#not going along with the group doesn’t mean you think the group is wrong

[loverboy1717]

Hey so head canons about appearance when there is not a lot of concrete descriptors in the source material are very much up to the listener. Y’all gotta stop acting like people who don’t agree with the hive mind of this fandom are fat phobic or racist.

My personal, original, character headcanons before becoming active in the online fandom:

John:

Short, neatly combed hair. British south Asian who dressed in like elbow patches and bullshit hipster glasses he didn’t even need but wore cus he wanted to look like a distinguished professor. First edition books on his desk. The kinda dude who smokes a pipe for the aesthetic and refuses to drink well drinks at the bar. Basically a pretentious little twink so kinda on the money with the popular opinions tbh.

Martin:

Curly light brown hair. Clean shaven. Freckles and the kinda pale skin that gets blotchy/flushed easily. Grandad glasses but not like in a trendy way. In a thrift store cus he’s poor kinda way. In my head he has medium build. Like not muscled or fit, but not plus sized either. Just tall and solid with threadbare lil sweaters and he absolutely decorated his institute lanyard with vintage broaches. Rarely wears matching socks.

Tim:

Tim in my head is just Phil Wang in like California surfer fits. Dude wears board shorts and flip flops with his collared short sleeved shirts and ties. Really good at beer pong and pub quizzes.

Sasha:

Jessica Brown Findlay meets Angel Colby but like with hip style and ink smudges on her fingers and a cheekier attitude. Catherine Bohart personality vibes would be a close comparison but not quite on the money.

Elias:

Artfully dyed grey hair to hide his actual grey hair with that 1920-30 little bang wave. Lean but not like scrawny. Slacks, perfectly ironed dress shirts, douchebag Patagonia vests. His loafers cost more than a years rent in central and he has days of the week cuff links. He has the fake corporate smile that promises shitty snacks and forced ice breaker games and incredibly polished generic conversations.

Gertrude:

Lily Tomlin if she were British and way more serious. Yes, this makes me laugh now too.

Basira:

Literally just one of my friends but butched up a bit. (Sorry that’s not helpful for y’all’s imagination) intense when it comes to studying and pushing herself. Button ups and slacks and sensible shoes.

Daisy:

Long box black hair always in a bun but but with an under cut. Strong af but not bulky. Mean lesbian vibes. Sleeves always rolled up to her elbows and her shirts tucked in.

Melanie:

My self insert character. Bi bitch. Backwards baseball cap. Jeans and converse or docs. Oversized sweatshirts. Not cute knit sweaters but like old band crew necks and hoodies and soccer kits. (If anybody would love to go scream at the opposition fans it’s Melanie okay)Nose ring, messy hair to her shoulders. Always looking for a fight and a puzzle to solve.

Georgie:

Rose Matafeo if she was less chaotic and more put together. A wearer of Overall dresses with colorful tights and floral printed cardigans. A lover of tote bags and planners. She has a sticker of The Admeral on her hydro.

[gawayne]

ughh SORRY BUT I HAVE TO SAY IT the people you meet in engineering are just by and large so unpleasant I hate it here

[charliemwrites]

Unhinged obsessive Johnny Thoughts™️? Unhinged obsessive Johnny Thoughts™️.

Johnny didn’t mean to. He swears he didn’t mean to, please understand.

You’re his favorite server at his favorite bar. He finds every excuse he can to drag one or all of his team there. Yes he likes their company, of course. Likes spending time with them, laughing and joking and building bonds outside of life or death situations. But you are the highlight of those nights.

You smile so sweetly, a little cheeky twist whenever he gets all of the 141 there together. You know all their names - or their callsigns at least. Call Price “captain” with a giggle whenever he groans at you to stop calling him that.

Johnny adores you. Sometimes when he’s alone at the table - the others off smoking or playing pool - you’ll stop by. You don’t have to, but you do, chatting until one of the other servers teases to stop flirting and help bus.

You always blush when they shout that, but never deny it. Leave him with one last warm smile and a promise to top up his drink for listening to you ramble. As if he couldn’t live with your voice in his ears all the time.

You tell him about your masters program. Complain about shitty customers. Admit you broke up with your last boyfriend for calling your hobbies a “silly waste of time.” The movies you’ve seen or watch for nostalgia. He knows when your playlist is on at the bar because you spend your entire shift bouncing and mouthing along whenever you’re not handling a customer.

It’s a slow infection. A creeping, insidious thing that seeps into his blood and corrupts him from the inside out. This awful, twisting devotion for you.

He knows to be careful, loathe to be one of those men you avoid like the plague, trading with other servers to handle. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He’s happy with the flirting and the little kindnesses, happy that you always light up when you see him. That you breathe a quiet “thank you” and squeeze his arm the one time he steps in one a handshake customer on your behalf.

It’s enough. He reminds himself that it’s enough. He doesn’t deserve more than you’re willing to give. He can’t give you the life you deserve yet.

But then one day things go wrong. So, so wrong.

There’s been a rowdy group of men that have been harassing the younger servers all night. You stepped in, older and more experienced, practiced at not giving them the reactions they want. It’s another of the things Johnny loves about you. You don’t need a mask like Ghost to hide your face.

One them especially tries antagonize you, even manages to earn a sharp word when he says something crass. Johnny tenses when the guy (buddies following suit) starts getting loud, aggressive. Towering over you when he knocks over his barstool, trying to intimidate.

Johnny shoves the guy away from you before it can get much farther. Relief washes over you as the owner, a big burly man, finally makes an appearance and kicks the lot of them out.

“A whiskey on the house for Soap,” you ask the bartender, hand pressed to your chest. “My knight in a cotton sweater.”

He smiles for your sake, mind buzzing to see you so shaken up.

“Alright, lass?”

“Yeah, just spooked me is all,” you sigh, a hand to your cheek now. “Think I’m gonna step out for some air. Thank you again, John.”

He lets you go, even though every molecule in his body urges him to bundle you up under his arm, safe and sound. Take you somewhere quiet to smooth your feathers.

Something doesn’t feel right.

He manages to wait exactly one minute and seventeen seconds before he tells a blasted Gaz that he’s going to the bathroom. When he steps out the back door, you’re being cornered by the man, two of his friends hanging back telling him to “leave it alone” but not actually doing a fucking thing to stop him.

So Johnny does. Honestly, he blacks out for a second. The next thing he knows, he’s cradling you in his arms, his knuckles stinging and bloody. The men are nowhere to be found but there’s a pool of blood in the alleyway. You’re unconscious, fainted sometime in the scuffle - or maybe hit your head.

Johnny isn’t himself. He’s not thinking. He’s used to keeping his cool with guns pressed to his head, but this is different. This is you.

He doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t but it’s the best he can come up with when he just got a firsthand look at how dangerous the world is for you when he’s not around.

Please understand. He has to keep you safe.

[lcriedlastnight]

Enemies to lovers with Lando. Someone says something bad / criticises Lando in front of reader and she immediately defends him without knowing he’s behind her and can hear everything. And maybe as she’s defending him she’s also unknowingly/ without realizing / accidentally admitting her feelings for him

i love this idea! thank you so much anon, love!

tw: fem!reader, swears, logan hate (do not support!), little lando hate, not spellchecked or proof read, lmk if you want me to add anything else.

w/c: 2k

you and lando had never gotten along. you’d never gotten along and you’d never tried to. it was just one of those things, you supposed. you didn’t make a big deal out of it as the two of you shared a friend group and didn’t want to cause any issues between the group. lando however, well it seemed like he had a serious issue with you.

at first you did try to get along with him, his ego was massive and that really did put you off wanting to be friends with him but you could be fake a friendship with him. a friendship out of convenience was perfectly fine with you. lando was just having none of it. he’d ignore any conversation you would try to have with him - even in a group setting. you had tried just not talking to him but even that left you on the receiving end of dirty looks and mean comments. you’d had enough with it so you stopped caring about him entirely.

well that’s what you told your friends. in reality; you cared what he thought, you looked for his reaction to any story that was told in the room and you looked to see if he laughed at your jokes. every single time you were left with blank stares and bored expressions.

your friends noticed this and tried their best to ease the tension between the two of you but because of lando’s stubbornness, there was nothing they could really do. he really did make things difficult sometimes.

you had all gathered around the drivers house to celebrate a mutual close friend’s birthday. you and you close girl friends had gotten ready for the get together at your house and headed to the party together.

“so is the vibe for tonight party or chilled?” your friend asks as you jump out of the taxi outside lando’s apartment complex. your other friend snorts in amusement before she replies.

“girl, we’re at lando’s what do you think the vibe is?”. you frown. the party vibe wasn’t really what the birthday boy enjoyed so you hoped for his sake it was more a chilled, hanging with friends vibe. you also didn’t really dress for a party, your favourite pair of jeans on as well as one of those cute baby tee’s you found on tiktok.

“i hope not. fin doesn’t really like parties.” you remind them as you press the buzzer for lando’s. it rings for a second then you hear his crackly voice through the speaker. “hello?”. he sounded sober. good start.

“can you let us in please?” you ask into the intercom. there is a pause before lando replies.

“no. we’re full.”

your friend rolls her eyes at his words, knowing all this is was because he was talking to you. if he would just stop acting like a dickhead for more than two seconds people could maybe get things done. meanwhile, you huff at lando’s words opening your mouth to complain to him but your friend cuts in. “just let us in, norris.”.

she sounds fed up enough already that lando immediately tells them to “head on up, then.” she storms ahead of you and your other friend. you look at each other with annoyed looks.

“to be fair it’s a good thing she did that because you haven’t fell into his traps in months.” she reminds you as you reach his door which was open waiting on you and your friend. you nod. it was true, ignoring lando was really going well for you… from your friends point of view anyways. your mind was still plagued with thoughts of him.

your friend walks in before you so make sure to close the door behind you.

“so i guess we were wrong. looks like it is a chill night.” you friend says as she sees your friends dotted around the place, conversing. it looked very adult. weird for something lando was in charge of planning. you didn’t know he was capable of being anything except snide and rude. maybe he could be thoughtful and caring to the people he loved. the thought makes you frown but before you can linger on it for too long your friend grabs you both a drink and you take seats on his couch.

you notice you’re the last ones to arrive and try to find your friend that stormed off earlier. your eyes rake around the room until they land on her sitting with fin, the birthday boy. they looked cosy. ‘good for them’ you think as you take a sip of your drink. you notice lando sitting with his friend, max, on the couch next to you. you glance in his direction then redirect your eyes.

after maybe half an hour of socialising and drinking, fin announces (with your other friend hanging off his arm) that he wants to play a game of truth or dare. you thought it was a bit childish but everyone agreed so you did too. you all sit in a circle and decide to place a bottle in the middle.

“this is so high school.” you say to your friend, who just laughs in agreement. you had ended up sitting next to max on one side and your friend on the other. you quite liked max, he was nothing like lando, which helped you like him a lot more.

“since it’s my birthday, i’ll go first!” fin says as he spins the bottle. it lands on max. fin grins before asking the question you know you’re going to be tired of hearing after tonight.

after a couple of rounds a few of you disperse to get drinks and use the toilet. you were pretty sure some went for a smoke break. you didn’t even know anyone where smoked. lando was one of the people that had left, he went to the kitchen to get a drink for him and max. the good thing about not being able to let anyone know you were staring at lando was that you got good at lip reading and hearing things from a distance. you also got good at seeing things out of the corner of your eye. it was during your turn when lando asked max if he wanted another drink. you felt like you were keeping tabs on the boy, you were starting to feel a bit creepy as you answered your question.

the game continues as people (lando) leave. it was your friend turn but she was a bit more than drunk and would only accept a question from fin, the man she was clinging to all night.

you can all see the wheels turning in fin’s mind as he thinks up a question. “how good of a driver do you think lando actually is?” he finally asks.

everyone perks up at the question, wanting to see if your friend had any unpopular opinions on lando’s driving skills.

“he’s shit. like- that’s him just won his first race? after racing for like five years? that doesn’t really scream future world champion does it?” she criticised, words slurred. your face is screwed up in disagreement. you bite your tongue though, knowing she was drunk and probably just wanted to start something. you’re sure you heard someone gasp.

“you don’t really mean that?” another one of your friends asks in shock. your drunk friend only nods.

“i do. he’s bad. like he’s not logan sargent bad but he’s mid at best and i don’t understand the hype. i never have and i don’t think i ever will.” she smiles a little and that’s what gets you.

“i’m sorry are you being serious right now? firstly the audacity you have to sit there, shitfaced, bashing on the person who’s house you’re inside and who bought you the drinks in the first place is absurd,” you start, bring her down a peg. you hear footsteps behind you but you’re too pent up to acknowledge them right now.

“secondly, have you even watched a race? ever? or even recently? because if you had then you would know just how good he actually is. you’re sitting there talking about him like you know exactly how hard he worked to get to where he is and to achieve that win. millions of people - who actually watch the races, by the way - have said how difficult it is to end verstappen’s win streak and lando was the first person to do so this season.” you rant, enraged that she spoke about lando like that.

her mouth opens and closes a few times before she says, almost cockily. “carlos sainz won before lando did, in australia. you act like i don’t know shit about f1.”

“lando’s win means way more than carlos’ because max was still in the race in miami. he had the chance to actually win it, whereas in australia he dnf’d. so do you actually know what you’re talking about? i, along with like a million other people like lando and think he’s going to go very far the rest of the season.” you educate her. she should really know all of this seeing as you always told her every detail about the races on the mondays following.

“bitch.” she has nothing to retaliate with so she chooses to resort to name calling. you don’t even give her a reply and stand up to go outside to get some air. you stand up so quickly you don’t see the feet standing directly behind you or the hard chest you smash into. you could tell it was lando from the scent. was it weird? maybe but you didn’t care much. you’re embarrassed that he probably heard your rant defending him and that you just smashed right into his chest so you step backwards and head to lando’s balcony to sit outside with the smokers.

you rush outside and sit down in the far corner next to the railing. you watch the streets below for a few minutes, trying to forget what you had just done and who you had done it in front of. you feel lando looming over you a few minutes later.

“y’alright?” he asks as he takes a seat next to you. you feel uncomfortable a little, you’ve never been this close to him, even though that’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted for the past three years. and he’s being nice to you. lando have never been nice to you. ever. you’d seen him be nice to others, hundreds of times before so you knew what it was like, but you could only have dreamed of being on the receiving end of it.

“yeah.” you reply. you move your head from watching the cars pass on the road to rest your forehead on your tucked up knees.

“thank you for what you did… well said i guess. it was really nice of you.” lando starts, his hand sits awfully close to the edge of your shoe. it’s not touching but if you shuffled your foot a few times towards him, it would be.

“i know i don’t really deserve it. not from you anyways. you’ve always been so sweet to me and i’ve kinda been- well a dick.” you let out a breathy giggle at his choice of words.

“yeah. you have been a dick.” lando grins as you agree with him.

“what if i said i didn’t wanna be a dick to you anymore?” he said, you’re sure you heard a hint of shyness in his voice.

you move you’re head from it’s resting place to look at him in confusion. “you don’t? how do you want to treat me then?” you ask.

lando smiles. “like i should’ve been for the past god knows how long.” you give him your own smile back.

“for the record i like you too.” lando teases, his hand coming to clutch at your thigh. you groan.

“i hate you.” he laughs that laugh.

“no you don’t.” you rest your head on your shoulder and listen to the traffic. lando’s thumb rubs across your skin. his touch is soothing. this is the first nice memory you have with lando.

[plussizeficchick]

Close to You | Denki x Chubby!Reader

Summary; Denki doesn’t play when it comes to threats to your relationship, even at the expense of his friends.

Warnings: smut (p in v, implied cunnilingus, breeding kink (I mean it’s me😂) slight quirkplay) mean!Denki (but really only to his friend, he takes it out on your pussy though😣) dickhead!bakugo. Not proofread!

SN: I will be posting the Jungkook fic soon!!😭but this is just a little snack I had preplanned until then😉😂

You weren’t quite sure how you got here.

As soon as Denki stormed through your door, everything had been a bit of a blur. The only things you were able to make out of the senseless rambling was “fucking dickhead” “can make her come harder than anything” “gonna fuckin’ breed her”.

That, that had your pussy quivering.

While you were busy pondering what brought on this sudden shift in your boyfriend’s mood, Denki was thinking of all the different ways he was going to show everyone just how much you’re his.

— —

“Does he always talk to you like that?” Denki looks up at you from where his head is resting on your lap. “Who?” He asks, brows furrowed in confusion. 

You’d both decided it was time for you to meet his friends and he couldn’t have been more excited about it. You met with the group at a homey sports bar for the more relaxed atmosphere and besides a few minor flubs, he thought you all got along well. You and Mina made plans to get your nails done together, you recommended the rolling papers you use to Sero, and Kirishima hadn’t found someone with his sense of humor in ages. You even managed to bring Bakugo out of his shell, bouncing recipes off of one another seamlessly. So he wondered what went wrong.

“Bakugo, I don’t really like how he talks to you.” You try to convey without looking controlling. “Like when he calls you stupid and things like that. I mean he even had you running around, getting stuff for him today like you’re some “errand boy”.” “That’s just how he is,” Denki waves you off. He was used to Bakugo’s antics after having gone to school with him, so he knows better than to take it to heart. “And he doesn’t genuinely mean it when he calls me dumb.” He chuckles, focusing his attention back to what’s playing on TV. You sigh, a bit unsatisfied with his answer. “You know your friends better than I do,” You start, carding your fingers through his blonde tresses. “I just don’t think it’d kill him to be a bit kinder to you. You’re not in high school anymore, you don’t have to cater to him.” You say, pressing a kiss to his forehead. But what you said got him thinking.

— — 

If Denki was being honest, he was pretty accustomed to the way things were. And if he hadn’t met you, he was sure that this would’ve been his everyday life.

You hadn’t meant to initially, but you made him realize that there was a sort of hierarchy within his friend group with Bakugo at the head and after being with you for so long, he realized he was actually getting fucking sick of it.

Sure, Bakugo’s kind of behavior is expected when you’re a hormonal teen struggling with new emotions, but now it’s time to get a fucking grip.

He hadn’t even meant for everything to go down the way it did, but Katsuki’s nothing if not a shit starter.

— —

“and then Mina’s gonna pick her up so they can get their nails done. I’m pretty sure they’re gonna head back to (Y/N)’s place to get ready and we can pick them up from there.” Kirishima explained to Denki, whilst simultaneously narrowly dodging a blue shell in Mario Kart. Denki grunts in frustration, his character having slipped on a banana peel. “That sounds good, gives us plenty of time-” He’s cut off by Katsuki’s brash voice sounding from the couch. “Hey, Dunceface, go and get me a milk carton from the kitchen.”

Now, normally Denki would’ve made a playful comment about Katsuki being lazy before getting up and doing what he was told, but after being with you, after spending so much time working on bettering himself not just for you, but for himself, he’s not just gonna be walked all over anymore.

“Nah I’m in the middle of something, anyways, Kiri. I was think-” “HAH?! Did ya fuckin’ hear me? I wasn’t asking-” “Is it really that serious, Bakugo? I’m doing something so just get it yourself.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at Bakugo’s immaturity. Both Kirishima and Sero watch the display with baited breath, unsure why Kaminari suddenly has a death wish. Bakugo’s eyes widen at the blatant disrespect, sparks threatening to shoot from his hands, however, Kaminari doesn’t back down.

Katsuki narrows his eyes before a humorless chuckle escapes him, “Oh, I get it. Ever since Chubs decided to fuck with your dumbass you think you’re a big man. But no matter who you fuck, Dunceface you’ll always be the idiot who can’t function after using their quirk.” Bakugo practically spits. 

If Katsuki had said something like this around a year ago, Denki would’ve probably sulked and went to do what Bakugo had told him to, but now, he felt nothing but pure indifference. “You know something Bakugo, I really used to admire you,” Kaminari starts, a smug smirk making its way to Bakugo’s lips. “I really thought I wanted to be strong like you. But now, now I just feel sorry for you. I mean you spend everyday comparing yourself to Midoriya, you’re shitty to everyone who fucking cares about you and you’re so insufferable to everyone else that no one else genuinely WANTS to get near you.” A humorless chuckle leaves Denki’s own lips, grateful to finally get this off his chest. “You think people want to be around you because you’re cool when the only reason they can even stand to be near you is because of how dangerous your QUIRK is. People wouldn’t give a fuck about you otherwise.” Kaminari stands, collecting his stuff before moving towards the door, “I’ll see you guys later,” He emphasized to Kirishima and Sero. “Maybe you can get him to be an actual decent human being.” He scoffs, walking out of Kirishima’s apartment.

Bakugo’s left stunned, Kirishima’s shocked and Sero’s impressed. Though, it doesn’t take long for Bakugo’s shock to turn to anger, explosions ready to burst from his hands. “He’s. Fucking. DEAD!!” He exclaims, and that’s all it takes to snap Kirishima out of his stupor, trying his best to calm the explosive blonde down.

— —

It’s difficult for you to form a coherent thought with the sound of skin slapping against your ears.

You’re on your knees, arch pressed deep into your back as Denki slams his cock deep inside you. You gasp at the intrusion, but you have no time to recover as he sets an unforgiving pace. “He’s a fucking bitch. Doesn’t know shit.” He growls under his breath, hips canting against the fat of your ass, the sight of the rippling skin making his mouth water. You’re trying to talk, want to ask him what happened at Kirishima’s place, but then he’s slamming against that gummy spot deep inside and you keen. 

You’re limp, practically dead weight as Denki flips you over onto your back. He has your knees pressed against your chest, your pudgy tummy folded over as he slams his hips against yours, the fat jiggling deliciously. 

“Please,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath as he aims directly for your g-spot, your cunt clenching at his unforgiving pace. “Fucker thinks he knows shit about us, I’ll fucking show ‘im.” Denki mutters under his breath, cock throbbing at the warm wetness surrounding it.

He’s ravenous, tongue laving at your neck, sucking the skin harshly. You whine as his hands reach to pinch your nipples, your clit twitching signs of your impending release. “Please, baby. Let me cum, please.” You beg, tears threatening to pool in your eyes. The sight has Denki feeling a bit merciful, after all, you weren’t the one to rile him up. 

So he pulls back a bit, sitting back on his haunches to grind his cock deep inside you, hitting spots you couldn’t dare reach on your own. He guides one of his hands down to your clit, using little shocks from his quirk on the bundle of nerves.

The feeling sends a new wave of arousal gushing from your already sore cunt, but you’re nothing if not greedy for his cum. “Want you to cum in me, baby. Wanna feel you fill me up.” You murmur, cradling his face in your palms. You do your best to keep eye contact, though, with the way his cock is drilling inside you, the action is difficult. You connect your lips together and the act has Denki’s hips stuttering before he thrusts once, twice and he’s filling you up, snatching your nth orgasm unexpectedly from you.

You slowly pull away from each other, though Denki is sure to keep his cock nestled deep inside you, flipping you both over so that you’re on top of him. You trace shapes on his bare chest, slowly coming down from your highs. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?” 

Denki sighs as he thinks back on what led him here. There was no doubt that the dynamic in the friend group has shifted, whether that was in his favor or not remained to be seen but what he could see was right in front of him.

You.

You were his present and his future, and as he slips his cock out of your sore cunt and the rush of his cum gushes from you like a river, his mouth waters at the idea of this being his new everyday. He shakes his head as he pushes you to lay back, situating himself between his new home.

“Just wanted to be close to you.”

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @cherries-c0la @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon @c0pkiller

[moonstruckme]

Whimsical!reader x Shy!remus 🤭🤭🤭 like the boys always try and get Remus to go out with them and he always tries to say no but James promises that Lily has a friend Remus might get along with and Remus is just so entranced by Whimsical!reader that he starts to come out of his shell and James is all 😏 “If I would’ve known it would end up like this I would’ve had you bring her around sooner, Evans”

Thanks for requesting my love!

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader ♡ 933 words

“You can’t go home before ten,” Sirius insists, stepping through the front door as James chats with the party’s host, some co-worker of Lily’s. 

“I can go home whenever I want,” Remus says gruffly. 

“Give us an hour at least,” James negotiates as he breaks away from his conversation. He takes the lead of their little group automatically, navigating them through the house to the patio out back. “Lily’s friend is really sweet, I think you’ll like—hi!” His face splits open as he catches sight of his girlfriend, waving. 

He hurries over for a kiss. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” 

“I saw you this morning,” Lily reminds him, smiling against his lips. 

“Too long a period of separation. Terrible.” 

Despite the fact that they’re really being very tame, Sirius groans loudly. 

“You live together,” he complains, “don’t you think you could do this another time?”

Lily rolls her eyes at him, but James straightens, recalling his primary aim of the evening. 

“Right, this is Y/N,” he gestures to you, sitting with your feet tucked underneath you on the couch. He supposes you’ve found somewhere to stow your shoes away for the evening. “Y/N, this is Sirius” --Sirius shoots you one of his roguish half-grins. It slips a bit when you smile and nod politely, seemingly unaffected-- “and Remus.” 

Remus raises his hand in a little wave, but it does nothing to dim the lustrous smile you send him. James nudges his friend your way, going to sit with Lily and leaving Sirius to go in search of drinks. 

Lily’s done her job well. She’s chosen a quiet spot, tucked away at the fringes of the party, where you can enjoy the music without having to shout over it. James watches furtively as you take to Remus instantly, asking a steady stream of questions in your quiet, serene voice. Remus seems a bit tense, as if wary of some unknown form of verbal attack, but James is assured that he’ll relax soon. That tends to be your effect. 

You’re an odd bird, but mellow in a way James suspects will appeal to his reticent friend. Over the years, he’s found that Remus doesn’t need to be pulled from his shell so much as he needs people to crawl in there with him. You seem like you’d be exactly the right fit. 

“Neither of you are subtle,” Sirius says, returning with drinks for the three of them. “They’re going to scare if you keep staring at them like that.” 

“Shit.” Lily turns quickly, accepting her drink and fixing her attention deliberately on Sirius. “Do you think they’ve noticed?” 

“No,” James says. He has to hide a smile in his drink as you take one of Remus’ hands in both of your own. Remus’ face has turned stop-sign red, but you’re oblivious, running your fingers over his palm with tender care. “I think they’re too caught up in each other to pay us much mind.” 

“What the hell are they doing?” Sirius leans against the back of the chair Lily and James are sharing. 

Lily is visibly restraining herself from turning around to see what he’s talking about. James laughs, dipping his head to kiss her freckled shoulder. 

“I think it’s a palm reading.” 

“Oh, she’s freaky good at that,” Lily says. “I mean, I don’t want to believe in it and I don’t think I do, but she hasn’t been wrong yet.” 

James raises his eyebrows at her. “That’s a lot, coming from you.” 

His girlfriend scowls, sipping her drink. “I don’t like it.” 

“I can’t believe Moony’s blushing just from her holding his hand like that,” Sirius marvels. He shakes his head, astounded. “This has got to be the most prudish flirting I’ve ever seen.” 

“I’m not even sure she’s trying to flirt with him,” James admits. “I think this is just the way she is.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Whatever it is, it’s working. Look at his mouth.” 

James does. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Lily evidently can’t stand it any longer. She turns around, but frowns when she sees nothing. “What is it?” 

“He’s got his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth,” James explains, leaning over to align her vision with his. “See that little bump? That’s his tell. He’s trying not to smile.” He sits back, smug. “He likes her.” 

The more James watches, the more obvious it becomes. The faint flush that’s spread across Remus’ freckles, never really going away. The way he holds eye contact with you unfailingly, when ordinarily he’d be dropping his gaze. The tongue-tuck, which slips up occasionally as a bashful grin lifts the corners of his mouth. 

James doesn’t know you as well as Lily does, but he thinks you must like Remus too, from the way you keep talking to him without ever looking for your friend to come rescue you. Soon the conversation seems to have found its rhythm, with Remus contributing as much as you do. He starts teasing you, a familiar hand on your knee or a quirked eyebrow at something you say, and you eat it up. Your laughter tinkles like windchimes, floating over the party even after he, Lily, and Sirius have stopped paying attention. 

You move closer together over the course of the night. James’ one-hour stipulation passes, then another. Eventually, Lily is ready to go home and Remus hasn’t brought it up once. Probably distracted by the whisper of air separating his nose from yours. 

James whistles softly. “Evans, if I’d known this would go so easily I wouldn’t have you bring her around a long time ago.” 

[tropes-and-tales]

Good Girl

Day 2:  Dry humping (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; praise kink; smut (dry humping; outercourse; whatever the youths call it now - clothed grinding and such); 18+ only.

Word Count:  2996

AN:  This is loosely related to the very loosely-formed Seresin cousin mini-series, found here. It was requested for Kinktober by @justreblogginfics!)

You and Bob continue your little dance for months.

You know the man likes you.  Every time you fly into town to visit your cousin Jake, Bob is always nearby, staring at you on the sly like a lovesick puppy.  He’s always just at the edge of the group gatherings—nights at the Hard Deck, parties at Nat’s house, afternoons at the beach—and you always feel those big blue eyes tracking your movements.

Everyone else notices it.  Harvard and Yale corner you at the Hard Deck, ask if you’ve noticed that you have an admirer.  Nat pulls you aside at her barbeque and obliquely gives you a rundown of Bob’s numerous good traits.  Only Jake holds his tongue, but you catch him narrowing his eyes at the WSO enough that you realize even your cousin—your cousin with his penchant for being self-centered, the handsome narcissist with the blinding smile—has noticed Bob’s crush too.

Bob never makes a move.

Nights at the Hard Deck when you blatantly lament being single.  The party at Bob’s house where you stayed behind to help him clean up.  The little touches you chance:  brushing your hand against his, a light hand on his shoulder, friendly hugs…they are an invitation, but he doesn’t pick up on it.

It’s Rooster who clues you in.  The man takes your hand one night at the bar and tugs you outside where the ocean crashes along the shore in the darkness.  In the dim light, you can just make out the man as he peers down at you.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says.  “But you’re going about it all wrong.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You catch the white of his eyes as he rolls them.  “C’mon.  It’s obvious you like Bob, but you gotta make the move if you’re interested.  You gotta be blatant with him.  He won’t get it otherwise.”

“Why not?”  Your stomach twists unpleasantly; you wonder if perhaps you’ve misread the situation.  Maybe Bob has a crush, but maybe it’s just a crush, and maybe there’s someone else he loves and this is just a passing bit of madness—

“Guy’s a brilliant wizzo, but he’s clueless with women.”

Now you roll your eyes at Rooster, and he chuckles at the gesture.  

“I’m serious!” he continues, and he holds his hands up, helpless.  “I think he misread a situation once with a girl when he was younger, and I think it scared him off of making the first move.”

“That’s a terrible excuse.  I got food poisoning from bad tacos once but I still eat tacos.”

Rooster chuckles again.  “Yeah, but you women can be devastating when you reject us.  I think poor Baby on Board was crushed before and now he’s just a pining little asshole, staring at you from across the bar.”  

You shrug helplessly and glance back into the Hard Deck:  you can see Bob in profile, and you get the impression that he’s just turned away, that he didn’t want to get caught watching you.  Watching you and Rooster together, chatting outside, laughing outside.  You feel a wave of sympathy for what Bob must be thinking—that you’re flirting with Rooster, that maybe Bob has missed his chance.

You turn back to the pilot.  You square your shoulders.  “Okay, I hear you.  I’ll be the brave one.”  A beat as anxiety blooms in your chest, makes your ribcage feel a fraction tighter, makes it just a bit harder to draw a full breath.  “And you’re sure he likes me?  You aren’t misreading this somehow?  I don’t want to look like an idiot, Bradshaw.”

He laughs outright, and he hooks an arm around your neck to pull you into a friendly hug.  

“Ah, kid, he loves you.  You make the first move, he’ll probably go ring shopping next weekend,” he says, and he lays a smacking kiss on the side of your head before releasing you, shoving you gently back towards the bar.

-----

You may be confident, but that confidence doesn’t always extend into your romantic life.  Still, you decide to be brave.

You make the first move.

When you go back into the Hard Deck, you notice that Bob seems quieter than usual, and you guess that he saw the hug, the friendly kiss between you and Rooster.  You guess that he is drawing incorrect conclusions about what he thinks he saw, and you hate to think of him suffering needlessly.

You sidle up to him, and you feel another wave of tenderness towards the man when he turns to look at you—still with that soft smile on his face, a glimmer of hope in his eyes despite what he must be thinking.

“It’s too noisy in here,” you say close to his ear.  “I was going to take a walk on the beach.  Do you want to join me?”

The hope in his eyes turns blatant.  “Really?”

“Yeah.  You wanna go?  C’mon.”  You don’t give him a chance to stammer his way out of it; you thread your arm through his and tug him towards the door, and he follows you without any resistance. 

You catch Rooster’s eye, then Nat’s as you leave.  The former tips you a knowing wink.  The latter gives you a nod, and she lifts her glass in a salute.

You don’t release him until you’re at the water’s edge, and you bend down to untie your sneakers and peel out of your socks.  He hesitates a beat then joins you, and he rolls up the pants to his uniform so that his shins are bare.

The two of you walk along the shore in silence for a bit.  It’s one of the things you like best about Bob—how he lacks the braggadocio to always talk, to always fill up every bit of silence with the sound of his own voice.  You know he’s perhaps more shy than the average person, but he doesn’t seem undone by it.  He seems comfortable just to be himself:  quieter than most, willing to sit back and watch.  

Case in point:  you hold your shoes and socks in one hand, and you take his hand with your free one.  Maybe he’s nervous, but his palm is warm and dry, not sweaty or twitchy.  If he’s nervous, it’s not obvious.

And he breaks the silence, after a while.

“Growing up in the Midwest, I never even saw the ocean until I enlisted,” he says.  

“Same,” you reply.  “I mean, growing up in Texas, we went to Galveston a few times, but that was technically the Gulf, not the ocean.”

“You like it?”

You feel the water lapping around your ankles, the give of the sand underneath your soles.  “I do,” you admit.  “There’s something really peaceful about it, and I love poking around at low tide and looking for sea glass.”

He glances at you, and you can hear the teasing in his voice when he replies, “I’m gonna tell Hangman that his cousin only visits him because he’s stationed along the coast.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them.  “Maybe I only visit Jake because I like one of his coworkers.”

The light-hearted feeling of the moment deflates; Bob goes silent.  He takes a beat to reply, and when he does, his voice sounds strained.

“Bradley.”  It comes out curt, two quick syllables.  A statement, not a question.

You shake your head, let out a grumble of disagreement.  Up ahead, you can see the outline of a lifeguard station, painted white and rising ghostly out of the night.  You want to sit with him and finally talk with him, so you tug his hand and lead him there.  The two of you sit on the steps, side by side, hips touching and facing the ocean.

“Not Bradley,” you tell him as you pick up the thread of the conversation.  

“I saw you tonight—”

You shake your head again, cut him off.  “He wanted to talk to me,” you tell Bob.  “About you.”

You feel him go rigid beside you, and he huffs out a frustrated breath.  If there was more light, you’d see the furious blush that breaks out across his face, but it’s dark enough that you can only guess at his embarrassment.

And now that you’ve opened the Pandora’s box, you can hardly take it back, so you plunge forward.  Usually confident, you’re glad for the darkness too—you hope it hides your shaky hands, your inability to turn and meet his eyeline.

“I think you’re great, Bobby.  Honestly.  I thought you were handsome the moment I met you, but then I got to know you, and you’re quiet but you’re funny and sweet, and I was giving all these signs that I was into you, but nothing…I mean, I like you a lot and it’s just…”  You trail off, lose your words like an idiot.  You hadn’t enough time to rehearse this in your head; you just grabbed him at the Hard Deck and dragged him out here, and now you’re fumbling it completely.  You drop your head and swipe your sweaty palms along the sides of your shorts, and you take a deep breath—

You hear his soft “hey,” and then a split second later you feel his warm hand on your face, tilting your head up and turning you to face him, but nothing on earth could prepare you for the way Bob Floyd kisses:  gentle but firm, only a bit hesitant.  His lips are soft, and he breathes out a quiet groan when you reach up and lay your own hand along the side of his neck.

Your thoughts go fuzzy.  Your concentration—all the words you were fumbling to say—is shot, but when you try to break the kiss to finish what you were saying, Bob shakes his head faintly and mumbles against you lips.

“I know,” he says, and you can hear his accent breaking through.  “I know, honey.  Me too.”

Then he kisses you again, firmer this time, and a moment later, when he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you open yourself to him, allow him to taste you.  You taste him too, and Bob Floyd tastes like the grenadine-laced Coke he nurses each night at the Hard Deck, never much of a drinker even on the rowdiest night.

If nothing could prepare you for the way he kisses, then certainly nothing could prepare you for how sweetly dominant he is, how perfectly he walks the line between gentlemanly and not.  Your clumsy confession must have given him the wherewithal to take charge, and you’re surprised when he puts a hand on your waist and gently urges you to turn towards him…then how he just as gently urges you to climb onto his lap.

It doesn’t take much urging, you find.  You’ve been ravenous for months for this exact moment, and you had thought it’d never come.  You break away long enough to study his face—this close, and with the faint light of the half-moon in the sky above you, you can see his wide blue eyes, his parted lips as he gazes back at you.  You don’t see any hesitancy in his expression at all, but then he breathes out, “please, honey” and he squeezes your waist, so you clamber onto him with no grace whatsoever, but neither of you care because the moment you’re settled on him, you bend your head to kiss him again.

As it turns out, maybe Bob was just as ravenous for this moment too.  He puts his other hand on your waist too, draws you closer to him, and you can feel the nudge and brush of his growing erection against your inner thigh.  He makes a strangled, pained sort of groan in the back of his throat the first time you touch him there, and his hands spasm on your waist, grip you tighter before he schools himself and apologizes.

You break the kiss, slow the moment down.  You cup his face between your palms and hold him steady, tilt his face up towards yours.

“Bobby, why didn’t you ever say anything?” you whisper.  

He shakes his head against your hold and offers you a rueful grin.  “Didn’t think you were interested.”

You snort and press a light kiss to his forehead, then another few to his cheeks, the tip of his nose.  You can feel how flushed he is under your lips.  

“You think I just randomly hang back at parties to help the host clean up?” you tease.  You shift your head, whisper the words in his ear, and you note how he squirms under you.  He’s growing harder, even at your playful kisses.

“Just thought…ah, just thought y-you were bein’ nice.”  His accent comes out stronger, and his hands squeeze you tighter again before he loosens his grip.  “You’re always so…so nice to everyone.”

“I’m nicest to you,” you point out.  You kiss a trail along the line of his neck, and he tilts his head to grant you the space.  At his pulse point, you can feel his heartbeat thundering away there, so you bare your teeth and nip him—not enough to hurt or even sting, but he groans out “shit, honey” and wraps a strong arm around your waist, hauls you right up against where he’s straining against his uniform for you.  His other hand finds the back of your neck, and he draws you to him, kisses you breathless as he guides you against him, sets a steady, rocking motion against him.

It's too much:  the way his clothed erection hits you just right, how he pushes you back and forth, over and over, until you are so wet that you’re certain you’ve soaked through your panties and your shorts.  Everything feels sensitive, swollen, but he keeps guiding you, lifts his own hips in time to the rhythm he sets.  It’s too much but it’s not nearly enough, and you wish you’d known how this entire evening was going to unravel because you would have just taken him home instead—

“This good?” he asks.  His face is tucked against your neck; you’re a fraction higher than him, perched in his lap, and he works his mouth almost lazily against your neck, your throat, the underside of your jaw.  He has one arm around your waist, holding you tight to him, but his other hand settles against your ass, kneads you there, digs his fingertips into the fat of your ass like he wants to own you.

You start to make a joke about being surprised to find he’s an ass man, but then he dips his head, works an open-mouthed kiss right where the swell of your breasts begin.  You whine at the sensation and thread your fingers through his hair.  You hold him there, and the desire coursing through you—the sharp ache between your thighs, the prickly-hot flush across your skin—makes you feel fuzzy, light-headed.  You remember he asked you a question, so you answer him, nod hard and mumble yes, he’s making you feel good, he’s making you feel amazing, but what about him?

“Don’t worry about me.”  He nips at your collarbone, runs his tongue along the line of it, dips his tongue into the divot at the base of your throat.  “Wanna make you come, honey.”

Hearing those words come from his mouth makes your desire rachet up higher, hotter.  You grip his hair harder, whine out his name, but then he adds, “you gonna be my good girl and come for me?”

There’s no way he could have known of your praise kink, so it’s just a lucky guess, but the unexpected phrase—my good girl…fuck if it doesn’t make you cock-drunk and stupid.  No other guy really ever cracked the code of that kink for you.  A few had made half-hearted attempts when you mentioned it, but Bob Floyd stumbles over it immediately, and your mind goes blissfully blank:  yes, you want to be his good girl.  Yes, you want to come for him.  Whatever he wants.  Anything he wants.  Everything he wants.

You let go of your hold on his hair, and you cup his face again, tilt his head up so you can kiss him.  “Yes,” you whisper just before you slot your mouth over his, push your tongue against his, kiss him so deeply that you’re sharing the same breath, mapping the inside of his mouth with your tongue, memorizing every bit of him you can.  Yes, yes.  Yes to all of it.

Mind blank, your pleasure overtakes you:  you feel the heat and friction from where he sets you grinding against him, you feel the bulge of his cock hitting you perfectly, and every bit of him—his subtle cologne, the soft feel of his hair, the quiet little groans he makes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you—pushes you close to the edge.  You teeter there, you ride him faster, the seam of your shorts pressing deliciously against your swollen clit, but it’s his words that push you over.  His quietly domineering orders.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and it’s a harsh, punched-out sound that makes your stomach swoop when you hear it.  “My good, sweet girl.  Come for me.”

Your orgasm breaks around you like a wave, and Bob releases his hold on your ass to draw you closer to him, let you ride it out as you shudder against him.  Both arms wrapped around your waist as pleasure sparks outward from your core, travels up your spine and courses through your limbs until your head is swimming and he’s tucking you against him.

“That’s it,” he whispers into your hair.  “Good girl.  So fucking good for me.”

And all you can respond with is yes, yes.  Only for you, Bobby.

[seijorhi]

Etched in Red: Vermillion (Part One)

Event Masterlist

Okkotsu Yuuta x female reader

Part Two

w.c 1.4k

tw: yandere themes, kidnapping, implied dub/non-con, non-explicit gore

There’s nothing… wrong with being weak.

It isn’t a moral failing or anything to be ashamed of, it just is. For most people – normal people – that’s okay. They accept it, adjust their lives accordingly and move on. 

The thing is, most people don’t actually need to be strong, not in the physical sense. 

Most people aren’t jujutsu sorcerers.

Yuuta frowns, watching you laugh as Inumaki offers a hand to haul you up to your feet, brushing the dirt and grass of your skirt once you’re upright. Another sparring session that ends the exact same way all of them do; you, flat on your ass, wholly at the mercy of whichever of his friends is standing over you.

Problem is, they’re going easy on you; Maki leaving her left side wide open, Panda practically telegraphing his hits. Lately, he’s noticed it with Yuji and the other second years, too. It’s like an unwritten rule that they never go too hard, never push you too far. Trying to help you without hurting you in the process.

Because the simple, painful truth is, you aren’t strong enough to take it.

And believe it or not, he does get it… sort of. When Gojo dragged him into this he was petrified. Useless. He got thrown in the deep end, first first with Maki and then with Inumaki, and he had to figure it out fast, but… he also had Rika. 

He also had his cursed technique. 

Three years in, with graduation looming, you’re a step above a window. Still a grade four, although unlike with Maki it’s not some political, sexist bullshit keeping you there.

For right now, that’s okay. They’re your friends, none of them think any worse of you for it. They cover you on the missions you’re sent out on, and that’s not gonna change any time soon, but–

“Everything okay, Yuuta?”

He exhales a shuddering breath then straightens and turns your way with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” he asks, idly toeing at a rock by his feet. Maybe you won’t notice the flush colouring his cheeks. “Looked like you hit the ground pretty hard back there.” 

You laugh, waving it off like it’s no big deal, and to be fair it isn’t – you go through this multiple times a week, but that doesn’t mean it rankles him any less when you say, “Nothing I can’t handle. Toge was taking it easy on me.”

You don’t know the half of it. 

“C’mon,” you tell him. “Panda says you’re up.”

—

Forty minutes later, breathless, aching and bruised all over, Yuuta shuffles with you and the others back to the dormitories to shower before eating when a familiar head of white hair pops into view.

“Yuuu-taa,” Gojo greets in a sing-song voice, altogether too happy for the group of exhausted, hungry students glaring back at him. “A word?”

Not remotely a request, considering he’s got an arm looped over Yuuta’s shoulders, steering him away from the rest of the group before he can get so much as a word out. 

Leading him into an empty classroom well away from the dormitories, Gojo props himself up against one of the desks, leaving Yuuta to stand awkwardly in front of him, trying his best not to feel like a misbehaving child about to be lectured. 

When he speaks, there’s no trace of levity left to soften the blow. “What happened?” 

Gojo isn’t talking about the training session outside.  

Yuuta swallows, stiffening. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You read the report. As long as she’s with me, Rika and I–”

“So you expect the higher ups to send you along on every mission she’s assigned?”

His cheeks flush again, this time with indignation. “They can’t send her alone! She’s not– she… ” Isn’t strong enough.

At his floundering, Gojo lets out a heavy, over-dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders alone. “Yuuta, you’re a special grade. Do you really think they’ll let you play babysitter just because you have a crush?”

His heart squeezes, a thick lump lodging itself in his throat. He doesn’t deny it, there’s no point. Blindfolded or not, Gojo sees everything.

Not that his Sensei has room to talk about crushes. 

“I don’t care, I’ll go anyway! I’m not letting her get hurt.”

“Special grade or not, you won’t be able to stop it,” Gojo tells him, a strange sort of smile teasing at his lips. “They’ll smell her coming a mile away, that inexperience, overconfidence. Such a weak, tasty little sorcerer. Easy pickings. She’ll draw them in like flies to honey, one after another, until there’s too many to fight all at once – that’s what happened last time, didn’t it? You lost focus.”

Yuuta stills entirely. 

Gojo tugs at the bandages over his eyes, revealing one brilliant, blue iris. “She dies. That’s the only way this goes. You understand that, don’t you?”

—

It kills Yuuta that Gojo turns out to be right.

The body lying on the cold, metal table can barely be called that. Half a torso and a leg. That’s all he got back after getting rid of the curse. 

“Okkotsu,” Ieiri’s calm voice breaks through his reverie, and he glances up to find her tired eyes boring into him from across the room. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think she looked concerned.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, letting his head tilt back to fall against the cool tiles. “I’m not the one who died.”

Ieiri opens her mouth, only to close it a moment later. “Of course.”

And so it goes. Inumaki, Panda and Maki hover, quiet and subdued. No one knows what to say, but none of them are surprised, he can tell that much through the thick, strained silence. 

Death is pretty much a constant for them. Jujutsu sorcerers don’t tend to lead long, happy lives, but this isn’t just losing a classmate seven days out from graduation. A pang squeezes at his chest and he doesn’t bother holding back a heavy exhale. 

“I’m tired. I’ll… catch you guys later, I guess.”

Yuuta doesn’t wait for an acknowledgement, turning on his heel and leaving them there outside the gym, staring uselessly after him.

But he doesn’t head back to his room. There’s nothing for him there. 

No, Yuuta walks for a long, long while. Back to civilisation, to the city teeming with people and curses, each step more surefooted, eager than the last.

By the time he reaches the apartment, he’s pounding the pavement, and takes the stairs two at a time. His hand shakes as he slots the key into the first lock and twists, then the second, his heart’s halfway to his throat when he pushes it open, heading straight for the bedroom–

The knot in his chest loosens, a relieved sigh escaping him at the sight of you, spread out in his sheets in nothing but your underwear, fast asleep. Safe, where he left you.

It takes him no time at all to toe out of his sneakers, shed his jacket and climb up onto the bed next to you, mindful not to jostle you too much, not to disturb the thick metal links coiled loosely at the bottom of the mattress. Your eyes are still puffy, cheeks wet with the sheen of tears when his fingertips glide over them, intent on smoothing your hair back from your face. 

Poor thing, you must’ve tired yourself out. 

Yuuta has every intention of letting you sleep for a little while longer yet – he’d meant what he’d said to Maki and the others, there’s a bone tired weariness that’s been clinging to him since he dragged himself back to campus that morning, and it’s only now, here, lying next to you that he feels it start to leach away, like poison syphoned off. 

A small, soft smile tugs at his lips. 

Perfect, beautiful girl. 

Gojo was right. You had to die. There aren’t enough sorcerers to deal with the increased curses plaguing the city. Weak or not, they would’ve kept sending you out, and he wouldn’t always be able to guarantee that he’d be there to protect you.

You had to die so they’d leave you alone. So that he could keep you safe. 

Nestling closer, he thumbs at the curve of your cheekbone again and brushes a kiss against your lips, doing his best to ignore the hot pulse of want that burns through his blood, coiling tightly in his guts. 

There’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now he just wants to lie here with you, safe and tucked away. Together. 

It’s better this way. You’ll see.

[chloe-skywalker]

They Were There - Peter Hale

Peter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 635

Summary: Derek and Cora know about Y/n and Peter because they were there when he proposed. Everyone else in the pack? Surprise.

Masterlist

Teen Wolf Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Welcome to the family.” Derek smiled, hugging Y/n as she and Peter entered the loft having just got back from their honeymoon. Y/n and Derek had been friends since junior high but now she was his sister in law and Derek wasn’t disappointed. “Cora sends her congrats and welcome but she had to leave.”

“Its okay. I already talked to her.” Y/n smiled, waving it off, her and Cora had already talked a few days before. “Its great to finally be apart of the family.” Y/n groaned back at Peter along with Derek.

“Sorry I didn’t want to rush things.” Peter narrowed his eyes at the two.

“You have been in love with her since you were 14. I think you took your damn time.” Derek raised his brows looking at his uncle with an exaggerated look. Even if he was somewhat commatoused for a few years, his uncle still took his damn time.

“I’m just glad you did it to begin with.” Y/n let out a laugh, it was a long time coming.

“It's been a longtime coming.” Peter pulled Y/n, his wife, into his side and kissed her. He could be soft with her.

“There's a pack meeting tonight here at the loft.” Derek told them after their little moment, Y/n is good for his uncle. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t kill him again to protect her, but she did make him a better person.

“I’ll be there.” Y/n told him.

“Will you?” Derek asked his uncle knowing how much he did not care for the pack.

“Since my wife will be there, yes. I gotta know what I’ll have to protect you from when their plans go wrong.” Peter stated sarcastically. Y/n and Derek just looked at eachother and rolled their eyes.

^     ^     ^

“Your back!” Scott said with a smile rushing over to hug Y/n once the pack entered the loft and saw she was there. They had all missed her.

“You’ve been gone so long.” Allsion said having missed her older friend. Y/n was older than the group of teens, she was the older sister figure of the pack.

“Where’d you go?” Stiles asked.

“Is that a ring on your finger?” Lydia points out having caught the shine of it catching the light.

“You got married?” Allison questioned in shock, having looked down to Y/n’s hand like everyone else after hearing Lydia.

“Yes.” Y/n nodded.

“Without us?” Scott gave her his sad puppy dog eyes.

“We plan on having a reception with all of you sometime in the near future.” Y/n smiled at them and she saw her words lesson their sadness.

“We? Who’s the dude?” Stiles raised a brow.

“Peter.”

“Peter as in Peter Hale?!” Scott’s eyes bulged out of his head. 

“As in Derek’s uncle?” Allison was less shocked but more surprised.

“Yes, she's a Hale now.” Derek smirked proudly.

“I am.” She smiled.

“Peter Hale?” Stiles squinted his eyes, still not believing it.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Peter raised his eyebrows pretending to be innocent. He spoke up for the first time since the pack arrived from his spot on the couch.

“You're a psychopath for starters.” Stiles stated addressing the oldest Hale.

“He’s different with her. I’ll defend him on that. He has always been different when it comes to Y/n.” Derek spoke up.

Y/n walked over to Peter, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“That's because she’s different. She’s mine.” Peter growled the last part possessively.

“And you're mine.” Y/n smiled at him leaning over to kiss him.

“Oh he’s been yours since he laid eyes on you.” Derek teased and he got satisfaction when his uncle flashed his eyes at him but couldn’t deny his nephew's statement.

[josephandrewstarkey]

request: drew is with a british reader and at the premiere of obx season 3 the cast all joke about her accent like usual during interviews

hi anon!! ty for your req i hope you like this ❥❥

accents

warnings: none

drew starkey x british reader

Y/N stood with Drew and the rest of the Outer Banks cast at the season 3 premiere, the energy of the event buzzing around them. They were all joking and laughing as they waited for their next round of photos, and, as usual, the cast couldn't resist teasing Y/N about her British accent. It had become a running joke from their first interviews together.

As they were chatting, Y/N casually mentioned, “I’m really looking forward to seeing the premiere tonight.”

The cast all give eachother a look, signaling that they’re thinking the same thing. In an instant, the cast erupted with terrible impressions of her accent.

Chase was the first to jump in. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the premiere tonight,” he mimicked, his voice way too posh and over-the-top, earning laughter from everyone.

Madison followed, her attempt no better. “I’m really lookin’ forward to seein’ the premiere,” she said, adding a dramatic hand gesture and a fake smirk.

JD couldn’t resist chiming in either. “Guys you’re doing it all wrong it’s: “I’m really looking forward to seein’ the premiere tonight,” he said laughing, dragging out the words in a way that didn’t sound remotely British.

Y/N groaned playfully, shaking her head as they all burst into laughter. “You guys are awful,” she said, fighting back a smile.

Drew grinned beside her, playing along. “Alright, alright, leave her alone, guys,” he said, his tone light but protective. “Just because she sounds better than all of you, doesn’t mean you need to make fun of her.”

“Oh, we’re just jealous,” Chase joked, nudging Drew. “You’re the one who gets to hear that accent all the time.”

Y/N laughed, used to the cast's antics by now, but Drew didn’t let it go. He kept his arm slung around her shoulders as they began walking away from the group. “They’re hopeless,” he muttered with a smile, pulling her a little closer.

She looked up at him with a smirk. “You think so?”

Drew glanced down at her, his eyes softening. “Yeah, but honestly?” He paused, leaning in just a little closer. “I love your accent. I think it’s sexy.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her heart skipping a beat at the sudden shift in his tone. “Oh, do you now?” she teased.

Drew didn’t waste a second. He stopped walking, turned to face her, and leaned down, pressing his lips gently against hers. The kiss was soft but lingered just long enough to send warmth through her. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers for a moment.

“I’m not joking,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “It’s hot.”

Y/N smiled, feeling her cheeks flush. “Good to know, Starkey.”

[hqbaby]

twenty-seven — didn’t mean it

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2.1k content. profanity, lots of tension, copious amounts of angst, mild violence

“What did Satoru mean?” Maki asks. She’s trudging through the snow beside Sukuna while everyone else marches ahead to get ready to leave.

He turns to her with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

This is the first time Maki has spoken to him all morning. She said nothing while he stumbled on through the snow like a complete idiot, suppressed her giggles unlike the rest of the group, and kept an awfully respectful distance from the guy who isn’t quite sure can still call himself your boyfriend. So Sukuna certainly wasn’t expecting her to come at him like this.

“He said you cheated on her,” she tells him, reminding him of the abundant accusations bandied about last night. “It’s probably not true, but he must’ve had a reason to believe something like that. He’s never been the type to flat-out lie.”

She watches as he stays silent, averting his eyes. She grimaces. “Did you really cheat on her?” she asks. “For fuck’s sake, Sukuna. I thought she was your best friend, why on earth—”

“I didn’t really do anything,” he protests, head shooting up as he somehow tries to defend his honor. “It wasn’t—I didn’t—It didn’t mean anything. And we barely did anything. And it was before we actually got together.”

Maki stares at him, unbelieving. When she warned you about Sukuna in the past, this was precisely the kind of thing she had in mind. He’s the type of guy who would cheat on you, the type who would make your life a living hell by stringing you along like you meant nothing to him. He’s the type of guy who would exploit your kindness and your love and care very little about the consequences of his actions.

But she’s seen the way he acts around you, the care and consideration, the unadulterated love this complete buffoon has for you. And she can’t bring herself to believe that she was ever right in her assumptions.

She sighs. “Did you tell her that?”

“No,” he tells her, shaking his head. “She doesn’t wanna talk.”

“I don’t blame her,” Maki admits. “Last night was… a wreck. It was all my fault.”

Sukuna furrows his brows at that. He stops walking, waiting for Maki to stop too and look back at him. He places a hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says. “She knows it wasn’t. She’d never blame you.”

For once, Maki finds herself agreeing with the guy (who would’ve thought?) because she knows you. She knows you’d never blame her, let alone hold a grudge. You’d rather sit there, melting under the enormous pressure of every mistake ever made, every misunderstanding ever had, and crumble beneath it all.

She wonders how dreadfully lonely that must feel.

“You should tell her,” she says to the boy. “She won’t blame you either.”

Sukuna nods, resolved in his decision to talk to you, even if he knows there’s a chance that you’ll have nothing to say to him at all.

Of course Sukuna’s plans get derailed when everyone gets back to the house and he finds you and Satoru in a serious discussion on the living room floor. The two of you are wide-eyed when everyone comes ambling in, like you’ve been caught in the middle of something private and wrong.

Satoru stands up almost immediately and walks over to Kimi who gives him a look that sits somewhere between disappointment and resignation. He whispers something in her ear and wraps an arm around her shoulder, but Kimi distracts herself by talking to Utahime and thoroughly ignoring her boyfriend.

There’s something really weird going on there, Sukuna thinks, but he can’t quite point out what it is.

But never mind that. He looks at you, still crouched on the floor, no longer looking as listless as you did when he left you earlier. You’re bundled up in a sweater he doesn’t recognize and you’re regarding him with a look he’s not familiar with either.

You look as if you’re about to say something to him, your mouth just about to open when the door to the living room swings open, Mahito sauntering in with a huge grin. He has a bag slung over his shoulder and there’s a person trailing after him. A girl.

“Look who’s here!” he says with a flourish.

Utahime squeals, jumping up and rushing to the girl behind Mahito. “Emiko!” she says, hugging the girl. “You’re here!”

Emiko is all smiles as she hugs the club president, waving at the other members who approach to greet her. “I didn’t wanna miss out on the fun,” she says, groaning as Aoi pulls her in for a side hug. “Did you already ski without me?”

“We didn’t know you were coming,” Kento tells her with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t look all angry though, his expression more akin to a father expressing disappointment towards his child. “We didn’t factor you into the plans.”

She just sighs and slumps back into Utahime’s embrace. “Oh, well, I forgive you, Kento.”

“You forgive me? Emiko, get back here—”

But it’s too late. Emiko’s already walking towards you—you stood up as soon as Mahito announced the girl’s presence—without even noticing Sukuna standing at the side. “Has he been bitching this whole trip?” she asks, looping her arm with yours as she looks at Kento pointedly. “Because I’ll kick his ass if he has.”

You crack a smile. An actual smile, Sukuna thinks. That’s something at least.

“He wouldn’t be Kento if he didn’t bitch a little,” you tell her, leaning in as if to divulge a secret that everyone else in the room can hear.

Emiko laughs, pressing herself closer to you. It’s only then that she lets her eyes travel across the room. She notes the people she doesn't know. Satoru, Kimi, Naoya, everyone she’ll have to introduce herself to later. She sees Sukuna last.

Her face twists into one of disgust, like she’s just seen a truckload of shit and the truckload of shit happens to be Sukuna. “You,” is all she says.

You follow her line of sight, completely oblivious to the string of curses Emiko is probably chanting in her head. “Have you met my boyfriend?” you ask, curiosity piqued by the girl’s reaction.

Now, if Sukuna wasn’t so busy trying to figure out who the fuck this girl is, he would’ve been over the moon at you calling him your “boyfriend.” It would’ve calmed his nerves a little, seen the glimmer of hope left in what he had deemed the vestiges of your relationship. But he misses it, too caught up in the big questions, Who is she? And why is she looking at me like I killed her family?

Emiko turns to you with an expression that Sukuna can only describe as restraint. “Your boyfriend?” she asks, eyes darting back at him then back at you. “He’s your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you say almost hesitantly, which makes Sukuna want to gouge his eyes out.

“Oh,” Emiko says. “That’s… nice.”

She says a few things to you before pulling you in for a hug and drifting away to join the rest of the group.

Sukuna keeps his eyes on her back, still trying to place her in the recesses of his mind. A touch of your finger on his shoulder shifts his focus back to you. He turns to you, wide-eyed waiting for you to speak with bated breath.

You just nod towards the door to the dining room and start walking away. Sukuna follows.

When the two of you are out of the room, away from everyone else’s prying eyes and pricked ears, you look at Sukuna with caution.

“You said you wanted to talk,” you say slowly. “So… let’s talk.”

After a whole morning of mulling over his words, trying to figure out what to say to you, how to say it, the best order in which he ought to do it, Sukuna finds himself at a complete loss of words. There’s simultaneously too much and not enough for him to tell you. What is he supposed to say?

So, instead of whatever it is he’s supposed to be saying, he finds himself asking, “What were you and Satoru talking about?”

Your eyes widen and you purse your lips. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with us.”

“It kinda does,” he tells you. “Did something change? Between us?”

“No,” you say, and he doesn’t believe you. So, you reach into the pocket of the sweater you’re wearing and pull something out. You hold it out for him to take. “Satoru gave it to me.”

Sukuna looks at the box in your hands and he doesn’t even need to touch it to know what it is.

“Why?”

You shrug, placing the box back in your pocket when you realize that, no, Sukuna does not want to touch the engagement ring your ex boyfriend just gave you and wouldn’t take back. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Sukuna says slowly.

He can’t quite place what he’s feeling. He’s confused, definitely, by the whole ordeal. He’s still a little shocked by the fact that you’ve actually come to talk to him and he’s actually agreed. But he knows that’s not what he’s feeling.

And then it hits him.

He’s angry.

Huh. How weird.

“So because he’s a fucked up jerk who drove you away because he’ll stick his dick in anyone, he thinks he can just come back and ask you to fucking marry him?” he asks, venom in each word that falls from his mouth.

You furrow your brows, now recognizing the clear anger on your best friend’s face. “Sukuna, it’s not like that—”

“He knows that you’re with me now, doesn’t he?” he asks, his voice louder than it would’ve have been if he wasn’t so fucking pissed off. “It doesn’t matter what he wants. He doesn’t count right now. This is about you and me. Not him!”

You place a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, please.”

“No,” he says, shrugging your hand away. He barely registers the way your face falls when he rejects your touch. “I thought you loved you. I didn’t believe it before, I could tell there was something holding you back, but I trusted you anyway. Do you even love me?”

“You can’t just ask me—”

“Do you love me?” He’s yelling now. He really wishes that he wasn’t. “Or am I just some plaything you’ve used to bide your time until that asshole decides to come to his senses?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you!” you tell him, reaching to touch him again when he turns back at the door to the living room. “Please, can we just talk—”

He doesn’t mean to do it.

He really doesn’t.

His hand slaps your arm away before he realizes what he’s doing.

He looks at his hand, and he immediately wants to cut the thing off. The two of you stand there in stunned silence before Kento bursts through the door with concern on his face.

“Is everything okay here?” he asks slowly, surveying the situation before him.

You’re a few paces behind Sukuna, rubbing your reddening arm. You still look like you’re in complete shock, but Kento can tell that there are tears forming behind your eyes. He looks at Sukuna who’s looking down at his hand, and his suspicions are confirmed.

Kento’s at your side as the door opens and a few people check to see what’s going on.

“Did he hurt you?” Kento asks you softly, both his hands on your shoulders as he crouches down so that he can look up at your downturned head. “Hey, it’s just me. Are you okay?”

You feel truly stupid right now. It’s not like it hurts all that much anyway, and you’re well-aware that Sukuna didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t mean to. If anything, he just wanted to keep your hand away from him, he wouldn’t purposely hit you.

But you feel like crying nonetheless. The whole barrage of emotions you’ve been carrying since last night, for most of your life, comes crashing down on you, as if Sukuna has tipped the iceberg and left you in its wake.

You’re vaguely aware of the chaos that ensues around you. There’s a fight, some choice words are thrown around, a few swings, a few misses. You can only assume that it’s Sukuna and one of the other boys.

Kento places an arm around you and leads you away, sits you down on a chair somewhere, continues to ask if you’re okay even if he never gets an answer. In the end, you find his eyes, your lips are wobbling before you even realize that they are. You place your head on his shoulder and you do the only thing you can do.

You cry.

[f0point5]

I know we have a different Y/N now but I saw those pictures of max playing padel and I just kept thinking about Max’s Y/N watching 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

i miss them

SAME. Ngl I saw the pictures and this just came to me so… I hope this satisfies your craving for them lol

*******************

“Once again,” you declare to Max as you enter the padel court, your hands full with water bottles, “I’m so glad you’re fast,”

“He’s only fast on wheels,” Lando jokes, shaking his head at Max as he takes a bottle. “Seriously, mate, Fernando is a great player, and so was Charles yesterday, so you are definitely the problem,”

Daniel and Fernando agree as they take their bottles, while Max gingerly waits for you to hand him his.

“It’s the- it’s my, like, shoes, mate. They’re sticky,” he defends himself indignantly while Lando and Daniel snicker. “I swear they’re-“

“Don’t worry,” says Fernando, clapping Max on the shoulder. “We tell them what it is in the champions group chat. Oh, no, we can’t, they’re not there,”

The snickering stops, and Lando and Daniel look like kids whose teacher has just asked them to hand in their homework.

“Well,” Lando huffs. “That was uncalled for,”

Everyone just laughs, and Daniel ruffles his hair.

The other three chug at their water while Max stands next to you, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s cute, how unused he is to not being good at something, even more unused to continuing to do that thing regardless. As much as you tease him, you’re immensely proud. You know that voice in his head telling him to stop embarrassing himself all too well. He’s been better at quieting his than you ever have yours.

“Honestly, it’s the wrong shoes,” he mutters to you, sliding one of his feet along the floor.

“I know, Maxy,” you say, tempted to kiss the pout right off his face. “But hey, you’re going home with me, so did you really lose?”

“That’s not worth extra points, so yes,”

“You know, I really thought we’d make it at least six months before I murdered you,” you say, poking him in the chest hard enough that he rubs at the spot over his heart.

“I don’t get it,” Max says, his face twisted in hopeless bewilderment. “How does being with you mean I won padel?”

“Mate, look at your girlfriend. You won life,” Daniel explains, coming up behind you to sling a damp arm around your shoulders.

“Danny, if you ever get that Red Bull seat, call me, because this dufus ain’t cutting it,” you joke, squeezing at his hip. Daniel laughs and lets go if you with a sticky pat to the back as Max groans.

“Naw, come on,” he says, sliding his arms around your waist as you cross your arms over you chest, purposely avoiding looking at him. “I don’t even care about padel,”

He doesn’t pull you closer, mindful that he’s sweaty, and you feel your heart ache a little. Max was the centre of his world, thousands of people spent their lives anticipating a flick of his wrist, but he never once took another person for granted.

“Cut him some slack,” Lando says, and you watch him pour some water over his curls with a grin. “He knows he won the lottery,”

You frown at that. “He didn’t.” You finally turned to Max, looking up at his flushed cheeks and glassy ocean eyes as you press a palm to his cheek. “the lottery is luck. He got me on purpose,”

He smiles at that, hands ghosting over your hips as he lets go of you. “Who cares about being a padel champion?”

You shrug, brushing some hair away from his forehead, just to touch it. “I’d rather go home with a four time world champion anyway,”

[anadiasmount]

along with you - jude bellingham x reader.

GIF by anchyxsblog

quick sum: when giving him a taste of his own medicine, doesn't work out the way you planned... frustrated with your sudden change, jude is faced with his biggest fear, when all he wants is to be along with you.

wc: 2.5k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa🗣️: hiii!! seems like the theme on here is angst to fluff, so here’s a fic!! also my lovely @judethluvr has wrote a fic similar to this so please check it out here! like always, hope you enjoy! 🤍

“you’re stressing me out jude! please all i'm asking is five minutes in peace!” you yelled, covering your head and walking away from an agitated jude. “y/n you started this? what are you talking about? all i’m asking is why you did come to today's game?” jude followed behind, talking with his hands.

“why would i jude? it’s not like you even wanted me there,” you laugh sarcastically, crossing your arms and facing a confused jude. “i heard what you said in your stupid interview yesterday and today. i’m not going to a place i’m not wanted or invited!” you stressed, feeling tears wanting to run down you’re cheeks.

it had been a rough start for you, not for jude. top goal scorer in the league, back to back man of the matches, top of the group table in the UCL. he had no trouble quickly adapting to a new city and country. while you had it different, the language barrier, your new school, and job, friends. you had no one here besides jude.

it was easier in germany where you could easily travel to him by train or plane. it was closer to england, and your home. where your family and friends were. you could spend the weekend there and come back for school and work. when jude asked you to move with you were estatic, more than grateful to have a partner like him who respects and values you always.

madrid was interesting start. the move was easy and finding the home was better. spending constant nights on the single couch and eating takeout because his and yours stuff from germany had been delayed. when jude became the new sensation, you didn’t expect the constant stalking, digging into your private life, crowds everywhere you went together even if you had tried to hide from them.

you could never get used to it, and it was becoming difficult when jude started to feed into that attention. spending more nights out with his team than at here with you. he constantly forgot about events you had, when you never forgot any of his. always there when he asked and said. you just wanted jude here. your jude.

“what are you in about? what did i even say?”jude tries to defend him, coping your movements by crossing his arms. “you know exactly what you said. i refuse to be treated like a plate for a second table. if you think i can’t be enough for you tell ME not the whole world?” you say, looking at the floor.

“all i want is for you to start being there for me. i missed one game jude, one game. you missed so many of my events since we moved here because you’re so focused on what’s ahead instead of what’s and who’s around you, living life in the moment. i’m tired, i’m tired of you acting selfish.”

you had said it. you always spoke your truth. if they wanted to listen, you’d speak until you felt the need to stop. you were humble and honest, which jude loved. but right now he felt his head would explode from anger and disappointment in himself. his chest tighten at how your words stung and told him to face reality.

“i’m being selfish? it’s my job y/n! i have to think of what’s my future, how i can better in myself and help my teams! just because i missed your events doesn’t mean you should do the same!,” jude stunned you, looking at him with wide eyes. sadness disappearing and now fury filling your veins.

“you see what i mean! this! this whole new persona and attitude! this wasn’t the jude from a year ago who always cared for those around him. this jude is to stuck, sticking his head in the wrong places. afraid to make any mistakes, because oh god forbid he can’t make them,” you say, voice laced with venom as you’d told up straighter.

“what am i supposed to do y/n? you hardly go out anymore, you’re always here or at work or uni. moaning and always tired, getting to our home late. what about the times i need you here? here with me to spend time with each other? to be there for you along with you?”

jude had finally caught up to the taste of his own medicine. it took him nearly three months to realize what you were doing. he did the same, so why couldn’t you? make him feel what you felt. what he was putting you through.

“excuse my language, but that’s bullshit. i’m always here, you just don’t care enough anymore to see that. i’m done with you testing my patience and limit, jude. if you can see or at least acknowledge where i’m coming from then we should think of our future. since your so good at that these days,” you say shakily, becoming afraid of what his next words would be.

jude saw you. you were standing here begging him, at your most vulnerable and sensitive state. your eyes pleading him to understand. you rarely got like this, and when you did, it absolutely drained you. your muscles felt lose, throat sore, eyes puffy, and head hard at steel. you hated fighting, or even have the smallest arguments, but if they didn’t happen, it wasn’t a healthy relationship.

“maybe i will y/n…” jude said angrily. he felt angrier at himself than the situation. you knew you had your reasons to not go and that was fine. he didn’t expect you to attend always but he needed and wanted you there yesterday. it was hurting him but he knew you were just telling him the truth. the truth that needed to be said the moment he started to change.

“if you feel like that jude, i won’t waste your time any longer. just say the words jude,” you test him, tears falling down your cheeks as you approached him pointing to the floor with your index finger as you spoke. jude tensed, clenching his jaw and swallowed heavily.

you took his silence as an answer, shaking your head as you began to cry and go upstairs. you felt torn and confused at where you two laid. it wasn’t easy. making a choice like that, let alone saying it out loud. your eyes felt red and dry, cheek having stains if your makeup and tears, heart dwelling to make things right even though it shouldn’t be you.

your heart was beating faster, and it didn’t stop the entire evening as you got ready for bed. we’re you really prepared to let him go just like that? just because of miscommunication and wanting to be petty? just because you were asking from his part when you did yours? it wasn’t fair, he was never like that before. he didn’t make you question your every move or word nowadays.

you attempted to fall asleep next to him, but you just couldn’t. your head raced at every interaction and touch with him. tears continued to fall from your eyes as you stared at his back facing you. why did he feel like a stranger all of a sudden? someone you couldn’t read anymore? someone who felt distant and cold? he was your boyfriend!

you couldn't stand it anymore... the distance, the argument, the pain, the confusion. you quickly grabbed your blanket and pillow and headed downstairs to the guest bedroom. you were careful with your movemntst and noise not wanting to wake up jude who desrved his sleep. he overworked himself, and the last thin you wanted was to wake him and him be angry at you again.

once settled in, you tucked yourself into the sheets. you went into a fetal position, tears continuing to fall down your face and landing on the pillow softly. when they rolled down slowly, they tickled your skin. you were super sensitive and when you cried, you cried like your life depended on it. you didn't even feel yourself fall asleep, eyes slowly closing and went complete dark.

jude was still puzzled and disappointed in himself. he sat on the kitchen island left wondering why the hell he isnt fighting for you and make you feel wanted, to fix and do what you were asking for. jude knew you were having trouble adapting here, but he was wrong for thinking you'd get over it. you were right, he was thinking of himself and him only.

he can't even remember the last time doing something for you when you asked. you always agreed with no hesitation, no matter how tired or unsure you were, you were there always. why couldn't he do the same for you? why did he let himself be this naive and selfish and think about him only?

the future he had in his head was getting married, having kids, owning a couple of pets, and traveling to give you the world. jude knew he wanted and needed you here in Madrid, he thought it would be best for both of you, a new chapter, which is why he asked you. you left a whole country, friends and family, your old life for him. and here he was acting ungrateful over a stupid game you didn't attend?

the images of you crying and looking lost at him triggered and were marked in his head. the way you slowly let out a breath of disbelief at his silence before rushing upstairs to lock yourself into the room, jude should've given you the space when you asked but he was eager to know and wanted to listen to how you felt, he should've never pushed or made assumptions about you.

jude couldn't sleep either, overthinking how the situation went. his body was drained from the game and how even he let out a few tears when he was left alone. how he had given the impression he had given up. he blinked rapidly, biting his lip anxiously at how he should approach you or apologize.

"y/n?" jude turned over, panic running up his body as he propped himself up at the sight of an empty bed, sheets ruffled and no pilllow there. he ran into the bathroom, then down the library you use to study, all empty. he walked downstairs figuring you may have gotten a glass of water. but nothing was there. he looked in the final place which was the guest room.

he knocked on the door, met with silence. "y/n? my love are you in there?" he knocked again, a bone inside him telling him you were there just choosing to avoid him. "please y/n..." jude landed his forehead on the wooden door, facing the fact whether to go in or go to sleep. he picked the first option, immediately nervous at the sight of you laying on your side.

you had woken up, your throat felt dry and your eyes even drier than before. you felt the bed sink in, jude lying close to you as you faced the window, eyes following the trace of lights outside caused by the moon. you yawned, closing your eyes and trying to focus on what he would say.

"i know i don't deserve it, but you know i can't sleep when you're not next to me..."

"i'm so stupid y/n... you were right. all along i've thought about myself and stuck my head in place it should've never been. all because i have this fear if i don't do what they say, i will fail. when in the ned i failed you, my sweetest y/n..." jude said softly, mimicking your moves and laying on his side where his chest made contact with your back.

"i should be able to make those mistakes and learn from it, it's a part of being human. one mistake can't define my whole career and life. you and i know i'm better than that. which is why i won't make the mistake of pushing you away when i know i should fight for us." jude kissed your bare shoulder. you could feel your chin tremble and your chest hot as tears threatened to fall again.

"i can't make the mistake of giving up on someone who moved a whole new city for me. make the mistake of walking away from the person who will drop what they're doing just to hold or talk to me. make the biggest mistake of leaving the person i can call home and be safe in. i can't and i refuse to let you go when you belong along with me..." jude cried, his words coming out shakily as he cried as well.

"i'm so sorry y/n. you didn't deserve anything in what i put you through... for how i made you feel? for how i treated you? not anything that was caused by my idiocy. i should've have listened to you, cared for you, maybe even helped you to try and find a solution," jude continued to let out, stopping every now and then to peck your shoulder and neck. showering you with the love and touch you craved.

you hadn't moved, your tears silently killing you from the inside and out as you heard his pleas and cries. your inside burned and you almost felt suffocated at the world for how they threw things at you when you least expected it. "whatever it takes, i will make it up to you. be there for you like you always have been for me. to love and care for like i promised to you that day."

you turned over slowly, meeting jude's brown eyes bloodshot red. you brought your hand to wipe his tears away, kissing the tip of his nose, watching how his eyes fluttered in a relaxed manner. you hugged him, your head finding home in the nape of his neck as you cried. "just hold me, please jude..."

and he did just that, nails raking against your bare back and hand smoothly running up and down your spine as he held you close, afraid to let go. jude knew it was a start and it would take a while for you to fully accept his apology. but he was willing to take anything you wanted or asked for.

"i'm glad you're prepared and know what you want because to me that means security and trust. that i know were on the same page and i won't be afraid of telling you what i want. just please jude, don't ever push me away like you did just to satisfy yourself and others around you..." you demanded, your forehead resting against his.

"i promise princess. you have my word."

your lips were centimeters apart, and with a final push, you closed the distance. jude hummed in delight as you kissed him with pure love and urgency. not pulling away until you giggled and pushed back. "now let's go to sleep, but in our bed, because staying in here is starting to freak me out..." you say laughing. jude picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he walked out into the stairs.

"couldn't agree more. let's go to our bed, where i can finally sleep peacefully knowing we're okay..."

[takenbypeter]

Hii! I just saw Wonka for the first time and I loved it, everything was soo good I’d love to request something. Could I request something with Wonka x fem!(or gn)reader in which reader comforts him after everything goes wrong with his shop? He was so sad and it broke my heart when he said that his mum didn’t show up and everything was just a stupid dream, I wanted to give him a hug so bad. Feel free to ignore this if it doesn’t inspire you ofc, have a great day 💞

I Believe In You

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 658

Love love love this request💖sorry I suck at angst but I hope you still like it 

None of you could’ve ever predicted what just took place. 

Melted chocolate and burned candies surrounded all around as you stood there in disbelief. 

The crowd that quickly grew to love Wonka’s chocolates turned on them just as quickly. All because of something that wasn’t even his fault. 

You, along with the few others who helped, stood, unsure where to go from here. Noodle ran to Wonka trying her best to motivate him, but Abacus gently encouraged her to give him some time before he left. Then Piper left, and one by one the others followed. 

You stuck close to them, about to take your own departure and leave the chocolatier to his own thinkings, but you stopped in your tracks giving it another thought. You couldn’t just leave him there. It wouldn’t be right. 

So back you walked and you parked yourself beside him. 

You sat there noiseless, as you were unconfident of your next words. What do you say to a man who’s lost so much. 

“Willy this is just a minor setback,” you start. 

“No it’s not. This all is just some stupid dream and it didn’t even work. She didn’t even show up.”

Your brows furrowed together, the crease between them deepening. You know grief is difficult and different for everyone, no one reacts the same way and you knew Willy truly believed his mother would appear. Although you didn’t know Willys mother personally it broke your heart to see him like this. 

“She wouldn’t break a promise,” he whispered more to himself with his eyes downcast. 

You made a little, hm, noise pondering on your next words, “…maybe this wasn’t the time.”

Willy’s eyes finally raise, meeting yours and although they still hold emptiness in them you can spot the tiniest glint of curiosity. 

“Think about it. Things went wrong, horribly wrong. I mean it could not have gone any more wrong,” you said getting louder with every sentence and Willy couldn’t help but spit out a single self deprecating laugh at how true your words were. 

“So maybe this wasn’t the time…we try again and when things are right it will happen,” you say sounding more positive than you expected yourself to be, “she will be there. Maybe not in the way you think, but she’ll be there.”

“And what if she’s not.”

“And what if she is.” You said raising your brow in questioning. He seems to mull your comments over. 

“If not for yourself, do it for Abacus. Do it for Piper; Chucklesworth, Lottie, Noodle…do it for me. You have touched all of our hearts. You make us believe in our own dreams because you’re so passionate about yours. Even if you have to start everything all over again we will be right there starting over with you. So just…don’t give up. Please.”

Willy peers up at you, his expression still disheartened. He knew you meant well and he appreciated you for that. It did help to know he had a group of capable people following behind him. 

Willy loved making chocolate, that is a fact that would never change. The way his chocolate affects people is beyond all imagination. But to start over, especially after he disappointed you all. He wasn’t entirely sure if he could do that again.

You wait patiently as he sits there in thought. “Willy,” your hand rests on his giving it an assuring squeeze. “I will be right here with you.”

Willy finally expresses an appreciative smile while he turns his hand in yours, squeezing it back. 

With his cheeks a bit rosy from either the embarrassment he felt or the warmth of encouragement you gave him, he says, “it’ll take some time.”

You nod, “then it’ll take some time, that’s fine. Whatever you need.”

Willy didn’t know exactly how it would all workout but he could tell you truly believed it to be true and because of that…he started to believe it too. 

~

Feel free to request more Wonka pics I love this man!!!!!

[loveinhawkins]

Steve gets the idea from Dustin and Robin, in a roundabout way: Robin insists on buying a camping stove from The War Zone, which Dustin pounces upon with glee as soon as he notices it.

“Oh, we’re cooking with gas now,” he says, which is the worst pun Steve has heard thus far.

Eddie snorts, almost but not quite hidden underneath the sound of the engine. Steve smiles.

“Y’know there’s a stove right here?” he asks in benign exasperation, gestures behind him to the little kitchen area of the RV.

“Steve,” Robin says, “that’s not as fun.”

“Yeah, come on, Steve! It’ll be like at Camp Know Where—”

“Know Nothing,” Steve mutters automatically.

“—we oft dined al fresco.”

“Oft,” Eddie parrots, and Steve can faintly feel the movement of him laughing, from where he’s pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. “Al fresco. Henderson, what lab did they make you in?”

“Eddie, either shut up or back me up, I wanna get a culturally enriching experience outta this.”

“Oh, excuse me, didn’t realise this was a field trip.”

“You’re excused.”

“Okay,” Steve cuts in, “have fun playing at camping, Henderson, but don’t come crying to me if you, like, blow yourself up.”

Robin chuckles. “Such a happy camper.”

“Boo,” Steve says flatly.

He parks the RV a little bit away from a store just off the main road—heads in alone as it’ll draw less attention. Out loud, he says it’s so he can focus without hearing whining pleas to buy junk food, whether Dustin-approved or not, but he already knows he’ll cater to each and every one of the group’s demands.

Eddie, surprisingly, doesn’t put in a request, says he’s happy to just go along with whatever everyone else wants—a far cry from when Nancy had relayed, with more amusement than frustration, “He said he wants a six-pack.”

Steve figures that the whole being wanted for murder thing would kill anyone’s appetite, but it still makes his stomach sink, that the most substantial meal Eddie’s gotten a chance to eat has been lukewarm Spaghettios.

They set up ‘camp’ in a field, and Robin’s the first to rush outside, shortly followed by Dustin, both intent on using the stove she’s bought.

Steve leaves them all to it, kind of enjoys the temporary peace of just messing about in the RV on his own—it gives him enough time to find where some crockery is kept, anyway.

He’s heating up chicken noodle soup on the stove when Eddie comes back in and tells him, “They got it working, no explosions yet.”

“Oh, miracles can happen. Good timing, by the way.” Steve switches the burner off, pours the soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table—where he’s already laid out a spoon. “Yours is ready.”

At first he doesn’t think the silence is all that unusual. He’s not really looking either, focusing on rinsing out the pan he’d used. But when he does glance up, it’s to see Eddie just standing there, looking at the bowl of soup and blinking rapidly.

It’s almost like… almost like he’s—

“Woah, hey,” Steve says, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Eddie says, even though he’s still quite clearly tearing up. “Absolutely nothing. Jesus Christ.” He groans, presses a couple of fingers to the inner corner of his eyes. “This is fucking mortifying, just pretend you didn’t—ugh.”

In barely a blink, he shuts himself away in the bathroom.

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “Hate soup that much, huh?”

A watery laugh from behind the door. “No.”

There’s a silence. Steve dries the pan and puts it away before calling, “It’s gonna get cold!”

It won’t for a while yet; he can still see tendrils of steam rising from the bowl.

There’s a long, drawn out sigh, and then Eddie opens the door, sidles in to take a seat at the table.

For a moment, Steve thinks he isn’t going to acknowledge it, which is fine. But as Eddie picks up the spoon he says, head down, “It’s just. That was, uh. Really—really nice.”

Steve’s concern abates a little; he can’t help giving a slight smirk. “Would it help if I was mean instead?”

Eddie laughs again, no tears in it this time. He shrugs with a grin. “Do whatever you want, man.”

He’s eating slowly, his spoon dragging through the soup. His eyes seem distant.

“It’s just… I miss—” His voice threatens to break, but doesn’t quite get there. “I miss… home.”

Before Steve can think of a reasonable reply, Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. He drops the spoon with a clatter. “God, that sounds so—”

“It doesn’t,” Steve interrupts.

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie picks up the spoon again, keeps scraping it against the bottom of the bowl.

“Dude, what did I tell you? You’ve gotta give yourself a break.”

Steve pauses, stuck on what to say next.

He can’t even relate, honestly. Home has long become something he couldn’t… Something he couldn’t really miss, exactly.

It’s ever-changing: the luxury of eating a late breakfast in History; the crunch of leaves underfoot as he walked the railroad tracks with Dustin; the chill of the freezer in Scoops Ahoy, Robin’s snorting laugh bouncing off the walls.

Now it’s his car radio playing as he gives rides on busy school mornings. A high school basketball game. A goddamn video store.

“I think you have this thing,” Steve says slowly.

“A promising start,” Eddie says, lips twitching.

He’s finished the soup. The sight spurs Steve on.

“I think you have this thing,” he repeats, more confidently, “where you think that, like, we’re seasoned monster-killers, and you’re—”

“Uh, speaking objectively, Harrington, that’s kinda what you are.”

“My point is,” Steve says, “that you don’t need to—shit, I don’t know, man. Just. You don’t need to apologise or whatever. You’re doing fine.”

Eddie blinks. He’s cupping the empty bowl with his hands, breathing a little deeper, like the residual warmth is calming.

And that Steve can relate to: in the days after Starcourt, when Robin pretty much dragged him to her house, empty thanks to her folks visiting extended family. They both pretended that they just wanted to stay up late because they could, because they were just teenagers enjoying the summer, and Robin had made shitty hot chocolate from a powder, heating up milk on the stove; when Steve complained that he could hardly enjoy it through a busted lip, she’d said, still jittery, “I just thought—it’s just nice to hold, y’know?”

She was right.

One of Eddie’s fingers starts tapping against the bowl, the underside of his ring making a series of restless clinks. Steve wants to still his hand, gently press it further into the warmth. Settle him.

Eddie stands up with the bowl.

“I can—”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Eddie says, already at the sink. He turns on the faucet, smiles. “Thanks, by the way.”

It’s so simple, so domestic, and all of a sudden, Steve’s struck with a thought: oh, I want this.

“No problem. I’ll get you something better, after… um, everything.”

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, Jesus, I think I actually would kill for some fries.”

Steve clicks his fingers. “So we’ll make it happen.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, man, but as soon as they hear about free fries—” Steve jerks his head towards the chatter outside, “—they’re gonna demand to come with, they’re like piranhas.”

He expects Eddie to play up the joke, to groan and complain.

But while he does laugh, Eddie just sighs before saying in earnest, “That sounds fucking fantastic.”

And his eyes are warm and fond, like maybe he’s found another home in all of them, too.

[a-aexotic]

request for rafe:

rafe is being oddly quiet when everyone in his friend group is pestering him about getting a one night stand. Reader walks in and he just goes all starry eyed, but he doesn’t wanna admit he loves her even though… its so obvious. (grumpy x sunshine)

(love your work, i hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻)

pairing. rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings. fluff!!!, ooc rafe, mention of weed + alcohol, one kiss at the end, lmk if i missed anything!

summary. rafe has the biggest crush on y/n, when topper finds out he decides to help his best friend get with the girl of his dreams.

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. masterlist. taglist. ❫

Rafe had just about enough of his friends. It'd been months since he'd had a girl over and they were starting to worry. Why had he suddenly just stopped liking girls?

Topper was worrying maybe Rafe was about to just end it all. He knew Rafe wouldn't actually but they hadn't seen Rafe this sober in years.

"Dude, she's checking you out." Topper whispered to Rafe. He looked over at the girl and she was indeed checking him but he immediately gave her the cold shoulder and turned away.

Topper was confused. She was pretty; nice bathing suit, pretty eyes, a big ass. What more could Rafe want?

"Nah, I'm good, man." Rafe sighed as leaned back into his chair. He had eyes for one girl and one girl only, and she wasn't there yet. Topper furrowed his brows.

"Dude, what? She's a total catch, I mean, look at that-"

Rafe cut him off with a glare making Topper scoff and turn away. Was something wrong? He was getting more and more worried about Rafe.

"Dude, you okay?" Topper mumbled. They were at this fun party, hot girls everywhere, weed everywhere and he doesn't want anything at all. That wasn't like Rafe at all.

Rafe rolled his eyes and groaned in annoyance. Topper's nagging was really getting on his nerves. "Yes. I am. I just don't want to fuck every single girl I see, okay?"

"What about smoking?"

"I don't want to anymore, okay? That shit's bad for your lungs." He remembers you telling one of your friends that you hated smoking because of how bad it was for your health.

Hearing Rafe say that made Topper fully think he had somehow shifted into a different parallel universe. This was not the Rafe he'd known since third grade. This was a doppelganger because no way in hell that Rafe Cameron just insisted that smoking was bad for your health. Topper's jaw was on the floor.

Rafe looked back at Topper with an annoyed expression but quickly shifted his gaze to someone behind him. His expression morphed into a delighted one.

There you were, with all your glory. Pink tube top, light blue jean shorts with your iconic white high-top converse. His cheeks had begun to turn pink as Topper had to where he was looking and suddenly it clicked. Rafe had a crush.

You were greeting your friends and Rafe caught your eye. You sent a happy wave his way and he gratefully answered with another wave.

Topper smirked and then looked back at Rafe. "Oh, I see what's going on here."

Rafe's expression dropped as he turned to Topper. "What?"

"You like Y/N."

Rafe rolled his eyes. "You just realized that, dude?"

Topper was again, shocked, by Rafe for the second time tonight. Rafe admitting his feelings? Where was Rafe and what was this imposter doing in his place?

"I mean, who wouldn't. She's gorgeous and smart. I just wish she wasn't so nice, it's making it harder to bond with her." Rafe mumbled the last part, making Topper nod along.

Topper had known Rafe essentially all his life and he's never been whipped for any girl. He wanted to know why she was so special. "Can I help?"

"No." Rafe said simply, making Topper scoff.

"I'm really friendly, man. I can like, help you, trust me." Topper put his hand on Rafe's shoulder and squeezed it. "Do you have her number?"

"No, I don't. I've been trying to send her an dm but I feel like that's not classy enough. Plus she probably has like 100 other guys in her dm's, I wanna stand out." Rafe ranted, genuinely perplexed.

Topper sighed, "you're making it way too hard. Just go up to her."

Rafe turned to Rafe, glaring daggers his way. "It's not that easy."

"Yes, it is. It's really not that hard. She's just a girl." Topper spoke, like it was the easiest thing ever.

"Just a girl?!-"

"Shh, Rafe. Get up and talk to her, be a man." Topper pushed Rafe up and away from the chair, making Rafe grumble. He noted to make sure to punch Topper for that later.

He looked for you at the party, Topper's voice echoing in his mind. Be a man, be a man, be a man. Rafe turned a corner and then there you were, sitting with your friends. He felt his heart drop and Topper's voice was fading. He was just standing there, like an idiot.

You turned and you saw him standing there and you had a big smile on your face. You excused yourself from your friends and walked over to him.

He immediately whipped his gaze to the seat next to him and sat there immediately, trying to look like he was doing something. He wanted to face palm himself; when did he become such an awkward guy? He was usually so smooth, especially with girls.

"Hey." He recognized your voice and his heart skipped a beat as he turned to face you. How could someone be so pretty?

Rafe cleared his throat as he smiled. "Hi."

You took a seat next to him. "Noticed you just standing there, I was wondering where Topper was? He's usually always with you."

He groaned subconsciously at the mention of Topper. "He's clingy."

You laughed at that. "Yeah, but that's okay. That's kinda cute."

"Topper? Cute?" Rafe stumbled out. Did you like Topper? He made a disgusted face at that; how could a 10 like you, end up with a 3 like Topper?

"No, he's..." You tried to find the right wording. "He's okay." You tried not be mean, he was attractive - but not you.

Rafe relaxed at that. "Yeah, he is. He's just okay, I don't know how anyone could find him attractive."

You laughed but instantly stopped yourself, "that's mean." You still had a smile on your face. Rafe smiled at that.

"Why are you just sitting here alone?"

Rafe shrugged, "Topper was getting on my nerves. He, uh... wanted me to smoke."

You furrowed your brows in disgust. "Wow, did you?"

He shook his head in slight delight. "Nope. Smoking isn't for me."

"Wow, I'm glad to see someone not succumb to peer pressure, good for you." You smiled knowingly.

You've known Rafe since middle school; you know he loves smoking, you've seen him scream and break a chair in half then jump into the pool: no sober person would do that. You weren't mad that he lied to you, you found it sort of endearing.

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's just like, really bad for your lungs."

You couldn't help but giggle at his words: he was literally you quoting word for word, not deliberately. It's so cute. "God, you're so cute."

You both stopped at stared at each other for a few seconds. A blush rose from Rafe as you felt your heart literally stop.

"You think I'm cute?" Rafe spoke quietly, an octave above a whisper. You could barely hear him.

You couldn't get yourself out this one. You couldn't just lie, might as well just rip the band-aid off. You nodded. "Yeah, well you are."

"I am?"

You laughed at that, trying not to turn red from embarrassment. "Yes, Rafe. You're cute."

"You're cute, too." Rafe felt like a little kid confessing to his crush and he was scared of rejection, he was avoiding your gaze. I mean, you already had confessed.

You found it adoring how shy he was. Like mentioned, you'd known him since he was a kid and you've watched him grow. He was always confident and it was a sweet how shy he was all because of you.

You grabbed his hand and his skin began feeling hot as he looked back up you. Your hand was just as soft as he imagined it would be. You both made eye contact. Rafe's eyes kept wandering down to your lips, then back to your eyes. It was a silent gesture of saying 'kiss me.' As you were leaning in, you heard a shout from behind.

You both turned to see Kelce and Topper. They walked towards you both, a huge smile on their faces. Rafe's anger was radiating from his body; he could not believe his jackass friends just ruined his almost kiss with you.

"Wow! My plan worked, Rafe. You guys are holding hands now, see! Told ya being a man worked." Topper was obviously drunk and oblivious to the awkwardness he was causing. Kelce nodded.

"I didn't know you liked Y/N, man. The more you know." Kelce talked to Rafe. He turned to you with a smile. "I don't blame you, dude, you are gorgeous."

You nodded and smiled at that. "Thank you, Kelce. I appreciate it." You know he didn't mean it in a weird or creepy way, so you found it endearing.

He cleared his throat. "You dumbasses are ruining my moment. Can you guys fucking leave?" He whispered to them, trying to make sure that you didn't hear it. But you were pretty close to him so you could.

Kelce and Topper looked at each other, then you, then back at Rafe. They nodded. "Okay, bye Y/N."

They both left and Rafe turned his attention back to you. "See what I'm dealing with? They act like fucking children, I swear."

"Rafe."

"What?" He turned to you and you put your hand on his face, leaning in to plant a single kiss on his lips. He was so caught off guard but when you pulled away, he instantly wanted more.

You smiled. "Let me give you my number."

"Y-Yeah, sure." He was still in shock, stumbling over his words, the taste of your lipgloss still on your lips. He handed you his phone.

You looked down at in and smiled. "You have to unlock it." You held in your laugh at how out of order he was just because of one kiss. He took his phone back, opening it with Face ID. He gave it back to you.

You put in your number and then put in your name. You then opened his camera, snapping a quick picture then putting it as your contact picture.

You gave it back with a grin as you stood up. "Text me, okay?"

He nodded, "Sure. Yeah." As you walked away, he couldn't help but lick his lips and the taste of your lipgloss was still on it. He couldn't believe that just happened.