can’t be taken back.”

This time, he didn’t stop you.

But he didn’t leave either.

“Let’s try that one more time, Jeongin-ah. You were a little ahead of the beat, but the tone was great.”

Your voice was softer now, warm and patient, the exact opposite of the sharpness it carried yesterday.

Jeongin, standing in the booth with his headphones around his neck, grinned sheepishly. “My bad, noona. I’ll get it this time.”

Changbin was across the room, leaned back on the couch, jaw tight.

He hadn’t meant to show up today, but Chan had asked all of 3RACHA to sit in on vocal comp sessions to help shape the new track. He didn’t expect you to be here, running the session.

He also didn’t expect to feel like this—on edge, watching you be kind. Just not to him.

Hyunjin stepped in next and you lit up a little, laughing quietly as he teased you about coffee orders and pitch correction. Felix arrived mid-session, bringing iced Americanos for everyone and getting a shoulder pat from you in thanks.

It was the same smile. The same voice. But something about it twisted inside him.

He hadn’t seen you smile like that at him in weeks.

Or maybe you never had.

“You want to add anything here?” Chan asked, nudging Changbin with his shoulder.

He snapped out of it. “What?”

Chan gave him a look. “You’ve been zoning out since Jeongin started. You alright?”

“Fine,” Changbin muttered. “It’s fine.”

You didn’t even glance over.

He hated that he noticed. Hated that it mattered.

Because the moment he raised his voice to you, everything changed—and now, you were polite. Civil. Friendly, even.

To everyone but him.

The session wrapped smoothly, and you gave each member clear notes and encouraging feedback, lingering in the booth with Felix a bit longer while he asked about his vocal placement.

Changbin stayed seated. Didn’t move. Just watched.

And when you finally turned off the mic and began packing up your laptop, your eyes met his for the briefest second.

Cool. Flat. Professional.

Then they moved on, like he wasn’t even there.

Studio A – Two Days Later

The door creaked open as you adjusted the mic stand, glancing up just as Seungmin walked in.

“Hey,” you said, giving him a small nod. “We’ll warm up with the second verse—don’t overthink the run at the end, it sounded clean last take.”

“Got it,” Seungmin replied, setting his water down and slipping on the headphones. He was always easy to work with—calm, focused, sharp. There was a quiet rhythm to your sessions together that didn’t need much fuss.

You clicked the track into play and leaned back in your chair, jotting down timestamps.

From the corner of the room, Changbin’s voice cut through. “He was flat on ‘breathe.’ Let’s take it again.”

You paused the track, head tilting. “I was going to do another take anyway.”

“But he’s flat,” Changbin said again, arms crossed, irritation already simmering behind his words.

Seungmin glanced between the two of you, lips pressed together like he knew where this was headed.

“He’s barely flat,” you countered, voice cool. “A little vocal warmth in that line sounds better than forcing it clean.”

Changbin’s laugh was dry. “Since when do we settle for barely?”

You blinked at him. “Since it fits the tone. Since it’s a creative choice. Since—”

“You’re ignoring technical flaws.”

“And you’re micromanaging.”

Silence settled over the room. Seungmin slowly slipped the headphones off, sensing it wasn’t his place to mediate.

Chan and Jisung were off in another studio today, and there was no one here to stop this one from unraveling.

“I’m just trying to make the song better,” Changbin muttered.

Your hands curled into fists, but your voice stayed even. “No, you’re trying to win something that doesn’t exist.”

He stiffened. You could see it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes flicked away like he didn’t want you to see what that line landed.

But you did. You saw it all.

You turned back to the board. “Seungmin, take five.”

He nodded quietly and stepped out.

The door shut behind him, and the silence that followed wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was personal.

“You never fight like this with anyone else,” Changbin said finally, voice low.

You didn’t turn. “Maybe because no one else turns every session into a battle.”

He stepped closer, tension radiating off him. “Or maybe you save the worst of you for me.”

You slowly turned your chair toward him, eyes narrowing. “You really want to go there right now?”

He looked at you, mouth opening like he had something else to say—but nothing came out. Just that same storm behind his eyes, one you weren’t sure either of you had the words to weather.

The studio was behind you, but his voice was still in your head.

You sat on the floor of your apartment, the light from your laptop casting pale shadows on the wall as your unfinished notes for the track blinked up at you. You hadn’t touched them since getting home.

Every little thing about today kept looping. The way Changbin looked at you like you were the one sabotaging things. Like he couldn’t separate you from the producer role. Like he didn’t want to.

You dropped your head into your hands, exhaling sharply.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Working with Stray Kids had been one of the most creatively fulfilling experiences of your career. But lately, it felt like every session with him chipped away at your confidence—at your patience. It wasn’t just professional disagreement anymore. It was personal. He made it personal.

A soft ping pulled you from your thoughts. A message from Chan.

hey, everything okay? you left kinda fast.

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys.

Then, another ping.

we want you here. the rest of us do. i do too. just… talk to me if you’re thinking of walking.

You didn’t respond. Not yet. You weren’t even sure what to say.

Because part of you was thinking about walking. Not because you wanted to quit, but because staying meant seeing him again. Fighting him again. And somewhere along the way, you’d stopped being sure if this friction was something you could work through—or something that had already broken too much.

You closed the laptop.

Maybe you just needed time. Maybe you needed distance.

But if Changbin noticed your silence tomorrow—or the next day, or the day after that—he’d know it wasn’t about the music anymore.

It was about him.

You arrived ten minutes early. Not to be productive. Just to breathe.

The studio lights were a little too bright, the coffee a little too bitter, and your reflection in the glass of the booth looked like someone else entirely. Still you—but muted. Quieter.

When the door opened and Changbin walked in, you didn’t even flinch.

"Morning," he said, cautiously.

You nodded. "Morning."

That was it.

The rest of the group trickled in slowly. Seungmin was first, offering a small smile your way. Chan and Han followed, already in mid-conversation about edits from the night before. When Hyunjin asked how you were, you said "good" and nothing else.

And when Changbin started talking through the plan for the day—tempo tweaks, layering ideas, minor adjustments to Seungmin’s part—you simply nodded. Took notes. Said, “Got it,” in the softest voice imaginable.

No pushback. No counters. No fire.

Chan glanced up from his laptop. Han did too.

Even Jeongin, who was just passing through with a banana milk in hand, paused and looked between you and Changbin.

The silence after one of Changbin’s notes stretched too long.

“Y/N?” he asked.

You blinked once, pulling yourself back. “That’s fine. Let’s go with that.”

“…Really?” There was something off in his tone.

You gave a small smile. “Yeah.”

He stared at you like he didn’t recognize you. Like your body had been taken over by someone else.

When Seungmin came in to record, you didn’t follow the usual back-and-forth. Just quietly adjusted levels, nodded at the right moments, and told him he sounded great. Even when he flubbed a note.

Seungmin looked uneasy. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said. Then added, “Let’s move on.”

You felt eyes on you the entire time. Mostly his.

Changbin’s voice was strained when he finally said, “We’re taking a break.”

No one argued.

You stood, turning away to tidy up some cords, not because they needed it—just to avoid his eyes.

Behind you, you heard him say it—low and frustrated.

“She’s not fighting anymore.”

And then Chan, quieter: “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

A break was needed. Where would be better than the studio breakroom? You didn’t hear him come in, but you knew it was him. The air always shifted with Changbin. Dense. Unsettled.

“Y/N.”

You didn’t respond. Not right away. Just kept staring into your coffee cup like it held the answers to everything you didn’t want to say out loud.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he said. “Not with you pretending like nothing’s wrong.”

You finally looked up, but your expression was unreadable. “There’s nothing wrong. We’re working. That’s all we’ve ever done, right?”

He looked pained. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

“Hide what?” you snapped. “That I’m tired? That every time I open my mouth in a session, you shut me down or talk over me? You made me feel like shit in front of your members, Changbin. Constantly. And now you wanna have a heart-to-heart like none of that happened?”

His mouth opened, then closed. His fists clenched at his sides. “That’s not what I meant to do.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“I know,” he growled, frustrated. “I know I messed up, but that doesn’t change—” He stopped himself, voice catching before pushing forward. “It doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”

You blinked, stunned—but it didn’t land sweet. It felt heavy. Messy.

You laughed once, bitter. “You love me? Is that what this has been? Belittling me in front of everyone, picking fights, acting like I don’t know what I’m doing? That’s how you show love?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“But you did,” you cut in. “So what am I supposed to do with that? Just pretend it didn’t matter because you’ve decided now you’re in love with me?”

He stepped closer, but you held your ground.

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” he said, quieter now. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. The way I felt about you. I was stupid. I thought pushing you away would make it easier.”

You scoffed. “And did it?”

“No,” he admitted. “It made everything worse. Especially now that you won’t even look at me like you used to.”

You paused, jaw tightening. “I can’t forget how you made me feel.”

“I don’t want you to forget,” he said. “I want to earn it back. Every piece I broke.”

The silence stretched.

You looked away first, arms folding protectively across your chest. “I don’t trust you. Not yet.”

“I know,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard. “But don’t go. Not yet.”

You hesitated. Your hands tightened around your coffee cup.

“I’ll stay,” you said, barely above a whisper. “But only if you mean what you said—and if you’re ready to prove it.”

“I will,” he said without blinking. “Whatever it takes.”

Recording Studio – A Few Days Later

You hadn’t said much since that night. Not more than necessary. You showed up on time, prepped the session, and avoided looking at Changbin for too long. But he was there—already in the booth, headphones on, waiting for your cue.

Chan, Han, and Seungmin sat nearby, eyes flicking between the two of you like spectators waiting for the bell to ring.

You clicked the talkback mic. “Okay, Changbin. Let’s try verse two again.”

His eyes met yours through the glass, and instead of the usual nod and go, he… smiled. Genuinely. No sarcasm, no smugness.

“Got it, Y/N.”

You blinked. It was the first time in months he’d said your name without a bite.

He rapped the verse cleaner this time—focused, grounded. You let it finish before pressing the mic again.

“Good take,” you said. “But maybe try softening that last word. You’re punching it too hard for the tone.”

“Right,” he said immediately. “You’re right. I’ll do that.”

The room went still.

Jisung blinked. Chan raised his eyebrows. Even Seungmin looked up from his phone.

“Did he just—agree with her?” Jisung whispered to Chan.

“She didn’t have to fight him,” Seungmin added, stunned.

You ignored them, staring at the console, pretending your heart wasn’t skipping weirdly in your chest.

Another take. Another clean pass. No arguing. Just him listening.

When he came out of the booth, you stepped back to give him space. But he stopped next to you, one hand resting on the console, the other lightly brushing your notebook aside to glance at your notes.

“Thanks,” he said, softly. “You always know how to fix it.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. He was so close, the studio lights painting shadows under his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Well…someone’s gotta make you sound good.”

He chuckled. Low, warm.

Jisung looked between you two, then stage-whispered to Chan, “Are they flirting or are we hallucinating?”

“You’re not hallucinating,” Chan muttered, rubbing his temple. “I don’t know what’s happening either.”

You tried not to smile as you turned back to the console. But when Changbin brushed past you—shoulder grazing yours—it lingered.

Something had changed.

And you weren’t sure what it was yet.

But for once, it didn’t feel like war.

[berylanisoptera]

Crack theory(?) time because I have thoughts and it’s cool, shut up/j

ERAM is definitely Ramb. In this essay I will- Ramb “stole” the shadow mantle as Seam put it… but I’m thinking since Seam was taken away from the Dreemurr house (considering some dialogue suggesting at one point they were on Asriel’s side of the room), he kept it safe for Kris, since…

The shadow mantle’s is something that protects from Dark Type Enemies, or as I now believe thanks to a theory I’ve seen running around: Kris’ childhood blanket. And I’m just. I’m thinking about Ramb,,,, Chosen by this weird ass kid, not because of his use to them, but because they found some strange enjoyment in playing with him. He’s just a power strip. Meant only to be used at the bottom rung of the corporate ladder (considering EVERYTHING is plugged into a power strip, and Tenna thinks of him as useful, but the lowest of the low), but this weird ass kid somehow decides that HE is more fun than any other toy.

But as Kris “grows up”, The holidays stop showing up, Asriel moves out for college, and Kris just. stops playing games, stops doing anything other than getting out of bed when their mother tells them to, going to school when Toriel drives them, and going to bed right when they get home. no friends, no nothing, barely living… He needs to do something. And when Kris finally makes that Dark Fountain, he gets that chance. The chance to get Kris to have fun again. Not with any regular toy. Nuh-uh. Kris is a strange one. They wouldn’t want just any mass produced toy. Not some blasted line from A to B. Ramb knows they would want to choose something entirely different.

But Tenna keeps mucking it up. Making them play his way “until they like it”, even though they never will. Tenna has good intentions, but he’s missing the point. Kris isn’t like everyone else.

But that’s the problem with Ramb too. He doesn’t understand why Kris made the fountain. He can’t begin to comprehend that some otherworldly being is controlling them. And even then, Kris has grown up. The same things might not be ‘fun’ anymore, but at this point, Ramb has built his entire ‘ego’ as some pippins call it, on the fact that he knows and was chosen by Kris. That’s why he holds onto the mantle. Because in some twisted fashion, just like Tenna, he thinks he knows what’s best for him. Hence… The entire Sword Route. It’s Ramb’s way of giving Kris “Freedom” while fundamentally missing what freedom Kris wants. it’s still a line. There’s no other choice but to slay monsters and get stronger. But as ERAM says after you defeat them: “That’s what I wanted to see! Flickering red, like pretty little flames!” May I remind you that we don’t control Kris’ expressions? They were feeling something.

“Without play, the knife grows dull” Though this line is threatening, it’s also very telling. Kris isn’t playing anything anymore from Ramb’s perspective. Their life had become one blasted line. But at least with one last game, Ramb was able to at least give them SOME feeling. Excitement, rage, fear, who knows. And not only that, but he gave them the shadow mantle. The one thing that can shield from the dark and make the fight at the end of the chapter at least POSSIBLE for the reasonably sane player. (Not talking about you, No-Hit players.)

….Anyway, TLDR;

Ramb has the same motivations as Tenna and I believe in Found Family Uncle Honorary Dreemurr Ramb.

[miwiheroes]

El's Arc - "Pretty" to "Bitchin'"

tagging @gayofthefae and @hawkinsschoolcounselor bc their posts really help me with my analyses and i wouldn't be making posts without them xoxo

As I said in my post earlier, I have been rewatching seasons 1 and 2 and I've kind of pieced together some separate scenes of El to gather into this really interesting arc about her self-discovery and her self-image after leaving the lab. My guess is that the majority of this arc spans S1 and 2 and perfectly carries on into S3 and 4 where she really has her self-discovery arcs. Also keep in mind there are many many facets to her full character arc, and this is probably just one of many. I'm not an El expert per se, I've never analysed her this much in depth before, but I'll try my best :))

Also, this is not a pro-mileven post, in case you were wondering.

Basically, I've noticed that there are certain repeated words referring to El, and things that she keeps repeating in S1 and S2. From the beginning of S1 and sometimes in S2, she refers to things as "pretty". Later on, she stops referring to things as pretty and instead repeats the words "bitchin'" instead.

Basically, my guess is that pretty symbolically refers to her wishing she could be a normal girl, have a normal, non-lab childhood. Bitchin' refers to her embracing her powers and who she is as a person. At least by the end of S2 and in S3. By S4, she's using Bitchin' to impress Mike again, because she wants her powers back for him to love her again.

This arc is also tied to her wanting Mike to validate her as what she wants to be - a normal girl with a normal life. However, by the end of the arc in S2, she starts to become her own person.

Let's actually begin:

Here is the first mention of the word pretty.

She's referring to Nancy here, looking at the pictures on the mantle of Mike's family who live in the classic, nuclear family, normal lifestyle. She sees the good-girl daughter Nancy Wheeler, and calls her pretty. She isn't just simply calling her pretty though, to me, she's encapsulating everything she sees in this image.

A regular girl, with long neat hair, good clothes etc. El does not see herself as this in the slightest.

Mike's response is to say "I guess" - which makes sense because it's his sister and he's kind of annoyed by everything she does at the beginning of this season. Mike notes that El called her pretty.

The next, arguably the most important, scene is of El looking around Nancy's room. This scene has no other purpose other than to perpetuate this particular arc that she wants to be like Nancy, that she wants to have a normal childhood.

So far, the scenes of her looking around Mike's house have been her finding things that trigger a flashback to her childhood in the lab. This scene in Nancy's room is the last one where she's looking around the Wheeler house alone. The previous scenes which trigger her lab memories are showing her real childhood.

The Nancy's room scene shows the childhood she wishes she had.

The camera pans around Nancy's room, from El's perspective, who is looking at it in wonderment. So far, she's only seen Mike's room. This is a girl's room and she's a girl, so she's seeing what she wanted as a kid.

Here, she's getting emotional over a music box tune. Music box tunes often elicit themes of early childhood and infancy, also calmness and peace. Her getting emotional over it portrays that she's trying to remember something from her own infancy, but her infancy has never been as calming as a music box.

The music that plays in the background of this scene also has notes very similar to a music box. These musical motifs are often associated with "childhood, nostalgia or gentle, whimsical feelings".

The next thing that is extremely important for this arc, is the fact that El gets very emotional over looking over pictures that Nancy has up in her room of her childhood. There are pictures of little Nancy looking happy, doing normal things, hanging with her best friend Barb, looking like the classic young girl with a happy childhood. El is clearly yearning for that in this scene after remembering so many awful things from her childhood.

This scene is the scene where she basically gains the desire to become Nancy - which is portrayed using the word pretty.

Also keep in mind that El probably knows how she looks - not like the typical girl. So when the boys suggest taking her to the middle school and Lucas says that they can't do that because....

....of her appearance, this reinforces her idea of needing to look "pretty" in order to feel like a normal girl with a normal life.

So she gets a make over by the boys - who are the ones to decide what they think makes a normal looking girl. Keep in mind that the make up and the dress and the wig were not her choices.

So after all this pining over Nancy's childhood and looking like Nancy - when Mike, the person who has taken care of her from the beginning of the season, the person who she's definitely attached to by now, calls her pretty - she must feel pretty gratified. She's achieved looking like a normal girl, even if it's just a costume. This isn't just about her looking like a girl that Mike finds pretty either, this is about her looking like Nancy. Who is his sister. Huh okay definitely romantic asf....

Eventually, Mike covers it up by saying pretty good, which El then decides to repeat into the mirror. She looks extremely emotional in this scene where she's looking at herself - and it's important that Mike is also seen in the mirror because, as we see later on, he becomes part of her desire to have a normal life. Part of her normal image.

After all, he's the one to give her a "normal" name: El. The first thing that gives her identity.

The most important thing to note here is that she is literally wearing Nancy's dress. The first interaction that El and Nancy have is about the fact that El is dressing up as her, which makes perfect sense.

Another strange thing to do with Mike kind of inadvertently referring to El as her family, which further gratifies El's desire to be a part of the normal Wheeler family, is the fact he calls her his cousin:

The next biggest turning point of her arc in S1 is when she uses her powers to harm somebody again - Lucas. This brings her mind back to the lab and her very abnormal childhood, especially when Mike says "What's wrong with you!" - basically showing that her using her powers for bad and not being the perfect normal girl is not what he wants. (Although this isn't actually why he says this, this is just how it looks to El). This is very clearly tied to her arc surrounding opening the UD gate, and feeling like she's a monster for doing this.

When she runs away, she roughens up her clothing and her wig. When she looks into a "mirror", the lake, and sees her true appearance and how wrong the wig looks now, she gets extremely angry at herself.

This encapsulates her arc perfectly because it shows the anger at herself for using her powers incorrectly, and shows the anger at herself for not actually looking or acting like a normal girl would - since the dress and the wig were always going to just be costume pieces. She's aware that she doesn't look like a regular girl, maybe she's even aware that she looks like a boy.

This idea keeps being perpetuated by many characters in the first season.

Which I'm sure just makes her feel more like a freak.

When El arrives back at home, again without the wig and with the dress all messed up and dirty, she looks again to Mike for that reassurance that she is still normal even without the costuming.

To me, this is not romantic, and none of the times that he calls her pretty or her wanting him to call her that are. This is her wanting reassurance that she is just a normal girl still, due to her trauma, even though Mike has surely reassured her that she's not a monster. So when he says, albeit weirdly, that she's still pretty (because he wants her to be happy, as you can tell by his tone), she looks back at the mirror, emotional and smiling. This greatly contrasts to her looking in the lake and screaming at her reflection.

She needs Mike to feel normal - just like he needs her to feel normal oh! Twinning <3

Basically, we've established that she believes she wants to be a part of the Wheeler family to feel normal and like she has a normal childhood. Mike is very much part of that picture. This is reinforced when he paints a picture of her perfect ideal scenario of living a normal life when all the upside down stuff is over:

Mike: "My mom, she's a pretty awesome cook. She can make you whatever you like... Well, yeah, Eggos but real food too." *Sighs* "See, I was thinking, once all of this is over and Will's back and you're not a secret anymore, my parents can get you an actual bed for the basement... My point is, they'll take care of you. They'll be like your new parents, and Nancy will be like your new sister."

El:

She doesn't know her feelings. If she knows what romantic feelings are anyways, she clearly doesn't feel any here, otherwise she would make a disgusted face rather than a curious one. After Mike refuses this idea, that's when she seems legitimately disappointed, because he's taking away her chance at what she wants:

No matter what you say about Mike's behaviour in this scene, this is not romantic at all. oh my god - she literally doesn't think that there's a possibility for romance here. She's being presented as this naive "born sexy yesterday trope" nonsense, I hate it when people think this scene is super cute. I mean yeah, it might be innocent, but innocent in this icky way i cant even-

She ends up pressing him for an answer, and this is where she gets a new idea of a normal girl life: being taken to the Snow Ball by Mike. Being taken to a dance at a school seems like a very normal girl, normal childhood thing to do. She just wants a life where she's not this lab creature she thinks she is, and Mike is providing her with that.

This is how Mike Wheeler explains that incest is wrong guys

Also El keeps pressing and says "No? You can't?" and it's like she keeps wanting to be his sister and getting confused whenever he takes that away from her 😭

When El then asks Mike what he means, he says that you don't even go with a friend, but he never actually says that he likes her, and just decides to kiss her - which he expects her to understand as a romantic gesture I guess. She doesn't know. All she knows is that Mike thinks she's special, Mike is going to help her feel normal and have a normal life.

He is the image of a normal life.

So when she almost gets captured again by the abusive father figure that made her feel like a monster, the one who raised her in a lab where she feels like a fucking experiment, of course she is going to reach for Mike, who is her chance at a normal life. Reaching away from one familial figure to the next.

^^ This bit isn't simply her reaching for someone she trusts or loves, it's about her desperately trying to claw her way back to her only chance at safety.

Then we have the scene that basically confirms this whole thing 100 times over:

Mike: "The bad man's gone. We'll be home soon and my mom...she'll get you your own bed. You can eat as many Eggos as you want....... And we can go to the Snow Ball."

She wants this life. This isn't just about her wanting to be romantic with Mike - the writers didn't just have Mike say about the Snow Ball. They had him promise all the other desirable, familial things that El wants too. She wants him to promise that he will give her a normal life, and he does.

Could go on a complete tangent about how "Promises" are presented as something that can never ever be broken by Mike - meaning Mike gets trapped in this loop over and over of knowing that he's promised El a normal life. Even if his own feelings change, he has promised to provide her normalcy. Oof.

Onto Season 2. This theme of familial love and found family is very much carried on into Season 2, but not in the same way. El has sacrificed herself at the end of Season 1, and has tried to return to the Wheeler household, only to find that she is not welcome.

El is then trapped by Hopper. She shows a desire not just to leave to see Mike, but she shows a desire to leave to go trick or treating, aka the most normal childhood thing to do on Halloween. She just wants to be a kid like everyone else. Meaning, whenever she wants to leave to see Mike, she's trying to leave to have a normal life.

(Also, she only learns how to have a romantic relationship through Romcoms and dramatic romances on TV. Not through her own desires. Her relationship with Mike isn't part of her self-discovery journey, it's an obstacle)

For me, this desire for normalcy is basically proven in the fact that when she finds out there is ANOTHER chance at having a normal life (through finding her mother) she completely abandons the Mike thing and decides to go through that route instead. This is also likely because she keeps trying to contact Mike, but he never sees her, and when she goes to the school, she believes he's moved on without her. So she gives up and takes another route to normalcy.

Now for the moment that inspired this whole post. I just really needed to get out my thoughts about this:

El looks around what was supposed to be her childhood bedroom. Paralleling the scene in S1 where she looks around Nancy's room, yearning for a normal childhood.

PRETTY.

This is definitive proof that the word "pretty" has nothing to do with her wanting to be called beautiful by Mike or something. She's not just calling a teddy bear pretty. She's reminiscing on her old desires to be like Nancy. She reminiscing on her old desires for a normal childhood. She's thinking about the possibility of if she was never taken to the lab, she would have been in this bedroom.

The way she says it too, it's with this sad tone. Like she's kind of resigning herself to actually not having a normal life - seeing as she's arrived to her one chance at it and seeing that her mother is unresponsive.

"Bitchin'"

This season is where we fully see El embrace her powers. We all love to hate on Episode 7 of Season 2, but it's actually really really important to her character. We see her be scared that Brenner is back and ready to take her home to her abnormal childhood. We see her channeling her anger. We see her come to embrace what makes her different.

When she comes back, she looks completely different. But not in a "normal" way. She looks......

No longer pretty - aka normal. She's embracing her powers and her true self. Hopper also backs this up - it's important that he is the first person to embrace this because earlier in the season, he was the one to stifle her true self.

This word is then further associated with her finding herself in Season 3, which is where she kind of regresses back into not knowing who she is at the start of the season. She defines herself as Mike's girlfriend, and he's basically the only person she sees. The reason for this? He's the only one that makes her feel normal and happy. If someone out there calls this super romantic and not signs of an insecure attachment I'll throw my psychology degree hands okay

After she hangs out with Max, she no longer thinks she needs Mike. Max is now the one that makes her feel good - she's the one that doesn't just make her feel normal, but makes her feel free.

When El tarts becoming her own person, and in this season she really really embraces her powers, she calls herself this word again:

In some ways, I think this is just fan service to the line in Season 2 LMAO because S3 was ripe with fan service but I can really see this as just being her looking for validation for her new self from Mike again. Her being a "badass' superhero is what he puts on a pedestal. Her powers are important to her sense of self, and when someone that you are attached to puts you on that pedestal because of your powers..... well.....

When those powers are taken away, you feel the need to create a new version of yourself.

And Season 4 is where El reinvents herself and regresses backwards in her arc. She's, yet again, trying to create the normal girl, normal life. She knows that Mike had put her on a pedestal for having super powers, and she's afraid that if her powers aren't good enough for him, and if she shows flaws when she has no powers, then he'll view her as a monster.

This all stems back to her original storyline in Season 1. See, it all comes full circle.

Now, back to this word. Pretty is no longer used. But bitchin' takes on a new meaning. It is the new "pretty".

El seeks validation from Mike again, wanting to seem like she has a normal life, a cool life that he desires and something that he'll show love for. She needs him to like this idealised version of her without flaws, with friends and good grades and someone who goes to fun parties at a roller rink:

Then we see El go through her Season 4 arc which I just cannot begin to summarise, but I'll try to show what it means for this metaphor of her needing Mike to validate her:

Mike finds out about her lies, but she hides from him and refuses his initial comfort. She then acts violently and very out of the line from her idealised version she created.

The way he reacts reminds her of her old, abusive father figure who made her feel like an experiment. (again links to the old S1 arc)

Mike then refuses to talk to her, making her believe that he views her as a monster. She already thinks that he doesn't love her anymore because of the no powers thing.

He calls her a 'superhero' despite her really not feeling like one.

She throws the words back at Mike in a note later. Basically telling him that she no longer needs him to tell her that she's a superhero for her to feel like one.

In the lab, she figures out that she was never the monster. This is extremely important because she does this without needing Mike to tell her that he loves her.

When Mike does tell her that he loves her, it is no longer satisfying because she doesn't need this anymore. He also continues to call her a superhero.

Mike makes El feel normal - he gives her that stability that she was craving since she was extremely young. She just wants a normal childhood. After embracing her powers, she realises that in order for Mike to love her, she needs to have badass powers like a superhero, meaning when she loses them, she reinvents herself as a normal girl again. When she shows flaws, her powers no longer "make up" for them, so she thinks Mike views her as a monster. She wants him to tell her he loves her for her to stop feeling like one. She figures out she was never the monster by herself in S4. Mike continues to put her on a pedestal and overexaggerates her powers in the love monologue, which is no longer needed because she has figured out she...

DOESN'T NEED MIKE

but yknow who does??? will... okay bye guys this took me for ever

[cherrywriterrr]

shotgun silence

college!rafe x oc series

warnings: 18+ mdni · strong language · suggestive jokes · tension · bickering · fighting · rafe being a dick · nova being worse · mature subjects · college setting · passive aggression in the sunshine · one bed trope

summary: when sarah invites nova on a spring break trip to vegas, she “forgets” to mention two things: rafe is coming, nova is riding all the way there with him,alone.

introduction<- ->next

“you forgot to fucking tell me that.” nova’s voice slices through the spring morning, loud enough to turn heads outside the dorm. pigeons scatter off the sidewalk. a tour group stares.

sarah winces. john b shoves his hands into his pockets. rafe, of course, smirks like he’s just been handed a front row seat to her breakdown.

“nova,” sarah says softly, like she’s trying to pet a feral animal. “i didn’t forget, i just… postponed telling you.”

“postponed?!” nova whirls on her. “you postponed telling me that he’s coming” she jabs a thumb in rafe’s direction without looking at him, “—and that i’m riding with him?”

john b mumbles, “it’s not a big deal.”

“not a big deal?” nova snaps, eyes blazing. “you’re literally sending me on a cross country death ride with someone who once told me i had ‘main character syndrome and a minor god complex.’”

“was that supposed to be an insult?” rafe cuts in, arms crossed. “because honestly, you kinda do.”

nova turns her head slowly, like a horror movie villain, and narrows her eyes at him. “i’d rather walk barefoot through the desert than sit in your car for eight hours.”

“cool,” rafe says. “i’ll blast the AC. enjoy the heatstroke.”

sarah physically steps between them before nova can throw something. “you two have been bickering for months and no one’s died yet. this trip is for fun. vegas, hello? vibes? we’re gonna party, relax, let loose—”

“and maybe get murdered by the side of the road,” nova mutters, glaring at rafe’s sunglasses like they personally offended her.

“my car’s clean,” he says, obnoxiously casual. “no murder weapons. just an aux cord and a working brake pedal. unless you wanna drive?”

nova scoffs. “yeah. in your dreams, bald boy.”

rafe grins, and john b lets out a low, painful whistle. “god,” he says. “the sexual tension is unreal.”

“shut the fuck up, john b,” nova and rafe say at the exact same time.

sarah’s face lights up. “see? you’re already bonding.”

nova looks like she might combust. “i cannot believe you did this to me.”

“think of it as an opportunity,” sarah chirps. “you two get to hash out your weird vibe in a contained environment. windows down, highway vibes, snacks—”

“oh my god,” nova says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “please stop saying vibes.”

“do you want me to drive with you?” john b offers lamely. “i can make her switch.”

sarah elbows him. “no, we need space for the outfits. and the backup outfits. and the emergency outfit bag.”

“you packed five bags,” nova says flatly.

“i like options.”

rafe opens the passenger side of his blacked-out jeep and leans against it like a menace. “so what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? shotgun or desert hike?”

nova doesn’t move.

john b coughs. “we’re leaving in five.”

nova exhales the most dramatic sigh known to man, then stomps toward the jeep like she’s marching into war. she tosses her bag into the back seat, yanks the door open, and throws herself into the passenger seat with a violent thud.

“not a single word,” she snaps, before rafe can say anything.

he doesn’t. not with words. he just starts the car, turns the volume up to a painful level, and drives.

the first five minutes of the drive are silent.

not the peaceful kind. not the kind where you watch trees pass and feel your thoughts melt into the sun. no—this is silence like a bomb waiting to detonate. like both of them are holding back just enough not to throw hands on the freeway.

nova stares out the window, jaw clenched so hard it could shatter. her boots are kicked up on the dash. intentionally. disrespectfully.

rafe doesn’t say anything.

until he does. “can you not scuff my car?”

nova turns her head slowly, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose like a threat. “are you serious?”

“deadass.”

“don’t say deadass.”

he shrugs, one hand lazily on the wheel. “don’t scuff my dash.”

nova laughs. not nicely. it’s the kind of laugh that promises violence. “i’m stuck until fucking vegas with the biggest frat boy on campus, and you’re worried about your dash?”

“yeah,” rafe says, cool as ever. “because my dash doesn’t whine every five minutes.”

nova gasps, mock offended. “i’m not whining.”

“you’re literally whining right now.”

“i am expressing justified emotional distress.”

“you’re throwing a tantrum.”

“you’re breathing too loud.”

rafe side-eyes her. “you sound like my little sister.”

nova rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out. “you sound like a bitch.”

he smiles. “and you sound jealous.”

“jealous? of what?”

“of all the girls who’ve been lucky enough to spend eight hours in my car before you.”

“ew. you probably make them split gas.”

“only if they complain this much.”

nova glares, then turns back to the window. flips him off, casually, with one perfectly manicured finger.

rafe laughs. “you know, i kinda get why sarah didn’t tell you.”

“because she’s fake?”

“because you’d start drama in the parking lot. which you did.”

“i was ambushed, rafe. ambushed with the knowledge that i’d be trapped in a metal box with a muscle-bound narcissist for literal miles.”

“flattering,” he says.

“it wasn’t a compliment.”

“then why’d you call me muscle-bound?”

“fuck you.”

“that’s what vegas is for,” he says with a wink, like he hasn’t just set her soul on fire with rage.

nova groans, drops her head back, sunglasses sliding to the tip of her nose. “i can’t believe this is my life. i could be on a bus. or a flight. or in literally anyone else’s car. i could’ve hitchhiked. i could’ve walked.”

rafe flicks his blinker, merges without looking, and says, “too late now, sweetheart.”

“do not call me sweetheart.”

“‘kay, angel.”

nova makes a strangled noise. “i swear to god, i will kick the steering wheel.”

“that’ll kill us both.”

“then i die doing what i love.”

“what, screaming at me?”

“exactly.”

they drive another few miles, the tension simmering hot and obnoxious between them. the music blasts—a half-decent playlist rafe refuses to admit he made himself—and nova scrolls aimlessly on her phone, not replying to anything. mostly just staring. plotting.

then she says it, casual as hell “i’m splitting the gas bill, by the way.”

rafe turns his head, stunned. actually stunned “excuse me?”

nova doesn’t look at him. “gas. i’m paying for your giant man-vehicle to haul my ass across the country. this is like an uber. i’m not tipping you tho.”

“you think i want your money?” he scoffs, full-body offended. “jesus, nova, what the fuck kind of guy do you think i am?”

“a guy who probably Venmos girls after first dates for ‘half the appetizer.’”

“i—” rafe breaks off, jaw twitching. “that happened once. and she didn’t even touch the spinach artichoke dip.”

nova snorts. “i rest my case.”

“no. no. don’t act like you’re doing me a favor. i don’t want your money, i don’t need your money, and if you even try to hand me cash, i’m throwing it out the window.”

“good,” nova says sweetly, without missing a beat. “because i only have twenties and i know you’re the kind of guy who hates breaking them.”

he whips his head toward her like he’s been personally attacked. “how do you know that?”

“i just know,” nova says, crossing her arms, smug and cruel and pretty as sin. “you’ve got ‘will awkwardly abandon purchase if the total is $11.07 and he only has a twenty’ energy.”

“i fucking don’t—”

“you absolutely do.”

rafe makes a strangled, disbelieving noise. “you’re insane.”

“and you’re boring.”

“i’m literally driving you to vegas.”

“and i’m stuck inhaling your frat cologne for eight hours.”

rafe glances at her sharply. “you love it.”

nova stares at him like he grew two heads. “it smells like a bottle of tequila got into a fight with a bottle of axe body spray and they both lost.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. “i don’t even know why you hate me,” he mutters.

nova turns, looks him dead in the eyes, and says, “because you exist.”

“i’m splitting the gas,” nova says again, like it’s already been decided. like her stubborn little mouth is law.

rafe lets out a laugh—one of those disbelieving, throat scorching ones. “nova. i’m a fucking millionaire.”

she blinks. “and okay? and i have a barista salary and like… seventeen dollars in my checking account. what’s your point?”

he throws one hand off the wheel, gesturing at her like she’s the most ridiculous creature on the planet. “my point is—you don’t even have a car. like, at all. not even a shitty one. your main mode of transportation is begging sarah for rides and publicly bullying people into giving you piggyback.”

nova gasps like he just slapped her. “are you shaming me for being poor right now?”

“no!” rafe snaps, exasperated. “i’m trying to make you understand that i’m not letting you pay for fucking gas.”

nova crosses her arms and leans back dramatically, muttering, “classist behavior.”

“it’s not classist if i’m being generous.”

“it is if you rub it in my face.”

“i’m not rubbing anything in your face, jesus christ.”

“you literally just announced that you’re a millionaire like it was a fucking personality trait.”

“because you tried to give me gas money!”

“because i have morals, rafe!”

“you don’t even recycle.”

“don’t come for my carbon footprint, you yacht-loving freak.”

rafe’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “i don’t even own my personal yacht.”

“but you could,” nova hisses, like that’s the worst part.

“and you wouldn’t if you could?”

nova’s quiet for a beat. “…maybe like a small one.”

“exactly.”

“with a disco ball and a slide.”

“nova.”

“and snacks.”

he groans and slams the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. “i’m losing brain cells.”

“i hope you lose control of your aux cord first,” she says sweetly. “you’re one play away from getting smacked with your own spotify.”

five hours in.

eight to go.

they haven’t killed each other. but they’ve come very close.

rafe’s chewing gum like it owes him money. nova’s been flipping through radio stations with the kind of manic determination reserved for people who think suffering should come with a soundtrack. at one point, she played an entire Doja Cat song just to piss him off.

they pull into a gas station somewhere in bumfuck-nowhere, surrounded by dusty pavement and vending machines that look like they haven’t been refilled since 2009.

“fifteen minutes,” rafe says, already halfway out of the car.

“ten,” nova counters, slamming the door with the kind of flair only she could make dramatic. “i’m not dying here.”

they split—rafe heads for the pump, nova beelines toward the convenience store with a purpose. she returns ten minutes later with a slushie the color of nuclear waste, flaming hot cheetos, and one sticker sheet she did not need but had to have.

rafe’s at the register, sliding his card before she even reaches him.

nova frowns. “what are you doing?”

“paying.”

“for my stuff?”

“yeah,” rafe says, not even looking at her. “keep up, angel.”

nova stares. “oh great. i’m a charity case now.”

rafe sighs through his nose, slow and deliberate. “nova—”

“no, really. this is so cute. i’m like your little community service project. sponsor a broke girl for 99 cents a day—”

“shut up,” rafe mutters, yanking the receipt from the machine and shoving it in his pocket. “i told you. i’m not letting you pay for shit.”

“why? so you can feel better about your daddy’s money?”

rafe turns to her, jaw tight. “no. so you don’t have to pretend like you’re not always doing math in your head every time you walk into a store.”

nova’s expression falters. just for a second. but then she scoffs, grabbing the bag from the counter and brushing past him toward the door. “whatever.”

“you’re welcome,” rafe calls behind her.

“die,” she replies, brightly, pushing the door open with her hip.

she’s halfway to the car, fuming and dramatic and halfway tearing open her cheetos like it’s an act of rebellion, when she hears his footsteps behind her.

“c’mon,” rafe calls, annoyed. “you’re fucking mad because i paid for your snacks?”

nova spins on her heel, wild pink hair catching the sun like fire. “i’m mad because you’re a dick about it.”

he throws his arms up. “i was just being a gentleman.”

she scoffs. “you don’t get to play ‘gentleman’ when you spent five hours mocking me, threatening to throw my phone out the window, and calling my playlist ‘painfully bisexual.’”

“it was painfully bisexual.”

“it was the 1975.”

“exactly.”

nova glares, chewing aggressively on a flaming hot cheeto like she wants it to be his throat. “gentleman, my ass.”

rafe steps closer. too close. “just take the free cheetos and shut up, nova.”

“don’t talk to me like i’m some poor stray cat you tossed scraps to.”

“don’t act like i kicked a puppy just because i didn’t let you pay for fucking gas and off-brand gummy worms.”

she looks at him, lip curled. “they were on-brand.”

“you’re off-brand.”

“you’re offensively tall.”

he grins, infuriating. “you noticing?”

“i notice the stench of axe body spray and male ego.”

“you love it.”

“i’d rather sniff a garbage fire.”

they stare at each other for a beat. nose to nose. all heat and scowls and that annoying static tension that’s been buzzing between them since, like, february.

then nova rolls her eyes and shoulders past him. “i’m sitting in the back seat the rest of the way.”

“good,” rafe mutters, following her. “you’re annoying as fuck from the front.”

“still not worse than your playlist.”

“we’re listening to it the whole way now.”

“i’ll throw myself out of the car.”

“at least then i get peace.”

they slide back into the car.

nova slams the door just a little too hard. rafe mutters something under his breath that sounds like drama queen. nova tosses her bag of snacks into the backseat like she’s punishing it and immediately stretches across the passenger seat like she owns it.

he starts the engine. she cracks open the window just enough to make it annoying.

half an hour of silence. sort of.

except nova’s chewing flaming hot cheetos at maximum decibel levels, scrolling on her phone with one socked foot on the dashboard, humming to herself like she’s the picture of peace.

rafe taps the steering wheel. twitches. eyes the road.

then he hears the buzz of a message and glances over.

nova’s smirking.

he can’t help himself. “who is it?”

nova turns to him slowly, too slowly, eyes wide and wicked.

“ooooh,” she says, gasping dramatically. “big bad boy cares about who i’m texting.”

rafe gives her a deadpan look. “jesus christ.”

“next thing you know, you’re gonna ask for my screen time report.”

“not interested in the psychological horror that is your brain.”

“aww,” she coos. “you totally are. admit it.”

he glares. “who. is. it.”

“your fucking sister, rafe,” nova says, eyes back on her phone, fingers flying. “asking if you’ve killed me yet. i told her no. yet.”

rafe lets out a sharp exhale, eyes flicking to the road. “should’ve made her come with us. she could’ve babysat you.”

nova kicks her leg up and leans back in the chair like she’s lounging at a beach resort. “she tried. i begged her not to make me ride with you, and she said—quote—‘maybe you’ll fall in love.’”

rafe nearly chokes. “what the fuck.”

“i know. disgusting.”

“delusional.”

“deeply unserious.”

“don’t even joke like that again.”

nova throws a cheeto at him. “you’d be lucky, cameron.”

he side-eyes her, slow and sharp. “you wish.”

“you dream.”

“you fantasize.”

“you need therapy.”

“i have therapy.”

nova shrugs. “not enough of it.”

they’re hours deep into darkness when nova finally stops chewing.

she’s curled up in the passenger seat now, hoodie zipped halfway, legs tucked underneath her like she’s trying to fold herself into a chair that’s clearly too small. the radio hums something moody in the background—his playlist now, because she fell asleep for twenty minutes and lost her veto rights.

“cold?” rafe asks casually, not looking at her.

“no,” she says quickly, lying through her teeth. “i’m perfectly comfortable.”

but she’s got her arms crossed tight over her chest, and her nipples are—yeah. 

he glances over before he can stop himself. one flick of the eyes. not even a second.

nova catches it. immediately.

“why are you looking?” she snaps, voice high and scandalized like he just licked the window. “you’re supposed to be watching the road, not my boobs.”

rafe groans and looks away, dragging a hand down his face. “jesus. nova.”

“seriously. that’s a crime.”

“it was not on purpose.”

“you stared.”

“i didn’t stare.”

“you ogled.”

“i glanced!”

“at my tits!”

“because they’re pointy!” rafe explodes, then immediately regrets it.

nova gasps like he just proposed marriage. “oh my god.”

“no, shut up. don’t—”

“pointy?!”

“you made it weird—”

“you made it sexual,” she hisses, clutching her hoodie dramatically.

he slams a fist gently against the steering wheel. “i’m gonna crash this fucking car.”

“into a victoria’s secret so i can buy a bra?!”

“into a lake, nova.”

“boob shamer.”

“cold denier.”

nova laughs then, a real one, soft and tired and way too cute for this hour.

and for a second, it’s quiet again.

he’s gripping the wheel like it’s personally responsible for this conversation.

nova’s still curled up, hoodie zipped, arms crossed, looking entirely unbothered despite the dramatics. her cheeks are pink, though. from the cold. or something else. rafe doesn’t care. he’s not thinking about it.

except he is. “you never wear bras,” he mutters finally, eyes on the road.

nova whips her head toward him. “why are you noticing?”

he exhales hard through his nose. “everyone notices, nova.”

she gasps. scandalized. “oh my god.”

“your boobs are always out.”

“they’re existing!”

“they’re existing in crop tops and see-through shirts.”

nova puts a hand to her chest, like she’s shielding her dignity. “are you slut-shaming me right now?”

“i’m observation-shaming you.”

“i’m literally wearing a hoodie.”

“and it’s not helping!”

she bursts out laughing, full and unfiltered and amused in the way that makes her nose crinkle. rafe glances at her from the corner of his eye, jaw tight, trying not to smile.

nova leans her head against the window, looking smug. “so you do look at my tits.”

“i try not to.”

“that’s not a denial.”

“i’m gonna launch myself out of this car.”

“you’ll miss me when i’m gone.”

“i’ll haunt you.”

“you already do, baby.”

he doesn’t respond to that

they’ve been quiet for maybe five whole minutes. a record. nova’s halfway through her sour patch kids, legs on the dash, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

then, like her brain just booted back up:

“wait. are we driving nonstop to vegas?”

rafe snorts. “no.”

she looks over at him. “what do you mean no?”

“i mean we’re crashing at a motel halfway through. didn’t sarah tell you?”

nova’s mouth falls open. slowly. dramatically. “absolutely not.”

rafe smirks without looking away from the road. “guess she forgot.”

“so now i’m stuck sharing a murder motel wall with you?”

“you say that like i didn’t get stuck sharing a whole car with you.”

“you’ve been blessed with my presence.”

“you’ve been chewing for hours.”

“attractively.”

“violently.”

nova huffs, shoving a gummy in her mouth and mumbling around it, “you better hope there’s two beds.”

rafe just smiles, slow and infuriating. “you better hope there’s one.”

nova chokes on the gummy. the silence that follows? a whole new kind of loud.

nova eyes him, a wicked smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. “why? do you wanna fuck me, rafe?”

he shoots her a flat, unimpressed look. “you probably have some disease from sex. fuck no.”

nova laughs, shaking her head like she can’t believe the asshole honesty. “wow, so romantic.”

“i am romantic. that’s my romance.”

“gross.”

“truth.”

nova leans back, crossing her arms like she’s declared victory. “so, no chance?”

“no chance.”

“figures.”

nova raises one eyebrow, smirking like she’s got a secret weapon. “then… not even if i beg really nicely?”

rafe glances over, deadpan. “are you trying to make me mad, or do you really wanna get laid?”

nova shrugs, grinning. “probably ovulation week. you know, the primal shit.”

he snorts. “so it’s science, not desperation?”

“exactly.”

rafe shakes his head, amused despite himself. “well, science can wait.”

nova sticks her tongue out. “rude.”

rafe grips the steering wheel tighter, jaw ticking. “stop trying to get me to say yes, nova. it’s annoying. and you only do it so you can make fun of me after.”

she blinks, slow and mocking. “wow. someone’s defensive.”

“i’m serious.”

“fine,” she says, leaning back into her seat with a dramatic sigh. “oh god, i’ll just find some guy there. at the motel. or vegas. whichever’s faster.”

rafe’s head snaps toward her, eyes sharp.“you’re not—”

“i’ll be safe,” she interrupts, innocent voice fake as hell. “wrap it before you tap it, all that.”

“jesus christ,” he mutters under his breath, face already darkening.

nova smiles out the window. “unless you wanna offer first, big boy.”

he doesn’t answer. rafe lets out a harsh, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“you seriously can’t just exist without a dick in your guts for like, i don’t know… three days?”

nova gasps—loudly. “wow.”

he keeps his eyes on the road, but he’s grinning now. smug. satisfied.

“jesus christ,” she mutters, “that’s boring.”

she pauses. then“actually, i haven’t done anything in like… five months.”

that wipes the smirk right off his face. “what?”

“you heard me.”

rafe side-eyes her. “you? miss primal ovulation week?”

“some of us are complicated, rafe.”

“some of us are liars.”

nova shrugs. “believe what you want. celibacy is kinda sexy on me.”

rafe doesn’t respond.

he just tightens his grip on the steering wheel again, jaw clenched. like that little revelation just made everything harder—including him.

an hour later, the neon buzz of the roadside motel flickers through the windshield. it’s late, past midnight, and everything looks washed-out and sketchy under the buzzing blue lights. they pull into the lot beside john b’s beat-up van.

nova’s already rolling her eyes before she even opens the door.

they meet john b and sarah near the office, both of them holding plastic key cards and looking way too casual for what’s about to drop.

sarah gives them a tight smile. “guys, nova, look…”

“uh oh,” nova mutters immediately. “why are you using my name like that?”

john b rubs the back of his neck. sarah winces. “so… we did get two rooms.”

“great,” rafe says flatly.

“buuut,” sarah continues, “your room… also… only has one bed.”

nova stares at her, unblinking. “you’re joking.”

sarah bites her lip.

nova turns to rafe. “she’s joking, right?”

rafe looks at the key in his hand like it personally offended him. “do i look like i’m laughing?”

nova makes a strangled noise in her throat. “this is sabotage. this is straight-up warfare.”

john b shrugs. “look, it’s one night. just sleep on opposite sides or something.”

“you’re assuming i’ll sleep at all,” nova snaps.

rafe snorts under his breath. “same.”

sarah’s trying not to laugh. “you’ll live.”

nova narrows her eyes. “i’m gonna smother you in your sleep.”

“with a pillow?” sarah asks, backing away.

“with intent.”

john b lets out the world’s longest sigh, already turning back toward their room. “just go to the fucking room, nova. and stop whining, please.”

nova blinks like he slapped her. “wow. and i considered you my brother.”

“you call me your brother when it’s convenient,” he mutters.

“yeah,” she shoots back, “like when i need to be protected from this six-foot-four testosterone monster you’ve locked me in a motel with!”

rafe raises both hands, mock-innocent. “i haven’t even done anything.”

“yet,” she says, jabbing a finger at him as she backs toward their room. “john b, remember this if i go missing. remember who i was with.”

john b doesn’t even turn around. “if you go missing, it was probably self-inflicted.”

sarah cackles behind him. “have fun you two!”

nova scowls as she unlocks the door, mumbling, “not even one fucking couch in this dump.”

rafe follows her in, letting the door click shut behind them. the silence that falls after?

deadly.

the second they walk in, they both stop.

nova stares. rafe exhales a low whistle.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mutters.

heart-shaped mirror over the bed.

dim pink lighting. a tiny table set for two with fake rose petals on it. the tiniest bottle of cheap champagne in a silver bucket.

and of course… one queen bed. dead center. big enough for two if they were in love.

which they very much were not.

“it’s a fucking couple room,” nova breathes, horrified.

rafe’s laugh is instant and loud. he leans against the door, grinning like it’s christmas. “nah, this is too good. this is actually perfect.”

nova whirls around. “you think this is funny?”

he smirks, arms crossed. “i think the universe just ships us.”

“the universe can suck my dick.”

“probably would if you begged nicely.”

she doesn’t even dignify that. just grabs the extra scratchy motel blanket from the bed, tosses it onto the ground, and starts arranging a very uncomfy-looking spot near the wall.

“what are you doing?” he asks, still smirking.

“sleeping on the floor,” she says, deadly serious. “i don’t mind.”

“nova—”

“i.don’t. mind.”

he stares for a second. “you’re gonna throw your back out.”

“worth it.”

he watches her fluff the world’s saddest motel pillow and lay it on the stained carpet like she’s a martyr about to be canonized.

“jesus christ,” rafe mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “just sleep on the bed with me. we can do a pillow barrier or some shit.”

nova looks up at him like he just suggested they shower together. “no thanks.”

“nova.”

“no.”

he points at the mattress. “it’s literally a bed. and you’re gonna freeze on that crime scene floor.”

she glares. “why do you even care? thought you’d be thrilled not to have to share oxygen with me.”

“i don’t care,” he shoots back. “i just don’t wanna wake up to you dead of hypothermia and have to explain it to my sister.”

nova snorts. “so it’s not out of kindness, it’s just damage control.”

“obviously.”

she squints at him. “and we’re doing a pillow barrier?”

“a fucking fortress,” he says.

“…fine.”

“really?”

“don’t make me change my mind.”

he holds up his hands in surrender, backing toward the bed. “wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

she flips him off. he’s still smirking.

previous<- ->next taglist

just a quick reminder — if you ever want me to stop tagging you, please don’t hesitate to let me know. no hard feelings at all! also, if you’re not interacting with the posts, I’ll assume you’re no longer interested and might remove you from the taglist to keep it active. appreciate you all 💋

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[magicalqueennightmare]

Sleep Texting Headcanon

how would they react to you sleep texting them?

Tony is still up, working in the lab the first time it happens and honestly? He's worried you've either A. had a stroke or B. there was some sort of brain injury that went undiagonsed. He got Jarvis to do a quick rundown of your stats and when it came back that no you were indeed just asleep and it was somewhat along the lines of sleep walking (after he got you in with numerous doctors to ensure you were ok)he just started to look forward to the sometimes unhinged, sometimes semi coherent and sometimes downright scary things your brain would come up with while you were in that semiconscious.

Steve took a little while to get usued to to modern technology. He's smart so once he was up to date nothing really bothered him. Until he got the first text from you at like two in the morning and it made no sense. You were telling him your kitten needed peaches. You had no cat. He immediately went to your room to find you curled up asleep. He was so damn confused he asked Nat who let him in on the fact that you did that sometimes. Once he was sure it was nothing harmful he was ok with it. You found a stuffed cat on your pillow the next morning with a note from Steve Well her name is peaches

Clint talks in his sleep and has been known to sleep walk. Nat once found him sitting in the rafters in Tony's lab fast asleep so it's not really weird to him. Hell sometimes the fucker texts back and you find fully unhinged conversations he's had with your semiconscious self in your text threads.

Sam takes the approach of "Baby what is this?" you end up stammering but he's just teasing. Sometimes the messages are downright unhinged, some are notes like "Cute bird" he tries to get you to plug your phone in, in a different room or even just letting him take it for the night. Something to help your sleep pattern. When you tell him it makes you nervous that someone you care about might not be able to reach you he relents and tells you "Well your cute bird will be waiting on my texts then"

Joaquin at first wants to make sure it's nothing medically serious. After that? "Oh I see how it is, can't stop thinking about me even when you're asleep huh?" he finds most of your texts cute but once you sent him once that read "It's in the walls" he didn't sleep for two days afterwards.

Bucky thinks you've lost it. That you're brainwashed, something is going on, the man is WORRIED. Sam explains what's going on to him and he then kind of grins "Oh thank god" he was scared something would happen to you. The texts are strange, some range from "Alpine is the cutest kitty to ever kitty" to pictures of chickens that just said "Buck buck buck" instead of cluck cluck cluck. He never deletes the text thread because it makes him smile to think about you.

John has seen pretty much even sleep related illness there is. If he didn't suffer from it, one of the men he served with did. So it doesn't really throw him off to figure out you're sleep texting. However the amount of taco related memes you have on your phone is disturbing. Also the jokes and innuendos you make in your sleep would probably make him blush if you weren't semiconscious texting them.

[amuseoffyre]

Speedrun of memories from the meet-and-greet last night:

Ruibo is the loveliest of people and had only arrived from New York 3 hours before the con began. She said she's loving it so far and everyone's so lovely. She really enjoyed the community of the show and how much people embraced Zheng. She was so thrilled with her mini-me 🥰

Nathan is such a wonderful catty diva and I love him so much.He complained about the lack of Lucius but was very pleased to see the Pete muppet and took a selfie with it to send to Matt Maher 🥰

David Fane's face journey on his way to our table went 😮😍 when he saw his mini-me waiting for him. He was so excited about it and he told us some of the significance of Fang's tattoos and that after the show, he ended up getting the belly tattoos done. The traditional artist who designed them was the same person who did the ink-work on his upper right arm. The bird motif is a very specific one in Samoan culture and the placement of it on his chest, towards his heart, was "so it was always flying home"

He is also such a giggly scamp - about Fang's belt on his head, he insisted to the costume designers that it was badass and cool to wear a belt on the head and the wardrobe team made a kind of "....Hm" response. "So I put it on my head anyway and then went out for filming and didn't let anyone take it off me and then it was too late for them to stop me 😇"

He also mentioned that Fang was such a delight to play because there's this tendency to make bigger performers tough and scary, but he loved that while Fang has done all this violence and lived through so much harsh and horrible stuff, he's still this sweet guy who just wants to be nice to people and have a good time with his friends.

Con was his usual glorious self. We ended up having a fascinating talk about the state of media, the limits placed on creative people by executives, how people at the top don't *get* why things work, they just take things that are successful and try and regurgitate them over and over until the genre/story/narrative is dead. He also waxed lyrical about what an excellent person David Tennant is, both for the way he doesn't let himself be pigeonholed by roles and for being "the kind of person I aspire to be"

And lastly, but by no means least, David Jenkins himself. He's having a lovely time from the looks of things, and he's so quick and witty and astute. I can't recall a lot of specifics but he was very excited about the muppets and insisted on a selfie with the whole table to send to his wife.

We did have a brief discussion about the state of TV at the moment and I brought up my favourite thing of streaming's downfall matching the history of the golden age and he agreed that when they got the budget for OFMD S1, at the time it "felt like Cecil B DeMills just throwing money at everything".

He also got very excited about tiny glow-in-the-dark unicorns that were being handed out, claimed one and named it Pepsi Jenkins. "Great name for a pet, awful name for a child"

It's been a lovely time and that was all while running on fumes. Day 2 is about to start, so I'm off for brekkie and to nab some munchies from the buffet

[gothamite-rambler]

Damian discloses he knows Tim's secret...

Red Robin and Robin met in an office. Red Robin looked confused as to why they were meeting before patrolling, but Robin emphasized it was urgent.

Red Robin: Um, Robin, why did you want to meet up tonight?

Robin: Had to talk to you about… how do I put this? I’d rather not be rude in this conversation.

Red Robin: You don’t want to be rude? Has hell frozen over?

Robin: Not funny. Be serious, Drake. I was eavesdropping when you were talking to Nightwing earlier, and… are you queer?

Red Robin: What?

Robin: Queer. You prefer the same sex, though what I heard you still like the opposite gender?

Red Robin: I—

Robin: I'm not done talking. I wasn’t expecting you could be both, especially as a man, but if you are, I have questions. What we talk about in private here stays that way. I chose to speak in our hero suits because… I feel more comfortable this way.

Red Robin (raising his eyebrow waiting to speak): …

Robin: You may speak.

Red Robin: Fantastic. Glad you could give me permission. To start, were you listening in on my conversation? B told you to stop doing that!

Robin: He did. Yeah, I don’t always follow that advice. You don’t always follow his rules either.

Red Robin (flustered): D- Don’t bring logic into this! You’re not supposed to eavesdrop! And… This is a lot to take in. I was going to tell you last! Let me calm down.

Red Robin sighed and sat down on the floor. Robin took a seat next to him, crossing his legs in the lotus position. Robin gently patted his brother’s arm.

Robin: I’m… sorry for listening in on your conversation. I overheard you tell Nightwing you weren’t sure how everyone would handle this news. Drake, I don’t understand a lot of romantic things, but I want you to know I… support you and your queerness.

Red Robin: Okay, first of all, stop saying “queer.” You’re not saying it offensively, but it’s kind of weird to hear sometimes.

Red Robin chuckled, lowering his head.

Red Robin: I wasn’t sure how to tell you because we don’t always get along, and you’re kind of an asshole to me most of the time.

Robin nodded without argument.

Red Robin: I’m glad you support me being bisexual. Honestly, you were last on the list, Red Hood owes me sixty bucks because I guessed you had no idea.

Robin: I’m happy you won the bet. It took me a while to find out Batwoman was lesbian, I’m usually slow with this stuff. When I found out you were bisexual I was surprised, but not in a bad way. More admonishing myself for not being able to tell.

Red Robin: That's reassuring to learn. You're not as smart as you think you are.

Robin: Don't act cocky. My reaction to finding out you are also not straight is the same, I wasn’t aware, but it doesn’t change how I see you. You date both genders, that simply means you'll fail at dating with both genders. You’re not harming animals or children or people your age, you’re happy, that’s what matters. I want you to know that we may never get along, but it won't be because of who you date.

Red Robin stared at his brother, tilting his head with a bemused smile, then playfully punched him in the arm.

Red Robin: That… was the most robotic yet sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. You and Batman both reacted weirdly when I came out, but honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Robin: Father and I aren’t mushy people. We get straight to the point. You know grandfather isn’t homophobic either, he says he’ll judge people on their other qualities, not who they sleep with.

Red Robin: Ra’s saying that makes sense. Thanks, Robin.

Robin: You’re welcome. Who else have you told?

Red Robin: So far, Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and you.

Robin: So, you’d be attracted to Sabrina Carpenter and Nicholas Galitzine? I’ve been listening to her music and watching Red, White & Royal Blue. Both good.

Red Robin laughed, easing any remaining tension.

Red Robin: You picked good options. But don’t forget Taylor Zakhar Perez... I like who I like, personality-wise.

Robin: Since turning bi, you’ve realized you should date for personality over the messy way you used to do it.

Red Robin: It’s not turning. I’m not a werewolf. Nice dig at my dating history, you're not wrong either. I haven't told... Spoiler yet. Think she'll be mad?

Robin: Did you dump her due to being bi?

Red Robin (laughing): No, we just weren't compatible. Dating isn't any easier though. Don't make a snide comment.

Robin (smiling proudly): Red Robin, I told you your sexual preference wouldn’t change how I see you. I can mock you and support you at the same time. After all, you’re my brother.

Red Robin: Thanks, bro. Any other questions you want to ask?

Robin (pulling out a notepad): Yes. When did you first know you were bisexual?

Red Robin: I need a minute to answer that properly. Next question.

Robin: Hm. How should I introduce you to strangers?

Red Robin: You never said I was your straight brother when you thought I was straight, keep it that way.

Robin: Great. I can insult you there too. Have you met anyone to date yet? Man or woman?

Red Robin: I’m looking.

Robin: I will fight anyone who rejects or insults you for being part of the LGBTQ. That’s not a question, just a supportive statement. Only I get to tease you, and that will only be because you suck at being a hero.

Red Robin: Thanks, brat. Again I wouldn't have it any other way.

[raekensluver]

nsfw alphabet - arthur frederick

masterlist | main masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

arthur is the king of aftercare. he’s soft, attentive, a little doting. kisses your forehead, runs his hands gently up and down your back, whispers little “you good, love?” checks. makes you drink water. if it was intense? he’s tucking you in and spooning you like you’re breakable.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he likes your thighs. loves when they wrap around him, especially when they tense up while you’re close. he’ll grip them, kiss them, lie between them like it’s his favorite place on earth. on himself, it’s his hands. he knows what they do to you. he catches the way you stare when he flexes his fingers or works with them, and he uses that to his full advantage.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

arthur’s not big on mess. he likes things contained, clean. cumming inside is his favorite—whether it’s in a condom or you’re on birth control, he just loves the intimacy of it.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s fantasized about sharing you in a threesome - with one of his friends. it’s not something he talks about (because god, imagine the teasing), but the idea of watching someone else touch you while he calls the shots? it lives in his head rent-free. the control, the jealousy, the idea that you’d still be his at the end of it? it ruins him in the best way. he’s never brought it up, but if you did? he’d act shocked… then ask how serious you were.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s experienced enough to know what he’s doing, but not cocky. he listens to your body, learns your rhythms. if you tell him what you like, he stores it like gospel. bonus: he’s got a natural rhythm and is stupidly good with his mouth.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary, but intimate - your legs around his waist, foreheads touching, his name falling from your lips. but he also loves when you’re on top. watching you, hands gripping your hips like he’s scared to wake up from a dream.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s mostly serious, especially when he’s focused on you—but every now and then, he’ll crack a grin, kiss your nose mid-thrust, or tease you with a cheeky, “you like that, huh?” he keeps it light, but when it counts, he locks in.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

trims regularly. neat but not bare. keeps it natural but clean. carpet does match the drapes - warm, soft, a little scruffy.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

arthur is intimate to the core. he loves eye contact, loves hearing how much you want him. he’s the type to press his forehead to yours and whisper, “i love you,” just as you fall apart under him. he means every word.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he’s definitely done it thinking about you. especially before you got together. now? not as often - he prefers the real thing, but if he’s away from you, he’ll do it with his phone in hand, moaning your name into the pillow.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink, 1000%. he lives to hear you whimper “you’re so good, arthur.” also big on light dom/sub dynamics. he doesn’t need ropes or titles—he just loves taking control and making you feel small and safe under him.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

loves the bedroom for slow, drawn-out sessions, but he’s got a thing for risky spots: at the podcast office after filming, the car, a quiet room at a house party.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

your voice. your thighs. you in his clothes. you biting your lip when you look at him. sometimes you don’t even need to touch him - just look at him a certain way and he’s already half-hard, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s not into anything degrading or mean-spirited. he won’t slap, spit, or call you names - even in roleplay. he’s all about comfort and connection.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving: he could live between your legs. he eats you out like it’s a full-course meal. loves to have you tugging his hair and grinding on his face. receiving: also loves it, but gets flustered every time. he’ll try to keep eye contact but ends up moaning and gripping the sheets.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

can go slow and sensual or deep and desperate depending on the mood. if he’s been holding back all day? it’s rough, breathy, possessive. if he’s had a soft day with you? it’s tender and unhurried, all whispers and eye contact.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

into it if it’s a rare, spontaneous moment. not his favorite, but if you climb into his lap and whisper something filthy in his ear? he’s pulling your knickers aside and making it work.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s open to exploring, especially if you initiate it. not reckless, but curious. new positions? yes. toys? sure. semi-public where there’s a chance someone could hear? gets him going more than he’ll admit.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

can go for multiple rounds on a good day. he’ll start soft, build up slow, and keep you going until you’re wrecked and blinking up at him like you forgot how to speak. he loves edging - making it last as long as possible.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesnt own a a huge collection, but down to use them on you. loves a good bullet vibe while he’s inside you. seeing you fall apart from dual stimulation? it changes him.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he teases you in that soft-spoken, “you can’t handle me right now” kind of way. leaves you whimpering before he even touches you properly. whispers filth in your ear while pretending to be innocent.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

high, whiney and breathy moans right by your ear is his kind of style. he says your name like it’s the only word he knows. when he’s close, he swears under his breath and holds you tight like you’re slipping away.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he adores when you wear his hoodie with nothing underneath. every time he sees it, he stops what he’s doing, walks over, lifts it up and says, “really?” with a smirk—and suddenly the hoodie’s on the floor.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s packing—nothing outrageous, but thick and satisfying. fits just right. veiny, curved slightly up. the kind you feel for hours after and daydream about constantly.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he has a high sex drive, but he's not pushy. he’s always down, but respectful. he’ll initiate often with soft kisses, hands under your shirt, slow build-up. but if you say “now?”- he’s already lifting you.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

doesn’t fall asleep instantly. he holds you close, talks softly, maybe kisses your shoulder or runs his fingers down your spine. waits for you to fall asleep before he does. (unless he’s truly exhausted, in which case he’s out cold and snoring in ten.)