#island with attached table

[mrstheme6]

San Francisco Transitional Kitchen A large transitional u-shaped eat-in kitchen design example with a drop-in sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, white backsplash, ceramic backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, and black countertops is shown.

[kingkaisen]

“WHERE IS MY WIFE?”

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: curses & curse users have discovered satoru’s greatest weakness, and it’s you, satoru’s sweet, ordinary housewife. after getting kidnapped by gojo’s enemies, he’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ only - mdni - slightly dark content // brief smut, fem reader, feral gojo, canon-typical violence, reader gets kidnapped, reader is wounded/has injuries, angst, fluff/comfort

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5K

♡ —𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I’d count grains of sand if it meant I could spend one minute alone with feral gojo (:

As evening fell, and after a delicious dinner was eaten at the dining table downstairs, Satoru was in the mood for something else now — you.

His pretty housewife would be his dessert.

The apple pie you baked was sitting on the dark marbled counter of the kitchen island, two big slices missing — and the vanilla ice cream tub in the freezer had, of course, two hefty spherical digs in it where the cold treat was scooped out — but, even after his stomach was stuffed after a hard day of fighting curses and teaching his students, Satoru’s head was buried in between your soft thighs, satisfying his other craving.

As your husband moaned softly, his tongue danced around your aching clit. His large hand massaged your thigh. The moonlight pouring in through the big bedroom window shined upon his wedding ring, making it glisten as he rubbed your delicate skin.

“I’ll never get tired of tasting you,” Satoru smiled a bit, his warm breath patting against your wet folds.

“You were made just for me. God, I love it. I love you.”

Two long fingers sunk into your awaiting hole. He attached his soft lips to your clit, sucking on it.

One of your hands gripped at the luxurious pale-cerulean sheets, while your other hand gripped his hair, fingers getting lost in his white locks.

“Satoru!” A sharp moan escaped your dried throat.

Every little noise you made — every moan, every squeak of the thick mattress — it all boasted his desire to please you.

He didn’t stop his licking-sucking-fingering combo until your legs were trembling around his head and he was satisfied with tasting your juices.

Only after devouring your pussy like a starving man feasting on a buffet-style dinner did he rise from his position and make his way across the bed, hovering over you.

With a smile, Satoru leaned down and planted a soft kiss against your lips. But, when he pulled away, he was met with an amused look of disgust.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, furrowing his brows a bit.

“You just kissed me after eating me out,” you said with a little, playful grimace. “That’s nasty.”

“Mrs. Gojo, I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but hush.” Satoru lightly tapped your forehead. “You have swallowed plenty of my-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” shaking your head, you cut off your husband’s naughty sentence, pressing your hand against his lips.

The corners of your mouth burned as you tried to fight off a smile. His latest affectionate nickname was Mrs. Gojo — although it truly wasn’t a nickname due to it technically being your name now — and at every given opportunity, he addressed you that way.

Even after two years of marriage, he was as excited as a freshly wedded man. Your love was a never-ending honeymoon.

You stared into Satoru’s striking blue eyes. He darted his gaze across your gorgeous face, illuminated by the moonlight, and as you ran your fingers through his white hair and he ran his thumb across your cheek, both of you close enough to feel the gentle pats of each other’s breaths on your mesmerizing faces, you both fell in love with each other just a bit more — if that was even possible.

“Can I fuck you now?”

Satoru’s question made a sudden chuckle spilled out from between your lips. He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You’re a buffoon. I’m trying to admire your beauty and that’s what you open your mouth to say?” You playfully frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a human being call another human being a buffoon out loud before.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes humorously. “We need to do our skincare routine first. We have to do it an hour before we go to bed or else we might just rub all the product off. I read that somewhere.”

“Why didn’t we do it before we got into bed in the first place?” Satoru buried his head in the crook of your neck, pouting, but taking a moment to press a little kiss onto your skin.

“Because you were acting as if you were dying of poison and eating me out was the antidote, so I forgot.” you giggled softly.

“Fine, fine,” your husband slowly rolled off of you in defeat. “Skincare routine, nothing more. Please don’t start trying to organize the bath towels.”

“I’m not making any promises,” you said, getting out of bed and following Satoru into the master bathroom.

There, you and your husband stood in front of the big mirror, cleansing and moisturizing your skin as you both chatted about his students, a movie you watched three days ago, and your breakfast plans in the morning.

And it was those sweet little moments that made Satoru’s heart skip a beat. As he flickered his eyes over to your reflection, watching your smother smooth white cream all over your face as you rambled on about a new egg recipe, he couldn’t help but think about how much he loved you.

—

6:00 A.M.

That night ended with soft sex and gentle kisses.

That morning, Satoru’s white eyelashes fluttered open to the early morning sun starting to rise, casting rays through the drawn window curtains and across his comforter.

He squinted his eyes and yawned.

Typically, he was the sort of man who would never wake up at the ungodly hour if he could help it, but the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs had traveled from the kitchen downstairs to right underneath his nose.

Tossing on his blue house-coat, the grumpy-faced man dragged himself into the kitchen, greeting you with a slightly gruff morning voice and a messy head of hair.

“Good morning, baby,” Satoru walked around the kitchen island and loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind. “How’d you sleep? I had a nightmare.”

With a spatula in one hand, you flipped the omelet in the skillet on the six-burner stove. With the other hand, you rubbed his arm, enjoying the warmth his hovering hug had brought.

“I slept alright,” you said. “Did the smell wake you up?”

“Always does,” he smiled lazily although you couldn’t see it.

“Well, your drink’s ready,” you gave a nod in the general direction of the silver espresso machine, which hummed as it brewed Satoru’s steamy beverage.

“I don’t deserve you,” Satoru’s arms hugged you tighter, and he showered the side of your head with kisses.

“Stop it,” your sweet laughter only egged him on as you clenched the spatula and leaned back against him even more. “No fooling around when we’re this close to the stove.”

Satoru eventually backed away after giving you one final kiss against your forehead temple.

“If all goes well, I should be back home tomorrow before dark, then we can check out that new restaurant. What do you say? I personally think it’s time for a date.”

The image of you and Satoru sipping on wine and as you wore your favorite dress flashed in your mind, and you smiled. A date night was certainly something to look forward to in light of Satoru’s overnight trip.

Sorcering duties had often taken him on distant work trips. Truth be told, you were lucky his departure would only last around twenty-four hours and not twenty-four days. Although you missed him whenever he would leave, you understood his choice of career. He was a hero.

You happened to be an ordinary human being. You couldn’t see curses. You couldn’t use cursed energy or cursed techniques, but you were fine with that.

“A date sounds fun! I’m excited now.” You took the omelet out of the skillet and placed it on a nearby plate. “And we’re making time to try out that new pottery class too. It sounds like such a cute date idea, don’t you think so?”

“I’m with you. I’ll make the reservations for the restaurant, you can schedule us for pottery-making.” This time, he was the one blissfully picturing you and him spinning messy clay with him sitting behind you and reaching around your body for the pottery wheel, your fingers intertwined as you both created a pot. Satoru smiled at the thought. “Anyway, now that you’re done cooking, can I kiss you?”

You nodded with a cheeky grin, and your husband pressed his lips against yours sweetly.

It was as if some part of him was frightened that he would never get the opportunity to kiss you again.

—

8:37 P.M.

The bright light far above your head flickered briefly as you stood in the pasta aisle at your local grocery store, but you hadn’t noticed it, too fixated on the different brands of spaghetti noodles lying on the shelf above you.

Shopping at night wasn’t preferable, but only after tossing together a simmering pan of sauce did you realize you hadn’t started boiling your noodles yet.

And, with your pot of simmering water ready, you opened the cabinet to see no noodles.

So, here you were, making a last-minute, unplanned trip to the grocery store.

By now, the only sort of pasta noodles left were the ones that a person of average height couldn’t reach. Every box was too high.

You turned your head to the left and to the right.

You even bothered to walk down a few aisles to search for an employee or anyone who might have been tall enough to reach your needed item, but the only other person staggering around was an older blonde-haired woman who was shorter than you were.

Frowning in frustration, you returned to the pasta aisle.

If you had to climb the shelves, so be it.

Suddenly, a kind voice spoke over the calming public-friendly background music playing softly in the store.

“Need some help?”

Whipping your head around, you saw a person — a taller person, thank goodness — who had a smile that was just as sweet as his voice.

“Yes, thank you!” You found that his grin was rather contagious, as you ended up smiling as well. “I just need the spaghetti noodles on the top shelf. Any brand will do.”

The beaming man with long, dark hair stepped forward, and you moved to the side, letting the apparent hero save your day.

He pulled down your desired spaghetti noodles with ease.

“Thanks for your help. My spaghetti sauce won’t go to waste now,” you said politely.

Your eyes darted up to the stitched scar across his forehead, then quickly, you glanced away.

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

The man walked down the aisle and left.

There was something familiar about him, oddly enough.

That hair . . . that smile . . .

He reminded you of an old, deceased friend of Satoru’s, one that you hadn’t ever met due to his villainous behavior before his death, but you had seen an old picture of him that he and your husband took during their second year at Jujutsu High, years ago.

As you placed the pasta noodles into your cart, making your way around different aisles to collect a few more items since you were already at the store, you decided that you’d take another look at that photograph once you arrived home, just for peace of mind.

The brown paper bag stuffed with groceries felt rather heavy as you walked down the street, which was brightened by light pouring out of the windows of local businesses that hadn’t yet closed.

You sighed softly.

The dark sky was sparkling with stars. The air was cool and comforting. Soon, you’d have pasta, and perhaps, you’d watch a few episodes of your favorite binge-worthy Netflix show.

If only Satoru was with you.

Chatting with him on the phone a few hours ago only made you miss him even more, but, at least his trip would be a quick one, and soon, you could have dinner with him and listen to his hilarious commentary as you watched television together.

After walking for around five minutes, you were no longer close to the local businesses that made you feel a sense of comfort during your evening stroll.

Now, you had to rely on the occasional streetlight to guide you home.

But that cold air was no longer comforting. It was a chilling breeze that made you clench your grocery bag a bit tighter.

Your footsteps suddenly halted — you could hear something moving in the nearby bushes.

Turning around, you were greeted with nothing but darkness and streetlights. No one else was with you. You kept walking.

However, something wasn’t right.

You might not have been a sorcerer, but you weren’t a fool.

And you had a gut-wrenching feeling that right now, as your wobbly legs guided you home, you were being watched.

You heard that noise again.

The grocery bag crinkled against your chest. You were certain that the bread you purchased was squished by now. If someone was following you, did you really want to unintentionally lead them to your home?

Where should you go? What should you do?

A tear rolled down your cheek from fear.

You were scared. You only wanted to go home, finish your pasta, and watch television.

You didn’t want to deal with such a potentially terrifying situation.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your dial screen.

Your trembling thumb hovered over the buttons, but before you could press anything, a black, disfigured curse appeared in front of you, screeching loudly enough to make you drop everything in your hands and cover your ears, more tears falling as the horrifying monster started to charge at you.

You tried to run in the other direction, but it was too late.

The last thing you saw before you were engulfed by darkness was that man from the grocery store standing on the sidewalk, that same sweet smile on his familiar face.

—

12:27 A.M.

Satoru’s eyes snapped open. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, as he had spent most of the night tossing and turning because you weren’t lying next to him. But, apparently, he did manage to catch a couple of hours of shut-eye.

When he awakened, there was a terrible ache in his heart. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and beads of sweat decorated his forehead. His throat was dried to a crisp.

He was all alone in his dark hotel room.

He couldn’t hear you.

He couldn’t see you.

And yet, somehow, someway, thanks to his great power, he knew that his wife was calling for him.

—

The overwhelming scent of old, wet, musky wood and dust would never be forgotten by your memory. A lifetime of therapy would never be able to erase the paralyzing fear you felt, sitting on the cold, hard ground of an abandoned cabin with your hands bound behind your back.

Maybe the fear wasn’t completely paralyzing, though. Your body seemed to tremble with terror just fine.

The sight of it made Suguru Geto — no, Kenjaku chuckle.

He kept his eye on you for no other reason besides his entertainment, as watching you himself was pointless considering he had two frightening curses looming over you.

Once, Satoru shared a fun fact with you: regular human beings cannot see curses unless they are about to die.

That fact was certainly interesting when the two of you were strolling through the beautiful park, a red and white striped blanket in your hand and a picnic basket in his. But, now, that fact only made sweat drip off of your scarred forehead, because you could see the two, black, disfigured curses.

It was a telltale sign that you could die.

“I haven’t had the displeasure of meeting him myself,” Kenjaku suddenly spoke, relaxing in a chair he had positioned a few feet away from the corner you were trapped in. “But I have seen memories of Satoru Gojo that belonged to this body I’ve inhabited. And, I must say, I couldn’t imagine that his wife would be such a weakling. It’s truly pathetic.”

Even if you wanted to reply to him, fear had snatched away your ability to speak. It created a lump in your throat that couldn’t be swallowed down.

“My best guess is that he needs someone boring and ordinary in his life to keep house while he’s busy saving the world. You’re just the cook and maid with a ring on her finger, hm?”

“He loves me.”

Your voice was small — it was a painfully perfect reflection of how you felt on the inside. Weak and pathetic.

“Oh?” Kenjaku raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. “Believe it or not, I hope you’re right, or else kidnapping you was a waste of time.”

Your chains rattled as you shifted in your spot on the floor, scooting as far into the corner as you could get. An ache shot up your spine from the wall pressing into your back. Pulling your knees to your chest, more tears slipped from your eyes.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he falsely cooed. “Surely you’ve wondered why the world’s strongest sorcerer would settle for someone who forgets to double-check all of their ingredients before they start cooking, haven’t you? It’s not because of love, or anything of the sort. It’s because those who are deeply insecure would do anything to please anyone who looks their way. Only an ordinary, desperate housewife with low self-esteem and no ambition would waste time caring for a man who risks his life saving strangers. What would make you think he cares for you when he spends more time with curses than his own wife? Helping strangers more than his own family? Think about it.”

Kenjaku’s hurtful words were met with silence, but he didn’t stop speaking.

“I bet you’re nothing but a burden to him. Someone like him probably hates being tied down, but marrying a fool who contributes nothing to society is the only way he can get someone else to handle his laundry while he’s busy working hard, hm? He must carry around divorce papers, ready to serve them to you the day you forget to buy detergent from the grocery store.” Kenjaku’s smile brightened. “Oh, that reminds me. You dropped your detergent and other groceries on the road earlier, by the way. Looks like you’re useless now.”

“You . . .” your teary eyes flickered from him to the hovering curses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. None of that’s true.”

“You have to believe that I’m speaking honestly, Y/N.” Kenjaku sighed with fake sincerity. “My entire plan rests on the hope that Satoru Gojo is foolish enough to try to rescue you. You see, when you want to lure someone out, the proper way to do it is by discovering their weaknesses. When I found out about you, I was hoping that you would be his weakness. That I could use you to lure him out. Then I met you, and, well, you’re simply disappointing. Sorry to break it to you, but I have memories of the old conversations Satoru used to have with Suguru, and being tied down to a powerless housewife was certainly not how he imagined his future. But, I figured I’d try anyway, and so here you are, and he’s not here to rescue you. What a shame. I bet he’s hoping I’ll kill you so he’ll be free.”

He was lying. He had to be. Satoru loved you more than anything . . . right?

The thought had crossed your mind before; why did Satoru want to be with someone powerless? And this villain’s plan to lure out your husband relied on his hope that he’d come to rescue you out of love, so how would it benefit him to convince you Satoru didn’t love you?

Maybe he was right.

After all, if Satoru cared for you, he would have saved you by now. Where was he?

You couldn’t help but cry even harder.

“Please let me go home,” your tears clouded your vision. “Please let me go.”

“Well, you should know that I hate wasting time,” Kenjaku rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow pressing into the arm of the chair he sat in. “I can’t let you leave. I won’t let the effort I put into kidnapping you be a total waste.”

Kenjaku’s smile widened, and suddenly, the curses started to move towards you.

—

1:45 A.M.

The subway station was isolated. No ordinary human beings were lurking around, and Satoru was relieved. Right now, he’d kill anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

His shoes gently shuffled against the ground as he made his way into the middle of the big, bright opening, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

Two special grade cursed spirits emerged. He recognized them both from a previous fight in the woods.

Volcano head. Asparagus.

“Satoru Gojo,” Jogo suddenly said. “We didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to-”

“Where is my wife?”

When Satoru interrupted the curse, his voice was low. Dark. Startling.

Blood dripped from his palms and splattered onto the ground.

“I was drawn here, but she isn’t here, is she? Where is she? Tell me now, and I’ll kill you quickly instead of slowly.”

Jogo chuckled a bit. Satoru dug his nails into his palm even more.

“Bring us the vessel, Yuji Itadori, and we’ll return that worthless-”

The two curses didn’t have time to blink — weren’t able to register in their minds that Satoru had moved from his previous spot until Jogo was lifted off of the ground and thrown into the flickering light fixture above, shattering it and causing sparks to rain down onto the ground below, where he then fell.

Satoru stepped on Jogo’s head, squishing it underneath his black shoe.

“I remember you. You’re stubborn, right?” Satoru gritted his teeth. “Who the hell do you think you are to take her from me? Whoever you work for must want you dead if they’re stupid enough to send you on a suicide mission. You think I’ll let you leave here alive after this?”

“If you kill us, you’ll never see her again,” the other cursed spirit, Hanami, suddenly spoke up. “Bring us the vessel, and she lives.”

When Satoru suddenly stopped moving, it was only to ensure that he had heard the cursed spirit correctly.

“Did you just threaten . . .” Satoru removed his blindfold, “to kill my wife?”

It was only a matter of time before the branches attached to Hanami’s head were ripped out, and Jogo was beheaded. The subway was reduced to nothing except crumbling walls and darkness. While the cursed spirits were teetering dangerously between life and death, there wasn’t a scratch on Satoru. Instead, there was a smile.

This was simply the consequence of their actions. This was what happened to anyone who laid a hand on his girl.

Hanami’s body was on the brink of collapse as it was forced to come in contact with Satoru’s cursed technique — a blue shield-like piece of infinity that distorted and manipulated both time and space, protecting the sorcerer from attacks and rendering Hanami powerless.

Hanami’s eyes darted over to their beheaded ally — they couldn’t help him.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” Satoru’s eyes widened. His smile grew. He slowly turned, facing Hanami, and blasted him back against the nearest wall without lifting a finger. “Where is my wife?”

—

2:39 A.M.

Kenjaku had never understood the concept of love, and, perhaps, that was why he failed.

Satoru’s love for you was his weakness, that was true, but it also turned out to be his greatest strength, and this was a fight Kenjaku couldn’t win.

Not today.

One of his curses, which had been traveling to and fro to observe what was currently taking place in the subway station and reporting it back to Kenjaku, had informed him that Jogo and Hanami were on the brink of death.

He couldn’t lose them yet. They were too powerful, and he needed their help for his future plans.

Kenjaku left the cabin, taking his curses with him.

And, without their cursed energy purposely making it difficult for Satoru to find you, he was able to pinpoint your exact location.

It appeared in his powerful mind as he was ripping Hanami apart limb by limb, and he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t know who was behind all of this, but it was clear that the mastermind had suddenly decided to let your whereabouts be tracked down in order to save Hanami and Jogo.

He didn’t want to make that deal. He wanted to kill these two, bring them back to life, and kill them over again. Their pain brought him joy, all because they took part in your capture.

But Satoru didn’t want his bloodlust to backfire. After all, if he killed the cursed spirits now, the person who held you captive could change their mind and move you someplace else and hide your location yet again, or, worse — they could kill you.

That wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

Satoru stopped using his technique. But, as he left the subway station, he promised himself that eventually, he would kill those two. He would kill anyone and everyone involved.

But you came first.

You would always come first.

—

He found you.

When Satoru kicked open the door belonging to a raggedy, abandoned cabin, the scent of blood overwhelmed him. It dirtied his boots as he kneeled by your side. Your unconscious, bleeding body was lying there, simply left on the ground as if you were nothing.

“Y/N . . .” Satoru called out breathlessly.

He took the chains off of you instantly, his bloodshot eyes darting over every gaping wound.

It was indescribable — the anger he felt. He wanted to return to the subway and finish off those cursed spirits, to make them suffer and suffer and suffer.

But tending to you took priority right now. Satoru scooped up your broken and bruised body, holding you as softly as he could. A tear fell from his eye, splattering against your cheek.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he spoke gently.

Your eyelids fluttered as you awakened. An overwhelming sense of pain slammed into you once you regained consciousness, and hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Prior to this, the only pain you had ever known was the wholesome body ache from tripping and falling while playing outside with your friends as a child. But this level of misery took away your ability to speak. Left you wondering if you were going to die.

You could make out stains of your blood on Satoru’s clothes.

Even so, you could tell based on the pained look on his face that he was suffering even more just from seeing you in such a condition.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbled, slowly getting off the ground as he carried you. “This is all my fault. They did this to you because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru raised you a bit, gently pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

He’d give anything to switch places with you right now — to be the one in unspeakable pain. Why couldn’t they have kidnapped him? Tortured him? If he had the power to take away your suffering and give it to himself, he would. For you, not only would he kill, but he’d die, repeatedly and without a second thought or a moment of hesitation.

As Satoru took you to the nearest hospital, his tears spilling onto your body, he said, “We’re almost there, okay? I promise I’ll make them pay for this, and no one will ever lay a hand on you again.”

Arriving into the uncomforting white halls of the emergency room, Satoru handed you off to the nurses and doctors who rushed up to him. But, before they placed you on the nearest stretcher, Satoru kissed your forehead once again as unconsciousness claimed you, and he whispered, “I love you, Y/N.”

—

10:02 A.M.

Two days later, you awakened in a hospital bed. This time, pain didn’t greet you, but grogginess and blurred vision. The gentle beeps from the nearby machines certainly didn’t help your pounding headache.

Your sight started to clear up after blinking a few times.

Soft strands of hair tickled your arm, and when you looked to your left, you saw Satoru slumped in a chair, his head resting in his arms on the side of your bed. You reached over and ruffled his messy white hair a bit.

He shot up, startled. His blue eyes were wide with alarm, then they softened with gratefulness, but, lastly, they darted down with sorrow.

“Y/N . . . thank god, you’re awake.” Satoru croaked out in his morning voice, clearing his throat a bit. He was dehydrated — too focused on your recovery to worry about himself. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so . . .”

Satoru got out of his chair, sat on the side of your bed, and leaned over, resting the side of his head against your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled weakly. “It’s mine.”

Satoru pulled his head away from you, staring at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze.

“What? No, it’s not.”

You couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eye. Kenjaku’s words replayed in your mind. They hurt just as much as getting attacked by curses.

As if reading your thoughts, Satoru cupped your chin, turning your head back in his direction.

“Look at me,” he said. “What happened wasn’t your fault. I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care if you can’t fight curses-”

“You’re just saying that . . . because I’m kinda useful to you. But I’m easily replaceable. Speaking honestly, I’m a burden. You had to come save my life, and put yourself in danger. I’m not worth it.”

“You think I married you because you’re useful?” Hurt flashed in Satoru’s piercing eyes. “I’m in love with you, and you’ll never be a burden. I don’t care if you can’t fight curses. You’re my wife for a reason, and that’s because there’s nothing greater than seeing you get excited over finding your favorite snack at the grocery store or seeing the way you smile when your favorite scene from a show comes on, and you sit there and watch it as if you haven't seen it a thousand times. I love the way your eyes light up when you find a new activity in town for us to try, or a new book to read, or a new recipe. God, I just . . . I love you. I love you more than anything. I don’t know how you’re able to put up with someone like me. Every day I wonder how I got so lucky because I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, and I haven’t met anyone as loving as you are. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you understand me? I’d kill and die for you.”

Satoru gently wiped away the tear that fell from your eyes with his thumb.

“I love you too,” you smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “I’m sorry we missed our dinner reservations and the pottery class.”

Satoru couldn’t help but lean in and kiss your cheek.

“I’ve already rescheduled two weeks out.”

Moving away from your cheek, your husband softly kissed your lips. And while he had spent time rescheduling your date night and making sure you were receiving the excellent care you deserved while in the hospital, he was also hard at work, tracking down the monsters that dared to lay a hand on you.

He would make them suffer.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @nnasv @hyunorue

[jungwnies]

blueprints | lando norris

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris x architect!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : being the architect behind the vision of your future home with lando, the process is filled with chaotic debates, quiet love, and a surprisingly emotional struggle over how to fit nearly a decade’s worth of racing memories. it’s not just a house; it’s their forever.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff / domestic romance ୨ৎ : word count : 894

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was such a lovely request, love architects and everything domestic

the blueprint was supposed to be simple. at least, that's what you told yourself when you first opened your sketchbook and started drafting the layout of your and lando's dream home. clean lines, open concept, lots of natural light. nothing too complicated.

until your very passionate, very attached-to-his-legacy boyfriend leaned over your shoulder and said—

"where’s the trophy room?"

you blinked. “the what?”

“the room,” he said, like it was obvious. “for all my trophies. and helmets. and my suit from silverstone. and—oh! the first wheel i ever used in karting. it still has bite marks from when i used to get mad.”

you turned around, pencil still poised above the floor plan. “you want a whole room?”

“well,” he grinned, leaning in, “you said this was our dream house. and in my dreams, there’s a shelf that lights up for each p1 trophy.”

“lando—”

“and maybe a little podium area with led lighting.”

you stared at him.

he kissed your cheek.

you sighed.

it was day two of planning, and already the project had morphed from a minimal modern build to what was starting to resemble a motorsport museum.

despite that, you couldn’t help but smile as you adjusted your sketches to fit in what you labeled, in tiny handwriting, lando’s legacy shrine. he peeked over your shoulder again, proudly pointing to it.

“see? we make such a good team.”

you rolled your eyes. “you just like bossing me around.”

“i like watching you pretend i’m not charming,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee.

the days passed like that—debating window placements, arguing over whether the kitchen island needed to be ‘chef’s kitchen’ big (he insisted, even though he could barely boil pasta), and haggling over the practicality of an indoor karting simulator room.

one afternoon, as sunlight spilled across the dining table-turned-sketching-station, you were fine-tuning a cross-section when you noticed lando unusually quiet. he was perched across from you, scrolling through photos on his phone.

“whatcha looking at?” you asked, not looking up.

he tilted the screen to show a blurry shot of the two of you at the austrian grand prix—his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your face tucked into his chest, grinning like a fool.

“i want this on the wall,” he said softly. “somewhere near the front door.”

you finally glanced up. “why?”

“so i remember why i’m coming home.”

your chest tightened. “that’s really corny.”

he shrugged. “you dated me anyway.”

the blueprint slowly became more than just lines and labels. it was stories. a skylight above your reading nook because he said you looked peaceful in natural light. a bathroom mirror perfectly positioned so you could do your skincare while he stood behind you brushing his teeth. a patio with a grill and enough space for summer parties, because “we’re gonna be the fun couple, right?”

it was all soft compromises and quiet affection—until the great helmet wall debate.

you were seated on the floor, surrounded by floor plan drafts and elevation sketches, when lando dropped onto the couch behind you.

“so…” he began casually, “do you think the helmet wall could be bigger?”

you turned slowly. “bigger than an entire feature wall?”

“well, yeah, because i thought about it and i want to include the karting ones too. and maybe my racing gloves. maybe hang them on hooks, all organized by year.”

you stared at him. “do you hear yourself?”

he grinned. “yes. i sound passionate.”

you threw a pillow at him.

“oi! violence against the visionary.”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, grabbing another piece of paper. “fine. you get the helmet wall.”

“and the podium?”

“lando.”

“okay, okay,” he laughed, hands raised. “half-podium. just a little platform. for the vibes.”

you paused. then scribbled down the dimensions.

he crawled over to sit beside you, watching as you drew in the extra square footage.

“you know,” he murmured, nudging your shoulder, “i don’t actually care if we make it perfect.”

you looked up. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… it doesn’t matter how many rooms we fit or how big the kitchen is or if there’s a race sim. what matters is that it’s ours.”

your pencil froze mid-line.

“i just want to wake up next to you in it,” he added, softer now. “that’s the dream part for me.”

you stared at him for a long second. he wasn’t smiling this time, no teasing in his eyes. just something sincere. something a little shy.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you said.

“i’m trying to be romantic,” he shrugged.

you leaned in and kissed him.

later that night, you sat together in front of the fireplace you’d designed on a whim, tangled up on the rug with the plans spread out in front of you. lando reached for your sketchbook and added a new label in sloppy handwriting near the kitchen.

“what’s that?” you asked.

“our corner.”

“our… what?”

he grinned. “that’s where we’ll dance when we’re too lazy to go out. or argue about who left the fridge open. or just exist.”

you looked at the little corner he'd circled, and somehow, it felt more permanent than the blueprint itself.

he pulled you into his lap. “can’t wait to build it with you.”

“build what?”

he looked around the room. at the scattered pencils. at your rolled-up plans. then back at you.

“a life.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You drag yourself through the door, muscles aching from the day’s mission. Tracking Wanderers had drained every ounce of your energy.

“Welcome back,” Xavier says, his voice even as he glances up from his seat. His eyes linger on your exhausted posture.

“I just need...” you start, but don’t finish the sentence.

Xavier nods once. “I understand.”

Without another word, he rises and disappears into your bedroom. Curious, you follow after a moment to find him arranging pillows against the headboard and smoothing fresh sheets over the mattress. He’s placed a glass of water on the nightstand.

“You had a difficult mission today,” he states rather than asks. “Rest will help.”

You feel a wave of gratitude as he steps back from the freshly made bed. It’s exactly what you need—no questions, no demands for conversation.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

The corners of Xavier’s lips lift slightly. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.”

As he turns to leave, his hand briefly touches yours—a fleeting warmth that speaks volumes more than words could. The door closes quietly behind him.

You sink into the bed, appreciating how he knew exactly what you needed without you having to explain. Outside, you hear the soft sounds of him moving around, close enough to be reassuring but giving you the space to decompress.

Just before you drift off, your phone beeps once—a message from Xavier: 

Sleep well. I’ll be here when U wake up.

Simple, direct, but somehow exactly the comfort you needed.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You return to the Hunter’s Association HQ to report your mission. As you close the door, you finally muffle the chaos you’ve left behind. You text Zayne that you need space tonight—just a simple message before pocketing your phone.

When you arrive home hours later, you find the lights dimmed and a note on the counter: “Food in the fridge. Vitamins beside your plate. Take care of yourself.”

You open the refrigerator to find your favorite takeout neatly packaged beside a similar container labeled “Zayne” in his handwriting. A small smile forms despite your exhaustion.

After heating your meal, you sit at the kitchen island, grateful for the silence. The room door opens, and Zayne emerges, apparently just finished with his shower. His eyes meet yours briefly as he nods in acknowledgment.

“Rough day?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t press further, instead moving to heat his own meal. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable—it’s understanding.

Zayne places two capsules beside your plate. “B-complex and magnesium. You’re probably depleted from today.”

You take them without comment.

He sits across from you, both of you eating in a comfortable quiet. When your phone lights up with notifications, he reaches over and turns it face-down without asking.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Hmm,” he hums.

After dinner, he collects both plates. “I’ll be in the office if you need me. No obligation to talk.”

Later, you pass by the home office to find him reading, glasses perched on his nose. He doesn’t look up, giving you the space you requested, but the door remains purposefully open—an invitation without pressure.

When you finally decide to sleep, you find a cup of herbal tea on your nightstand, still warm.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You close your apartment door, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. The text to Rafayel had been simple:

Need some alone time today. Nothing personal.

You switch your phone to silent and place it screen-down on the coffee table, determined to enjoy the quiet. Twenty minutes into your peace, the phone screen lights up repeatedly. Despite your resolve, curiosity wins, and you peek.

Flood of messages from Rafayel:

just found the most beautiful pearl today [photo attached] not as beautiful as you though  do you think it belonged to a giant clam the ocean was perfect btw not rushing you but when you feel better we should go pearl hunting miss your face already cutie no pressure just know i’m thinking of you [photo of a ridiculous sand sculpture that looks vaguely like you] made special sand art for my miss bodyguard hope you’re feeling better take all the time you need but don’t forget come back to me  i love you cutieee

You can’t help but smile at his stream of consciousness updates. He’s respecting your space physically while still sharing his day with you.

Hours later, your doorbell rings once. When you check, there’s no one there—just a small package wrapped in colorful paper. Inside is a beautiful pearl, cleaned and polished, with a note:

For your collection of memories. Take all the time you need, and keep this little piece of the ocean with you. - Rafayel

The gesture is so like him—giving you space while still finding a way to connect. You place the pearl on your windowsill where the setting sun catches its iridescent surface, creating tiny rainbows across the wall.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You text Sylus that you need some alone time because you know how much he values communication between you two.

Take the time you need. Just keep me updated.

You sink into your couch with a sigh of relief, grateful for the quiet. A few hours later, your doorbell rings. The building attendant calls up: “Delivery for you that needs a signature.”

Inside the sleek black box is a soft blanket, a small air purifier, and some fancy tea with a handwritten note: ‘For your comfort. This should help you breathe easier. Let me know if it helps.’

You smile at the gesture and send him a quick message:

Got the package. Thank you.

His response appears almost instantly:

Good. how are you feeling?

You appreciate that he checks in without demanding your time or attention.

Better. Just needed some quiet.

He replied again,

Understood. dinner will arrive at 7.

True to his word, your favorite meal shows up, from a restaurant you mentioned once weeks ago. The note this time simply says, ‘Eat well.’

Before bed, you message him again:

Thanks for understanding today.

He replies quickly:

Your well-being matters to me. Now rest well. I’ll see you when you’re ready.

The message captures exactly what you appreciate about him—he doesn’t mind giving you space as long as the lines of communication stay open. It’s his way of showing he cares while still respecting your boundaries.

In the morning, when you finally feel recharged, you find another small gift outside your door—a sleek new communicator with a note: ‘This one has better reception. So we never lose touch, even when apart.’

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The door to your shared apartment closes behind you with a soft click. You’d texted Caleb earlier:

Not feeling too well. Need space tonight.

His reply had been immediate:

take all you need. I’m here.

True to his word, he’s nowhere to be seen when you enter, though evidence of his presence remains—your favorite comfort foods in the fridge, a freshly made bed, and your laundry neatly folded.

You curl up on the couch, wrapped in silence. Hours pass as you decompress, your mind slowly unwinding.

At 7 PM, a gentle knock at your door. “Hey,” Caleb’s voice, soft through the wood. “Dinner’s outside if you’re hungry. No need to talk.”

When you open the door, he’s already retreated to the other room. A covered tray sits on the floor—your favorite meal still steaming.

Later, as you’re about to tackle the dishes, you discover they’ve already been done. The kitchen is spotless.

Around midnight, you hear the front door open—Caleb returning from a late Fleet meeting. His footsteps pause outside your door before continuing to his guest room. He’s giving you the space in the bedroom reserved for you without being asked.

In the morning, you wake to find your uniform pressed and ready, your boots polished, and a travel mug of your preferred morning drink waiting. A note leans against it:

Hope you slept well. I had to head in early. Take your time today. I already called your Captain to clear your morning schedule. - Caleb

Through the window, you catch sight of him in the distance, his Colonel’s uniform crisp as he strides toward Fleet Headquarters. He glances back once, spots you in the window, and gives a simple nod before continuing on his way.

Based on this request.

I legit had to open the game and check the chats just to see how they typed, lol, so I tried to match the format as closely as possible.

[chromedealer]

Detroit Dining Kitchen Example of a large transitional u-shaped light wood floor and brown floor eat-in kitchen design with an undermount sink, raised-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, gray backsplash, stone tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and gray countertops

[racingpit]

Kitchen Dining in DC Metro

Example of a large transitional u-shaped brown floor and medium tone wood floor eat-in kitchen design with white cabinets, wood countertops, gray backsplash, stone tile backsplash, paneled appliances, an island, shaker cabinets and brown countertops

[lnracer]

Ooh ok ok so for an Oscar fic I’ve been so obsessed with the idea of Oscar as reader’s best friend’s brother. As in, she’s besties with his sister and spends a ton of time over at the Piastri household. He gives such older brother vibes, like I could totally see him coming home from training all strong and sweaty and cool and reader gets all stuttery and blushy and has to hide her crush from her best friend. Maybe he’s on summer break in Australia, so it’s all slow burn and tension and jealousy and sneaking around trying to “accidentally” run into each other, ending up in 4am kisses in pyjamas in the kitchen or in the garden or in his car.

I genuinely adore your writing style omg it’s so addictive 🥺😫🥺😫

➵ Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Hattie's Best Friend! Reader.

➵ Warnings: None.

➵ Word Count: 3.879k.

➵ a/n: Ahh, I loved your request! I hope I was able to meet your expectations! And also, tysm for the compliment on my writing, I'm really happy to hear that, you're very kind! ☺️🧡

Every summer, like clockwork, she found herself spending more time at the Piastri household than her own. It wasn’t unusual — she and Hattie had been inseparable since primary school, practically attached at the hip. Pool days, movie marathons and last-minute sleepovers, it all seemed to orbit around their easy, unshakable bond. And Nicole? Nicole treated her like one of her own. She never left the house without a warm hug, a plate of something sweet, and an offer to stay for dinner — no matter the hour. It was easy, natural, and comforting.

Except when Oscar was home.

She never really knew how to act when he was around. He had always been Hattie’s older brother, the quiet genius with quick wit and easy charm — but he’d become Oscar Piastri, the F1 driver, the national treasure, the boy with eyes like he’d already seen every corner of the world. And yet, every time he came home for summer break, he was still just...Oscar.

Still the boy who teased Hattie for stealing his chargers. Still the guy who remembered her favorite flavor of icy poles. Still the one who gently nudged her knee under the dinner table if she got nervous talking in front of everyone.

He was soft-spoken and observant — maybe that’s why he noticed how she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was flustered. Maybe that’s why he never made a big deal out of how she blushed when he offered to drive her and Hattie to the beach. He treated her with a quiet kind of care, like he knew she didn’t like being in the spotlight, but deserved attention anyway.

Around him, she was quieter than usual. A little more careful with her words. A little too aware of the way her heart tripped when he smiled at her across the kitchen island. But she was still her sweet, bookish self — offering to help Nicole with the dishes, asking Oscar if he needed a break from training, listening intently when he spoke about his races like it was a dream he still couldn’t believe he was living.

He never treated her just like Hattie's best friend. He treated her like herself.

And maybe that was the thing that made her feel so dizzy in the middle of summer.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Morning, Piastri Household.

The kitchen was quiet, warm with late morning sunlight pouring through the windows and pooling across the tiled floor. She liked it like this — just her, barefoot in one of Hattie’s oversized t-shirts, pouring orange juice into a glass while Nicole was out running errands and Hattie was still upstairs half-asleep.

She hummed under her breath, focused on not spilling anything, when the back door swung open with a soft click.

Then he walked in.

Oscar, fresh from the gym, towel slung over one shoulder, hair damp with sweat and pushed back in that lazy way that made him look more like a magazine cover than someone who’d just done deadlifts. His black training shirt clung to his chest and arms like second skin, and when he looked up and met her eyes—

The orange juice nearly slipped out of her hands.

“Oh— uh! Hi— hi, Oscar!” she stammered, clutching the glass like it was a lifeline as she willed herself to look anywhere but at his arms. Or his jaw. Or the way he was looking at her with that soft, knowing smile.

“Hey,” he said, voice still gravelly from exertion. He opened the fridge behind her, brushing a little too close as he reached in for a bottle of water. “Didn’t know anyone else was up yet.”

“I— I just came down,” she murmured, cheeks warming at the sound of his voice so close. “Thought I’d get some juice. I mean, obviously. You saw. Um. Yeah.”

Oscar chuckled, low and gentle. He wasn’t making fun of her — he never did. He just had this calmness about him that made everything feel both worse and better.

“You okay there?” he asked, glancing at the tight grip she had on the glass.

She nodded too fast. “Yup. Perfect. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She took a sip, nearly choked on it, and turned away to hide the color rushing to her face. God, she was so obvious. If Hattie came downstairs now, she’d take one look and know.

Oscar leaned against the counter, still watching her with that unreadable expression. Not teasing. Just... patient.

“I know it’s weird,” he said softly, like he could read her thoughts. “Me being your best friend’s brother and all. I get it.”

Her fingers fidgeted around the glass, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiled, small and sweet. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Her heart skipped. He didn’t push. He didn’t laugh. He just turned back to the fridge with that easy grace of his and added, “By the way... cute shirt.”

She looked down and realized — oh no, she’d grabbed Hattie’s tee with Piastri printed across the back in big block letters.

As he walked out, water bottle in hand, she heard his voice drift back over his shoulder:

“Looks better on you.”

She nearly dropped the juice again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

He was halfway out of the kitchen when the words left her mouth — reckless, impulsive and entirely not thought through.

“Do you— do you want a glass too?”

Oscar paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at her. One brow lifted, amused. “Of orange juice?”

She blinked. “Yeah. I mean— yeah. If you want. You don’t have to, I just thought, like, maybe. I’m already pouring things. So.”

He smiled again, slower this time. And it was dangerous. Not in a sharp or smug kind of way, but in that quiet, melting way he had — like he could see right through her and was choosing, very gently, not to say anything about it.

“Sure,” he said. “That’d be nice.”

And just like that, he turned back and walked toward her again.

It was a vision. There was really no other word for it.

She busied herself with grabbing another glass, trying to keep her hands steady, but her brain was nothing but static. He was back in the sunlight now, arms crossed casually, watching her like she was doing something far more interesting than pouring juice. She didn’t dare look up — but of course she did. She always did.

And when their eyes met, she knew she was done for.

She looked at him like he was the first man she’d ever seen. Not consciously — but it was in the softness of her gaze, the awe in it. In the way her breath caught just a little at the line of his jaw, the easy way he leaned against the counter like he didn’t know the effect he had on her.

But he did.

He clocked it. All of it. Silently. Subtly.

But he didn’t say a word. Didn’t tease, didn’t smirk. Instead, he looked at her with the same gentle warmth she’d come to crave in the quiet. Like he was flattered. Honored, even. And he took the glass from her hand with a soft, “Thanks.” fingers brushing hers for just a second longer than they needed to.

Her heart was an orchestra.

And when he took a sip and gave her a quiet, “Perfect.” she didn’t know if he was talking about the juice or her.

Probably both.

Without thinking, her fingers gently twirled a strand of her hair, a small, unconscious gesture that she did when she was nervous. Her heart was beating faster now, her palms a little clammy. She tried not to let her gaze wander to him too often, but he was right there, so close now, and she couldn’t help the way her body leaned just slightly toward the balcony, as if she could escape to the fresh air if it got too much.

But in Oscar’s mind?

It was like she was leaning toward him instead, and God, if she wasn’t so shy, he was pretty sure she'd jump on him right here and now. That thought nearly made him chuckle.

Instead, he took another casual sip of the juice she’d given him, savoring the coolness as he observed her from where he stood. His eyes flicked over her in a way that he wasn’t hiding — this time, he allowed himself to take in the little things: the way she bit her bottom lip, how she shifted uncomfortably when he caught her staring for just a second too long. He could see how she wanted to close the space between them, could feel the unspoken tension hanging in the air, and it made his pulse quicken in a way he wasn’t expecting.

She was absolutely gorgeous in the softest way, the type of girl who wore shyness like armor. Oscar could tell she wasn’t fully aware of how much she gave away with every little movement.

And it was... adorable.

“Hmm,” he began, his voice lighter now, teasing. “You sure you’re okay?”

Her eyes snapped up at his words, startled, her cheeks going from pale to crimson as she hurriedly cleared her throat. “Yeah! I mean— yeah! I’m fine. Just, uh—” She cut herself off, taking a step back as if the distance between them could somehow cool the flush on her face.

Her hands were fidgeting now, her fingers brushing over the edge of the countertop like she didn’t know what to do with them. Her body was still leaning toward the balcony as if she wanted an escape, but in Oscar’s mind, it was clear she wanted to do something much, much different.

And then, in the midst of the almost unbearable silence between them, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned in slightly, just enough to close the gap between them, and his voice dropped to a soft murmur.

“You know, if you’re nervous or something, you could just…” He paused, just for effect, letting his words sink in. “...say so.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes flicked to his lips and then darted away, as if looking at him for even a moment longer would make it impossible for her to keep her composure.

Oscar watched her, his gaze steady, not moving an inch, letting the moment linger.

It felt like an almost kiss was hovering in the air. He could see it in her eyes — the way her lips parted just slightly, like she was about to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Just as their faces inched closer, the sound of Hattie’s voice pierced the quiet.

“Y/N!” she called from upstairs, her voice echoing down the hall. “Come up here for a second!”

Y/N froze, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. She took a step back, hastily wiping her hands on her shirt, as if it would erase the warmth creeping up her neck.

Oscar, ever the gentleman, only smiled. He let the moment go, but his eyes — his eyes were alive with that same soft, teasing look. The one that was both affectionate and knowing, like he knew exactly what had just happened and was perfectly okay with it.

With a soft shake of his head, a small, smug smile tugging at his lips, he raised his glass in a mock salute before taking another sip of his juice.

“Go on,” he said gently, watching her practically scramble toward the kitchen door. “I’m sure Hattie needs you.”

She fled, her heart still racing as she scrambled up the stairs with her cheeks burning brighter than ever.

And as her figure gradually disappeared up the stairs, Oscar allowed himself to chuckle softly to himself, shaking his head. Damn.

He took another sip of his juice, savoring the taste of it just a little longer as he waited for his mind to stop buzzing.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Afternoon, Oscar’s car.

Oscar was driving, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other adjusting the air. Hattie sat in the passenger seat, babbling about their plans for the evening, while Y/N was tucked quietly in the backseat, lip-glossed and flushed in that way that made Oscar check the rearview mirror more than once.

He wasn’t sure why he felt...tight-chested about it.

Maybe it was the fact that she looked unreal tonight in her denim mini skirt and that floaty top that tied on her shoulders — hair up in one of those claw clips, perfume faint but sweet — and she wasn’t even going out out. Just going over to a friend’s house. A friend with a brother. A brother who Hattie had casually mentioned couldn’t stop texting Y/N lately.

Oscar hadn’t said anything then. But now, as he pulled into the long driveway of that exact house, he felt something cold and slow press into his stomach.

Because there he was — tall, confident, grinning already as he came down the porch steps to greet them. The other brother.

“Thanks for the lift, O.” Hattie said, already hopping out.

Y/N lingered for a second longer. “Thanks, Oscar.” she said softly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror.

He offered a tight smile, nodding. “Have fun.”

But as she opened the car door, her hand still on the handle, he added, just a touch too casually. “Let me know when you want to be picked up. Don’t wait for him to offer.”

She blinked. “Oh— uh— okay, sure.”

“Seriously.” His tone was light, but his jaw was a little clenched. “I don’t mind.”

She gave a small nod, cheeks pink again — not just because of the heat, maybe — and then she was gone, skipping up the steps to where Hattie and the boy were waiting.

Oscar didn’t drive away right away.

He sat there a second too long, watching the boy lean a little too close when he said hello to her. Watched her tuck her hair behind her ear in that way she always did when she was nervous. Or shy. Or — God help him — flirting.

He told himself to look away. Told himself this was fine. Normal. He had no right to feel whatever this was.

But the thing was: he’d never seen her do that for anyone else other than himself.

And it made his grip on the wheel a little tighter.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Night, Piastri Household.

The house was still. It was the kind of quiet that only came with the late hours of the night, everything slowed down, shadows stretching long over the walls. Everyone was asleep — or at least that’s what they wanted to believe.

But somewhere in the quiet corners of the house, two people were wide awake.

Oscar had just finished an exhausting training day, his muscles sore and his mind still buzzing. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep just yet, but he didn’t want to risk waking his mom or Hattie, who were both deep into their dreams. So, he quietly made his way to the kitchen, slipping out of his room in his loose sweatpants, hair tousled and messy from running his hands through it too many times.

He wasn’t looking for anything but water, a simple way to wind down. But when he entered the kitchen, there was something unexpected in the air.

There she was. Y/N.

She was standing there, her back to him, and the soft glow from the fridge illuminated her like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire house. Her cute VS pajama set, with the lace trim and tiny satin ribbons on the shorts, made her look so effortless, so beautiful, that he nearly forgot how to breathe.

As he reached for the water, he heard her softly shuffle, the faintest of footfalls as she took a step toward the fridge, her movements more fluid than she probably realized. He could sense it before she even turned around. She wasn’t going to just let this moment go. Not this time.

It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t fate — no, they both knew what they were doing. Trying to sneak around in the dead of night, hoping to “accidentally” run into each other.

He watched as she turned, her gaze meeting his. Her cheeks immediately flushed, but there was something in her eyes. A little spark. That same tension they’d shared earlier in the day, that warm, unspoken thing, was still there, and it had only grown.

"Hey," she whispered, awkwardly adjusting the strap of her top as if that would make everything less obvious. But Oscar could see right through her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a little husky from the quiet.

She nodded, biting her lip nervously. “Yeah…thought I’d get a glass of water.”

The words hung in the air, both of them trying to seem casual as if this wasn’t completely intentional.

But then the silence between them thickened. There was no pretending now. She was staring at him, and he was staring at her, and he realized, with a slight chuckle, that the situation was a bit ridiculous.

“Water,” he repeated slowly, smiling, eyes lingering on her lips.

She couldn't help it. She took a deep breath, her voice coming out more quietly this time. "I...I don't think I need water anymore." Her words hung in the air, and the undercurrent between them was undeniable.

Oscar’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he realized she wasn’t just staring at him because she was shy.

It was because she wanted him. And he wanted her, too.

Without another word, he crossed the space between them.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t pull away as he reached for her, his hands gentle but firm as they landed on her waist. His chest brushed against hers, and for a moment, he simply held her there, letting her feel the steady beat of his heart, the heat of his skin under the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

Then, slowly — carefully — his lips met hers.

It was a soft kiss at first. But God, the moment his lips touched hers, everything else fell away. She melted into him, her hands slowly rising to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing her body flush against his. And that was it.

It wasn’t just a kiss anymore.

It was everything. It was relief. It was desire. It was them finally giving in.

And as their kiss deepened, things started to get heated — the way his lips moved against hers, the way she tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to get closer, needing him. But then, just as he slipped his hands down to her hips, she pulled away.

She took a step back, laughing breathlessly, though her heart was still racing in her chest.

“Wait, wait,” she giggled, her eyes wide in realization. “We’re about to...get frisky in your kitchen...with your mom and sister upstairs?”

Oscar blinked, his chest still heaving, trying to catch his breath. “I mean, if you’re into that,” he teased, his voice rough, but the smirk on his face was pure mischief.

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she tried to collect herself. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Oscar, still grinning, wiped his lips with his thumb as he reached for his water again. He glanced at her, eyes soft but playful. “I think we’re past the point of pretending this is a mistake.”

But even with the chaos of their emotions, they both knew one thing: this wasn’t just a moment. It wasn’t just a stolen kiss in the dead of night. This was something real, something worth taking their time on.

And as they pulled apart, their shared smiles spoke volumes more than words ever could.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

After that night, something shifted.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. There wasn’t a grand confession or some big change in how they acted in front of others. But behind closed doors — when the house was quiet, when the stars were out, when the world felt like it was just them — they stopped pretending.

There were 4 a.m. kisses in the kitchen, her sitting on the counter while Oscar stood between her legs, arms around her waist, stealing sleepy kisses between sips of water.

There were soft, secret makeout sessions in the garden under the fairy lights Nicole had hung up years ago, her fingers playing with the hem of his hoodie while they kissed like time wasn’t ticking down on his summer break.

Sometimes, when they really couldn’t sleep, they’d sneak out — barefoot and quiet as shadows — to sit in his car parked just around the corner. The windows fogged up more from their kisses than the cool night air, her legs folded up on the seat, his hand resting possessively on her thigh, neither of them willing to speak about how soon he’d be leaving again.

They weren’t exactly reckless, but they also weren’t as careful as they thought.

One afternoon, after yet another failed attempt at keeping their distance around the house, Oscar kissed her goodbye in the hallway — just a quick one. A forehead touch. A soft smile. She giggled and swatted his chest, whispering, “Stop— someone’s going to see.”

Turns out, someone already had.

Later that day, when Hattie dragged her upstairs for something completely unrelated, she turned around with a raised brow and a smirk that said she’d been waiting.

“So…you and Oscar?”

Y/N froze, her heart dropping to her stomach.

“I— I don’t— what?” she tried to laugh it off, eyes wide, hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

But Hattie just burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, relax.” she said between cackles. “Babe, I clocked it ages ago. You’ve been in love with him since, like, forever. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before he started looking at you the same way.”

Y/N stared, stunned. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Hattie snorted. “Please. Do you know how annoying it was watching you two tiptoe around each other every summer? If anything, I’m just mad it took this long.”

And just like that, the fear melted away. All the worry, the guilt, the dread — it was gone.

Later that night, when Y/N snuck into the kitchen and found Oscar already there waiting for her, she kissed him with a new kind of ease. One that said this doesn’t have to be a secret anymore.

Still, part of them kept their little moments quiet. Not because they had to. But because there was something beautiful in the way it all began — soft, stolen, and undeniably theirs.

[geminiwritten]

from friends to forever ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: childhood friends to lovers - you've been in love with hangman for as long as you can remember, but he's never looked at you that way, not until he meets a guy you're dating for the first time and everything you thought was unrequited becomes dangerously mutual

notes: okay, i really need to stop writing at work and actually start working but also THIS!!! i started without a plan and then got super excited and went a little over the 8k limit i set for myself... but i still really hope y'all like it! please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, text screenshots, a bit cheesy, reader is shorter than hangman (feel like i should mention that), bob x phoenix, and a little horny? let me know if i've missed anything!

word count: 9016

“He is fucking incorrigible,” Javy says as he slides a tray of beers across the table. “He started hitting on this woman by the juke box but then her boyfriend walked through the door, so he moved on to the blonde at the bar.”

You smile into the first sip of your beer while Natasha and Bob crane their necks to see where Jake might be. The bar is busy for 5PM on a Wednesday, but not overly packed. The sun is just about to touch the horizon, casting a warm glow through the beach-side windows. It’s only Bob, Javy, and Nat with you this afternoon. The others are still at the base finishing some training course that they didn’t do with the rest of the squad last week. Jake was with you too, but he quickly found himself preoccupied with the bar’s female clientele.

“I can’t believe anyone would put up with him for as long as you have,” Natasha says, nodding toward you.

You shrug as you roll your pint glass between both hands. “I’ve learnt to ignore it.”

You’ve known Jake Seresin since you were ten years old; that was when your mother first invited the Seresins over for dinner. Jake’s mother had just started working with yours, and they’d quickly become best friends. Ever since then, you’ve never been able to escape him – not that you’ve ever really tried to.

When you turned twelve you finally realised why your heart would always beat a little faster whenever you saw Jake, and then when you turned fourteen you realised how easy it would be for him to break it. At sixteen you decided to stop obsessing over him and date someone else, but by eighteen you figured out that Jake had set your standards for men way too high.

As years passed you learnt how to better hide your affections for Jake. He was a ladies’ man through and through, which meant you couldn’t go crying to your pillow every time he showed up with a new woman on his arm. You tried to date, but it never really went all that well because by the third or fourth month, you were comparing them too harshly to your best friend.

When Jake joined the navy, you accepted the fact that you would never see him again, but he didn’t let that happen. As it turns out, Jake was just as attached to you as you were to him – minus the ‘in love’ part. He wrote to you and called you, and he would visit whenever he was stateside. You were already living in San Diego when he got assigned to the special detachment on North Island, and when he and his squad got asked to stick around, you quickly became close friends with all of them.

You like to think that you have your stupid little crush on Jake Seresin well under control now. It’s in a small, metal box wrapped in chains and hidden in the darkest corner of your heart. It’s so well hidden now that you’re positive none of the daggers have any idea of what your true feelings for Jake are. You don’t even flinch anymore when he jokingly introduces you as his sister.

“And this is my sister,” Jake says, gesturing to you with one arm while the other stays wrapped around the blonde woman. “The one I was telling you about.”

You give the woman a flat smile before bringing your beer to your lips and taking a generous gulp.

“Shelley and I were just going to go for a walk on the beach,” he adds.

You nod, knowing exactly what that means. “I’ll get a lift home with Phoenix.”

His smirk stretches into a full-blown grin, one that Shelley can’t seem to look away from. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

He bids the rest of the group farewell before leading the woman out the door, and you definitely don’t miss the way his hand slides down to her ass on the way.

Natasha shakes her head. “I can’t believe him sometimes. How often does he do this to you?”

You quirk a brow. “Ditch me for a hot woman?”

She nods.

“Nat, if I had a dollar for every time, I’d quit my job and move to the Amalfi Coast.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” Bob asks.

Yes.

“No, it’s just Jake.” You shrug one shoulder. “I’m used to it.”

Javy tips his head quizzically. “So, why does he introduce you as his sister?”

You take another long sip of your beer, almost draining the glass, before plonking it back on the table. “The first time he decided to keep a girl around for longer than one night, she didn’t like how close we were. She’d always try to go through his phone and would blow up every time he said he was hanging out with me. It only lasted six months, but now he just does it out of habit. Just in case they do end up sticking around for a while, then he doesn’t have to explain anything.”

You conveniently leave out the detail about how Jake had ditched the woman one night to rescue you from a bad date, which was definitely the catalyst for her hating you. But you don’t talk about that night.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “That’s ridiculous."

You’re not sure what to say to that because you’ve never not felt a pinch of jealousy when it comes to Jake, and you sure as shit wouldn’t want to share him with anyone else if he was yours. So, you can’t really blame those other women for not liking how close the two of you are.

You sit in the same booth with your friends until the sun dips below the horizon. The bar only gets a little busier before clearing out almost completely by 8PM, which is when you all decide to head home. There’s no word from Jake, but that isn’t unusual.

Natasha drives you home in companionable silence, which is nice because you’re not particularly in the mood to chat. You’re too busy wrapping another chain around that box in your heart, trying to stop it from rattling at the memory of that night when Jake saved you from your terrible date all those years ago.

- That Night -

You glance at your phone from the corner of your eye, checking that it hasn’t yet burnt a hole through the tabletop.

“But then all my friends were doing it, so I couldn’t really say no. You know?” Benji, your date, hasn't stopped talking from the moment you sat down, and he doesn’t seem at all perturbed by your lack of interest. “I guess it’s just one of those things that comes with the job. If I don’t party with the clients, then they won’t respect me. You know?”

You press your lips into a thin line, not trusting yourself to speak in case you completely blow up at the moron sitting across from you. You’d like to think that you’re not even sure why you’re on this date, but you know exactly why you’re here. Because Jake fucking Seresin is on a date with some Victoria’s Secret super model, and you couldn’t stand the thought of staying home and watching 90s sitcom reruns alone again.

He’s only visiting for a few days, and you’re trying not to be mad about the fact that he’s chosen one of those days to go on a date.

“So, I guess one thing led to another,” Benji continues, “and the next thing I knew, I was on a flight to Vegas with the CEO.” He chuckles to himself, even though no part of that story was anything but horrifying. “Anyway, I’m going to take a leak.” He stands from his chair without even looking at you and stalks off toward the bathrooms.

You grab your phone and text the one person you know you can count on, even if it might ruin his date.

Your eyes dart from your phone screen to the bathroom door and back. Benji is taking his sweet time, but that’s fine by you. You’d rather just ghost the guy than try to make up some lame excuse as to why you have to leave. Three minutes tick by before you decide to go outside. Even if Benji returns before Jake gets here, it will probably take him another couple of minutes to find you.

You stand up and drop some cash on the table before weaving through the restaurant to get to the front door. Just as you step out into the cool night air, Jake’s car screeches to a halt at the curb. Like, literally screeches. He must have been flying down the street.

He pushes the passenger door open, and you duck into the car. “Did you speed the whole way here?”

He grins at you. That gorgeous, breath-taking grin that makes his eyes sparkle and always gets him what he wants. “I speed everywhere, even in the skies.”

You roll your eyes before turning to look out at the restaurant, seeing Benji’s confused face through the glass of the big front window as he returns to the table.

“Is that him?” Jake asks.

You nod, and then Jake honks the fucking car horn. Your head snaps back to him, eyes like saucers, as he grins and waves at Benji before hitting the gas. Your body is pressed back into the seat and all the air sucked from your lungs. There’s no way that you would ever get in a jet with this idiot, and you pity any person who does.

“Jesus, are you fucking mental?” you finally manage to gasp out.

He chuckles. “Not my name, Sugar, but yes.”

That fucking nickname. You’re suddenly grateful for the darkness of the night as you feel heat creep into your cheeks.

“What were you doing on a date with a loser like that, anyway?”

The car’s engine growls, and you watch him shift gears like you’re watching a porno. “Is that really any of your business?”

He tips his head and glances at you from the corner of his eye. “If you’re going to have an attitude, I can drop you back off with Coke-Nose-Carl.”

You snort a very unladylike laugh, which only makes him smile wider.

“I was bored,” you admit. “I haven’t gone out in a while, so I downloaded some dating apps and-”

“Dating apps?” He scoffs. “You don’t need dating apps to get a date. The only thing you’re going to get from those is an STD or a Netflix true crime documentary about you and the six other women he killed.”

You can’t help but laugh again, because Jake in a good mood is utterly infectious. But then you realise why he’s in a good mood and your heart sinks into your stomach.

“I appreciate you helping me out, but I really didn’t mean to ruin your date.”

He waves a hand dismissively before landing it back on the gear stick. “Don’t worry about it, I told her it was an emergency. I’ll just send some flowers in the morning and she’ll be all over me again. She’s a total goner this one. Might keep her around for a while.”

Every word feels like another pin in your voodoo doll.

“How will that work?” you ask, trying to sound nothing but genuinely curious. “Aren’t you flying out again in a couple of days?”

“Yeah, but I’m hoping to get some real time off in a couple of months, and until then, there are... other ways to stay in contact.” He smirks as he stares out the windscreen, his eyes sparkling under the intermittent flash of the streetlights.

“That’s ominous.”

His brows pinch. “What is?”

You hold your hands up to sign quotations as you repeat his words back to him. “Other ways to stay in contact.”

He chuckles again as he turns the car onto a familiar road, and you realise that you’re only a few minutes from home.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

You frown, tipping your head quizzically. “No. What do you mean?”

He sighs and turns to look at you, as if needing confirmation that you really are confused. “I’m talking about phone sex, Sugar. Or video sex. Whatever floats your boat.”

He looks certifiably smug as he glances between you and the road, reading your incredibly unsubtle facial expressions as you process his words – that fucking nickname wedged between them.

“Oh,” is all you can manage, turning your gaze out the windscreen.

Your whole face feels hot and the butterflies in your stomach have turned into angry wasps. They’re buzzing and swirling, and threatening to push up the single breadstick that you ate back at the restaurant.

“Sorry,” he says, although he doesn’t look it. “Sometimes I forget how innocent you are.”

The buzzing stops and you rear back a little, your head turning slowly to look at him again. “I’m what?”

“Innocent.” He stops the car at the curb in front of your house. “Right?”

You roll your eyes and pop the car door open. “I might not be a deviant like you, Seresin, but I’m sure as hell no Virgin Mary.”

You push the door open and step out before slamming it shut. You know you shouldn’t be so upset simply for being called innocent, but coming from Jake, it feels different. It feels like he’s telling you that your too innocent and not sexy enough for him, even though you know he’d never see you that way regardless of your sexual experience.

“Wait a minute, Sugar. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You stop halfway across the foot path and turn on your heel, watching him walk around the front of the car. “You didn’t upset me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve just had a shit night.”

He regards you carefully and crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging against the short sleeves of his white cotton shirt. But he doesn’t speak, he just looks at you. The night is almost too quiet as you stare at each other, waiting for something to break the tension.

After an agonizing minute of silence, you give in. “Okay, what?”

“I just-” He shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“I know you’re stupid, but I’m too curious now. So, spill.”

He rubs a hand up his jaw as he takes half a step back and leans against the passenger’s side of the car. “Well... now I’m just wondering how not innocent you are.”

Your brows raise and your cheek twitches. “You want to talk about my sex life, Jake?”

A smirk ghosts over his lips. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Okay.” You prop a hand on each of your hips, trying to appear nonchalant despite the way your heart is rioting against your ribs. “What do you want to know?”

“You’ve had sex, right?”

You give him a deadpan look, utterly unimpressed.

He chuckles. “Alright, just checking. When did you lose it?”

“Eighteen,” you reply.

“Very respectable.” He nods slowly, obviously sifting through all the questions in his head. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“Last week.”

His brows shoot up toward his hairline. “So, you’re getting it regularly?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Whenever I want it, Cowboy.”

Something in his gaze shifts, and his eyes grow almost imperceptibly darker. “What’s your favourite position?”

You shrug one shoulder. “Depends on the day.”

“Least favourite position?”

“Sixty-nine in the backseat of a Volkswagen Golf in a Taco Bell parking lot.”

His eyes almost bug out of his head, and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that curls at the corner of your lips. You’re enjoying getting these reactions out of him. Never mind the fact that you can feel your pulse thrumming across every inch of your skin, which feels like it’s on fire.

He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back. “Okay, what do you think about when you masturbate?”

You give him another unimpressed stare. “Whatever I feel like in the moment, Seresin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get some secrets out of me.”

That cocky smile flashes across his face again. “They’re only secrets if you’re too scared to tell them.”

You take a step forward and cross your arms, mirroring his stance less than two feet in front of him. “Are we done yet?”

He shakes his head. “If you could have sex with anyone in the world, who you choose?”

Your stomach twists itself into another knot. “Pass.”

“You can’t pass.”

You drop your hands back to your hips and roll your eyes. “Alright then, George Clooney.”

His eyes narrow. “Liar.”

“Prove it.”

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, making it glisten in the dim glow of the streetlights, and only then do you realise that you’ve taken another step closer to him. You’re almost toe to toe.

“Show me how you get what you want.” His chest is rising and falling faster than usual, and you can feel his hot breath on the skin of your neck.

You swallow thickly. “Well, If I-”

“I said show me.” His voice is almost a growl, sending lightning bolts of arousal right to your core.

You take that last step closer, leaving only a couple of inches between your body and his. You hesitate for only a second before each of your hands come up to his crossed arms, wrapping around his wrists to guide his hands where you want them. You place one on your hip and the other just below your jaw, letting his thumb rest over your pulse point.

You’re not sure when you got so ballsy, but you try not to think too hard as you breathe in the intoxicating scent of the only man you’ve ever fantasised about.

You turn your face toward his hand and press a kiss to the heel of his palm, letting your eyelids flutter shut for only a moment. Then you lock eyes with him again as both of your hands move to the belt wrapped around his hips. You pull yourself toward him and align your body with his, letting your fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans.

His breath catches as you slide your hands outward, your nails scraping against the bare skin behind his jeans. When you reach his hips, you unhook your fingers and let your hands glide up underneath his shirt, over his ribs. He draws a sharp breath and his grip on your hip tightens, the hand on your neck squeezing gently.

“Do you always get what you want?” he whispers.

You nod slowly, scratching your nails gently down the sides of his torso. “Almost always.”

Then the obnoxious ring of his phone startles you both. Your heart practically leaps out of your chest as you jump back, detangling yourself from him as he scrambles for his back pocket. Heat flushes across your chest and crawls up your neck, making your whole face burn with embarrassment.

He glances at his phone screen and then up at you, his expression twisted into something you don’t recognise. “I’m so sorry, I have to-”

“No, no. It’s fine, go ahead.” You shake your head and force a smile on your lips. “Thanks for saving me tonight.”

You turn on your heel and march toward the house, determined to get inside before you either pass out or burst into tears. But once you slam the door, you can’t stop yourself from running into the front room and cracking the window, trying to hear who it was that interrupted you.

“No, Baby. I promise you, she’s like my little sister. I feel responsible for her, I just had to make sure she was okay.”

Then you burst into tears.

- Present -

“Hello?” Natasha pokes your shoulder. “Anyone home?”

You blink a couple of times before turning to look at her, realising the car is now parked in front of your house. “Shit, sorry. I was on another planet.”

“I could tell.”

You pop the door open. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, are you bringing a date to Yale’s wedding?”

“Shit, I totally forgot about that.”

“Yeah, me too. It's next weekend and I have this guy who I want to bring as a date, but I won’t ask him if you’re not bringing anyone. So?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll find someone. Or I will happily dance alone. Ask your guy.”

She gives you a small smirk and you can swear her cheeks flush with the faintest blush. “Okay.”

You turn and climb out of the car before shutting the door and ducking down to give her one last wave. She waves back and takes off, disappearing down the street in no time. Maybe speeding is a fighter pilot thing?

Once in the comfort of your room, sprawled across your bed, you pull your phone out and start scrolling through your contacts. You don’t really want to bring anyone to this wedding, but you can't deny Nat a date that she clearly wants, so you’re going to have to find someone to at least keep you company. You know Jake will have a date, and even though you’d be happy just hanging out with the rest of the squad, you’ll feel a little less pathetic bringing someone of your own.

-

You smooth your red dress in the mirror, hating how much it stands out against the cream backdrop of the bathroom you’re standing in. You’ve already texted Natasha at least a hundred times in the past week asking if the dress is too red or too bold, making sure there’s no rule against wearing red to someone’s wedding. It’s not that it doesn’t look good – because you know you look fucking good – you just don’t want to be that girl. You hadn’t even expected an invite to Logan’s wedding, so you certainly don’t want to be the random girl who stands out in all the photos.

The buzzing of your phone demands your attention, and you open it to see a text from Natasha telling you that she and her date have arrived. You give yourself one last stern look in the mirror before exiting the bathroom.

Your date, Cole, is waiting for you in the corridor, looking effortlessly handsome as he leans against the wall and gazes up at the high ceilings of the exquisitely designed building. He’s a friend from work who, according to another one of your colleagues, had been wanting to ask you out for a while, so you decided to beat him to it. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s gorgeous – tall, broad shoulders, floppy brown hair, and silvery-blue eyes – and ex-navy, which means he already has something in common with your friends.

“Hey,” you say with a soft smile. “You ready to go to the circus?”

He chuckles and slips his hand into yours, as if it’s second nature. “You’re really starting to worry me. Are your friends that scary?”

“Not scary.” You shake your head as the two of you begin walking down the wide hall. “Maybe insane? Certifiable, even.”

Both the ceremony and the reception are taking place at the most beautiful seaside mansion you’ve ever seen. It has an old money charm to it with high ceilings and windows that stretch all the way up. There are intricate mouldings between the walls and ceilings, and decorative architraves around every doorway and opening. Everything down to the finishings and decor boasts wealth and elegance, and you’re scared to walk too closely to any of it for the fear of breaking something.

“Are the bride and groom drug dealers?” Cole asks.

You laugh softly. “They could be, but I’m pretty sure it's one of their families who owns this place. Or at least part of it.”

You continue down the hall, your heels clacking against the marble floor until you come to the huge arch that leads out to the courtyard. You descend the few concrete steps until you’re walking on fine granite, and then you follow the path through the perfectly manicured garden, weaving in between guests, until you reach the circular part of the long driveway where cars are stopping to deposit more wedding goers.

You spot Natasha easily, and you can already feel the blush rising in your cheeks as you approach her. “Nat, over here.”

She whips toward you and her jaw unhinges. “Holy shit, you look- Oh, my God, who is this?”

Cole chuckles and offers her his hand. “I’m Cole. I work with-”

“You are gorgeous.” She looks back at you. “Can we keep him, please?”

“Hi.” Bob appears beside Nat with a blush dusted across his nose and cheeks, looking downright adorable in his Full Dress. “She insisted we pre-drink,” he says with a soft chuckle.

Your brows pinch and your eyes dart between Natasha and Bob several times before realisation flashes like a lightbulb above your head. “Bob is your date?!”

Natasha smiles sheepishly and links her hand with Bob’s. “It’s only weird if you make it weird, so don’t make it weird and please don’t let the others make it weird.”

You stick your hand out with all your fingers curled in except your pinkie. “I promise I won’t let anyone make this weird. I think it’s adorable.”

She hooks her pinkie finger with yours and you both nod before separating. Then she turns her wide brown eyes back to Cole. “Shit, sorry. Cole this is Bob.”

The two men shake hands before you all decide to go and claim a seat for the ceremony. The backyard – if you can even call it that – stretches for a few thousand yards before dropping off a cliff all the way down to the ocean. The wedding arch is set up so that the guests are looking out at the horizon, but it’s far enough away from the edge that the trees and hedges lining the open space are blocking most of the salty ocean breeze.

As soon as you sit down, more guests start wandering over to find a seat. Bradley, Mickey, and Reuben arrive not long after – all looking very dapper in their Full Dress – and take a seat in the row in front of yours. You hear Mickey whisper something to Reuben about Natasha and Bob, and while you’re not exactly sure what he says, you still offer a whispered threat if they dare to tease either of their friends about being each other’s date.

“Where’s Hangman?” Bradley asks, turning to look at you as if you’d have the answer.

You shrug. “Don’t ask me.”

You turn around to see Logan and his groomsmen – including Javy – getting ready to walk down the aisle, and then you turn a little further to see Jake and his date practically fall out of a taxi and start jogging across the lawn. His hair is a little mussed and he’s still trying to pin medals to his chest.

“He’s here,” you mutter as you turn back to face the front.

The three boys in front of you turn their heads and start giggling like schoolkids.

“Be quiet,” Natasha hisses.

The chatter from the guests has almost completely died down, and you can now hear a soft melody playing from the speakers on either side of the wedding arch.

“Hey,” Jake says breathlessly, falling into the seat beside Bradley.

His date smiles and waves sheepishly before sitting beside him, and you recognise her from when Jake met her at The Hard Deck just over a week ago. The music gets a little louder and the celebrant clears his throat. All the whispering and murmuring stops and guests swivel in their seats to see up the aisle.

Jake turns and catches your eye, flashing that signature smirk and giving you a wink. You roll your eyes before turning with the rest of the crowd to watch Logan and his groomsmen start walking down the aisle.

The ceremony is sweet and simple, and Logan’s bride looks absolutely stunning as she glides down the aisle in her puffy white dress. You let yourself, just for a moment, imagine what it would be like to walk down the aisle and see Cole waiting in the arch. You know he isn’t in the navy anymore, but you imagine him waiting for you in Full Dress, how handsome he’d look in the white uniform with his medals pinned to his chest.

Warmth creeps into your cheeks at the thought, and you imagine reaching the end of the aisle where Cole is waiting. You would blush and avert your eyes as if you were some virginal bride, glancing down at the ground and taking his offered hand. But then when you look back up, it isn’t Cole. It’s Jake.

Even your imagination is a fucking traitor.

The heat in your cheeks crawls down your neck and flushes across your chest. You suddenly feel hot despite the cool breeze blowing off the ocean, and you have to take a deep breath to ease your aching lungs.

It isn’t long before the ceremony is over and the celebrant announces that cocktail hour will be held in the courtyard before the reception commences in the grand hall. The bridal party quickly depart for photos, and guests start slowly rising from their chairs and walking back toward the manor.

“I hope there’s food, I’m starving,” Mickey says.

Reuben chuckles. “You know it’s all going to be fancy stuff like caviar and quail eggs?”

Mickey’s face screws up in disgust. “Wait, like, no normal food at all?”

“You might be able to ask for the kids’ menu,” Bradley says with a cheeky grin.

You all laugh as Mickey swats a hand at Bradley, which he dodges easily.

The cocktail hour is set up in the perfectly manicured garden at the back of the manor, with high tables dressed in white cloth and waiters circling with trays of champagne and canapes. You claim one of the high tables before Mickey and Reuben excuse themselves to go harass one of the waiters for something other than champagne.

“I have to say, I’m a little disappointed in you, Hangman.” Nat rests her purse on the tabletop and glares across it at Jake. “Although, I’m not surprised.”

You glance at him standing beside you, the medals on his jacket pinned crookedly and his collar sticking up at the back. You sigh and grab his shoulders, turning him to face you. “I know your mother raised you better than this, Seresin,” you say as you start unpinning the medals. “Being late to a wedding? She’d have your ass.”

He grins at you as you fuss over him, pinning his medals on properly, fixing his collar, and even smoothing down the pieces of hair that are poking out of place. He particularly enjoys the way you have to stretch onto your toes to reach the back of his head.

“What are you going to do, Sugar? Call her and tell her?”

You pull back and cross your arms. “I might.”

He hesitates, wide green eyes assessing you carefully as he tries to figure out if you’re being serious or not. You know you’re not actually going to dob him in to his mother, even though it would be hilarious, but you’re not about to let him call your bluff. So you stare back at him, your eyes narrowed and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

You don’t even realise that everyone is staring at the two of you while you stare at each other until someone clears their throat. It’s the girl standing on the other side of Jake; his date.

“Um, I’m sorry,” she says with a small, awkward laugh. “It’s actually my fault that we were late.”

“Oh, right.” Jake turns and wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side and forcing you to step back. “This is Shelley. I think some of you met her at The Hard Deck a couple of weeks ago.”

You turn and quickly slip your hand into Cole’s, giving him a soft smile as Jake points and names the people standing around the table.

“That’s right,” Shelley says, looking straight at you. “You’re Jake’s little sister.”

Cole frowns. “You have a brother?”

Jake’s eyes widen, a silent plea for you to keep up the charade.

You sigh softly before plastering on a smile. “Yep. This is my brother.” The words taste sour in your mouth, like stomach bile rising up right before you’re about to vomit. “Jake, this is Cole.”

Cole offers his hand to Jake, which Jake takes and squeezes the ever-loving shit out of. You can see how strong his grip is by the way his knuckles turn white and Cole winces.

“So, Cole,” Jake says, his lips curled into a challenging smirk. “What do you do for a living?”

You glare at him, trying to get his attention so you can give him your best fuck off scowl, but his gaze is laser-focused on your date.

“We work together, actually,” Cole replies, gesturing to you. “But I used to be in the navy.”

“Oh, really? What did you get discharged for?”

“Jake,” you mutter. “Is that really any of your business?”

He chuckles and shrugs, his eyes flitting toward you. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“It’s alright,” Cole says, though the tone of his voice makes you think otherwise. “I was medically discharged.”

Jake’s eyes are almost feline as they slide back toward Cole. “What for?”

“Jake,” you hiss.

“I hurt my back,” Cole replies. “Pretty badly, actually. I’m still in physical therapy for it.”

Jake’s smirk stretches into a Cheshire Cat grin as he turns back to you. “Well, I sure hope that doesn’t get in the way of you two having a little fun later tonight.”

Your eyes go wide and your jaw unhinges. Bradley and Bob both choke on their breath and cough to cover their laughter, while Natasha giggles shamelessly into the palm of her hand.

You turn to Cole, who’s cheeks are bright red, and give him your most apologetic smile. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks while I verbally abuse my brother?”

He nods once and squeezes your hand before letting go and practically running away from the table.

“Hey Shelley,” Natasha pipes up, “would you come with me to find the bathrooms?”

Bradley clears his throat. “I’m going to go find Payback and Fanboy.”

“I’ll help you,” Bob says.

The two boys hurry off in one direction while Natasha grabs Shelley’s hand and drags her toward the concrete steps that lead inside the manor.

You turn to Jake. “What the fuck?”

He rears back a little. “What?”

“Why were you so rude to him?”

“I didn’t think I was being-”

“Jake,” you warn, taking half a step toward him. “You know exactly what you were doing.”

He rolls his eyes as if you’re being dramatic. “I’m just making sure he’s a good guy. I’ve never met anyone you’ve dated before.”

“So?” You throw your hands up. “You had no right to interrogate him like you did.”

Jake frowns, his head tipping slightly as he gets lost in his own thoughts, clearly not listening what you’re saying. “Why haven’t I met anyone you’ve dated before?”

“Because I don’t date much, but that’s beside the point.” You scowl up at him, watching his green eyes swirl with something akin to curiosity. “I am perfectly polite to your date, and you’re going to be the same to mine. Got it?"

He scoffs. “Yeah, you just grunt at my date like you’ve lost the ability to speak.”

“I do not.”

He chuckles humourlessly. “Yes, you do. In fact, you barely speak to any of the girls I date.”

You roll your eyes. “Can you really blame me for not bothering to get to know them? You’re just going to replace this one with a new one in a week or two.”

“Ouch.” He puts a hand on his chest, right over the perfectly pinned medals. “And I suppose Mr Ex-Navy is more than just a last-ditch wedding date?”

“He could be.”

“Really?” He raises his brows. “Are you going to marry the man with the bad back who can’t even fuck properly?”

Anger sizzles through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire. “Why do you even fucking care?!"

“Because I care about you.” His voice is a whispered shout, low but assertive. “And you can do better than this guy.”

You take a deep breath to try and settle your temper, not wanting to cause a scene. “This guy is great, and I like him, so pull your shit together and start acting like the honourable man you’re supposed to be. Because you know what, Seresin? I’m not your little sister, and I’m not your responsibility, so who I date is none of your business.”

His mouth pops open but no words come out. His eyes are swimming with an emotion you don’t recognise as they study you, the furious expression on your face glaring up at him from beneath furrowed brows.

You’re not sure if he recognises his own words from that night, but either way, you can safely say that he has been adequately chastised. You take another deep breath and step back, turning toward your date who is approaching the table with a flute of champagne in each hand.

- Jake -

The reception is in full swing and entrees have been served, but the chicken sitting in front of Jake remains untouched. He’s been glaring through the flowery centrepiece in the middle of the table for almost fifteen minutes now, while everyone around him chats and eats happily. To anyone else, it might seem like the man hates orchids, but as Javy descends from the bridal table and sees his best friend plotting murder, he knows that it isn’t the flowers that have offended Jake Seresin. It’s the man on the other side of them.

He crouches behind Jake’s chair and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get the body bag if you pick the murder weapon.”

Jake startles and whips around, his scowl breaking into a smile when he sees his best friend. “Hey, man. You looked good up there.”

“I know,” Javy chuckles. “Want to get a drink?”

Jake glances at his date, who is currently chatting with Mickey about which entree meal is better, before turning back to Javy and nodding. He scoots his chair back and stands up, following his friend to the bar at the back of the hall. Once they order their drinks, they step to the side and wait for the bartender to pour them.

“So,” Javy says, “what did I miss?”

Jake glances back at the table, his eyes narrowing on you and your date. “Well, I was a little late and got scolded for it.”

Javy chuckles. “Saw that.”

“Natasha and Bob came together, which isn’t surprising, but still gross.”

“I think it’s nice.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “You would.”

When he glances back at the table, you’ve got your hand wrapped around Cole’s bicep, leaning into him and laughing like he’s the funniest man in the world. Jake hates it. He has no idea why, but he fucking hates it. He hates the way you look at your date and he hates the way the man is looking back at you. He wants to wrap you in his jacket – because that dress is criminal – and stuff you into a taxi to be on your way home.

“Anything else?” Javy asks.

The bartender places their drinks in front of them, and they both mutter a thank you before taking a glass each and walking toward one of the high tables nearby.

“Not really.”

“You sure?” Javy presses, his brows raised in question. “Nothing about Cole, or...?”

Jake frowns. “You know him?”

“Yeah, I had lunch with them both last week.”

“What the fuck?” Jake looks utterly offended.

Javy chuckles again. “I ran into them while they were suit shopping, so we stopped for lunch. He’s actually a really nice guy. It’s a shame about his injury.”

Jake scoffs. “Yeah, I bet it would suck to not be able to fuck properly.”

Javy almost spits his mouthful of whiskey and coke across the table, but he manages to swallow most of it and cough on the rest. “What the fuck, man?”

Jake shrugs. “What?”

“Why do you care about the man’s bedroom ability?”

Heat crawls into Jake’s cheeks, so he hides his face behind a generous sip of his drink. “I don’t. I mean, I’m just looking out for-”

“The girl you call your sister?” Javy interrupts. “Because I can tell you right now, no brother would be concerned about how well their sister is getting dicked down.”

“Yeah, but we aren’t actually related.”

“I know, it would be fucking gross if you were,” Javy says. He watches Jake from the corner of his eye as he takes another sip of his drink, waiting for the words to hit and wondering if his friend will figure out the underlying suggestion.

It takes almost a full minute for Jake to frown and tip his head curiously. “Why would it be gross?”

Javy sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind. Come on, you better get back to your date.”

The two men walk back toward Table 7, and Jake can’t help but glare at Cole the whole way there. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t stand the way the man’s hand is hidden beneath the table but clearly on your thigh. Like he’s being sneaky or something. Jake has s brief thought about breaking the man’s hand as he sits back down at the table, and it makes him smile.

“Hey, Baby,” Shelley coos, leaning over and sliding her hand up his thigh.

His smile drops and he catches her hand before it can get too high.

She pouts and bats her lashes. “What’s wrong, Baby?”

Jake puts his drink down and uses both hands to push her hand away from his crotch. “We’re sitting at a table with my friends. It’s disrespectful.”

“Oh.” She pulls back completely, an embarrassed blush crawling up her neck.

Jake should feel bad for being so harsh, he knows that, but he can’t find the energy to care. He’s too busy peering through the gaps in the orchid arrangement, glaring at the man sitting beside you.

After dinner, Logan and his wife have their first dance, but Jake spends most of it watching Cole’s hand run up and down your arm. When the slow music morphs into dance music, the bridal party join the dancefloor and guests slowly start to leave their seats.

Jake wants to talk to you and apologise for being rude, but he also wants to tell you that your date sucks and you deserve better. He just can’t figure out why your date sucks, and he knows he needs a valid reason before he corners you.

Shelley asks him to dance twice before giving up and joining Mickey and Reuben on the dancefloor, but it isn’t long before the MC announces that it's time to cut the cake. Jake doesn’t miss the way your eyes sparkle with tears when Logan’s wife smushes cake into his face, and he wonders if people usually cry at the cake cutting.

After the cake, Javy calls everyone up to the bar for a round of shots, which quickly turns into a second round of shots when Logan and his wife join in. Then everyone makes their way back to the dancefloor to watch Mickey pull out some very embarrassing dance moves. Jake joins in and even, for a brief moment, forgets about the man he’s been glaring daggers at all evening, but then he catches you leaving the dancefloor out of the corner of his eye.

You drag Cole toward the bar and order another drink. Jake stops watching Reuben pretend he can breakdance and steps out of the dance circle that’s happening in the middle of the floor. He cranes his neck so he can still see you with Cole, standing at the back of the hall beside one of the high tables.

You’re standing right up against the man, your hands guiding his hands to where you want them on your body. Jake’s breath catches in his throat, and his heart starts to race. He recognises this.

He stops moving to the beat of the music, he stops pretending like he’s enjoying the dancing, and he walks away from the dancefloor entirely. His eyes are trained on you, watching you lean into Cole’s hand that is cradling your jaw. He knows what you’re doing and it’s making him sick.

Before he can stop himself, he’s weaving in between tables. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, thumping out of rhythm and making it difficult for him to catch his breath. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting to you.

- You -

Cole’s eyes are like molten silver, and you have to remind yourself that silver is a precious metal. It doesn’t matter that you like gems better, green gems like jade and malachite. They’re too expensive to dream about; you need to stop dreaming about green gems.

Though it’s a bit hard when those green gems won’t stop fucking staring at you.

You hesitate as you lean toward Cole, your fingers hooked behind the belt that’s wrapped around his hips. He’s so pretty, you can’t deny that, and you do want to kiss him, but it feels weird knowing Jake is in the same room right now. Knowing that all your friends could be watching as you close the gap between your lips and-

“What are you doing?”

You startle and pull back, your eyes widening as warmth spreads across your chest and crawls up your neck. “What the fuck?”

Jake is standing on the other side of the high table. His cheeks are flushed and his arms are crossed, he looks angry but... confused.

“Oh, hey,” Cole mutters, defeat saturating his tone. He’d have to be stupid not to have noticed the way Jake’s been glaring at him all night.

You cross your arms and mirror his stance. “Jake, what are you doing?”

“Just checking on my baby sister.”

You roll your eyes. “Please, would you just-”

“Baby, where’d you go?” Shelley’s hot pink fingernails slide over Jake’s shoulder as she appears at his side. “You missed me in the dance circle.”

A smirk ghosts across your lips. “Yeah, Baby, how could you miss that?”

Jake’s stare is unwavering, he doesn’t even flinch at the exaggerated pet name.

Cole sighs. “Look, man, I wasn’t trying to do anything weird, I just wanted to kiss her.”

“Do you seriously have a problem with that?” you ask.

Jake’s eyes narrow on Cole. “Yes.”

“What the fuck for?” You uncross your arms and throw your hands up. “You’re not actually my brother, Jake. Why do you give a shit about this?”

Cole turns to you. “He’s not your brother?”

Shelley gasps. “Oh, my God. She’s not your- Wait.” She steps away from Jake and looks at you, then back at him with wide eyes. “You’re, like... in love with her, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been acting fucking weird all night.”

Cole steps away from you. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jake is pale – like, concerningly pale – and you can’t see his chest or shoulders moving, so you’re not even sure if he’s breathing. His glare isn’t menacing anymore, it’s blank. Completely blank.

“I think he’s broken,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else. You turn to Cole. “I’m sorry I lied to you, but it’s a long story. I’m, like, one-hundred percent sure that he’s not in love with me, but I do think he’s having some sort of stroke, so I’m going to take him outside for a minute. Is that okay?”

Cole nods, although he doesn’t seem convinced. But you don’t have time to reassure him right now, because you’re pretty sure Jake is either about to pass out or throw up.

You don’t even look at Shelley as you grab Jake’s arm and start dragging him toward the exit doors. His steps are slow but steady, and he stares at you with a weird, bewildered expression the whole way. You lead him through the halls of the manor and down the concrete steps into the courtyard. There are a few people scattered about, stealing a moment to themselves, but you weave through the garden until you find a swinging seat away from anyone else.

“Sit here.” You push him toward the chair. “Do you need some water?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you going to pass out?”

He shakes his head again.

“Okay, I’m going to need to hear some actual words now, Hangman.” You crouch in front of him, putting a hand on either one of his knees. “You’re starting to worry me.”

His eyes meet yours. “You never call me Hangman.”

“Sorry, do you prefer Bagman?”

He frowns, but it isn’t dark or serious because you can see his lips fighting a smirk. “It’s Jake to you, or Seresin.”

You roll your eyes and stand up straight, propping a hand on each hip. “Okay, Seresin, now that you can talk are you going to tell me what the fuck just happened?”

He groans and drops his head into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. You wait for him to say something, watching his shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths, but he refuses speak.

You sigh and sit down beside him, feeling the chair rock as you do. “I’m not mad, Jake, just a little frustrated. I know that you see me as a little sister, but-”

He snorts. “You are not my little sister.”

“I know that.” You bump your shoulder against his. “Do you know that? Because the way you were acting tonight was ridiculous. I don’t care how responsible you feel for me, I’m still an adult who can do whatever and whoever she pleases.”

He groans again and looks up, dragging his hands down his face. “Please don’t say that.”

Your brows pinch. “Say what?”

“That you can do whoever you want.”

You roll your eyes again. “I’m no Virgin Mary, Jake. You can’t just pretend-”

“I know.” He sits up straighter and looks right at you, pinning you with those sparkling jade eyes. “I remember.”

Your heart starts thumping faster. “Remember what?”

“That night.”

The box you shoved into the deepest, darkest corner of your heart starts to tremble. The chains rattle and the locks clang as the box shakes, the tremors increasing with every laboured breath you draw into your aching lungs.

“Jake,” you whisper. “I-”

“I saw you with him and I just”– he runs a hand through his hair –“I couldn’t fucking stand it. I knew what you were doing and I knew what you wanted, but I just couldn’t let you do it.”

Your eyes sting but you quickly blink back the moisture welling in them. You want to ask him what the fuck he means, why it matters this much to him, and why he nearly passed out when Shelley said what she said. But the connection between your brain and mouth is paralysed.

“All night I couldn’t stand the sight of you with him, but I couldn’t stop staring. Even Javy-” He pauses and rears back a little, averting his eyes as he searches back through his memories of the night. “Holy shit.”

You tip your head quizzically, your brows furrowed as you work to keep your emotions at bay. “What?”

“Even Javy knows that I’m in love with you.”

The box in your heart doesn’t just break open, it fucking shatters.

His eyes find yours again and he brings one hand up to your jaw, his thumb resting over your pulse point. His other hand moves to your opposite hip, forcing him to lean his body closer to yours and wrap you in his intoxicating scent. You watch as his tongue darts across his bottom lip, and then he’s kissing you.

It isn’t soft. It’s hungry, years of tension crashing into a single moment. His lips claim yours like he’s been holding back forever and never even realised it. You kiss him back hard, fingers twisting in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing more. His hand slides to the back of your neck, anchoring you, deepening the kiss until your thoughts are nothing but heat and the way his mouth moves against yours.

The sound of fireworks – literal fireworks – is the only thing that forces you apart. Startling you both as they soar into the sky and burst against the navy velvet draped over this side of the earth.

You look up, seeing your breath in puffs of white against the dark night. “Are Yale’s family drug dealers?”

Jake chuckles and closes his eyes. “I just kissed you for the first time, and that’s what you have to say?”

“Sorry,” you giggle, dropping your gaze back to him and drawing your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I can’t believe I never realised it,” he mutters.

You shrug one shoulder. “To be fair, I was one-hundred percent sure you didn’t feel the same about five minutes ago.”

His brows pinch. “Feel the same?”

“Yes.” You hold his face between your hands, squishing his cheeks a little. “I’ve been in love with you for a very long time, Jake Seresin.”

He grins, which makes you giggle because his cheeks are now extra squished. “Good. Because I’m going to be in love with you forever.”

END.

[yellowbrokenblue]

I fucking own you | RAFE CAMERON

You’ve been working for the Cameron’s for a few months, and a while ago you made the biggest mistake of your life- you slept with Rafe Cameron. And now, it was about to happen again. You were in too deep, and you fucking loved it.

cw: smut, rough sex, bondage, rafe is feral, dirty talk, degradation

“I asked for a drink half an hour ago. Where is it.”

He came closer and closer to you, his eyes dark and filled with pure annoyance. It wasn’t that you went out of your way to disobey Rafe’s orders, but when you had as much on your plate as you did- it became easier and easier to slip up. People have this idea in their head that being a housemaid is a simple job- but when you work for the Cameron family, it’s nowhere near simple.

“Raf- Mr Cameron. You know that my job is not to run around fetching you food and drink whenever you feel about it. I’m here to look after the house, not you.”

He scoffed.

“Talk to me like that again, pogue, and I’ll get you fired.”

Rafe had been threatening to get his father to fire you ever since you made the biggest slip up of your entire life. You prided yourself on being a smart person who always made good choices- but then one night you ended up tangled in the sheets of Rafe Cameron’s bed- and that does not happen to people who make good choices.

After that night you vowed to avoid him as much as you possibly could. You couldn’t afford to get him so angry that he’d rat you out to his dad and loose this job.

But your biggest problem was that no matter how hard you tried to stand up for yourself, you’d always cave in front of him. You’d always end up getting him that drink even though it wasn’t your job, you’d fetch his dry cleaning before your shift simply because he asked you. And worst of all, you let him fuck you.

But it would never happen again.

“I’m sorry, Mr Cameron.” You apologised, nodding your head.

“Good.” He said, before lowering his voice, “Now go and be the nice, obedient girl that I remember, and get me a Scotch.”

You swallowed, nodding.

With shaky hands, you make your way to the bar cart in the corner, placing some ice in the glass and pouring the shot. You might not have had eyes on the back of your head, but you could feel his eyes on you- his gaze was burning into the back of your head.

He treated you like shit, it’s not as if you were unaware of it. Sometimes you got worried about the fact that occasionally it made you want him more.

You turn around, and try to give him the glass. He noticed your shaking hands and smirked. This man has evil written all over him.

“I change my mind, sweetheart.” He said, his tone rude and condescending, “I want my drink in my bedroom.”

“Can’t you just take it up, I-”

He scoffed, “You’re what? You’re telling me to do your job because you’re worried about being next to my bed again? Are you really that weak, pogue?”

Your heart was beating uncontrollably.

“Of course not.” You reply, “I’ll take it up to your room right away.”

“That’s a good girl.”

You leave the room and follow the, what feels like endless, stairs up to Rafe’s room. His section of the house was bigger than your entire apartment on the other side of the island. When he says ‘room’ he really means entire suite. The living area opened up into a huge bedroom with an en-suite, and he even had a small kitchenette to the far left with different cooking appliances. The microwave itself was probably worth more than your entire wardrobe.

You placed the glass on the small table next to the couch, when you heard the door open, close and then lock.

You turn around, rapidly, to be faced with Rafe’s face already only inches away from yours.

“Don’t look so worried, sweetheart.” He said, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling your body against his, “You know I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Rafe, we can’t do this again. I need this job, you know that.”

Instead of a reply, he lent down and attached his lips to your neck, making a b-line for the sweet spot that he must’ve remembered from last time.

You used all of the strength in you to stop yourself from letting out a moan, but then he pressed his crotch against your stomach, and the moan slipped out.

“I knew you wanted me.” Rafe said, pulling away and holding your face with his hands, “I could see it in your eyes, they just scream out how desperate you are for my cock.”

Rafe’s hands reach for the buttons of your blouse, looking at your face, waiting for a signal that it’s okay for him to continue. He wasn’t a good guy, but he had enough good in him to make sure you were okay with this.

You gave him a quick nod, and he made quick work of taking off your blouse, throwing it on the floor.

“The shit my dad makes the help wear is fuckin’ ugly.” Rafe said, “I much prefer when you look like this.”

His hands raked over your body, and over your bra.

“How would you cope if I worked naked every day?” You joked.

“I wouldn’t.”

Before you knew it, your bra joined your shirt on the floor, your tits spilling free.

“Pants off. Lie on the couch.” Rafe demanded, taking a step back, waiting to watch you undress. “I have plans for you before you get my dick. So, be a good girl and do as I say.”

You bite the side of your cheek, unbuttoning your pants and kicking them off.

“Panties too.” Rafe said, “I want to see all of you.”

Once again, you done as he said, peeling your underwear from your body, leaving you completely naked lying on his couch.

It was intimidating lying like this with him watching you while he stood fully clothed. But then again, every time Rafe looked at you there would be some sort of intimidation involved.

“Now,” He said, slowly unbuttoning his white shirt, “I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go, and you’re gonna listen.”

He took his shirt off and lifted the glass of Scotch.

“You’re gonna lay there nice and still and well behaved, understand? And while you do that, I’m gonna have some fun.” He says, moving his arm so that his glass of liquor was hovering above you, before tilting it and letting the liquid drip over your stomach.

It was ice cold, yet the feeling made your head fall back. The anticipation was killing you, and he knew it. Rafe was taking his sweet time simply just to torture you.

You watched Rafe sink to his knees, dropping the glass on the floor, ice spilling everywhere.

“You’re gonna forget who the fuck you are when I’m done with you.”

His mouth attached itself your breasts, his tongue licking up the alcohol that had dripped onto them, before slowly making his way down your stomach, licking and sucking at every trace of liquor he could find.

Most of the liquid had pooled around your belly button, and as he got closer to that area, he gripped your thigh to steady his body, making sure to purposely brush his fingers over the aching heat between your legs, enjoying the soft moan you let out.

You couldn’t help but groan as he sucked harder at your skin, his tongue all over your stomach. You wanted that tongue sucking at your tits, in your mouth, between your legs. You wanted him everywhere.

“You’re desperate for me. I can tell.” Rafe said, using the grip he had on your thigh to spin you around, so that you were sitting facing him on the couch.

Arousal was dripping down your legs as his hand crept further and further up your thigh.

“I was gonna take my time with you today, sweetheart. But I think you want my cock right now, am I right?”

You nod, desperately.

“Words.” He demands.

“Yes.” You plead.

He shakes his head, “I know you remember the rules. Yes, what?”

You swallow.

“Yes, Sir.”

Even in the bedroom, Rafe had to remind you that you would always be beneath him. His superiority complex would never die, yet your sheer desperation could look past that.

The power dynamic was unhealthy, it’s not as if you were unaware. Technically you were still on shift working at his house right now. But you allowed yourself to look past it simply because of how badly you wanted him.

How badly you needed him.

Next, he told you to go and lie on his bed- and he followed you into the bedroom area but instead of joining you on the sheets he opened the door to his closet, rifling through until he pulled out a long black tie.

“I think you need a reminder today of who is in charge.” He says, coming closer to the bed.

“You.” You whisper, “You are in charge.”

“You’re right,” He said, “But I need to be really sure that you underhand that. So give me your wrists.”

He takes your hands and wraps his tie tightly around them, before guiding your arms to the headboard of the bed, where he looped the tie around and secured your wrists to the bed.

“Tell me if it’s too tight.” He said, a slither of genuine humanity showing through his words.

“It’s fine.” You reply.

It was somewhat exciting, to be here tied up for Rafe. He could do whatever he wanted and there wasn’t much you could do about it. But at the same time, it was nerve wracking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, so you have to try to be a little less tense, alright?” Rafe said. His words were genuine, but it didn’t come off as such.

He unbuckled his pants, pulling them off and pushing them aside, leaving you staring at him in his briefs.

“Where do I start.” Rafe says, placing a hand on each of your thighs, spreading your legs apart.

“Look how fucking wet you are.” He said, running a single finger over your folds, “I didn’t realise what a desperate whore you were.”

Rafe’s patience thins- his solid erection paired with your dripping wet cunt is driving him crazy and he can’t wait any longer. He quickly flips you over onto your stomach and pushes your ass into the air, keeping your legs spread so he can access.

“Are you still on the pill?” He asks while he massages his cock. He needs to be inside of you. Right now.

You nod. “Yeah.”

With the anticipation, that one single word is all you can croak out of your mouth.

With no warning, you find Rafe’s cock pushing into you with a speed you can’t quite comprehend.

“Your tight little cunt.” Rafe moans, splitting you open, “I bet no one’s fucked you since the last time you had my dick, huh? You keep this pussy just for me?”

You moan, your face pushed into the sheets as you take the full length of Rafe’s dick.

“Agh!” You cry, “You, Rafe, just you.”

He’s thrusting into you with no thoughts in his mind. You knew Rafe fucked rough, but this was a new level of feral you hadn’t seen before- and you were kind of loving. You tugged on the tie restraining your wrists while you cried his name.

“I own you.” Rafe says, “I fucking own you, you understand?”

You moan loudly, his dick still pounding into you.

“I said do you fucking understand?”

“Agh! Fuck!” You cry, “I’m yours, Rafe. You own me, you own me.”

You were so close to your orgasm, clenching on his cock while he thrusted deep inside you.

“I’m close.” You tell him, pushing your head into the mattress.

“Don’t fucking cum until I say so.” Rafe said.

He sped up, reaching for his own release.

“Cum with me.” He growls, his speed reducing as he cums inside of you.

You cry out, your long awaited orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave as you coat Rafe’s cock with your cum.

You might regret this tomorrow, but right now you didn’t have a care in the world.

[bluhjay]

figured you out | sjy

synopsis: Jake has been a little more touchy with you lately and you can't help but try to figure out if he wants to be more than your best friend genre: best friends to lovers, fluff wc: 1603 notes: ft. Jay and Jungwon. lmk if there's anything i should add! also, cr @strangergraphics (dividers)

Strong individually, unstoppable together.

That’s how the others would describe your friendship with Jake. You and Jake first met at the daycare around your neighbourhood; remembering that moment like it was yesterday. The first time you walked into the daycare with your dad, when Jake saw you, his eyes lit up. He approached you first with a big smile and a ‘hi’ before excitedly grabbing your hand because he wanted you to play Lego with him. 

The both of you have been attached to the hip since then. Just like how you are attached to Jake as you walk to class, side by side, talking and laughing at the most random things like there’s no tomorrow. 

As you both reach class early and settle in your seats, Jake casually puts an arm around you and squeezes your shoulder. You glanced at Jake, realising he was already looking at you with endearing eyes and a smile. 

“Is there something on my face?” you asked him.

Jake responds to your question impulsively, squeezing your cheek with his other hand. 

“You look so cute! No wonder Layla loves you more than me,” he answers sheepishly.

A small laugh slipped out of your lips. “Of course she does! You need to watch out ’cause I’m about to take over your spot.”

The bell rang as Jake laughed with you, tilting his head back to face the front of the class. You noticed that he kept his hand around your shoulder, now relaxed. Your breath hitched at his actions, but you tried to brush it off, knowing it was Jake’s usual friendly gesture. 

Jake can’t help but steal glances at you a couple minutes after the lesson starts. His hand trailed upwards from holding your shoulder to brushing your hair. You could feel a ghost of his hand, just being there. 

At one point, Jake’s hand lingered on your hair still. Not that it should be there in the first place.

Jake turned to you, his expression softening, admiring your features without you realising. Admiring how you tried to tuck your hair, yet the front strand still fell to your face, how you press your lips into a thin line when you’re trying to focus and how your eyes squint, concentrating on your teacher’s explanation about today’s lesson. 

He slid his hand, placing it around your shoulder once again. You looked over your shoulder before glancing at Jake in confusion.     

“Something on your mind?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Jake retracted his hand, “Huh? Oh—Nah, just…” He trailed off, offering you a small smile. “You looked kinda stressed. Thought you could use a little comfort.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Okay…” You tried to sound casual, but the words were more flustered than you intended.

Jake’s actions were simple, but how he looked at you—soft, searching—lingered longer than usual. It didn’t feel like a joke. You didn’t know what it felt like, but it was something. It stayed with you for the rest of the lesson, and you can’t help but want to pinpoint what Jake is hiding. 

Later after school, you found yourself sprawled out on Jake’s floor, physics notes scattered around the coffee table, and a worksheet on your forehead. 

You groaned, “Ugh, Jake! I don’t think I can finish this worksheet.”

While doing his homework on the kitchen island, Jake stood up and approached you. He chuckled and shook his head when he saw your state; a small smile appeared.

“You should join us at the table. We’ll help you,” Jake replies, reaching his hand out.

You groaned for the second time before grabbing Jake’s hand and holding your worksheet.

“That’s my girl.”

You walk sluggishly towards the kitchen table with the biggest pout on your face. You plopped into the chair beside Jake, eyes wandering anywhere but your worksheet. Jake tapped the end of your pencil against your forehead, and you swatted him away with a grumble.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered.

Jake just laughed—like he always did—and leaned his chin into his hand, eyes sparkling as he watched you half-heartedly attempt to solve the eighth question.

You scribbled nonsense into the blank spaces of your worksheet, feeling the weight of his gaze settle heavier than usual.

“You know...” Jake started, voice lower now, more careful. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”

“You have us,” Jay replied

“Always,” Jungwon continued.

You looked up at Jay and Jungwon, then at Jake, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” Jake said, nudging your elbow. “You can always lean on us. For anything.”

You snorted, trying to play it off, “Thanks, guys. You all know it means a lot to me.”

Jake tilted his head at you, smiling in a way that made all your struggles seem more bearable.

Because you know that your friends will always be there for you, especially Jake.

The class was quiet, unlike the usual bustle of students helping each other with their assignments. The pencil scratches flowing across exam papers were the only sound echoing throughout the classroom, alongside the occasional clicks of a calculator and flipping pages.

As you’re finishing up, you look over your shoulder to see how Jake is doing. He fixes his glasses, eyes glued to the paper, pencil scribbling as he attempts to solve the math equation. The way he concentrates brings out his charm, making it hard to look away.

And you can’t help but focus your eyes on him. 

“You’re staring.”

You smiled, widening your eyes as you teasingly leaned closer to Jake. 

Jake didn’t say anything; he just smiled briefly before moving on to the next question on the exam paper. 

Jake finishes his paper on time. After the Math exam, you and Jake decided to destress at your place.

“You guys are seriously attached to the hip, I’m not even kidding,” Jay said in a playful tone.

Jungwon, who was standing beside Jay, chuckled at his comment.

Jake smiles in response, casually slinging an arm on your shoulder.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a girl best friend,” Jake replies, pulling you closer to him. You looked up at him and smiled at his actions.

“Nah, man, I’m just jealous I don’t have a best friend who has heart eyes for me,” Jay answers, clenching his hand to his heart as if he was heartbroken.

Simultaneously, Jungwon nudges Jay’s shoulder as you shift your gaze at Jay.

“Oh?” you asked.

“You’ll figure it out,” Jay answers, patting your shoulder before turning back to Jungwon.

The four of you said goodbye to each other and parted ways. You walked home with Jake, his arm still on your shoulder. 

“So, how did the exam go?”

“Most of the questions were similar to the worksheet, right? I also studied maths more than other subjects, so it went well. How about you?”

“I think I did okay; I remembered most formulas, so it should be fine.”

You smiled at his honesty, feeling the last bits of exam stress melt off your shoulders.

The walk to your house was easy, natural—like breathing. Jake kept his arm around you for a while longer before letting it drop to his side, but he stayed close, the side of his hand brushing yours every few steps.

Once you reach your house, you unlock the door and kick your shoes off at the entrance, as Jake did. Having him here was so normal and familiar—like he belonged just as much as you did.

You both went to the living room and flopped onto the couch, stretching your arms wide. Jake shook his head, trying not to smile as he joined you, sitting cross-legged beside you.

Jake turned his head to look at you, his hair slightly messy from the exam stress, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. He pushed them up lazily.

“You tired?” he asked softly.

“Not really,” you shrugged, smiling lightly. “Although I am kind of hungry.”

Jake hummed. “Want some ramen?”

You shot up from the couch, wide-eyed and smiled, “Yes, please.”

Jake laughed and pushed himself up, making his way to the kitchen.

You watched him move around your kitchen like his own, grabbing two packs of ramen and a pot and filling it with water.

It was so… Jake.

The same Jake who sat with you during every exam season. Who studies with you after school. 

The same Jake who carried your backpack when you were too tired.

The same Jake who held you close. Not in that way, though. 

The same Jake who you always had.

Then it hit you.

‘You’ll figure it out.’

Jay’s words rang louder now, impossible to ignore.

All you could think about was him. And the millions of moments you never questioned before. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second. Because now you saw it.

It was there all along, woven into every late-night call, every shared secret, every easy smile.

Jake didn’t just want to be your friend.

Your heart cracked open, raw and new.

Without thinking, you got up from the couch and reached for him—fingers tangling into the sleeve of his hoodie, pulling him closer. Jake stilled, blinking at you.

You looked at him with glassy eyes, a lump stuck in your throat.

“Jake,” you whispered, voice unsteady, “Have you always...?”

He gave you a small smile, “Yeah,” he said. “Always.”

The space between you hummed, buzzing with everything you didn’t say before.

You suddenly realised:

You never needed Jake to save you.

You just needed to see him.

Like, really see him.

And now that you did—

You didn’t want to let go.

[hauntedfawnn]

rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Madness

tropes involving madness or insanity

Becoming the Mask: A façade permanently warps a personality.

Black Bug Room: The place inside a person's mind where all of their negative feelings dwell and fester.

Cabin Fever: Being stuck in a small place for too long a time.

Cast from Sanity: Magic or a superpower makes you lose sanity every time it's used.

Cutting Back to Reality: A character's insanity is illustrated by seeing a situation through their eyes, before cutting back to what's actually happening in the real world.

Damaged Soul: Death and resurrection has damaged a person.

Delusion Conclusion: Audience members believe that the supernatural elements of a story are due to delusions on the part of the viewpoint characters.

Devil Complex: A character believes themselves to be Satan and acts accordingly.

Happy Place: An imaginary space inside your head where everything is well.

In the Dreaming Stage of Grief: Devastated character copes by convincing themselves it is/was just a bad dream.

Living Doll Collector: Mere toys are not enough for this person.

Mad Dreamer: They reject your reality and substitute their own.

Mistaken for Insane: Someone who's sane, but is mistaken for being insane.

Mummies at the Dinner Table: A character is dead, but someone tries to pretend – and actually believe – that they are still alive.

Ocean Madness: Isolation while stuck on an uninhabited island or boat drives someone mad.

Restoration of Sanity: A character suffering from insanity regains their sanity by the story's end.

The Caligula: A ruler who is insane.

Treacherous Spirit Chase: A character is led into danger by a hallucination of loved one(s).

Went Crazy When They Left: A character becomes emotionally unstable when away from someone they're attached to.

Windmill Crusader: Being obsessed with attacking an enemy that doesn't exist.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sometimesanalice]

Are You Gonna Be My Girl?

Summary: It’s been a couple of months since the two of you have started hooking up, and it’s no secret that Rooster is hung up on you. He takes the gamble and invites you to the yearly Halloween bash at the Hard Deck. The only problem is he can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be. 

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6.2K

Warnings: allusions to smut and Rooster being a simp (but what else is new 😂) (mdni)

The Black Keys’ “Howlin’ for You” playing loudly over the static-y speakers of the Hard Deck masking the sound of Rooster’s fingers as he impatiently drums them on top of the worn table, uncaring of the fact he’s out of tempo with the song.

Penny’s yearly Halloween Spooktacular has always been a fan favorite with those stationed at North Island. A name that Amelia had thrown shade at no less than five times as she worked on designing the event flier the afternoon that the Daggers had been bribed with free beers for coming in on their free time to help decorate.

There wasn’t an inch of the bar that was left untouched, and it wasn’t just that Bob had gotten carried away with the downy spider webbing. There were orange and purple string lights threaded around the circular mug racks, floating candles over the pool table, dangling bats and streamers, and an enthusiastic but poorly executed attempt at a balloon arch over the entry door.

The wispy fog covered punchbowl with a suspicious dark purple beverage bubbled away on the bartop, tendrils cascaded over the side only adding to the atmosphere. The stuff was so potent that Bradley was pretty sure it would put the jungle juice he’d thrown back in college to shame.

Rooster had been tasked with curating the playlist for tonight’s party, and if he’d been paying even a little bit of attention, he’d have known his choices were being well received by the boisterous crowd. But his attention is half split trying to listen to Hangman’s story about the Halloween prank gone wrong that left him with twelve stitches and half listening for-

Ding

He’s quick on the draw to pull out his phone from the chest pocket to check if it was his that went off.

When he’d arrived Nat, decked out in a sequined pink gown with a gun he wasn’t sure was fake or not strapped to her thigh for her Miss Congeniality costume, had given him a look of disdain and said what he was wearing was low effort even for him.

Rooster tucks his phone away with a disappointed sigh when there are zero new notifications on his lock screen.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you so whipped over a girl before, Bradshaw,” Hangman drawls, leaning into the gunslinging cowboy thing he has going on for the evening. His shirt is unbuttoned more than is strictly necessary, and is complete with a belt buckle that is larger than the state of Texas and too heavy looking to have been bought off Amazon.

Ding

Bradley fishes out his phone again from the pocket he’d put it back in only moments earlier.

You, 10:32pm: “u up?”

He grins.

“And we’ve lost him,” someone snarks, but he’s too busy punching in the password to unlock his phone to care.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:32pm: are you ever going to let that go?

You, 10:32pm: Mmm, no. You were so bad at being a fuckboy, it was funny.

You, 10:33pm: But in a very hot way, might I add. And clearly, it worked in your favor since I let you come over and hit it a second time.

Rooster snorts in amusement.

It was the first and last time he’d taken Fanboy’s advice and you teased him about it every opportunity you got. He had been a little rusty with the ins and outs of no-strings-attached sex with someone who wasn’t in the Navy. But he’d more than made up for it that same night by eating you out until your legs were shaking and you were weakly pushing his head away as he’d coaxed you into coming just one more time against his tongue.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:33pm: don’t remember hearing you laughing last night when your pussy was dripping all over my cock

He takes a sip of beer as he waits for your response.

You, 10:33pm: Look! You’re already so much better at sexting than you were when we met!

You, 10:34pm: “u up?” is still on the table, by the way. Not to brag, but I even have a pumpkin shaped pizza. 

You, 10:34pm: If you want to come over. 

If you want to come over. He shakes his head reading the text again.

As if he’d ever pass up on getting to spend time with you.

As if Rooster hadn’t been hooked on you since the moment he’d met you.

𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗔𝗚𝗢

As a general rule, Bradley hated grocery shopping.

He’s never had the patience for it, with the way that everyone is in their own world. He gets tired of always having to weave around people and the way that there always seems to be carelessly parked carts or people catching up standing between him and the items on his list.

Which is why when he noticed the parking lot was mostly empty on his way home, he decided to stop and spare himself the headache of doing it over the weekend when everyone else was out and just get it done.

He’d expected to be in and out in record time until the uniform lines of colorful cartons of ice cream caught his attention as he was tossing in a few bags of frozen chicken into his cart. Normally it was always so crowded that he never felt like he could take his time looking without being in someone’s way, that he’d skip it entirely and later try to convince himself that his Greek yogurt was just as good. But tonight since no one was around, he was taking his time.

Under the glare of the fluorescents, he stands there with the hum of the freezers competing with the too-twangy-for-his-taste country song playing over the speakers and debating his options when he feels an arm thread around his own, surprising him out of the pros and cons list he was making in his head between the healthier low-calorie choice versus the one he actually wanted.

“Hi, hello there.” Bradley glances over to see the prettiest pair of eyes looking up at him expectantly. “Do you mind playing along for a few minutes, there’s some creep who keeps trying to bother me.”

He looks over the top of your head to see some guy lingering at the end of the aisle. “The guy who looks like off-brand John Mayer?”

You scrunch your nose up. “That’d be the one.”

“How good are you at picking out ice cream flavors?” he asks, standing up straighter and pulling his shoulders back.

You blink at him in confusion before your lips tick up in a relieved smile. “Very good, as a matter of fact.”

“Great, you came to my rescue just in time.” Bradley guides you closer until you’re in front of him, lightly resting a hand on your hip the way he would if you were his girlfriend. “Is this ok?” he asks under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear.

When you nod, he feels the knot in his chest loosen. Because while he wants this to be convincing to the guy still loitering at the edge of the aisle, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“First things first, we need to establish a baseline.” You point at the carton covered in cartoony looking chocolate chip cookies. “What’s your opinion on cookie dough?”

“Overrated,” he answers, not missing a beat. “I’d rather just eat the stuff out of a tube instead.”

You lean back into him a bit more. “Ooh, tough crowd,” you tease, your head finding his shoulder. “Ok then, mister tempting-fate-with-salmonella, what’s your stance on the great vanilla bean vs French vanilla debate?”

Bradley takes a quick look around to make sure they’re not blocking any other late night grocery shoppers. He pretends to ponder for a moment before responding, “I like the one with flecks.”

“A dignified choice.” You say it so solemnly that he can’t help but chuckle.

The easy back and forth banter goes on for a few more minutes. Sometimes you rib him about his answers and other times agree. It shouldn’t be so fun standing there in front of the cooler filled with tubs of ice cream, but it is. It was the last thing he could have expected when he’d decided to stop in at the last minute on his way home after hitting up the Hard Deck.

When he tells you the two choices he had been contemplating before you’d come up to him, you hum contemplatively and tap a finger against your cheek, “Well this changes everything if you’re dairy free.”

“Nah, just watching my figure. The containers are smaller and I have a sweet tooth.”

“Respectfully, I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about. You fill out those khakis just fine, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Rooster wonders if you can hear his self-satisfied grin. “Not every day I get a pretty girl telling me she was checking out my ass.”

You let out a small, amused scoff and all he feels is pleased with himself.

“I was not checking out your- oh.” The surprise in your voice has him leaning back enough to get a look at your face. “Wait, is he gone?” You peer around his shoulder, but don’t make a move to pull away from the gentle hold he has on you.

“He left around the time you were giving a very impassioned speech about how overlooked spumoni is. I probably should have mentioned it sooner, but you were making a pretty compelling case and I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, trying to play it off casually and hoping that he didn’t just become the creep in this story when you tell it to your friends later.

“Oh, ok. That’s, um, that’s good.” You sound almost… disappointed? You take a step towards the case and he drops his arm back down to his side, already missing the feel of you under it. “Thank you so much for committing to the bit. Seriously, I truly appreciate it,” you say over your shoulder, opening the glass door.

He rubs the back of his neck, watching as you grab a carton out of the freezer, not sure whether to move on with the rest of his shopping or not. But when you turn back towards him, he’s hit with the full force of your smile, feeling it all the way to his toes.

“Rocky Road,” you say, setting the carton into his cart. “It has peanuts in it, which is a nutrient-dense food and an excellent plant-based source of protein. There’s collagen from the gelatin in the marshmallows. And chocolate has antioxidants in it and is known to trigger the holy trinity of happy brain chemicals. It’s basically a superfood.”

Rooster grins. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“No, unfortunately, it really doesn’t,” you agree, playfully leaning a hip against his cart. “But it’s more fun this way, don’t you think?”

He’s so fucking charmed by you and he doesn’t even know your name yet.

While he’s glad he was there at the right time and got to play a small part in deterring that guy from continuing to hassle you, he kind of wishes the two of you could have met under different circumstances, because he’d jump at the chance of being able to score a date with you. He sighs and shakes the thought out of his head.

“Would you like me to walk you to your car?” Rooster offers, ready to abandon his groceries for a few extra minutes with you.

“Oh wow.” That mischievous gleam that had been in your eyes changes to something softer. You tilt your head, taking him in with a thoughtful expression on your face. “You’re one of those rare genuinely a gentleman types, aren’t you? Like the kind who always walks closest to the curb and mows their elderly neighbor’s yard without being asked.” Bradley just lifts a shoulder. He’s used to looking out for other people, it’s just something he’s always done. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you muse, contemplatively, “I should let you know though, knock-off John Mayer is my ex.”

He feels his hackles rise up immediately and scans the area again to double check the guy isn’t still hanging around. “Is he harassing you?”

“Oh no, it was only an unfortunate fluke, I promise,” you say, patting his hand that’s gripping the handle of the shopping cart reassuringly. “He’s just a jackass who thought he could cheat on me and that I’d still take him back.” Bradley grunts at that, even more irritated than he was before. “But he was still trying to test the waters, even after I told him I was seeing someone,” you continue, with a roll of your eyes, “Which was technically true- even if I am in fact single right now- because that’s when I saw you over here gazing very intensely into the freezer case like you’d been personally victimized by Ben and Jerry.”

“You’re out of his league anyways,” he rasps. 

There’s no way in hell Bradley would fumble a girl like you.

You grin widely, clearly amused at his annoyance on your behalf. “He was a tool with an overinflated ego and a flat ass.” Rooster barks out a surprised laugh. “And you’re so much hotter than him, so I really lucked out there with you as my knight in ironed  khakis,” you say unabashedly, reaching out to straighten out his already perfectly straight name tag. “You really went above and beyond for your country there helping me win the break up.”

“I don’t think you needed me for that part. It’s pretty clear you came out on top.” His eyes dart down to your hand on the cart, like you forgot it was still resting on top of his. “But I was more than happy to help all the same.” He takes a half step closer into your space, deciding just to go for it. “I’m thinking we should keep up the ruse though, you know, just in case he is lurking by the pasta or something.”

You quirk a knowing eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

“I could also use your professional opinion on cereal. That is if you still have some more shopping to do,” he suggests, nodding to your mostly empty handbasket.

There’s no question that he’s caught your interest, not with the way you’re looking at him. That smile you’re wearing tells a story of its own. “What a coincidence, that just happens to be my forte.”

“I had a feeling you might be the right girl for the job.” Bradley takes your basket from you and sets it in his cart and gestures for you to lead the way.

He learns your name around the same time he does about your hottake on Frosted Cheerios.

And later that night, his groceries are packed away in your fridge as the container of Rocky Road the two of you were sharing melts on your coffee table- the condensation puddling on the marble surface reflecting the credits rolling across the TV screen- as you ride him on your couch. Your hands tightly fisted in his hair and your breathy whines in his ear urging him to fuck you harder and faster until you come with his name in your mouth.

And in the morning, he gets your number over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

The two of you have been fooling around for a couple of months now.

On the nights Rooster wasn’t fucking you, he was getting himself off to the thought of you and wishing you were in bed with him. You’ve never been to his place, so he doesn’t even have the bonus of that bright citrus scent of you lingering on his sheets on the nights he spends alone.

The sex was great. Mind-blowing. You were loud and enthusiastic and gave just as good as you got. Bradley found your confidence sexy as hell. You were the type of girl who knew exactly what she wanted and he was always up for the challenge of finding new ways to make your back arch and toes curl.

But he was just as much of a fan of the parts that came before and after getting you spasming around his cock.

He liked the way your mind worked. You were always telling him about something interesting you’d read, because you were naturally curious about the world around you. You asked him thoughtful questions about his job and his life in the Navy, but not in the way he was used to from the tag chasers that frequented the Hard Deck. There was no mistaking you were asking because you wanted to know more about him, and not fixated on the shiny sheen of his golden aviator wings.

Rooster has never laughed as much as he has with you. In those moments between catching your sighs with his mouth and waiting for the knock on the door for whatever late-night craving was being delivered, you’d have him laughing and grinning until his cheeks ached.

The closest he’s ever gotten to taking you on a proper date was that one late night drive-thru run when everything on delivery apps were closed. You’d looked like his favorite daydream sitting there under the glow of the streetlamp in the nearly empty parking lot in a shirt of his that he must have accidently left behind after a hook up.

That night was the most real it’s ever felt. And he wanted more nights just like that.

He liked the way you always seemed to have a documentary to recommend for any given topic, he has a list on his phone and has been working his way through them. He liked the way the glasses you wore sometimes seemed slightly too big for your face because it was cute the way you’d constantly push them back up your nose. He liked that you texted in full sentences with complete and proper punctuation.

Bradley could already imagine how tonight would most likely go.

He’d dip out of the party early and come to your place. Your tongue in his mouth and your greedy little hand tugging to get his belt undone before he’d even made it through the door. The two of you going at it until someone has to tap out- which he is smug in the fact that more often than not it’s usually you- now that he knows all the best ways to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you. Sometimes the two of you order in, and other nights you’ll pass a bowl of ice cream or cereal back and forth over the island in your kitchen where he gets to hear you laugh and tease him and tell him about your day. Then do it all over again and once you’re thoroughly spent, he’ll hold you as you fall asleep. And then in the morning he’ll press a kiss to your cheek and take one more look back at you before leaving through the same door he’d shown up at only hours before.

And that was fine for now, but he wanted more of you. He didn’t want to be just a casual hook up, he wanted to date you.

He wanted to be soft launched and hard launched, or whatever it was that Mickey was talking about that night he’d taken his misguided advice and sent the much teased “u up?” text. He wanted to block people in the chip aisle of the grocery store as you talked him into getting some crazy flavor, turning his least favorite chore into the highlight of his week. He wanted knockoff John Mayer to see he got the girl and knew how to treat her right.

He wanted you to be his girl.

“Aren’t you too old to be in a situationship, Bradshaw?” Jake asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Fuck off,” Rooster grumbles, his eyebrows furrowed and his thumbs still hovering over the screen. A couple minutes have ticked by since your last text as he sits there stewing. He knocks back the remainder of his beer, it’s mostly foam, “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“No, you’re not. Bob hasn’t even performed the dance routine to “Thriller” yet,” Nat says, pinning him to his stool with a look, “Come on, Bradley, just invite her here.” She reaches overs and squeezes his shoulder. “You’ve been seeing her for a couple months now. You’re clearly into her, and you wouldn’t disappear on us as much as you do if she wasn’t into you too. This is a low stakes environment with everything going on and people off having fun doing their own thing. And the two of you can still go and do whatever you’re going to do after.”

“I don’t know, Phoenix, she might dump him when she sees what he’s wearing at a Navy bar on Halloween,” Hangman drawls, unhelpfully, grinning around that damn toothpick.

“Shut it, Bagman,” they both say simultaneously.

“Just throw it out there and see what she says.” Nat slides out of her seat, the beads on her dress scraping against the edge of the stool. “Now, we’re going to let you panic in peace for a few minutes while we get another round.”

“We’re?” Jake asks slowly, deliberately drawing out the word.

“Yep,” she confirms, the look on her face leaving no room for arguments as she tugs him off his seat. “And you’re paying, let’s go.”

Bradley scrubs a hand over his face, but not before he sees Nat punching Seresin in the arm on their way to the bar.

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden, he’s never had an issue asking girls out before. Not that he’s ever had to work that hard for it, but still.

His knee bounces on the foot rest as he works out what to say. He types out the message and gives it a quick once over and hits send before he can overthink it.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:42pm: I’d never say no to you or a pumpkin shaped pizza. But I’m actually at a Halloween party right now at the bar near base with some friends. And I’m thinking you should stop by.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:42pm: I’m sorry it’s a last minute invite, but it’s always a good time and I think you would have fun. I’d like to see you, if “ur up” for it.

He tries not to dwell on the fact he just double texted you, a thing he didn’t know he should be worried about before Fanboy warned him about doing it.

It’s like he’s been hit by lightning the way he shoots up in his seat when he sees those little dots appear on the screen. Rooster holds his breath when they start and stop a few times, each time they disappear and come back again his heart pounds a little harder in his chest.

You, 10:44pm: I’m all in. What’s the address?

All the bubbles from the beer he’d had earlier swarm and rush to his head at once as he drops you a pin.

Nat pushes a shot of bourbon towards him across the table when they return. “Did it go well?”

He nods. “She’s on her way.”

“Good, because you know Halloween is my favorite holiday and your sulking was bringing the vibe down.”

He chuckles, there’s no way he’s beating those whipped allegations now.

She clinks her own shot with his and they throw them back together, the warmth of the expensive tasting liquor sticks behind his sternum.

The next thirty minutes are the longest of Rooster’s life. His head swings to the front door every time it opens, hoping that it’ll be you outlined by the purple, green, and orange string lights.

When he sees you come through the swiftly deflating balloon arch scanning the bar for him, he almost does a double take.

You’ve got on a black and white polka dot top, the cuffs are a flared ruffle that are tied with a bow at your wrist. Your skirt is plain black, but the way it hugs your hips leaves little to the imagination. He can’t even begin to guess what you’re dressed as because other than the night he met you, it’s the most clothes he’s ever seen you in.

Excluding those little silky matching sets you’re usually wearing when he comes over. But those don’t usually stay on too long before they end up on the floor of your living room. Or bedroom. Or kitchen.

He usually has to leave before you, so he’s usually headed out your front door while you’re still wrapped up in one of those fluffy white towels you have. He’s enjoying seeing you here in his favorite bar in that outfit and heading towards him like you’re just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

“Huh, if I'm not mistaken I’m pretty sure that’s what I sent you into work in this morning,” you say, grinning up at him and lightly tugging on the zipper of his flight suit. “Are you supposed to be a Walk of Shame?”

Bradley wraps an arm around you because he can’t help himself. “Please, we all know it’s called the Stride of Pride. It’s never a shame when I get laid.” He presses his fingertips into the swell of the top of your ass before leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear, “Plus, I didn’t have time to go home and grab my costume because someone lured me back into bed this morning.”

He had to do 200 extra push-ups and stay behind to do paperwork as penance for being late the third time that week, but it was worth it. But by the time he was finished, the sun was already well on its way to setting. If he’d been a bit more forward thinking he would have brought the costume he had planned with him, instead of thinking he’d have time to swing by his house to change. Bradley didn’t think it was too much of a let down for you, not with the way you’re looking at him. It’s that same heated way that tells him you’re remembering your reaction to it the first time you’d ever seen him in it.

“Sounds like poor planning on your part,” you tease, your finger tracing the edge of his nametag. “I can’t believe you’re wearing your work clothes to a Halloween party, Rooster.”

“Ok, funny girl. Tell me then, what’re you supposed to be?” He takes a step back and gives you a blatant once over, taking his time admiring the shape of you from your head to your toes in some wicked looking heels and back up again.

Maybe if things went well tonight, you’d leave them on for him later when he gets you alone.

“That’s for me to know, and for you to spend the night guessing,” you smirk, the curve of your mouth promising mischief. “But I think you’ll like it once you figure it out.”

“Bradshaw, are you going to introduce us to your sexy librarian?” Hangman hollers, waving the two of you over back to the table with his hat. Bradley doesn’t hear as much as he sees the oof that comes out of the blonde when Phoenix sends an elbow into his side.

Rooster glances at you with a raise of his eyebrow and you shake your head. Not a sexy librarian then.

“I take it you know the rodeo clown?”

He tips his head back and laughs, already looking forward to telling Hangman. “I do. And Gracie Lou Freebush over there too.”

You wave over at Nat, gesturing to her costume and mouth obsessed, before turning back to him to ask, “Is that gun real?”

“I’m too afraid to ask,” he jokes, only half kidding. “C’mon let me get you a drink, I have an in with the bartender.”

“Are you trying to show off for me, Bradley?”

“Definitely.” He reaches out and toys with the end of the bow on your sleeve. “Is it working, Leslie Knope?”

You just send him that devastating smile of yours and thread your fingers through his. “I think I'm going to have so much fun with this tonight.”

“But full disclosure, you see Napoleon Bonaparte?” He points over to where Mav is behind the bar wearing tasseled shoulder pads pouring pints behind the bar next to a bedazzled Penny in a white neoclassical style dress. “That’s my godfather and his fiancée.”

You school the surprise on your face quickly. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you a nepobaby?”

“That’s a story for another time.” He chuckles, carefully winding his way around a Fred Flintstone and a Deviled Egg to the bar. “Be warned though, the Blue Slime Sipper is lethal. I had four last year and put on an a cappella performance of the Ghostbusters theme song.”

“Please tell me someone has a video of that,” you laugh.

“I called in every favor I had to get all evidence of that particular performance erased.”

At the bar, you order two Blue Slime Sippers looking the picture of innocence as you admire the giant spider affixed to the top of the bar by the till, even though he knows better.

One for him and one for you.

He briefly introduces you to Penny and Mav, trying to keep it casual. Thankfully, it’s busy enough that there’s not more time for small talk or jokes about the frosted tips he had when he was thirteen.

Their guess at a modern day I Love Lucy was also met with a no.

But he’s pretty sure Mav’s attempt to stealthily shoot him two thumbs up after you get your neon blue colored drinks fails based on the way your lips are pressed together in an attempt to smother the smile that he sees toying at the corners of your mouth.

Over the course of the night, it becomes a game that the rest of the team joins in on as he introduces them to the girl he’s been hung up on for weeks.

You help him kick Payback and Fanboy’s asses at the Eyeball Beer Pong that Penny had set up outside on the deck.

“Damn, Lawyer Barbie has an arm,” Fanboy says, the spring of the Slingy Dog costume sagging sadly between him and Payback, watching as you sink another doodled on ping-pong ball into a cup.

“I think we need a rematch,” Payback countered after their loss, “Flight Attendants have great hand-eye coordination, it’s an unfair advantage.”

Both guesses were met with a no.

When you side with Nat over Death Becomes Her as the best, but most underrated, Halloween movie, she throws her hands up in victory, “Thank you! Finally, someone with good taste… Olivia Pope?”

It’s another no, but he’s happy to see how much fun you’re having with his friends.

Between the riotous costume contest voting, and the one-man performance of “Thriller” that Bob puts on, and the pumpkin tic-tac-toe, Rooster has a lot of fun making his own guesses.

Except for the time he offers up Miss Bliss, he nearly chokes on his Cauldron Cooler when you ask him, “Is that a porn thing?”

Which in hindsight, he probably should have specified from the show Saved by the Bell, that he only knew because he’d been into Tiffani Amber Thiessen as a kid, but he doesn’t get to because you’re too busy delightedly laughing at his near spit-take.

He sticks close to your side, an arm slung over your shoulder or around your waist. There’s a moment when he gets worried he might be smothering you, but then you’d lean your head on his shoulder and he figured you were right where you wanted to be.

The two of you step outside when the Monster Mash smashburger contest starts up, the song following you to the sun-bleached wooden deck.

There are less people out here now, a few people are stationed behind the ping-pong table and others are seated on the picnic tables chatting and swapping stories. Most of his friends had stayed inside to cheer on Coyote’s attempt to hold onto his burger eating crown.

It’s the first time all night that he has you on your own, and while he appreciates how welcoming his friends are with wanting to make you feel included and slipping in more than a few jokes at his expense, he’s ready to have you to himself for a while.

But first.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re supposed to be?” He runs a finger along the ruffle down the front of your shirt. “I think I’ve lost count of how many failed attempts I’ve made now and It’s starting to take a toll on my ego.”

“How about this, you tell me what you were supposed to be and then I’ll tell you what my costume is,” you offer, playfully.  

You’re still toying with him like a cat does a string and he doesn’t mind a single bit.

He steps in close, winding an arm around your low back pulling you in close. “James Bond,” he says, enjoying the way your eyes light up.

“Now that’s something I would love to see,” you murmur, running your hand along his arm. “Not that the flight suit isn’t working for me.” He grins smug because he knows exactly how much this flight suit works for you.

Rooster shakes his head amused. “I’ll put it on for you later if you want.” He grins smug because he knows exactly how much this flight suit works for you, but you haven’t seen him in a tux yet. “Now, I’ve been dying to know since the moment you walked in, what are you dressed as?”

You grin, wide and bright, like you’ve been waiting for this all night.

“Your future girlfriend, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Bradley doesn’t waste a moment bringing both of his hands to your face and getting his lips on yours. A surprised noise escapes from the back of your throat before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer.

Your full lips soften under his demanding ones, the sensual slide of your lips against his has him desperate for more. His tongue chases after the sweetness of your mouth. He can’t get enough of it.

He can’t get enough of you.

“So I take it, you like my costume then?” you ask against his lips.

“I’m about to go swipe that trophy from Cousin Itt because yours is the best one here by far.” You giggle when he pulls you back in to kiss you again- or tries to. “C’mon, sweetheart, I need you to cooperate here. I’m trying to kiss my girlfriend.”

But then his teeth click against yours because now you’ve got him smiling too.

You skim another soft kiss against his mouth and lean back. “You know, I did have a back-up costume, just in case things didn’t go well.” You put a finger up and twist a little in his arms to rummage in your purse. And when you turn back towards him you’ve got a bright red clown nose on your face.

“Are you kidding me? The only clown here is Seresin.” He chuckles and gently pulls it from off your nose. “I’ve been trying to figure out how lock this down for weeks now. That tux was going to be my ace. It’s about a half size too small, but I figured it might do the trick to make things more official. It’s a good thing I’ve got a girl who knows what she wants.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Bradshaw. I still want to see you in it.”

“I can make that happen. Especially since that means I get to take you home with me tonight.” He drops a kiss on your cheek. “I’ve got an idea about what we can be next year though.”

“It’s not even midnight yet, and you’re thinking about next year?”

Bradley shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m all about playing the long game. Just want to give you something to look forward to.”

“Let’s hear it then,” you say, giving him an expectant look.

“Considering how we met and all, I think contestants from Supermarket Sweep would be a solid choice for us. There’s nothing sexier than some khakis and sweatshirts.”

You look delighted and amused and like his.

“Done. You know I am a big fan of you in a pair of khakis.”

Rooster tugs you to him again needing to taste your grin. He hears a cheer go up inside of the bar, probably for whoever won the contest, but he pretends it’s for him.

After all, he’s the one who got the girl.

Happy Halloween! I'm dropping a smitten Rooster into everyone's candy bucket this year! Thank you for reading!

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[kaivenom]

Hi, my sister in arms. I have a request for you: Can you make a one-shot based in Descendants about Harry x reader x Uma, please? I can pay you in cookies, in chickens, in lands, or whatever you like. Thank you.

Lazy Nights on Hook's ship

Summary: being part of Uma's crew made life incredibly crazy, but sometimes, when the stress of commanding the territory fades away, you three can relax and spent a good time.

Pairing: Harry Hook x reader x Uma

Masterlist

This week was particulary rough, some revolts on the frontiers of the port, some betrayals from the crewmates and all the other things that come with the life on the island.

You are stood right in front of the Hook's family ship, with a bag of soft muffins, the best you could make with the bad ingredients on the island. You entered the ship turned into house and inmediately felt the warmth of cooking, apparently they started without you.

You walked to the kitchen guided by the sweet humming of a sailor song. Uma was sitting on the table, drinking some ron from a fancy cup while Harry was stirring up some dough.

"Hi gorgeous." inmediatly, a smile appeared on Harry's face.

"Hi, there, beautiful:"

You put the muffins on the counter, while Harry opens his mouth to ask for a piece. You smiled and placed a muffin on his mouth, giving him little perks on the cheeks and lips after. He made a small cute giggle and continue stirring while you went towards Uma and placed your hands on his shoulders.

"How is my favourite captain?" now it's her time to be showed in kisses.

"Good, better know that the three of us are together." her hand caressing your arm.

The humming continued, now the three of you contrinuting. Harry put the cookies on the oven, with a couple of kicks to make it work. You took your usual place on his lap while placing your legs on top of Uma's.

The ron and the card games were rolling between your hands for half an hour, waiting for the ding of the old hoven to sound. It's incredible to think about how their behavious changes when the three of you are together, and alone. Uma laughs more truly and Harry shows out his sweet spot.

"He was being an asshole, he is lucky i only broke his nose."

"No, no... you did it because he was looking at our little thing."

Uma's hand brushed you hair carefully, attaching you know with kisses. An innocent laugh escaped your lips while they both started to tickle you.

Suddently the ding on the hoven sounded, finally letting you start what you've been craving all week. The cookies and the muffins were ready, the drinks placed on the small dinning table in front of the old TV, the popcorn only needed two minutes to be made so easy task.

You three sat on the squeaky couch and set the TV on. Like always, there was nothing interest rather than Auradon TV and villain correctional chanel, but you three always liked to make jokes and make fun of the first one.

After a long week on the island of the lost, you know that no matter what, you always have Uma and Harry around to relax and be loved.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Give Me Some Sugar

This is 1000% percent based on the new episode lol

dad!buck x mom!reader

summary: Buck and your daughter, Sophie make cookies together

“Alright,” Buck tells your daughter as he puts her on one of the chairs from the kitchen table that he moved in front of the sink so she could reach it. “Scrub ‘em like I taught you. Count to twenty.” 

As Sophie’s washing her hands, he takes the hair tie he had on his wrist and puts her hair up in a bun the way he’s seen you do a million times and he can’t help but smile as he hears her counting under her breath. 

She looks just like you, but her personality is all her. Well, except maybe for the fun facts she’s always giving the two of you which she definitely got from Buck. He loves that little girl with everything that he is and he can’t imagine his life without her. The night you asked him to watch her because you had to work, he knew that they were going to be the best of friends. And they are, always attached at the hip and you can often never find one without the other.

“Twenty,” she says and turns off the water before Buck puts her down on the floor so she can dry her hands on the dish towel that’s hanging from the cabinet. 

Buck then grabs the chair and moves it to the island where he’s got all the baking supplies that the two of them had gotten out because she had insisted on making cookies and he just can’t ever seem to say no to his little girl. He knows it’ll be a problem later on, but for right now, he thinks it’s just fine since she really doesn’t ask for much.

“Daddy,” she says, holding her arms up and Buck turns around to see she’s making granny hands at him. 

“I thought that since you turned five that you were too old to be held,” he joked. He’s going to give Sophie whatever she wants and she knows it. 

“I want airplane,” she says and Buck lets out a sigh. He can never say no when she juts out that little lip. So he picks her up and holds so his arms are wrapped around her stomach and legs as she holds her arms out. 

Buck is making all the plan noises as the two of them move about the kitchen and into the living room, the most joyous giggles spilling from Sophie’s mouth and its music to Buck’s ears. It sounds just like yours somehow and his heart warms even more when he hears the two of you laughing together. His girls making his most favorite sound in the world is something he never gets tired of hearing.

“Prepare for landing,” he says like he’s speaking into a walkie talkie as he moves back into the kitchen, setting her back onto the chair, those adorable giggles still going. 

“Alright, princess, arms up,” he commands and she does as he asks, Buck putting an apron over her and tying it at the back. "So what kind of cookies are we making?" He asks, squatting down ever so slightly so they can be eye to eye. 

"Mommy's favorite," she replies and now he understands. Sophie wanted to make cookies for you. And he knows there isn’t a specific reason why, she just wants to do something she knows will make you happy. 

"Let's get started then." He reaches for his phone to pull up the recipe he knows you love since you've made it more times than he can count and then the two of them get started. “We want them to be done before she gets home from work, right?” 

Buck lets her do most of the work since she insists on it and only helps when she needs it, like turning on the stand mixer or measuring out the ingredients. And as the two of them make the dough, he can’t help but think about how a few years ago, he didn’t even think that this was a possibility for him. He thought he was going to be single forever and then you came along. 

You had met at the grocery store because Buck had been behind you in line, doing whatever he could to make the baby in your arms laugh. You had struck up a conversation and before you knew it, you had gone on multiple dates and then he proposed and then you got married and now he had adopted Sophie and you’re all living in the house that you bought together where you’re all living happily ever after. 

The cookies are in the oven and Buck is letting Sophie lick the beater from the stand mixer while he puts the dishes into the sink so he can wash them later. Sophie holds the beater out to Buck when he’s done and he takes it, licking the other side, nodding in approval at the taste of the dough. 

“Soph, I think you’ve outdone yourself,” he says as he throws the beater into the sink along with the other dishes. “And because you’ve been such a good little helper, I’ll let you have a cookie before dinner. It’ll be our little secret,” he winks and Sophie grins. 

“We should put on some music while we wait for the cookies to be done. Does the princess have any requests?” He asks as he pulls out his phone and Sophie immediately replies with the name of the movie she’s currently obsessed with and Buck is quick to put it on, the familiar music now filling the kitchen. 

Sophie’s singing along and Buck can’t help but join in, grabbing a wooden spoon and singing into it before pointing it towards Sophie and she grins, singing into it while Buck scoops her into his arms. The two of them dance around the kitchen as their voices get louder and louder, and when the oven goes off, they don’t even hear the front door close. 

You walk into the kitchen with the pizza you told Buck you were going to get for dinner and your heart melts as you watch the two of them dance around the kitchen, singing along to one of the songs that Sophie always made you play in the car. 

“What’s going on here?” You ask as you set the pizza and purse on the kitchen table and Buck and Sophie turn towards you, Buck setting the cookie sheet on the counter then turning down the music before setting her down so she can greet you. 

“Mommy!” She says as she hurries over to you and you’re quick to scoop her up into your arms before you give each other a tight hug. “We made you cookies,” she says as she pulls back to look at you. 

“Oh, did you?” You ask as your gaze moves to Buck who’s making a beeline for you. Your free arm wraps around his waist while one of his rests on your shoulders while his other hand is on Sophie’s back, the three of you in a group hug. “It’s been a long day and I think I need some sugar,” you tell them and they each lean in, pressing sweet, smacking kisses to your cheeks. 

You let go of them then set Sophie down as Buck grabs plates from the cabinet where they’re kept before passing them out. He then retrieves beverages, making sure that Sophie has her juice in her favorite cup and gets water for you and him. 

You all dig in, eating and making conversation like you do every night and once dinner’s done and the three of you do the dishes, you all sit on the couch to watch Sophie’s current favorite movie as you eat the cookies, deciding that there’s no place you’d rather be than right there with your two favorite people who made cookies for you just because they wanted to.

[starkeyisthelastname]

Stepbro!rafe getting protective of his baby girl and (future) wife in public but trying not to be too obvious and reveal their secret. Then he’s just like fuck it

You entered the Island Club with Sarah and the baby, sitting down at a table to eat lunch. The two of you gossiping about whatever, while baby girl Cameron, sat on your lap. She was six months old and the light of the family’s eyes. Babbling about and starting to eat solid foods, she was growing to fast. It worried you just how much she looked like Rafe, afraid someone would figure how that she was your step-brother’s baby. From her blue eyes, to her slightly elvish ears, she was his twin, only having your lips and nose.

From across the dining area over by the bar, Rafe watched the three of you interact. Topper was in his ear about something, but he paid him no mind as he brought the chilled glass up to his lips, day drinking his problems away. With his baby, getting older and the attachment growing closer, he was getting irritated at the fact he couldn’t show how he really felt towards you or the daughter that you both shared.

That’s until he saw the pogues walk in, heading over to the exact table you sat at. His blood boiled as he watched JJ kneel down, making silly faces at the baby girl in your lap. She wasn’t use to strangers, getting in her face and you were way too nice to say anything. His jaw tensed as he noticed your body language a bit uncomfortable. You didn’t necessarily have a problem with Sarah’s friends, but you didn’t like being bombarded either.

It was the wobble to the baby’s girl’s chin and big blue eyes filling with tears that completely set him off. Setting the glass down, he walked over to the table in quick strides.

“Sup, pogues.” He said, his height towering over everyone. “I think you should get out of here before they kick you out.” Tone as serious as ever.

John B and Pope stayed silent, while JJ laughed, Kie trying to stop him from starting anything. “Come on man, I’m just trying to see my favorite little kook.” The blonde said, trying to see the baby girl who was now crying.

Rafe had held back, trying his best to be distant even if the pogues were around. He didn’t want to give anyone a reason to think that he knocked his step-sister up and got her pregnant. But seeing the hands of his enemy touch his precious gift had him completely snapping.

“Get your filthy hands off my fucking kid.” Rafe gritted out, snatching the baby from you and silently telling you to come on with a nod to his head. You slowly stood up, following behind Rafe. Sarah and the others in complete shock.