#planking fun and cool

[mothcrumbs]

can the brain professionals stop being correct for a second

[fantasykiri5]

Chat which do we like more, with or without the extra little patches of colors (ignore that the bark edge on the top isn't finished- I'm gonna do it once I've figured put the rest of the bark)

[technikki]

tadc doesnt really have enough episodes to have any major impact on me yet but goddamn the character designs are so funky. im eating tjem like a gummy candies

[icewindandboringhorror]

random life photos from the past few months

[manuhigueras]

Refresh your Internet.

We´re planking. It´s because of our internet providers. We´re stuck in 2011.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

ayo this pretty cool

[id: active style manual wheelchair with frame made of rectangle wood planks screwed together. end id]

as we know active type wheelchair very expensive, & repair need buy from specific medical manufacturer n take very long time. someone (who wheelchair user themself of near 40 years) made open source active manual wheelchair where most (if not all?) material from commercial easy get materials! wood, plastic, pvc pipe, & those commercial aluminum square pipe things. n they put guide made them yourself in link for anyone want try make

this video from their instagram show their wood frame wheelchair actually pretty durable, include clip from everyday use & even drop wheelchair all over place (basically imagine what airline do to them…) - n wheelchair stay in tact! n even if some part break - it easy change because wood planks all screwed together so you just buy wood plank & unscrew & rescrew.

not great for people w advanced seating positioning needs probably (think if only problem is easy butt pressure sore, maybe can still use this + supportive cushion but think beyond that it get hard). but if like you don’t need those things then maybe fun project?

have not use for self so can’t actually talk about experience but it look pretty cool

edit: reblog this version instead

[kpoplustzone]

GYM FUN - KARINA SMUT - PART 1

oc x karina

4078 words

click on the links provided for sexy images and pictures of karina along the story

Ko fi link- https://ko-fi.com/epiclude

Park Jin-ho walked into the spacious workout room, his eyes scanning the various members going through their routines. His gaze stopped abruptly when he saw Karina in a far corner, already starting her warm-up. Her movements were fluid and graceful, each stretch highlighting the incredible shape of her body. Jin-ho could only gulp, his eyes fixed on her. The idol, well-known for her generous curves, was wearing a tight-fitting athletic top, and as she raised her arms and leaned to the side, the fabric stretched across her prominent chest, giving Jin-ho a very clear and rather breathtaking view of her ample breasts. He couldn't help but stare for a moment, completely captivated by her physique.

Karina's body was truly a sight to behold, even in the simple gym attire. Her athletic top clung to her torso, accentuating her narrow waist, which flared out to naturally wide hips, creating that classic, coveted "S-line" figure that South Korean men often raved about. It was no secret that she was considered one of the most beautiful idols, her visuals often described as almost unreal, like something straight out of a fantasy. But it was her chest that often drew the most attention. Her breasts were undeniably full and perfectly shaped, a focal point that many South Korean men openly admired and fantasized about. The way they moved subtly with each stretch, the gentle bounce as she shifted her weight, it was a mesmerizing sight. It wasn't just the size; there was a certain natural grace to her physique that made her movements captivating. For many men in South Korea, Karina represented the ideal of feminine beauty and sex appeal, a goddess-like figure whose every appearance sparked intense admiration and a flood of online commentary about her "divine" proportions. Jin-ho, watching her with his heart pounding a little faster than usual, certainly understood the hype

Jin-ho took one last, subtly appreciative glance at Karina’s incredible form before composing himself and walking over to where she was stretching. She was wearing sleek black leggings that hugged her legs perfectly, showcasing her toned thighs and calves. Her athletic top was a stylish charcoal grey, fitted but breathable, with thin straps that highlighted her shoulders. It was clear she took her workouts seriously.

As he approached, a professional smile gracing his lips, he said in Korean, "Annyeonghaseyo, Karina-ssi. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Jin-ho, your trainer for today." He extended a hand towards her. "We have an hour together, as you mentioned, so let's make the most of it. How are you feeling today, and is there anything specific you'd like to focus on?" He kept his tone friendly but strictly professional, his gaze focused on her eyes, though he couldn't help but notice the slight sheen of sweat on her brow and the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. He was determined to keep his admiration for her stunning looks separate from his role as her trainer.

"Alright, planks first. Just keep your body straight like a board," Jin-ho said, showing her what to do. Karina got down on her arms, her butt sticking up just a little bit in the air at first, then she straightened out. Her tight gym pants showed off every curve of her bottom, and Jin-ho had to stop himself from staring too hard.

As she held the plank, her body shaking a little, she sighed in a way that sounded like she was enjoying it. "Your arms look so strong," she said, looking up at him with a sly smile. "You must be able to hold on for a long time." Jin-ho felt his face get a little hot but tried to act cool. "It comes with the job. Just like your amazing body comes with yours."

Then, while she was holding the plank, she started to wiggle her hips a tiny bit from side to side. It was a small move, but Jin-ho definitely noticed. It was like she was saying, 'Look at this, do you like it?' Her chest was pressed against her top, and he could see the outline of her nipples pushing against the fabric. He had to look away for a second.

Karina held the plank, her body firm and toned, but a playful glint in her eyes suggested her mind wasn't solely on her core strength. She subtly arched her back downwards for a fleeting moment, causing her chest to press even harder against the thin material of her top, the shape of her nipples becoming even more defined. She then returned to the strict plank form, as if testing Jin-ho to see if he had noticed the brief, deliberate flash.

"Is this… making you sweat, Jin-ho ssi?" she asked, her voice laced with a teasing sweetness as she glanced over at him, a small smirk playing on her lips. The question was clearly double-edged, referring both to the physical exertion and the obvious effect she was having on him. She then slowly lowered herself to her knees, stretching her arms out in front of her in a child's pose, offering Jin-ho an unobstructed view of her perfectly rounded backside in the tight leggings. As she held the pose, she subtly flexed her glutes, the smooth fabric stretching and clinging to every curve. Jin-ho found himself having to look away, his professional composure teetering on the edge. His heart was definitely pounding now, and he could feel a warmth spreading through his lower body.

Jin-ho’s mind was racing. He could feel the heat radiating from Karina, not just from her workout, but from a palpable sexual energy that was now thick in the air between them. It was undeniable – the sly glances, the suggestive comments, the subtle body language. Karina wasn't just teasing; she was clearly horny and looking for an outlet. And out of everyone in the gym, she was directing that energy squarely at him. A surge of adrenaline and desire shot through him. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, an incredibly hot idol practically throwing herself at him. He decided then and there that he wasn't going to let this moment pass. He was going to give her exactly what she wanted.

Jin-ho took a step closer, his gaze locking onto Karina's. The professional mask had completely slipped, replaced by a raw hunger that mirrored her own. "You're right, Karina-ssi," he said, his voice low and husky, "this doesn't have to be just a workout." His eyes flickered down to her chest, lingering for a moment before returning to hers, a silent question hanging in the air. He saw the answering spark in her eyes, a clear invitation. Without another word, he reached out, his hand gently tracing the curve of her neck before sliding down to rest on the swell of her breast, his thumb lightly brushing over the fabric, feeling the hard peak beneath. "You want this, don't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Karina’s smile widened, a look of pure, unadulterated desire washing over her beautiful face. She moved towards Jin-ho, who had indeed settled onto the padded floor, his legs spread slightly, the unmistakable bulge of his erection clearly visible through his gym shorts. Kneeling in front of him, her eyes never leaving his, she slowly reached out a hand. Her fingers, delicate yet firm, gently traced the outline of his hard-on through the fabric, her touch sending a visible shiver through Jin-ho’s body. She started at the base, her fingertips lightly skimming the sensitive area just above his groin, and then slowly moved upwards along the length of his thick cock, teasing him with feather-light strokes. When she reached the tip, she circled it gently, her touch promising more to come. Jin-ho watched her, his breath catching in his throat, utterly captivated by her bold and sensual initiation.

From his seated position, Jin-ho had a breathtaking view of Karina. Her beautiful face, usually framed by perfect makeup and elaborate hairstyles for performances, now had a natural, slightly flushed glow. Her eyes, wide and filled with a playful desire, were locked on his, a confident smile gracing her full lips. The angle gave him a perfect view down the front of her athletic top, the fabric stretched tight across her generous breasts, the outline of her nipples clearly visible. Her arms were slightly outstretched as she traced his erection, pulling the material of her top taut across her chest, further emphasizing her impressive cleavage. Behind her, her back arched slightly, presenting her round, firm buttocks, the tight black leggings clinging to every curve and crevice. Her thighs looked thick and powerful, hinting at the strength she possessed beneath her seemingly delicate exterior. It was a view that confirmed every fantasy he'd ever had about the stunning idol, amplified by the intimate and undeniably seductive way she was now touching him. Slowly, Karina reached down and pulled Jin-ho's hard cock out of his gym shorts. It popped out, looking thick and long in the air. Her eyes opened a little wider as she looked at it, like she was surprised by how big it was. She reached out with both hands, her fingers gently wrapping around its length. She started to stroke it slowly, just feeling the weight and hardness of it in her hands She started to move her hands up and down more quickly now, really getting a feel for his hardness. Her eyes flicked up to meet Jin-ho’s, a playful, teasing smile on her face. Then, she leaned forward slightly and slowly licked the tip of his cock with her tongue. Jin-ho gasped, his body tensing. Karina kept her eyes on him as she took more of him into her mouth, her lips closing around the head. She sucked gently at first, then with more enthusiasm, her hand still stroking the length of his shaft. From Jin-ho’s perspective, having the incredibly gorgeous Karina from Aespa’s lips wrapped around his cock was an experience beyond his wildest fantasies. He looked down at her kneeling in front of him, her dark hair falling around his lap as she expertly licked and sucked him. Her eyes were focused, intent on pleasuring him, and the sight of such a famous and desirable idol giving him this kind of attention was unbelievably arousing.

A wave of pure, unadulterated lust washed over him. He couldn't believe his luck. Karina, a goddess in the eyes of millions, was treating his cock like it was the most precious thing in the world. The warmth of her mouth, the gentle tugging sensation, the occasional flick of her tongue – it was driving him absolutely crazy. He thought about all the guys in South Korea who would give anything for just a moment with her, let alone this kind of intimacy. He felt a surge of pride mixed with a heady sense of power. He was the lucky one, the one she had chosen, at least for this moment, to give him exactly what he craved. His hands instinctively reached down, wanting to touch her hair, to feel her closer as she continued her passionate assault on his senses. A surge of boldness coursed through Jin-ho. Emboldened by Karina's eager mouth, he reached down and gently but firmly placed his hands on either side of her beautiful face. Her skin was smooth and soft under his touch. Without breaking eye contact for a moment, he guided her head downwards, pressing her closer until his thick cock was fully engulfed by her warm, wet mouth. He could feel her gag slightly as she took him completely, the sensation sending a jolt of pure pleasure through him. He tightened his grip on her face, holding her there as she enthusiastically sucked him, the feeling of her deep throating him almost unbearable in its intensity. This was way beyond anything he could have imagined.

Jin-ho eased his grip on Karina’s face, allowing her to pull back. She immediately started to cough, a slight gag reflex kicking in from taking him so deep. Her cheeks were flushed a vibrant red, and her eyes watered slightly. Jin-ho looked down at his thick cock, and it was indeed covered in her glistening saliva, a wet testament to her enthusiastic oral skills. He watched her take a few deep breaths, her hand reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. There was a look of slight embarrassment mixed with amusement on her face.

Her eyes went right back to his hard cock, but then she looked down at his balls. They were just hanging there, waiting. She leaned down again and opened her mouth wide enough to take them both in. They felt warm and soft in her mouth. She used her tongue to gently lick all around them, making sure she didn't miss any spot. She'd suck on them softly, then lick them again, really giving them her attention. Jin-ho made a low noise in his throat, like he really liked what she was doing. He watched her, his eyes half-closed, as she gave his balls the same kind of special treatment she gave his cock. It felt really good.

From Jin-ho’s angle, Karina’s exquisite, small face was a vision of pure, unadulterated lust. Her dark hair framed her delicate features as her mouth moved so intimately on his balls. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin as she licked and sucked, and the occasional flick of her tongue sent shivers down his spine. His hard cock rested against her cheek, a wet and throbbing presence against her soft skin, as if even it was anticipating the next wave of her attention.

He truly felt like he was dreaming. Karina from Aespa, one of the biggest idols in the world, was kneeling in front of him, giving him the kind of pleasure most men could only fantasize about. He had seen her on stage, her powerful presence captivating millions. He had seen her flawless photoshoots, her beauty almost otherworldly. But this… this was raw, intimate, and incredibly real. He was speechless, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of the situation. What could he possibly say? Every thought seemed to dissolve into the overwhelming sensations flooding his body. All he could do was watch her, mesmerized, as she continued her passionate assault, a silent testament to a moment he knew he would never forget.

Karina pulled her mouth away from Jin-ho’s slick cock and balls, her lips glistening with his saliva. She looked up at him, a playful smirk dancing on her face. "So, Jin-ho ssi," she purred, her voice a little hoarse from her efforts, "what are you in the mood for now?"

Jin-ho's gaze was immediately drawn to her chest. Her athletic top, now slightly damp, clung to her ample breasts, the shape of her nipples clearly defined beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but stare, completely captivated by their fullness.

Karina followed his gaze and a knowing smile spread across her face. With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached down and lifted the hem of her top, pulling it up just enough to expose the lower curves of her magnificent breasts. She held the fabric there, offering him a teasing glimpse of the pale skin underneath,

Karina held the hem of her top just high enough to reveal the plump undersides of her breasts, the shadow of her areola just visible, but not the full glory. "You like what you see, Jin-ho ssi?" she purred, her voice a husky whisper. "These were made for worship, you know. They get very sensitive… especially when they're teased just right." She lowered the hem a fraction, then lifted it again, giving him tantalizing glimpses. "Imagine how soft they feel in your hands. How good it would feel to have your mouth on them, sucking gently… or maybe a little rougher, if you prefer." She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tell me, Jin-ho ssi, which way would you worship them best?"

Slowly, deliberately, Karina took a step closer to Jin-ho, still kneeling with his hard cock pointing straight ahead. The lower half of her luscious breasts, still partially hidden by her lifted top, came closer and closer to his erection. Then, with a soft sigh and a playful smile, she leaned forward just a little, gently brushing the underside of one plump breast against the hard ridge of his penis. The soft give of her flesh against his rigid member sent a jolt of pure electricity through Jin-ho. Karina repeated the motion, this time with the other breast, teasing him with the incredibly soft and sensitive underside. It was a torturous dance of near-contact, her not fully showing him her breasts making the tease even more intense, the slight friction of her skin against his cock promising a pleasure that was just out of reach.

With a playful giggle, Karina widened the small gap between her breasts and, with a slow, deliberate motion, guided Jin-ho’s thick, long, hard cock right into the warm, soft crevice. The sensation for Jin-ho was instantly overwhelming. The feeling of her soft, full breasts enveloping his erection was like being cradled in the most sensual pillow imaginable. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, and the subtle pressure of her cleavage against his shaft was incredibly arousing. It was an intimate and daring move, trapping his cock in her personal warmth, and Jin-ho felt a rush of pure, unadulterated lust mixed with a thrill of disbelief at Karina's boldness. His breath caught in his throat, and he could do nothing but watch her face, his body completely captivated by the incredible sensation of being nestled between Aespa Karina's glorious breasts.

Even though he couldn't really see her boobs, the feeling of his hard cock sliding in and out between them felt amazing. Every time he pushed in a little, the tip of his dick would just about touch her lips. He watched her face as this happened. Her mouth would open a tiny bit, and she'd look right at him with this playful look. It was like she was teasing him. The feeling of her soft boobs squeezing his cock was driving him crazy, and the thought of his tip almost touching her lips with every push was so hot. He let out a soft groan, completely lost in the feeling of her body on his.

The way Karina’s thick, soft breasts cradled his hard cock was unlike anything Jin-ho had ever experienced. They weren't just resting against him; they seemed to mold around his shaft, the warm, full weight pressing in from both sides. With each subtle thrust, he could feel the silky smooth skin of her cleavage rubbing against him, a sensation that was both incredibly soft and intensely stimulating. Sometimes, as he pushed in deeper, his cock would slide up and nudge against the underside of her nipple, sending a jolt of pure electricity through him. He imagined how perfectly his head would fit right there, between those magnificent mounds of flesh. The feeling was so intimate, so incredibly carnal, that Jin-ho could barely keep himself from moaning out loud. Her thick body, pressed so close against his, only amplified the sensation, making every inch of contact feel charged with raw desire. He was completely lost in the moment, the playful tease having morphed into something deeply sensual and undeniably erotic.

Karina’s eyes dropped to where Jin-ho’s thick cock was nestled between her breasts, and she noticed the tell-tale sheen of precum glistening on its head. A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. Without breaking contact with his gaze, she lowered her head slightly and parted her lips. Jin-ho watched, his breath catching in his throat, as her tongue darted out and traced a wet line along the underside of his glans. The sensation was electric, especially with the soft pressure of her breasts still surrounding him. Encouraged by his involuntary groan, she leaned in further, taking the very tip of his cock into her mouth, her warm lips closing around it gently at first, then with a more insistent suck. The contrast of the cool air on the rest of his shaft and the intense heat and moisture of her mouth was driving him wild. He could feel her hands gently squeezing his sides as she continued her teasing oral attention, all while his cock remained nestled in her cleavage

Karina’s sucking grew more insistent, her lips creating a firm seal around the head of Jin-ho's cock. She’d pull back slightly, just enough to expose the glistening tip, then plunge forward again, her tongue flicking across the sensitive underside. Jin-ho could feel his hips starting to twitch involuntarily, his hands gripping her sides tighter. The warmth of her breath, combined with the soft pressure of her breasts surrounding him, was sending waves of pure lust through his body. He closed his eyes, completely lost in the sensations. He could hear her soft moans of pleasure mingling with his own ragged breathing. This unexpected encounter was escalating rapidly, and he could feel himself inching closer to the edge.

Jin-ho’s body tensed, his thrusts becoming more forceful, his grip on Karina’s sides tightening. He could feel the unmistakable pulsing sensation building deep within him. With a final, shuddering groan, he unleashed a huge load of hot, thick cum into Karina’s mouth. Her cheeks puffed out as she took it all, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. Jin-ho held her close, his body still trembling from the release. When the last drops had been expelled, Karina slowly pulled back, her lips glistening with his semen. Without hesitation, she tilted her head back and swallowed every last bit, her throat moving visibly as she did so. She then looked up at him, a satisfied smile gracing her lips. "Delicious," she whispered, her voice thick with his ejaculate.

Jin-ho’s mind was still reeling. He could barely process what had just happened. Karina, Aespa’s Karina – a woman idolized by millions, someone he never thought he’d even be in the same room with, let alone this intimate – had just swallowed his cum as if it were the most delectable thing in the world. He watched, utterly stunned, as she used her fingers to gently wipe the remaining drops from the tip of his still-erect cock, bringing her fingers to her lips and sucking them clean. Her eyes met his, and the satisfied, almost sensual look on her face was more arousing than he could have imagined. He was speechless, his initial surprise quickly turning into a potent mix of disbelief and utter gratification

Seeing his cock, which had gone soft after his release, begin to swell again between her breasts, Karina looked genuinely surprised. Her eyebrows arched slightly, and her eyes widened as she felt the growing hardness pressing against her skin. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she looked down at his hardening member with a mixture of amusement and renewed desire. "Looks like someone enjoyed that," she purred, her voice laced with a playful tease. She reached down and gently caressed the growing bulge through her top, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

His cock was indeed still nestled warmly between her breasts, held captive by the fabric of her tank top. She reached down and gently squeezed the bulge, a playful smile gracing her lips. "Well then, Jin-ho ssi, it seems you have a head start. But don't think that makes things any easier for you. I still expect you to keep me entertained until I've had my fill." She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "And trust me," she whispered, her voice a low purr, "I have a very big appetite." And that brings us to the end of Part 1 of this steamy encounter between Aespa's Karina and her lucky personal trainer, Jin-ho! Jin-ho’s cock is still nestled snugly between Karina’s glorious breasts, and she’s just made it clear that this workout is far from over.

What will happen in Part 2? Will Karina finally give Jin-ho a full view of her famous assets? Will she slide his hard cock out from between her breasts and take their intimate play to the next level? You'll have to wait and see what unfolds when we continue their intensely erotic gym session! Stay tuned!

[fushiguruuzzzz]

Thinking about camp counsellor!Kuroo

Camp counsellor!Kuroo who is constantly being teased by his campers about you, to which he responds with an overly defensive order for them to get back to work.

“You’re staring at her again…” they giggled.

“Don’t you have a plate to clear?” he bit back, eyes narrowing. No real heat lied in his tone, any form of sternness he’d attempted to hold washed away by flustered defence.

The kid mumbled under their breath, mocking him as they turned back to their food. They had to bite back a snigger as his eyes drifted back to you almost instantly, as if he was annoyed he had to look away at all.

Camp counsellor!Kuroo who consistently snatches you up whenever the cabins have to go in pairs, claiming that you were the “pick of the litter” for reasons other than the way you drew him in.

The two of you walked a few paces behind the bunch of kids, where you could keep a better eye on everyone (as well as be alone). The not-so-subtle glances and giggles of various campers were pretty hard to miss, they seemed to grow louder every time you were alone with him. And as your hand brushed over his, the pink dusting the bridge of his nose was pretty hard to miss, too. He’d never hear the end of it when he returned to his cabin, he was sure.

Camp counsellor!Kuroo whose friends are sick of him. They’re sick of the way he’s distracted from every conversation the moment you walk in, his expression turning to that of a lovesick puppy.

One time, all of the counsellors snuck to the lake after dark and went swimming. One minute Kuroo was telling a funny story, and the next he was doing a backflip off of the dock. Sure, Bokuto had as well, but… that was Bokuto.

When he came back up for air, he didn’t waste a second in swimming back to the array of wooden planks that you were perched on.

“You see that? You think it was cool? Yeah? You think I’m cool, dontchya?”

Kenma’s scoff could be heard from the cabins.

Camp counsellor!Kuroo who is really just a big loser. He’d tell cheesy jokes and makes subtle jabs at his friends under his breath, though the curl of his lips tells you it’s all fun and games. He’d save you a seat in the cafeteria and offer to wash dishes for you so that you didn’t have to. There were times when he hadn’t noticed you, and the sight of him giggling heartily with his campers as they (attempted) to make bracelets, the rise and fall of his chest with every chuckle.

Conveniently, you found one of those very same bracelets left on your bunk bed later that night.

He claimed it was from one of the kids.

General tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniya

[27spoons]

Heartache | PART ONE: Will I Know You?

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: It starts with an early-morning knock at your door. Natalie, bruised and quiet, asking if she can stay the night. You haven't really talked since high school. She doesn't say what happened. You don't ask. [no crash!au, college!au, set in 2003]

wc: 8300

warnings: angst, smut, (some) fluff, hurt/no comfort, friends to lovers (but not really), unresolved emotional tension, emotional hurt/comfort (yes, it is possible to have no comfort and comfort. trust), canon-typical trauma, oral sex, fingering, nipple play, natalie uses sex to avoid confronting her feelings (shocker), some brief descriptions of blood/injury

a/n: think of this like a spiritual successor to cologne. it's not directly related, and you don't have to read it to read this fic, but i feel like they're. third cousins once removed (also i drop the nickname 'natty' once but i promise it never shows up again and there was a reason for it aiughaiughj)

ao3 / masterlist

NEXT - PART TWO: Don't Ruin This

You met Natalie Scatorccio in the summer of '92. You had watched her eat cement after falling off her makeshift skateboard—a plank of wood with someone's rollerblade wheels bolted to the bottom. The wood was splintery, the bolts were mismatched, and the wheels were definitely stolen, but none of that mattered. She wore a shit-eating grin and carried herself with a confidence far too loud for someone missing both front teeth and bleeding from the knees.

This was ages before her hair became that bleached-blonde mop you came to love in high school, back when her hair was brown and her sarcasm hadn't turned bitter. This was Nat before 'Natty' became a name that felt like a stain on her soul or a dagger to the gut. No, this was a Nat that still laughed freely and called herself a 'tough girl' like it was a game.

Maybe it was, back then. 

Middle school is when the change started. 

Not all at once—more like a fresh crack in the ice that signifies the beginning of the end. Her clothes got darker, her jokes meaner. She stopped inviting you over and started showing up unannounced, bruised, jittery, and louder than before. She'd still crash on your floor now and then, still steal your snacks and make fun of your Polly Pockets, but something had grown jagged. 

It felt like a wisdom tooth starting to grow in wrong.

She kissed a girl behind the gym in seventh grade. You didn't know what to say back then; you just laughed and said, "Cool." She lit a cigarette right after, and you remember thinking she looked like a movie character—the tragic kind.

You started hearing things around that time. About fights. Her dad. Her mom. The boys she hung out with. But you never asked. She never offered. The unspoken agreement was always to be there for each other without listening to the noise.

So when she leaned against you on the bus ride back to your place for a quick nap, you let her. You knew she didn’t sleep much at home, anyway.

By ninth grade, you saw her eyeliner grow more bold and her eyeshadow more pronounced, as though she was putting on war paint just to face day-to-day life. She started smoking behind the gym between classes with Kevyn and picking fights in the hallway that left her with a mountain of detention slips and trips to the nurse's office.

She still climbed through your window on some nights. Sometimes she came drunk. Sometimes she came quiet. She never explained why. 

She didn't have to.

You'd talk until sunrise most of those nights. About nothing, about everything. About how this town made you two feel as though you both had fallen in quicksand—the more you struggled, the faster it pulled you under.

She started playing soccer in sophomore year. It wasn't long after her old man had croaked—a string of suspensions led to an almost-expulsion, barely prevented by a plea bargain to join the team. No one knows exactly what the expulsion was for, but that never stopped the rumour mill from guessing. 

Like most things in your relationship, you never asked. She never told you.

Junior year was when she started giving a shit about soccer. Maybe it was a way to get out of the trailer. Maybe it was the distraction. Maybe it was the people, the structure, the chance to run until her lungs burned.

Whatever the reason, it changed her trajectory, even if just a little.

She started showing up more, skipping less, wearing that dumb letterman like it meant something. She still got into fights—on and off the field—but the bruises were easier to explain. She cut her hair shorter. Started biting her nails again. Got a new (thrifted) Walkman and only ever played Nirvana or Veruca Salt loud enough to bleed through her headphones.

Nat dyed her hair bleach blonde a week before senior year. She had shown up hellishly early in the morning with streaked makeup and a drugstore box of bleach, and you never asked any questions. You cleaned her up and dyed her hair, laughed about how shitty it's gonna look for senior portraits, then passed out in your room together.

Nothing happened. Not like that.

You two got drunk together for the last time the night she got a full-ride soccer scholarship to some shitty college up state. She didn't tell you at first—just showed up at your window with a crumpled acceptance letter and a bottle of gas station gin. You'd never seen her properly cry before. You didn't then, either.

You rebleached her hair the night before the soccer team flew out to Nationals while she was high on acid and laughing about how 'crunchy' the peroxide smelled. That was the last night she slept in your bed. 

They won. You weren't surprised. 

Senior year ended quietly. No big fight or dramatic goodbye. Just fewer phone calls, fewer sleepovers. You hugged her at graduation with your degree tucked under your arm and told her to visit before move-in. 

She told you she would. You both knew she wouldn't.

Whatever the reason for the gradual drift, you ended up at the same college. Different programs and dorms, but still in each other's general vicinity.

She stayed busy with the team and some bullshit program you know she didn't care about. She started partying with people who didn't know her like you did. Sometimes you'd see her across the quad or in the halls, her hair brighter and eyes duller. 

Sometimes you'd watch a match or two if you happened to be on campus the day they were happening. Sometimes she'd say hi to you after the game if she remembered. You two ebbed out of each other's lives like the receding waters just before a tsunami, and you stopped waiting to hear from her again.

You had moved on—even if you'd think about her late at night, wondering if she's doing the same. 

You're in between consciousness and the deep recesses of your mind, somewhere in the second half of your sophomore year, when there's a loud pounding at your door. Rhythmic, almost familiar. Almost the same way Nat used to tap on your window after getting thrown out of the trailer again.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that's all it is. Just some weird, fugue state of mind that's throwing you headfirst into these deep-seated memories you tried to convince yourself you'd forgotten.

The memories play behind your eyes like a perfectly timed mixtape or a highlight reel at the end of a DVD movie. Like the first time the two of you—

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK—KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK—KNOCKKONCKKNOCK

Again—louder this time. More frantic, but still in that same pattern you used to hear every other night. Your eyes flicker open.  You stare at the ceiling fan spinning mindlessly overhead for a few moments before the sound repeats once more.

You groan and reluctantly throw off your covers, sparing a glance at your digital clock.

3:07 A.M.

Of course it is.

Another knock hits the door. You mumble something between I'm coming and go fuck yourself, but it's barely coherent and you don't really care.

Throwing on the first hoodie and pair of sweats you find, you trudge your way to the door, heels dragging solemnly across the floor in a combination of sleep deprivation and heavy reluctance. You unbolt the door locks as frantic shuffling from the other side fills your ears. On a normal instance, you probably wouldn't open it for someone banging on it this early in the morning—but this is a very particular pattern of knocking you'd recognize three sheets to the wind and barely functioning. So, you make an exception.

When the door opens and the halogens from the hallway flood your dorm room, you instinctively throw up a hand to shield your eyes from the harsh lights, eyes far too used to the safety darkness provides you.

"Beginning to think your ass wasn't here." A weak laugh, the clearing of a throat. "Would've been awkward."

You drop your hand immediately at the voice. You haven't heard it in far too long and can't decide whether it's comforting or grating. Perhaps it doesn't matter, not with the wet cat currently standing on your doorstep. 

"Holy fucking shit," you murmur, taking in the sight in front of you. 

Natalie Scatorccio—right winger for the Brickhurst College Raccoons—is leaning against your doorframe, looking like hell.

She'd probably take that as a compliment, you think. 

But to say that she looks like hell would be an understatement. 

Her most notable feature is the trail of blood running from her nose onto her white tank, staining the fabric a deep, set-in red you already know won't come out in the wash. Her knuckles are scraped to shit and busted open in numerous places. 

And to top it all off, her right eye is starting to swell—pale skin bruising purple, sharp and ugly, standing stark against her washed-out complexion. You think there are tears in her eyes, just barely there, glinting in the hallway light.

You don't ask, though. You never do.

When she says—meekly, almost like it hurts—"Can I come in?" You sigh heavily and step away from the door, letting her enter the tiny room.

And, well, tiny is an understatement. You aren't sure how you managed to luck out with a single dorm in your sophomore year, but you'd be an idiot to turn it down. Last year, your roommate stayed up every night bingeing Sabrina the Teenage Witch, prepping for each new episode by rewatching the entire series. You can recite the pilot word-for-word at this point.

You aren't proud of that.

Anyway. Tiny room. It’s furnished with the basics: a desk, a standing dresser, a nightstand, and a twin bed pushed awkwardly into the far corner. You’ve done what you can to make it feel like yours—posters on the wall, a small lamp with a soft yellow glow, a stack of books that hasn’t moved in weeks—but it still looks like what it is: a college dorm.

Nat doesn't say much as she walks into the room, taking in the surroundings with a neutral expression before stopping in the middle of the floor and looking at you expectantly.

"Oh, uh, right." You close the door awkwardly as you gesture to your bed. "Sorry. The ceiling light doesn't work. Something about the electrical being screwy." You shrug, bringing the lamp on your bedside table closer to her. 

She scoffs at that, cracking her neck with an audible pop. "The showers in my building were busted for two weeks. I was using the ones in the gym while they sorted their shit out." 

You don't respond to that. You grab a tiny, makeshift first-aid kit that you keep stashed in your desk drawer for emergencies (paper cuts) and walk over (take two steps) towards the bed and sit down on your mattress. "Come on. Gotta patch your busted ass up." 

If your joke lands, Nat doesn't show it. She sits down without comment on your bed, never once meeting your eyes—a tactic you've come to expect on nights like these. Everything feels routine at this point—muscle memory born out of too many nights just like this one, too many wounds you never asked about.

Maybe you should have. Maybe it doesn't matter.

You don't even fully register your actions as you take them. You think you try to make a dumb comment somewhere between giving her an ibuprofen and bandaging up her knuckles, but you don't remember—those thoughts are buried somewhere in the depths of sleep deprivation and shock. 

You're wrapping her hand in gauze when she says your name. Quiet—like it costs. Nat’s free hand grips your bedsheets like she’s bracing for something—something she knows won’t come, but fears anyway.

You don't look up at her when she speaks—you don't know if you have the willpower to fight whatever her eyes will tell you that her mouth won't. You pause for only a fraction of a second before resuming your gentle bandaging. "Yeah?"

You'd think she's about to say something else with how she's clenching the duvet. That she has some giant confession to make that would completely shake your world up.

She doesn't. The ache lingers. You move on.

"You know," you start, clearing your throat. "We go to the same college. It's kinda crazy that we… never see each other." The laughter that follows your words comes out flat, like the awkward laugh you give the fifty-year-old man at your customer service job who just made a sexist 'joke'. 

Nat's hand tenses at the comment, the elephant in the room she was fucking praying you wouldn't bring up. Rather than the hostility that she would have responded with in high school, she just… shrugs, a thinly veiled attempt at apathy that you still manage to see right through.

"Busy."

You resist the sudden urge to flinch at the single-word reply, another attempt to push you away and close the door.

"I, uh," you clear your throat, straightening your back as you tie off the wrap around her knuckles. "I missed you, Nat."

There's a long beat of silence that follows your words. The air feels tense, like it's suffocating you underneath the weight of thoughts you've been carrying around way too long. The quiet stretches for an insanely uncomfortable length, to the point that you start debating if you even said anything. Nat just stares at you, face impassive—save for the slight furrow in her brows that would be invisible to someone who hasn't learned to read her every expression.

"...yeah," is the only reply Nat gives you. And, if you squint, you'd swear she missed you just as much as you missed her—that her agreement is her admission, but it's far too hollow-sounding to make your brain fully believe it.

When the silence reaches the point of being painful, Nat just shifts back and falls onto the bed without asking. Like nothing's changed; like she's still fourteen and knocking on your window at one in the morning, looking for a place to spend the night after getting kicked out again.

You hesitate for a beat, maybe two, but you lie down beside her before flicking off the lamp.

Maybe, maybe, you can pretend that the distance between you two never grew. Like you two still talk daily, sharing whispers under the cover of night. The room is quiet, save for the faint hum of the radiator and creaking of the bedframe as both of you shift in an attempt to get comfortable.

Neither of you speaks for a long time. It's not uncomfortable—not yet—it's just… quiet. Something on the cusp of familiarity, but not reaching the point that would allow your shoulders to relax and the breath you've been holding to release. 

Nat has her back to you—closing herself off both metaphorically and literally—and for a long moment, you think it's gonna stay that way. She'll remain shut off, she'll leave before dawn, and you'll be left in the morning wondering if the entire experience was just some fucked up fever dream that you'll relive every other night you fall asleep.

Then, to your surprise—and maybe hers too—Nat turns to face you. There isn't much room on the twin-size, but that just means she's close. Close enough that you can see the freckles scattered across her cheeks. They’re lighter here than on her shoulders, fewer and farther between, but no less tempting to trace.

She doesn't speak, doesn't smile or show any other emotion you'd think that she would show. No, she just looks at you, as though she's still deciding whether or not this was a mistake. But, if there's still any semblance of the Nat that you knew back in high school in there, you know that she's never given a fuck about if she makes a mistake, or what the consequences of said mistake would be.

So, in the silence, you take your time to look at her again. Really look at her.

Her face is mostly the same—sharper in some places, like she's finally started losing that baby fat that used to annoy her growing up. The smudged eyeliner hasn’t changed, but in the light of the pale moon, it makes her look as though she’s either been up too long or cried too recently. Her eyes are still that pale, unreadable green—like sea glass in low light. Her mouth is set in a flat line, lips still just as chapped as they were years ago. If you had to guess, she never stopped chewing on them.

Her hair's a mess, which is to be expected, all things given. It's still bleached blonde, but it fades into a dull yellow like she's forgot to use that fucking purple shampoo again, roots dark and growing in, her shag unruly and bangs in dire need of a trim.

She looks like someone who never expected to be seen in such intimate lighting again. And yet, here she is. Here you are.

You aren't sure how long passes before you break the silence. It feels like hours, but you know damn well it's likely just seconds. 

Time moves differently when you're staring at Natalie the way you're staring at her.

"Hey," you clear your throat, "You remember the first time you crashed at mine?"

Nat scoffs, but she's unable to hide the smile that twitches at the corner of her lips. "Yeah. It was, what, the night before middle school started?" She shifts slightly so that she can face you better and tucks some hair behind her ear. "Shit, I'm surprised your memory goes that far back. Mine doesn't."

You laugh lightly. "Okay, listen, dipshit. I don't remember the night in detail, just that you were fucking pounding on my window. My parents thought you were trying to break in."

"Yeah, and I would have broken in if you didn't answer." She grins at you for the first time all night—hell, the first time in years.

You grin back—and for a moment, you are back in that bedroom in Wiskayok. Nat is still eleven, you're still ten. You just asked her what happened to her front two teeth—why they're suddenly crooked. She laughs after a beat, telling you that she knocked them crooked falling off that busted-ass plank of wood she called a skateboard. Said she hit the pavement face-first and walked away with a bloody smile.

You believed it. Of course you did, you were ten. 

But now? Lying this close?

You remember how she never got too into the details of the injury. And Nat, well, if it was something she was excited about… she told the story proudly. As many times as she could. 

But she got defensive about this story. If anyone ever joked about it, she would bristle. The way she told it changed every time. You used to play it off as it just being… her being young and wanting to make it seem exciting, but… 

For the first time, you wonder if she didn't fall at all. 

You don't ask. You never do. You don't even know if it's your place to consider asking anymore.

"My parents were so surprised when two people came down for breakfast that morning," you recall, rolling your eyes at the memories as they return slowly. "But they didn't hesitate when they poured you a bowl of cereal."

"Your parents always had the best cereal, dude. Like… Cinnamon Toast Crunch?" You can practically hear her salivating. "Fuck… that was the good life. Cinnamon Toast Crunch and whole milk."

You burst out laughing immediately. "That's your idea of 'the good life'? 'Cinnamon Toast Crunch and whole milk'?"

"Okay, jackass." Nat huffs and lightly pushes at your shoulder, her hand lingering longer than needed. "We had milk maybe once a month at home. It was usually just…" She gestures vaguely to nothing, "I don't know. PBR and Great Value Kool-Aid."

"Yeah, which is why you would steal the cherry packets whenever you spent the night."

"The Great Value ones taste like ass!" she argues, very obviously resisting the urge to reach out and push you again. "I can deal with the grape and orange ones, yeah? But the cherry one just wasn't the same!" A dramatic sigh leaves her. "So, yeah. I stole those from you whenever I could. I have no shame about that." 

There's a moment where Nat's gaze drifts from yours, her brow furrowing like she's deep in thought, but it's there for only a flash before she's looking back at you again, giggling like it's a slumberparty and she's about to offer to 'teach you how to kiss' for the first time.

"You remember the night I gave you that wicked black eye?" A grin splits her face, and you already know she's about to tease the shit out of you. "The best part is, it wasn't even on purpose! You just wouldn't stop moving when I tried to teach you how to do eyeliner with a pencil!" She laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world, and to be fair, it was at the time (for her, not you, who had to explain to your mom why you had a black eye and her expensive eyeliner was broken). 

"Okay, jackass, how was I supposed to know it would tickle?! I was, like, ten! Or something!"

"Dude," Nat laughs again, "we were halfway through middle school. You just didn't know shit about makeup."

"No, but I did learn how to cover a black eye pretty well." It's supposed to be a joke. Light-hearted. Something to just throw another laugh of a memory back at her.

"Yeah, the master taught you real well."

Your smile fades at that, replaced with a concerned frown as you fight the urge to take her hand and squeeze it in reassurance.

"You still get that nightmare?" you ask, softer.

"Which one?"

There are a lot to choose from, but you pick the one that she used to struggle with the most. "The gunshot."

Nat winces at the memory, then gives a singular, sharp nod. "Yeah. Different soundtrack now, though. Starts to get muddy after a while. More abstract."

You offer a noncommittal hum, shifting slightly to rest one of your arms underneath your head. "Is it…" You pause for a moment, thinking about wording. "Abstract good or abstract bad?" you ask tentatively, unsure if she'll even respond to that question or just let you flounder.

"Abstract… weird?" she offers, scrunching her nose up. "Like… his death is always the same. But the reason for it changes every time." A deep sigh pulls from her chest, like even talking about it just feels heavy, and it probably is. "Yeah, well, whatever. Doesn't matter how shitty he was, still finds a way to fuckin' linger."

You don't know what to say to that. Not really. So, you just let it sit between you for a little while, let your eyes drift across her face again. Maybe you 'unintentionally' brush your free hand against hers beneath the blanket for a barely perceptible amount of time, and maybe she lets you. Either way, you pull your hand back before she can comment on it. 

Plausible deniability has always been the cornerstone of your friendship, after all.

"Shit. You think it would have been worse if he ever found out you were bi?"

The scoff that leaves her is bordering on incredulous. "Please. I'd be fuckin' dead. My middle name is Theresa. He'd see to it himself if he found out his 'Catholic'," she air quotes, "daughter kissed a girl? Shit, you'd be scraping me off the walls."

You laugh at that, if only because you feel a little bad. But then Nat starts laughing, and it quickly spirals into the two of you hollering like fucking hyenas as you recount the memories you formed together growing up. 

"Do you—" you finally manage between laughs, "do you remember when we watched Basic Instinct in my parents' basement? In like… grade five?"

"Duh," Nat rolls her eyes, running a hand through her hair. "You paused during the interrogation scene to see Sharon Stone's fuckin' vagina in better detail."

The bed creaks under your weight as you shift to prop yourself up on an elbow, face flooding with warmth at the callout, despite the fact you were the one who brought it up. "Hey! It's not my fault! She was hot! And that scene fucking rewired my brain chemistry! 'Have you ever fucked on cocaine, Nick? It's nice.'" 

"Yeah, rewired more than that." She shoves at your shoulder, forcing your back onto the bed once more. "Pretty sure that was your gay awakening, dude."

"I will not deny that," you hum, fluffing your pillow and lying flat again. "It was between Sharon Stone and Winona Ryder."

"Oh, shit, I fuckin' loved heathers. Between Veronica and J.D.? Yeah, talk about a bisexual's wet dream."

You flick her forehead before finally settling down. "Please. You just have terrible taste in men. J.D. is like… well, he looks like a rat." 

"Yeah, and Veronica makes up for his…" She gestures to nothing vaguely, "Rattiness, or something like that."

"So you still have a terrible taste in men, then?" you tease, watching how she rolls her eyes. "Good to see some things haven't changed."

"You'll be happy to know my taste in women hasn't changed all that much, either." Her gaze flashes to your mouth—not enough to be dramatic or obvious, but enough to notice. Enough to make you wonder if she was thinking about something more.

"Yeah? You still into the…" You feign thought, tapping your chin dramatically. "What was it? Pretty and slightly insane?" 

"Ahhhhh," she sighs wistfully, moving both hands underneath her head and looking up at the ceiling and the spinning fan. "Lottie Matthews. Suuuuuuper hot. Always had her hair in braids when playing, but when she wasn't? Goddamn. And, and, she had legs for days!" Nat giggles, like she's still a schoolgirl telling you about her crush on the boy a grade level higher. 

In some ways, maybe she still is. She never got the chance to properly be one, anyway.

"Yeah?" you laugh, mimicking her pose and looking up at the fan alongside her. "Your new teammates get you as hot as she did?"

Nat laughs awkwardly, the bed groaning as she shuffles around a little. "Ah, uh, nah. Not really. They might be nice-looking, but… I don't wanna hook up with people I play soccer with. The last thing I need is it ending in a fuckin'... shitstorm." A beat of silence, an uneasy sigh. "It's one thing in high school, it's another thing entirely in college." A pause. Then, quieter: "Apparently."

"...apparently?" you parrot back to her, confused. "Did you…"

She grumbles something, cutting you off. "I got drunk at a frat party and made some stupid mistakes. Don't piss where you eat, right? Or whatever the fuck the saying is." She runs a hand through her shaggy hair, never once facing you as she speaks. "Some people just never seem to understand what casual means." 

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You turn your head to face her, taking in her profile; the slope of her nose, the curve of her jaw, the softness of her lips.

God help you, you think she's more beautiful than she was in high school. Maybe getting out of the trailer has been good for her, you think. Allowed her to grow into the person you knew she could be without the strain of confined quarters and abusive parents.

Soccer was always good for her. You knew that in high school, you know it now. 

You don't say that, though. You know she'd deny it to hell and back, maybe start an argument over it. So, you just look at her. A part of you wants to burn her face into your mind on the chance you never see her again. And, honestly, there's a very real chance you won't. It would be in typical Nat fashion, after all.

She must feel your gaze, because her jaw shifts slightly—although, maybe tensing is a better word for it—because it looks as if debating whether or not to meet your eyes. Like she knows if she does, she won't be strong enough to resist whatever temptation you provide her.

Then, she does.

There's a beat—long enough for the conversation to settle between you. Nat's eyes flicker as she swallows, and you can almost visibly see the thought forming behind her hazel-green eyes. She looks tired—the type of tired that sleep can't remedy, the type of tired that comes with a life's worth of trauma.

Her voice is quieter when she speaks. "You're staring, y'know." 

"I know," you whisper back. "Can't help it."

Another beat. She shifts closer, tilting her head in an unspoken invitation. 

You take it. You'd be a fool not to.

You lean in—slow, cautious, like she's something wild you don't want to scare away.

And, when your lips finally touch hers, it isn't rushed like you'd expect it to be. It isn't desperate or in a frenzy. No—it's soft. Tentative. Careful. Like both of you are afraid to wake up and find out this moment never happened. 

She tastes faintly of tobacco and mint gum—a taste that proves to be a heady combination. Her right hand comes up to cup your neck, thumb rubbing gently across your jawline as though you were a cracked piece of glass that could shatter at any moment. When you don't show signs of breakage, she parts her lips and runs her tongue along the seam of yours. You let her in almost eagerly, with a speed that would put Sonic the Hedgehog to shame.

A sharp exhale leaves Nat's nose when her tongue presses against yours, something like a whine leaving her throat when she finally tastes you.

It feels like something long overdue—your tongue sliding against hers, her hand on your jaw, your bodies seeking each other like it's pure instinct to want to be closer to each other. Her leg shifts, hooking loosely over your hip to pull herself closer to you, trying to minimize any space between. The weight of her is dizzying in a way that makes you forget any other version of her you've ever known—all that matters is here and now.

Nothing is rushed. Everything Nat does right now is almost methodical, almost as though she's been imagining exactly what she would do to you when she finally managed to get her hands on you. Like she wants to take her time memorising every part of you, on the chance she never gets to do this again. Her mouth drifts from yours to your jaw, then lower—hot breath fanning across your throat as her hands slip under the hem of your hoodie, chilled fingers splaying against warm skin.

The first time she breaks the kiss, it's to remove her jacket and toss it onto her floor, giving you unobstructed access to her arms. Since you've seen her last, she's gotten tattoos—a half-done patchwork sleeve on her left arm, and a dagger(?) on her right forearm. Some of the patchworks look like she did them herself with a stick-and-poke or prison-style tattoo gun, and you wouldn't be surprised at either option. 

You'd like to investigate the tattoos further—maybe run your fingers over the ink, ask where and when she got them—but the thought barely forms before Nat's grabbing your face and kissing you again. This time, it's different. It's not exploratory anymore. It's hungry. Focused. Like she's chasing something—relief, maybe. Or distraction. Or you.

Her hands go back under your hoodie, palms skating over your ribs in an attempt to cover as much area as possible. Her fingers are rough and calloused, a sensation that makes your breath stutter for a moment as they drag across your skin.

The wet heat of her tongue combined with the ruggedness of her digits creates an intoxicating mixture that has your head spinning and heart rate increasing exponentially. She grinds her hips down against yours, trying to find an angle that provides her with the most friction. She pulls back only long enough to check your face—just a flicker of hesitation, almost asking your permission without asking. And when you don't stop her, when you don't even blink? She crashes back into you like she never doubted herself at all.

Things escalate quickly from there. Your hoodie is discarded almost as soon as her tank is, thrown carelessly somewhere on the floor. 

Honestly? A part of you almost hates Nat for not giving you any time to admire her before kissing you again, but it's hard to stay mad when she kisses like sin. Every single thing about her is built to be addictive—her chapped lips, soccer-honed body, that rasp in her voice—it all short-circuits your thoughts. Makes you feel like she's carved herself into your muscle memory already. 

The gasp you draw in when she starts pressing wet kisses against your pulse is borderline sacrilegious, and the whine she lets out in response is just as bad.

"God," she breathes against your skin, occasionally nipping at it. "Feel s'fukin' good, babe."

A moan pulls itself from deep in your chest at her words and tone of voice, hips rolling upwards into hers. The friction pulls another breathy noise from Nat—less controlled this time, more instinct than anything else—and it makes a low heat in your stomach simmer to a boil.

Her teeth catch on your neck again, this time tugging on the skin a little more before starting to kiss her way down your body slowly. She takes her time with it, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, across your collarbone, then eventually down your sternum. 

Each kiss is slower than the last, like someone trying to imprint their mouth on your skin for as long as possible. Her hands slide over your ribs—thumbs skimming the underside of your chest—as she shifts lower, settling between your legs like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

While her mouth and tongue continue to run across your skin, she shifts her hands higher to cup your breasts fully. And, unfortunately, you are genuinely powerless in being able to resist the way your body arches up into her touch—the sharp gasp that rips from your mouth when she begins to play with your nipples doesn't help matters that much, either.

One of your hands fists the bedsheets while the other moves to tangle in her hair on instinct, another gasp parting from you when she tweaks your nipples between her fingers, like it's something she's had far too much practice doing—like she's perfected how to make someone's nerves light up in a flurry of pain and pleasure. 

Your breath stutters again when her lips brush just above the waistband of your sweats, hand tightening in her hair momentarily before relaxing. The action only makes her double down, mouth hot against your skin, fingers still rolling your nipples between careful, practiced pinches that send little sparks down your spine. 

She knows what she's doing. Maybe that should make you self-conscious, but… you've been with people other than her. Sure, not to the point where you could make someone's toes curl with a single press of your fingers, but enough people to say you have some 'experience'.

But the way she touches you? It's as though she's trying to make you forget anyone else's hands have ever been on your body. Like if she can do enough, she won't have to admit that the reason for her visit was more than just a catch-up and quick fuck. 

Her teeth graze the waistband of your sweats, hesitating before moving down further to give you time to stop her or say you don't want this anymore. When you willingly lift your hips for her to remove your pants, she gives you a slight smirk and starts to tug them down your hips. With every inch of skin she reveals, she presses soft, almost reverent kisses to the goosebumps as they rise. 

Despite her eagerness, once your sweats are off, she doesn't toss them carelessly like she had her own clothing. No, instead of that, she glances around momentarily and finds a place to set them down carefully, like they matter more than her own belongings. 

When she turns back around to face you, her eyes immediately travel down the length of your body, the intensity of her gaze giving you a sudden urge to cover yourself that you suppress as best you can. 

Nat, seemingly sensing your discomfort, doesn't offer reassurance or praise. You know better than most that she's never been good with words, but you are surprised when she attempts to provide that comfort through touch. Her hands trail slowly up your legs, as if she's sorry for something she'll never say out loud. 

When her hands reach the tops of your thighs, she pauses, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles into your skin. Then she leans in, pressing a kiss just above your knee—soft, almost careful. Another follows, just a little higher. Then another. The pattern continues, each kiss trailing upward, 

By the time she reaches the apex, she seems like she's reached the perfect combination of teasing and gratification. Her breath is warm against the damp fabric, eyes flicking up to meet yours, checking one last time, before she presses a deep, deliberate kiss through the cotton of your underwear. Your hips twitch in response, which she rewards with a flat press of her tongue against you. Even through the layers, the feeling makes your hips twitch and fingers tighten imperceptibly in her hair.

She hums at the reaction, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat through you. Her hands slide up, one resting on your thigh to keep you steady while the other traces lazy shapes along your hip. She lingers where she is for a moment, swirling her tongue against you in maddeningly unhurried strokes.

Then finally, finally, she hooks her fingers into your underwear and drags them down your legs in an agonizingly slow fashion. You think you see her stuff them into her pocket, but whatever she does is second to when she finally presses her mouth on your aching pussy. 

"G'nna make you feel s'good, babe." Nat murmurs against you, shifting one of her hands to part your folds before she begins giving kitten licks to your clit. Each lick is soft at first, exploratory and savouring every tiny response she pulls from you. 

She doesn't rush. Doesn't go straight for pressure or rhythm. She takes her time, alternating between long, slow strokes and gentle flicks that have your hips canting against her before you realise you're doing it. You vaguely moan something that sounds like her name, and she rewards you with her lips wrapping around your clit and drawing it between her teeth. 

The groan you let out is borderline pornographic, and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent someone on the other side of these godforsaken paper-thin dorm walls from hearing you.

She grins against you when you try to muffle the sound, clearly pleased with herself, though she doesn't pull back to gloat. Instead, she doubles down, dragging her tongue in a slow circle before sucking gently, just enough to make your back arch off the mattress.

Your thighs clamp around her head on instinct, and Nat shifts her hands to encourage your new positioning, squeezing them gratefully. You already know her fingers are going to end up leaving deep imprints in your skin, but you can't find yourself able to care all too much. It's like maybe if your flesh purples under her touch, she'll leave a part of herself with you.

A thought flashes through your mind about how good she is at this—but whatever the reason for her fucking fantastic tongue, it only makes you wonder what her fingers can do.

Seemingly being able to hear your thoughts, her right hand moves from the outside of your thigh to part your folds like she did earlier, then runs her middle and ring fingers across the slick surface. When she pushes inside you, it's in slow thrusts.

It's around this time that your thighs release their hold on her head, pulling back slightly to give her more room to work. 

Nat eagerly takes the extra room, shifting her position on the bed to get closer to you. While her fingers on her right hand begin their gradual pumping, her left hand moves to press on your lower stomach, causing a sharp gasp at the way the external pressure feels when combined with… fuck, everything else. 

"Fuck, Nat—" you all but moan into your palm. The hand currently not covering your mouth tightens in her bleached hair, tugging on the strands in an attempt to ground yourself. 

She pulls back to look at you with a wicked grin for the first time since she started. "Yeah, babe? You like that?" She spits on your clit, smirking to herself at the way it twitches at the suddenness of the action. "I picked up a few things here and there."

You tell yourself that you'd fire back a witty retort if you had the mental capacity to. When her lips lock around your clit again, it doesn't matter if you can or can't shoot back a thought. You moan into your palm, arching your hips into her touch. Her pace picks up immediately; even in this state, you can tell she wants to push you over the edge.

It builds faster than you expect—like your body’s been waiting for this for as long as you can remember. She’s relentless now, tongue and fingers moving in perfect sync, her breath hot against you as she murmurs something you can’t quite make out over the obscene sounds filling the tiny dorm room. The slick slide of her fingers, the wet drag of her mouth, your own ragged breathing—it all blends together, dizzying and filthy and so fucking good.

There's no warning. Just a sudden, overwhelming rush of heat that blooms in your gut and spreads outward like a detonation. You bite down on your fist hard enough to draw blood and muffle your moans while your free hand tugs hard enough to earn a groan from Nat.

Your thighs shake. Your breath won't come fast enough. And still, she doesn't let up. Your orgasm washes over you in waves—full-bodied, sharp, messy, and strong enough to make your vision go hazy around the edges. 

Nat doesn't pull away until your body jerks away from her touch in pure overstimulation, her lips are slick and swollen, eyes blown wide and unreadable in the dim light.

It takes you a minute or three to come down from the high, and when you do, you're immediately pulling her up into a sloppy kiss that tastes like you.

"Let me," you murmur against her lips, trailing your hand down her torso and teasing the edge of her waistband.

Nat pulls back with a slight hiss, grabbing your wrist and guiding it away from her body. "Uhh… maybe another night, sweetheart." 

Sweetheart. You try to act like the name doesn't make your heart shift from tachycardic to full-on atrial fibrillation, but you can't deny the quiet breath you draw in once you hear it.

"Are you sure?" you whisper, resting your hands against her jaw. "I want to—"

"I know." She cuts you off with a sigh, giving your rest a small squeeze in thinly veiled reassurance. "I know. But not tonight, yeah?" Later."

She doesn't tell you when 'later' is, but you find yourself inclined to believe her for a reason you can't quite name. Maybe it's some thought that she might stick around after tonight, or just the fact that you two were childhood friends, but you believe her.

You give her a few small nods and offer a quiet "okay." You find yourself momentarily surprised when she glances around your room and passes you back your hoodie and sweats, a shockingly sweet action for someone who used to be unable to touch intimacy with a ten-foot pole. 

"Oh, uh…" You take the clothes gratefully, putting them on with a soft smile. "Thank you."

Nat grunts, then flops down on the bed next to you. "Aight. 'm cold. Let's go to bed."

You scoff incredulously, swatting her bicep. "Seriously? With those dirty-ass jeans? Fuck off." You stand up from your bed, open your dresser, grab a clean pair of basketball shorts and a tee, and pass them off to her. "Here. You can stay the night, but you aren't dirtying my nice fitted sheet with your grungy clothing choices."

She lets out a holler that you aren't expecting, but gladly takes the clothes from you. 

"Well, thank you, my benevolent and fair lady," she teases, quickly discarding her soiled clothes in favour of your clean ones. She gives you a small hum as she runs her hands down the fabric on her torso. "'s a little big." She flops back on the bed next to you, sighing blissfully. "That's ok. They're comfy."

You two get cozy (in close quarters) on your (too small for two people) twin-size mattress, pulling the comforter and top sheet up over the two of you. Her cold feet immediately find your calves like she's punishing you for 'forcing' her into clean laundry. The mattress groans in protest as she shifts around, finally settling once she gets flush against you. It's cramped. Uncomfortable. The kind of situation that should be awkward.

It isn't.

Nat lets out a quiet sigh as you spoon her, pulling her back against your chest.

"Goodnight, Nat," you whisper against the tangled hair at the back of her neck. 

She hums in response, catching your hand under the blanket and lacing her fingers through yours. "G'night."

When you wake up early in the morning, it's to the smell of stale coffee that smells suspiciously like the instant stuff you keep stashed in your nightstand, and the sound of humming coming from somewhere on your floor.

"Nat?" you mumble, blinking your eyes open as they adjust to the light that streams in from the window.

"That's my name," she says in a sing-songy voice, glancing up at you and dog-earring the page in whatever book she's reading—Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh, if you remember the cover correctly. The same book she barely understood in middle school, but became obsessed with once the language it was written in clicked in her brain.

You grunt at that, swinging your legs off the bed and almost knocking down the coffee Nat had set on the floor next to her. "Oh, shit, my bad."

"Next to your lamp." She gestures to the nightstand. "Went down to the floor's kitchen, boiled some water, made you a cup. Figured if I was gonna steal some of your coffee, least I could do is make you some."

"Oh," you murmur, a part of you surprised Nat made you a cup of your own. "Uh, thanks."

She grunts in response, waving a hand dismissively. "You gave me some clean clothes. All I was doing was returning the favour."

Interesting, you think somewhere in the back of your mind, but don't comment out loud. 

"You want some… uhh…" You glance vaguely around your room before grabbing a single-serving box of Froot Loops and a banana.  "Breakfast? And, uh…" You grab a five-pack of toothbrushes with two missing, waving it loosely. "A toothbrush?"

She laughs at that, throwing her head back with the boisterous sound that pulls from her chest. "Shit, that's real domestic. Breakfast of champions, yeah?"

A beat passes before Nat clears her throat and nods. "Uh, yeah. Thanks. I'll take the banana. Coach keeps saying something about how I gotta put 'better food in my body,' whatever the fuck that means." She rolls her eyes, but if her diet is anything like it was growing up, her coach is probably right. 

You gingerly pass her the banana, watching how she scarfs it down like she's been starving herself for years, then tosses the peel in your trash can with a three-pointer flourish that earns her a mock glare. You're still smiling when she stands, brushing nonexistent crumbs from the shorts you lent her, and stretches her arms over her head.

"Anyway," she says, a voice far too light for the situation. "I gotta head out. Shit to do, places to be, that sorta shit."

You nod, unsure what you would even say in response to that. She still has your clothes on, the only difference from before you slept being the worn-out combat boots on her feet. She grabs her leather jacket and dirty clothes, which were conveniently stashed right next to where she was sitting, and tucks them under her arm. 

"Hey, I'll see you around, yeah?" she says at the door.

No when or where. No offer to call or meet up sometime. No torn-out acknowledgements page with digits scratched in shitty ink that smudges. 

You want to say something back, but your mouth opens and nothing comes out. So you just nod again, and Nat gives you a two-fingered salute before disappearing into the hallway.

She left her copy of Trainspotting on your floor next to the coffee mug she was drinking from.

You tell yourself she'll be back for it. You leave it where it is.

a/n: someone asked me if i was a sadist and idk probably! anyways crush next 🫶🫶 those two things are not related 🫶🫶

[unabashegirl]

Love Island — part 4

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: Please, please don’t hesitate to send in your requests — whether it’s blurbs, one-shots, or even just a fun idea you want to see come to life. If you're feeling a little shy, no worries at all — you can always send them in anonymously through Tumblr! I’d love to hear from you and create more content you’ll enjoy 🌞💌

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

⭐️ Please consider submitting your one shot request -> Forms

The sun glinted off the pool as Y/N sat on one of the loungers, her legs dipped lazily in the water. Lucas plopped down beside her, his usual laid-back grin in place as he swirled his feet in the pool.

“Alright, missus,” he began, leaning back on his hands. “Two days since the big shake-up. Spill. How’s it going with Harry? You two the villa’s next power couple or what?”

Y/N let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she glanced at the water. “Hardly,” she admitted, a touch of frustration in her tone. “Honestly, Lucas, I don’t know what’s going on. He hasn’t… made a move. Nothing.”

Lucas frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Nothing at all? Not even a cheeky cuddle at night? The man’s sleeping next to you, for crying out loud.”

“Exactly!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “We talk, we laugh, but that’s it. He’s sweet, and I do feel something when we’re together, but I can’t tell if he’s just being cautious or if he’s… not as into it as I thought.”

Lucas gave her a thoughtful look, running a hand through his hair. “That doesn’t sound like Harry. Bloke’s confident. If he likes you, he’d usually be all in.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said again, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s making me second-guess everything. I thought we had this connection, you know? But now, I’m starting to think maybe I got it wrong.”

Lucas gave her a nudge with his shoulder. “Hey, don’t go down that rabbit hole. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Bloke’s interested. Maybe he’s just trying to take it slow—prove he’s not here for some quick fling.”

She sighed, her eyes fixed on the pool. “I guess. But I didn’t sign up for Love Island to sit around wondering what someone’s thinking. If he’s into me, I wish he’d just… show it.”

Lucas grinned, his tone teasing. “Why don’t you make the first move, then? Shock his system a bit.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “You think I should?”

“Why not?” Lucas replied with a shrug. “Worst-case scenario, he’s not into it, and you move on. Best-case scenario, you get the spark you’re waiting for.”

She considered it, biting her lip. “Maybe. But it’s just… disappointing, you know? I didn’t expect to feel this unsure with someone I like.”

Lucas gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Trust me, Y/N. If Harry’s playing it cool, it’s probably because he’s worried about messing things up. You’ve got him thinking. Just give it time—or better yet, don’t. Light a fire under him and see what happens.”

Y/N laughed, the tension easing slightly. “You’re full of advice today, aren’t you?”

“Hey, what can I say? I’m the villa’s agony uncle,” Lucas said with a wink. “But seriously, you’ve got this. Just do what feels right.”

As Y/N smiled, feeling a bit lighter, the narrator’s voice cut in, “Looks like Y/N’s got a choice to make—play it safe or take the plunge. And with Lucas as her wingman, what could possibly go wrong? Stay tuned, because things are about to get interesting!”

Harry was mid-set of bicep curls. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow as he focused on his reps. Beside him, Ethan, the newest addition to the villa, was hammering out some push-ups, grunting with every move.

Lucas sauntered up, a water bottle in hand and a half-hearted determination on his face. He plopped onto a bench, picked up the lightest dumbbell available, and started lifting with exaggerated effort.

“Ah, here we go. Gym lad Lucas in the house,” Ethan quipped, smirking as he moved into a plank.

Harry chuckled. “Didn’t peg you for a weights guy, mate.”

“Oh, I’m all about it,” Lucas said, flexing his arm dramatically before dropping the dumbbell after one rep. “Alright, that’s enough for me. Can’t overdo it, you know?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

Lucas leaned back, his casual demeanor dropping slightly as he watched Harry move to the pull-up bar. “Right, Haz. Gotta chat with you about something.”

Harry glanced at him between reps, a curious eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah? What’s up?”

Lucas glanced at Ethan, who was still engrossed in his workout, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s about Y/N.”

That caught Harry’s attention. He paused mid-rep, his hands gripping the bar tightly. “What about her?”

“Well,” Lucas began, keeping his tone light, “she’s feeling a bit... unsure about things. Reckons you’ve been keeping her in limbo.”

Harry let go of the bar, landing lightly on his feet. “In limbo? What do you mean?”

Lucas shrugged, swirling the water in his bottle. “She likes you, mate. But she’s thinking maybe you’re not as into it as she thought. Says you haven’t really made a move.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands resting on his hips. “That’s not it. I just didn’t want to come on too strong, you know? Didn’t want her to think I was just playing the game.”

“Right,” Lucas said, nodding. “But she’s not a mind reader. All she sees is you holding back. If you’re interested, Haz, you’ve got to show her. Otherwise, she’ll start thinking she got it wrong.”

Ethan sat up from his plank, catching the last bit of the conversation. “Sounds like you’re in trouble, mate,” he teased, smirking.

Harry ignored him, his attention fixed on Lucas. “So, she really said that?”

Lucas gave him a pointed look. “She said she feels disappointed. That’s not a good sign, mate. You don’t want her head turning because she thinks you’re not interested.”

Harry’s expression shifted, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “I didn’t realize she felt that way. I thought… I thought we were good.”

“Then let her know,” Lucas said simply. “You’re into her, right?”

Harry’s lips curled into a small smile. “Yeah, I am. She’s… different. In a good way.”

“Then stop messing about,” Lucas said, standing up and patting him on the shoulder. “Before someone else swoops in.”

The narrator’s voice chimed in as Lucas walked off, “Wise words from Lucas there. Harry’s been playing it cool, but if he waits too long, he might find himself cooling off in the single beds. Will this wake-up call get him moving? Or will Y/N’s head turn before he has the chance? Stay tuned!”

Lucas was sprawled on a sun lounger with his sunglasses on, taking a well-earned break from his brief stint in the gym. He was sipping a bottle of water when Georgia sauntered up, her strides purposeful and her eyes narrowed with curiosity.

“Alright, Lucas,” she began, plopping herself down on the lounger next to him. “Got a minute?”

Lucas tilted his sunglasses down, one eyebrow raised. “For you, Georgia? Always. What’s on your mind?”

Georgia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Saw you having a little chinwag with Harry earlier. What were you two chatting about, then?”

Lucas smirked, leaning back with deliberate nonchalance. “Oh, just lad stuff. You know, protein shakes, reps, how to get biceps like mine.”

Georgia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m not buying it. I saw the way you were talking—looked serious. Come on, Lucas, spill.”

He sighed, dragging out the moment just to wind her up. “Fine. If you must know, we were talking about Y/N.”

That caught her attention. Georgia straightened, her expression sharpening. “Oh? And what about her?”

Lucas took another sip of water, playing coy. “Just... how things are going between them. That’s all.”

Georgia’s lips pursed, her annoyance barely concealed. “And what did you tell him?”

Lucas chuckled, pushing his sunglasses back up. “What’s with the third degree, Georgia? You got a sudden interest in Harry’s love life?”

She crossed her arms, glaring. “I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Y/N swoops in and suddenly everyone’s falling over themselves to make sure she’s alright. Meanwhile, the rest of us are just sitting here like extras in her little love story.”

“Extras?” Lucas repeated, laughing. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Georgia leaned closer, her voice dropping. “I’m serious, Lucas. It’s not fair. She’s already got Harry wrapped around her finger, and now you’re playing her cheerleader? What about the rest of us, huh?”

Lucas sighed, sitting up and turning to face her. “Georgia, you’re making this way bigger than it is. Harry’s into Y/N—simple as that. If you fancy him, then crack on and let him know. But don’t make it about her. That’s not fair.”

Georgia’s eyes flashed. “I’m not making it about her. I just think everyone’s acting like she’s this innocent little thing when she’s clearly playing the game. And you’re helping her.”

Lucas shook his head, his tone firm but calm. “Georgia, no one’s playing the game more than you right now, and we both know it. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Harry, not me. And maybe, just maybe, ask yourself if this is about the connection you want or the attention you’re not getting.”

Georgia sat back, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed lost for words—a rare sight in the villa.

The narrator’s voice chimed in with impeccable timing, “And there you have it, folks—Lucas, the voice of reason, leaving Georgia with more questions than answers. Will she take his advice, or will she turn this into another episode of Georgia vs. the World? Grab your popcorn—it’s only getting juicier!”

The beauty room buzzed with chatter as the girls got ready for the night, brushes, curling irons, and bottles of setting spray scattered across every available surface. Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor by the mirror, towel-drying her damp hair after a refreshing dip in the pool. Chloe was next to her, applying highlighter with precision, while Amber and Lila debated lipstick shades near the vanity.

A light knock on the door brought everyone’s attention to the doorway. Harry stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his cheeks slightly pink. He gave an awkward little wave, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Y/N.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice warm but tentative. “Y/N, can I borrow you for a sec?”

The room fell silent, every girl suddenly finding a reason to stop what they were doing and focus on this unexpected development. Y/N blinked in surprise, clutching her towel for a moment before standing up.

“Sure,” she said, glancing at the girls, who were all pretending not to listen. “Be right back.”

Harry stepped aside as she walked through the door, his hand briefly brushing her arm. They walked down the hallway, the hum of conversation in the beauty room resuming the second the door closed behind them. Y/N felt her heart pick up pace, the air between them charged with a nervous kind of energy.

They stopped near the staircase, just out of sight but still within earshot of the curious girls inside. Harry leaned against the wall, his hands back in his pockets, rocking on his heels as he gathered his words.

“So,” he started, his signature smile creeping onto his face, “I, uh… wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…” Y/N prompted, her voice soft but teasing, trying to make him a bit more comfortable.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, his confidence momentarily slipping. “I’ve been thinking. We haven’t really had proper time together, just the two of us, you know?”

Y/N’s brows rose, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, I guess we haven’t.”

“Right.” Harry exhaled, his eyes meeting hers. “So, I thought, maybe tonight… would you have dinner with me? Downstairs. Just us. I’ve got something planned.”

Her stomach flipped at his words. “You planned something?”

Harry’s lips quirked in a shy grin. “I tried. So… what do you think?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to.”

The grin on Harry’s face spread wide, his dimples deepening. “Brilliant. Right, I’ll see you down there later, then.”

“See you later,” Y/N echoed, her voice light and filled with unspoken excitement. Harry turned and walked away, glancing back at her with a cheeky smile before disappearing down the stairs.

As soon as he was gone, Y/N stood frozen for a second, the moment sinking in. Then she squeaked, barely containing her excitement as she practically skipped back to the beauty room.

Inside, all eyes were on her. Chloe was the first to speak, her brows shooting up. “What was that about, then?”

Y/N sat down, her smile impossible to hide. “He’s planned something… dinner for just us tonight.”

Amber let out a low whistle, while Lila smirked. “Look at you, getting the royal treatment.”

“Alright, spill!” Chloe demanded. “What did he say? What’s the plan?”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. “I don’t know! He didn’t give much away. Just said he’d see me later.”

The girls erupted in chatter, each offering their thoughts, theories, and teasing remarks about what Harry might have in store.

The narrator chimed in, “Harry Styles—villa romantic, dinner planner, and now the cause of one very giddy beauty room. Let’s hope his cooking skills are better than his pickup lines, or this romantic gesture might end in more flames than sparks!”

The beauty room was alive with excitement as the girls gathered around Y/N, all pitching in to help her prepare for her date with Harry. Chloe was meticulously curling her hair, Amber was swatching lipsticks on the back of her hand to find the perfect shade, and Lila was busy laying out jewelry options. Even the background chatter had a sense of celebration, the girls buzzing with curiosity about Harry’s surprise dinner plan.

“Alright, babe, you’re going to absolutely knock him out with this dress,” Amber said, holding up a sleek black number. “It’s a power move.”

“Oh, definitely,” Lila added. “Harry won’t know what hit him.”

But in the corner of the room, Georgia sat with her arms crossed, her expression darkening with every passing minute. Finally, she let out a scoff loud enough to grab everyone’s attention.

“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” she said, her tone sharp. “I mean, it’s just dinner. You’d think he was proposing or something.”

The room fell silent for a beat, the atmosphere turning awkward. Y/N glanced at Chloe, who rolled her eyes before continuing to style her hair.

“Honestly, Georgia,” Amber said, her tone clipped, “can you just let her enjoy this? You’ve been on one all day.”

“I’m just saying,” Georgia continued, undeterred. “It’s not fair that everything is always about Y/N. What about the rest of us? Some of us haven’t had a proper chance with Harry because she’s hogging all his attention.”

Y/N straightened, her lips pressing into a firm line. She turned to Georgia, her voice calm but pointed. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Georgia. Maybe that’s the real issue here.”

The room collectively inhaled, the tension palpable. Georgia’s face flushed, her eyes narrowing as she stood abruptly. “You know what? Forget it. Have your perfect little date. I’m done.”

She stormed out of the beauty room, slamming the door behind her. The girls exchanged glances, a mix of frustration and relief.

“Well, that went well,” Chloe muttered, finishing the last curl in Y/N’s hair.

“She’s so exhausting,” Amber said, shaking her head. “She’s not a girls’ girl, not even a little bit.”

The narrator’s voice cut in, “Georgia, leaving the beauty room like it’s a scene from a soap opera. Who knew glitter eyeshadow could cause so much drama?!”

Outside, Georgia wiped at her eyes as she wandered through the villa. She spotted Tom near the fire pit, tossing small pebbles into the grass. He looked up as she approached, his expression softening when he saw her teary face.

“Oi, Georgia,” he said, standing. “You alright?”

She sniffed, brushing a hand under her nose. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just had enough of this place, that’s all.”

Tom frowned, stepping closer. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, though her voice cracked. “It’s just… everyone’s so fake. And Y/N—ugh, I can’t stand how everyone fawns over her.”

Tom’s jaw tightened at the mention of Y/N, his own frustrations clearly bubbling under the surface. “Yeah, well… she’s not as perfect as everyone thinks.”

Georgia glanced at him, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “You see it too, don’t you? She’s not what she seems.”

Tom nodded, his gaze hardening. “You could say that.”

The two stood there in silence for a moment, the crackling fire pit casting flickering shadows around them. Whatever unspoken alliance had just formed, it was clear: both were nursing their own wounds, and Y/N was the common denominator.

Y/N took a deep breath as she stepped out of the beauty room, the cool evening air brushing against her skin. She smoothed down the sleek black dress Amber had insisted on, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor as she walked through the villa. Her nerves buzzed in her chest, but she couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto her face.

Lucas was waiting by the entrance to the pool, grinning like a proud older brother. He gave her a little thumbs-up as she approached.

“Alright, superstar,” he said, gesturing toward the softly lit path. “Follow me. Your prince awaits.”

Y/N laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Thanks, Lucas.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Harry. He’s been pacing for the last hour,” Lucas teased as he led her down the path, away from the villa’s usual bustle. The pool glimmered under the lights, and in the farthest corner, a small table was set up, complete with candles and a bottle of wine.

Harry stood by the table, hands clasped in front of him. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone, paired with tailored black trousers. His curls were perfectly tousled, and he looked like he’d just stepped out of a glossy magazine spread. The sight of him stole Y/N’s breath for a moment.

As soon as he spotted her, Harry’s face lit up with a boyish grin, though his hand immediately went to rub the back of his neck—a telltale sign of his nerves. Lucas gave Y/N an encouraging pat on the shoulder before disappearing back into the villa.

“Wow,” Harry said as Y/N approached, his voice soft but filled with awe. “You look… stunning.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “This setup is beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, his voice dropping as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “I, uh, hope it’s alright. I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

“It’s perfect,” she assured him, her smile widening.

They both sat down at the table, the soft glow of the candles illuminating their faces. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the spread before her—grilled salmon, a colorful salad, and a decadent chocolate dessert waiting on the side.

“You did all this?” she asked, her tone incredulous but impressed.

“Well,” Harry admitted, his dimples deepening with a sheepish smile, “I had a bit of help from the boys. But I did pick everything out.”

Y/N laughed, her nerves melting slightly. “I’m impressed.”

As they started eating, Harry stole a glance at her, the flickering candlelight catching the sparkle in her eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said softly, his usual cheeky demeanor replaced with something more genuine.

Y/N set down her fork, her gaze meeting his. “So have I. I was starting to think you’d never make a move.”

Harry chuckled, his hand running through his curls. “Yeah, well… I’m not exactly smooth when it comes to this sort of thing. Honestly, I’ve been a nervous wreck.”

“Nervous?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You? The guy who walked into the villa like he owned the place?”

“That was all an act,” Harry confessed, his grin widening. “You, though… you’ve had me completely thrown from day one.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words, her smile softening. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the villa’s noise a distant hum in the background. It felt like their own little world, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel grateful for the effort Harry had put into making the evening special.

“So,” Harry said, his voice breaking the quiet as he leaned forward slightly, his green eyes locked on hers. “Am I living up to your expectations?”

Y/N smirked, tilting her head. “Let’s just say… you’ve set the bar very high.”

Harry laughed, his shoulders relaxing as the tension between them shifted into something lighter, more natural. “Good. I’ll take that.”

After a few more moments of laughter, the air between them shifted from lighthearted banter to something more intimate. Harry, still smiling, reached across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against Y/N’s hand. She looked down at their hands for a moment, her heart picking up its pace, before she slowly met his gaze.

His voice was quieter now, tinged with something deeper, more serious. “Let me kiss you”

Y/N’s breath caught, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. She didn’t say anything at first, just a small smile playing at the corners of her lips as she looked up at him. Her heart raced in her chest, but her eyes were full of warmth as she held his gaze.

Harry took that as all the encouragement he needed.

With a soft exhale, he leaned across the small table, his eyes still locked onto hers. The moment felt like it lasted forever, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. He closed the space between them, tilting his head slightly, and gently pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative—like he was savoring every second. But as the connection deepened, it became something more. It was warm and soft, full of the unspoken chemistry that had been building between them for days. The flickering candlelight illuminated their faces as they pulled away slightly, both a little breathless, eyes still locked in that quiet, shared understanding.

Y/N smiled softly, her heart hammering in her chest as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, still feeling the warmth of his touch on her skin.

“Well, that escalated quickly! A kiss, a soft chuckle, and suddenly, we’ve got a proper Love Island romance on our hands. Who knew dinner and a kiss could be the most suspenseful part of the evening? Stay tuned, folks”

-> part 5

let me know if you would like to get added to the tag list!

TAGLIST: @st-ev-ie, @harrystyleshotwife, @valuunit, @familyshow-orisit, @ellaorchard, @loverrryxo, @dashingday, @harrystyles1d52, @stylessbean, @gem1712, @girlontheblock

[mykoreanlove]

Mommyyyyyyy!! 😍😍😍

This is the same anon who last year requested the special birthday fic of hyunjin x chan x f reader.....

My birthday again...is coming on 14th March.....

I would really love if you make another birthday fic (you know my bias by now).....

Just surprise me by your writing.....because the fic you wrote last year.....has made me got off multiple times (TMI lol) and your writing us too good!! Please write a smut fic for my birthday 🎂.....I trust your creativity and vulgarity (lol)

Thank you again for last year 🥺😘☺️

BIRTHDAY BLUES

Birthdays are supposed to be special. They’re supposed to be filled with love, laughter, the warmth of friends who remind you that you matter. That you belong.

Mine is filled with silence.

I stare at my phone, the screen glowing mockingly. The group chat is filled with messages—reminders of the party I never intended to attend, my friends begging me to “come out and have fun” because “twenty-something is the prime of your life!”

What a joke.

I toss my phone onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. My stomach twists—not from hunger, but from something heavier.

It’s been months since I walked in on him—my last mistake, my last heartbreak, tangled up in sheets with another girl. And the worst part? I didn’t even cry. I didn’t scream. I just stood there, staring at the person I’d once imagined a future with, realizing that love—real love—might not exist for me at all.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

No, my heart has been a revolving door, an open invitation for disappointment. Every time, I give. Every time, I try. And every time, I end up alone.

So why celebrate? Why pretend? I’m sick of it.

Tonight, instead of fake smiles and forced happiness, I choose solitude. I slip into something comfortable, grab my keys, and leave my apartment without a word.

The spa isn’t even my idea. It’s a last-minute impulse, something to fill the empty space inside me, even if just for a little while. Maybe the salt water will wash away my sorrows, if not I can drown in them.

The woman at the front desk greets me with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

I blink. “How did you—?” She winks. “Lucky guess.” Before I can respond, she taps on her screen. “We have a special package tonight—highly recommended.”

I almost say no. But then I remember the silence waiting for me at home. The empty bed. The thoughts I don’t want to be alone with.

“…Fine,” I mutter. She hands me a robe, her smile never faltering. “Enjoy.” Little do I know, the night is about to take a turn I never saw coming.

The air is thick with the scent of sandalwood and something faintly floral, a fragrance that settles into my lungs as I lower myself onto the massage table. The linen beneath me is warm, almost cocooning, but my skin prickles from something else entirely. Anticipation, irritation—hell, I don’t even know anymore. I came here to drown out the noise in my head, to escape, even if just for a little while.

I hear the door click open. Soft footsteps pad across the wooden floor. I keep my face nestled in the cradle, seeing nothing but the polished planks below, but then I catch a glimpse—bare feet, strong, the kind that belong to a dancer, not a massage therapist. Then the voice comes.

"First time here?"

Low, rich, like warm honey melting over my skin. I don't answer right away, too caught off guard by the way his voice alone sends a ripple down my spine.

"Something like that," I murmur.

I hear the faint clink of bottles, the whisper of oil being warmed between his palms. Then his hands find my shoulders, firm and unhurried, pressing down with a slow, deliberate force that makes me exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

His fingers move with precision, gliding over the knots in my shoulders, kneading them into submission. The metal rings on his fingers catch against my overheated skin, cool and solid, leaving a trail of contrast in their wake. It’s unexpected. Strange. I like it.

"You’re tense," he observes, voice tinged with amusement. I let out a breathy laugh. "Gee, I wonder why." He chuckles, the sound deep and velvety. "Well, you came to the right place."

His touch drifts lower, tracing along the dip of my spine, and I shudder. The air between us shifts, thickens. His hands are no longer just massaging—they're exploring, teasing, testing. My breath stutters when his thumbs press into the small of my back, his fingers spreading along the curve of my waist, holding me in place.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice softer now, rougher. It’s not. It’s nowhere near enough.

His hands slide down, thumbs grazing the dimples just above my hips, his fingertips digging into my body in a way that sends a sharp pulse of heat between my legs. My lips part, a small, unbidden sound escaping, and I swear I feel him still for half a second.

"Sensitive here, too?" he muses, his tone shifting, dipping into something darker. I swallow, pressing my cheek against the table, not trusting my voice. He doesn’t need an answer. He already knows.

His hands move with purpose now, sliding lower, teasing along the curves of my thighs, pushing boundaries neither of us seem willing to acknowledge. His breath is warm against my ear when he leans in.

"Let go," he murmurs, and when his fingers slip just a little further, I do.

His fingers press deeper, the metal of his rings biting against my skin in the most delicious contrast—heat and cold, firm and teasing. My body betrays me, hips shifting instinctively into his touch, a soft gasp slipping free before I can stop it.

Hyunjin hums, low and knowing. "There it is," he muses, his voice brushing against me like silk. "You’re holding back."

I bite my lip, my hands gripping the sides of the massage table. He knows exactly what he’s doing—pushing, testing, waiting for me to break. And I’m so close.

His touch drags up, slow, deliberate, gliding over the curve of my waist before slipping down again, fingers dancing along the inside of my thighs. My breath stutters. My pulse hammers against my ribs.

"You're so tense," he murmurs, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, like he already knows the reason why. His fingers knead into the plush of my thighs, a slow, rolling motion that sets every nerve alight.

I arch just slightly, chasing his touch without meaning to. The moment I do, his hands still, just for a fraction of a second. I hear his breath hitch—just barely—but it’s there.

"Relax," he says, but his voice is rougher now, less controlled. I don’t think either of us believe that’s possible anymore. Then his fingers move again, pushing higher, slipping beneath the plush towel barely covering me. A sharp inhale escapes me as he grips my hips, thumbs pressing into my skin with purpose.

"Hyunjin—" My voice is barely a whisper.

"Shhh," he soothes, but there’s nothing innocent about it. His breath is warm as it ghosts over my shoulder, his lips just barely brushing the heated skin there. "Just let me take care of you."

I shudder, my fingers curling into the table, trying to ground myself, but it’s useless. His hands move like they own me, coaxing, pressing, claiming. My world narrows down to this moment—his touch, his voice, the way my body melts under him.

And then his lips finally meet my skin, and I come undone.

Hyunjin’s breath is molten against my skin, each exhale igniting a fire beneath my flesh. His fingers knead into my hips, his grip tightening, possessive. I’m barely breathing, my body stretched out before him like an offering, every nerve ending strung taut, waiting—no, aching—for him to break me apart.

And then, finally, his lips meet my spine.

Soft at first, barely there, just the ghost of a kiss that sends a violent shiver down my back. Then another—open-mouthed, wetter, warmer. His tongue flicks against my skin, teasing, dragging down, down, until I’m trembling beneath him.

"You’re so tense," he murmurs, but there’s something dark in his voice now, something knowing. His teeth scrape lightly at my shoulder, and I gasp. "I think I know how to fix that."

His hands slide lower, trailing the curve of my waist, before slipping beneath the towel that barely covers me. The moment he tugs it away, cool air kisses my exposed skin—but it doesn’t last. His heat is there, following, consuming, and then his hands—God, his hands—are exploring freely now.

"You’re already so wet," he breathes, fingers teasing through my slick folds. He groans, like the discovery is too much for him to handle. "Did I do this to you?"

I whimper in response, pressing my forehead into the pillow, my fingers clutching uselessly at the massage table. His lips curve against my back. "I’ll take that as a yes."

He spreads me with his fingers, dragging his touch through my arousal, slow and deliberate. My thighs tremble as he teases my entrance, circling, pressing—but never giving me what I need.

"Hyunjin, please—"

"Patience, baby," he coos, but his own breathing is uneven now, his restraint barely hanging by a thread. "I want to feel you come apart first." His fingers find my clit, circling in slow, devastating strokes, his other hand gripping my hip to keep me still.

"Fuck," I gasp, my back arching. "That’s it," he praises, dragging his fingers lower, pressing one inside. My walls clench around him immediately, desperate, needy, and he groans at the sensation. "So fucking tight."

He moves, slow and deep, his fingers stretching, stroking, curling inside me with precision, finding that spot that has my body seizing up, my breath coming in broken gasps. His rings are cool against my burning heat, a contrast that only drives me higher.

"You’re close, aren’t you?" he whispers, pressing his body flush against mine, his lips tracing my jaw. "I can feel you squeezing me." I can’t answer—I can only feel. The pleasure is unbearable, an electric current coiling deep in my belly, winding tighter, tighter—

And then he flicks his wrist just right, and I break.

A sharp cry tears from my throat as pleasure floods through me, my body shuddering violently beneath him. Hyunjin curses, his lips finding my shoulder, his fingers working me through it, prolonging it until I’m a trembling, oversensitive mess.

I barely have time to recover before I feel it—him. Hot. Hard. Pressed against me. My eyes flutter open, my head turning just enough to see the hunger in his gaze, the way his chest rises and falls, the way he wants me. "Tell me you want this," he rasps, his voice wrecked.

I don’t hesitate. "I want everything." And then— Hyunjin’s control snaps. One moment, I’m breathless beneath him, trembling from his touch—the next, he’s flipping me onto my back, the cool air shocking against my heated skin. My pulse stutters when I finally take him in.

Disheveled. Chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His dark eyes, once playful, are now hungry—like he’s been starving for this, for me. And then he’s on me.

His lips crash against mine, swallowing the gasp that escapes as he presses his weight down, pinning me against the massage table. His tongue slides against mine, hot and demanding, a dizzying mix of silk and sin. He tastes like need—like restraint finally breaking.

"Fuck," he groans against my mouth, his fingers tangling into my hair. "I knew you’d feel like this." I barely have time to respond before his hands are moving again—gripping, spreading, claiming. His fingers dig into my thighs, hitching one over his hip, and God—I can feel him. Heavy. Thick. Pressing against my entrance, teasing, testing.

"Look at you," he rasps, dragging himself through my slick folds, coating himself in my arousal. His forehead drops to mine, his breath ragged. "So fucking wet for me." I whimper, hips bucking, desperate for him to end this torment.

"Hyunjin, please," I gasp, nails digging into his back. His fingers grip my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. "Say it. Tell me what you want." "You," I breathe, no hesitation. "Inside me." A curse spills from his lips—then, finally, finally, he pushes in.

A sharp moan escapes me as he stretches me open, slow but unrelenting, his cock sinking inch by inch into the heat of me. My body clenches around him instinctively, the sensation blinding—pleasure and pressure twisting into something unbearable.

"Fucking hell," he groans, his head dropping against my shoulder, his hands gripping my thighs so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow. I don’t care. I want them.

He stills once he’s buried to the hilt, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back. "You feel…" He exhales, his voice wrecked. "You feel so fucking perfect." My fingers tangle into his hair, tugging.

"Move." He obeys.

His first thrust is slow, deep—deliberate. The next is sharper, dragging a cry from my lips. Then he’s pounding into me, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against each thrust, filling me so completely I can do nothing but take it.

The room is filled with the sound of our bodies colliding, the slick, obscene wetness of my arousal making everything filthy. "That’s it," he grits out, watching me through hooded eyes. "Take it. Be a good girl and take all of me."

My body is unraveling, the pleasure unbearable. "Hyunjin—I’m—"

"I know," he groans, thrusting deeper, angling just right—

And I shatter.

Pleasure detonates inside me, my body arching, my walls clenching around him as wave after wave crashes through me. My vision goes white, my cries echoing through the dimly lit spa room. Hyunjin curses, his rhythm faltering. Then, with a final thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his body shuddering against mine as he loses himself inside me.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of our heavy breathing, the scent of sweat and desire thick in the air. Then Hyunjin chuckles—breathless, satisfied. He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, his fingers gentle now, reverent.

"Best birthday ever?" he murmurs, smirking. I laugh, still dazed, still wrecked. "You have no idea." His lips curve against my temple. "Oh, I do."

And as he leans in to kiss me again, I know this night is far from over.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHappy Birthday love 💖 Enjoy yourself lol 💦

[rebldomak1tty]

This is another old request, wanting the reader to run into Eric and Dylan during the shooting. I have altered it slightly from what was originally asked!!

NSFW Content!!

Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage And someone will say, "What is lost can never be saved" Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage!

This had been the most fun he’d ever had. Sure, their plan had backfired spectacularly - the bombs had failed to detonate, there’d be no picking off their victims like flies, no awesome shootout to the death with the cops… but stalking the halls of Columbine, firing at will, taking down whoever they saw fit, the smell of gunpowder, the taste of adrenaline… He was alive, finally.

God, he’d never dreamt that recoil of the shotgun in his hands as he gunned down the mindless drones as they fled, screaming, begging for their lives, could feel this good. He’d lost count of the rounds he’d fired, the reloads blending together as the thrill of the hunt coursed through his veins. Murder, no, natural selection, was what he was made for; shit for brains, born to kill. And he just couldn’t get enough. The first squeeze of the trigger had practically been reflex, just like mowing down Zombiemen and Shotgun Guys, and as he’d watched the girl crumple to the ground, the power that had rushed through him had made him giddy with bloodlust. He was going to take down as many of the worthless fuckers as he possibly could: aim, fire, reload, kill ‘em all until the whole school was painted with gore, and no one could ever convince him he was anything less than a God.

They’d ended up in the school library somehow. He couldn’t quite remember, or more accurately, didn’t care whose idea it’d been. Like shooting fish in a barrel - that was the phrase, right? The library only had two exits, there were two of them, and they could take out whichever dumbasses had decided to hide rather than escape: natural selection at its finest. It was a macabre game of hide-and-seek at this point, 8, 9, 10, found you! BLAM! Dylan was ranting, spewing wrath as he screamed about ‘Godly whores’ and how he hated them all - he couldn’t help but agree with him, spurring him on, whipping them both up into a frenzy again. Firing point-blank under desks, at anyone foolish enough to try to escape, they continued their execution, their revenge, whooping with every shot that splattered brain matter against wood or walls or carpet. His feet drifted towards a desk, drawn there on instinct, a wide, boyish smile lighting up his face. Leaning over the cool desktop, he pointed his gun underneath, a taunt howling from his lips as heady glee surged through him.

“Peekaboo!”

Petrified eyes stared back at him, their shade painfully familiar. It couldn’t be, couldn’t it? There was no way that it could be her. His stomach swirled, the burning vile flavour of vomit flooding his mouth as those eyes filled his entire vision, the same way they had a few nights ago - piercing through the haze of slaughter that had consumed him. Y/N stared at the barrel of his gun, her face stained with tears, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. She was trying not to scream, he thought as he watched her continue to cry silently, frozen here, under the desk, caged in by the wooden planks of her makeshift coffin. Their eyes met, and his blood cooled in his veins - the throbbing, pulsing lava that had been coursing there replaced with something solid, a weighty ice that made his limbs feel like lead. The soft pink flash of her tongue darting out to wet her lips sent him reeling, pushed his mind from his body, forced him back to Saturday night.

She was sitting next to him, the plush fabric of her prom dress brushing against the bare skin of his arm every time she moved slightly. She was a vision, a fantastical creature from the heavens above - there was no way Earth could ever have produced something this beautiful. The silence between them had been peaceful, and he’d felt content, allowed a brief moment of respite from the fiery nausea twisting his stomach into knots. Eyes drifting over her, his gaze wandered down from her face, briefly fixating on the small amount of cleavage revealed to him, before shifting to take a closer look at her dress. She always looked gorgeous in this shade. As much as he’d rather die than admit that he liked any colour other than black, if someone were to ask him now what his favourite was, he’d tell them the hue of her dress without hesitating.

The afterparty was in full swing around them, shitty top 40 pop crap blasting from speakers, rattling the windows, drunk teens screaming along to the music, stumbling over themselves, or making out on any available surface. Still, here, in their little bubble, he could ignore all that, ignore the fact that he wasn't getting absolutely wasted with his friends like he’d promised. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, and the silence stretched on. What even could he say, really? He’d missed every chance with her, even when she’d practically offered herself to him, he’d been too entrenched in his rage to realise what had been in front of him the whole time, to acknowledge that he didn’t hate her. Not anymore, anyway. But their time together had run out, the sand in their respective hourglasses dangerously low, each grain slipping through the timer with dreadful finality. How many hours had he spent despising her? Too many was the painful likelihood - of course, it’s only when you’re all but living on borrowed time, that you realise how much you wasted. Would he face Tuesday lost in what-ifs? Would he feel like he’d lived a life he was happy with? Frankly, he had no answer to either of those questions. The part of him that would’ve known, would’ve cared - the dreamer, the romantic, the boy who had the stars reflected in his eyes - was dead. Of course, the stunning girl next to him had no idea she was sitting with a corpse. He wanted to pour his heart out to her, kiss her senseless, scream at her until his throat was raw, punch her black and blue, anything to channel the way she made him feel so utterly out of control, so like the part of himself he’d killed; Eric was dead, all that was left was REB, a shadow, nothing more than the personification of his hatred, his bloodlust, the part of him that was a natural born killer. Good wombs hath borne bad sons.

He wasn’t sure where the surge of confidence had come from that spurred him to reach out and take her hand in his. Her skin was warm under his, smooth, almost buttery in its softness, a contrast to the burns and calluses worn into his palms, the rough edges of his fingers brushing over the silken digits of her hand. Half expecting her to pull away, he loosely laced their fingers together, weaving a tentative bond, a truce almost, between them, daring to acknowledge feelings they’d both barely begun to uncover. This was all happening too late. He felt like scum for even beginning to open this Pandora’s box, for damning them both to the scourge of evils he was destined to unleash upon their little world in barely a few days. She’d looked up at him then, her soft eyes flickering between their joined hands and his face, and he felt like a fool, a court jester putting on a final performance before the King sentenced him to execution. Those eyes would lead him to the gallows, and he’d follow them willingly.

When she gripped his hand tighter, and leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder, his whole body went completely numb. It was as if he’d been doused in cold water, the fire that burned bright in his chest tempered by the overwhelming ocean of her affection. She relaxed into him, the feeling of her bare shoulders against his clothed chest seeping through the fabric like rainwater, trickling down the plains of his stomach and pooling in his gut - a strangely calming sensation that made his brain spin as lust permeated his prickling flesh. Whenever he was with her like this, he always felt as if he’d been thrown overboard in the middle of a storm, left to the mercy of the waves, with no raft or knowledge of how to swim.

Read the rest on AO3 HERE

[sunbleachedfl13s]

Your Alcoholism has Summoned a Vampire

(remmick x fem reader) (part 2/5)

BIG TW + cw: very mentally unstable reader, non-glamorizing depictions of s3lf h4rm, add1ction, and depression, manipulation, remmick is a massive loser, reader is a massive bitch, no mentions of race

a/n: HOORAY PART TWO! this part is about the same length as the last one, which was totally unintentional but kinda funny. anyways, things are finally starting to get a little freaky in this chapter so get your chastity belts ready. writing dialogue is actually my albatross holy cow its so hard. i even pulled out my tarot cards to write this part so i hope yall end up liking it :)

word count: 3k

“I don’t need you to believe me. I just need 'ya to let me in.”

You noticed something had changed as he stared at you expectantly. The demonic features his face previously adopted had, for the most part, vanished. Chased back into their ever present, shadowy catwalks, leaving nothing but a presentable human man to darken your doorway.

Maybe it happened instantaneously, in a brief window of time your eyes had closed he’d returned to his prior, unassuming appearance. Or perhaps, it had happened gradually, fangs inching back to a uniform row, eyes brightening, fingers shrinking, all at an imperceptible rate.

You suck in a breath through your teeth and shoot a fat glob of spit onto his shoes with a sharp hock. 

“I do believe, I've already told ‘ya. I aint interested.” 

You unceremoniously slam the barn door in his face. And you prayed, silently, to whatever God was listening, that he couldn’t sense what you’d just spat was only a half-truth. As the door closes completely, sliding shut with a dull thunk, free of any clawed hand blocking its path, you figure he hadn’t.

You couldn’t be sure yet though. 

Hands pressed silently against the door’s wooden panels, you wait. For footsteps, knocking, more rambling pleas for an invitation inside, anything. You’re met with nothing. Just crickets, cicadas, and the hum of the moon. Slowly, as to not make any noise, you stand up on your toes and place an ear against the door. You strain through the din of typical nighttime ambiance, trying desperately to detect any noise from the thing standing just outside your door. But the only signs of life you detect is the ragged heaving of your own breath. All is quiet on the other side of the door. 

You flick your eyes down, to the thin beam of light streaming in from the crack beneath the door, illuminating the cool blue floorboards, save for two spots. The otherwise perfect golden pencil line is obstructed by the telltale shadow of a pair of boots.

He was still there.

Dead silent, still as a rail, but still there. Inches away from the unsanded planks of the door, just staring blankly into the burls and notches of the rough wood slabs. Just standing. Waiting. 

You take a slow, sickening step backward, eyes locked on the barn doors, not daring to leave them even for a second. You pause, and repeat this, till you feel your back collide against the coarse angles of a support beam, the rungs of the hayloft’s ladder digging into the curve of your spine. 

The shadow of his boots hasn't moved. They sit, unflinching, mocking you with a sick sadism. So obnoxious in their permanence, so infuriating, it's all you can do to not scream until your throat is hoarse.

But you don't. You've got the sense to keep your mouth shut. For, possibly, the first time in your life. Screaming would be futile anyways. The only soul who could possibly hear you is either passed out, blackout drunk in his bed, or wide awake in another womans'.

Well, between you and your father, at least one of you was having fun.

The walls of the barn seem to compress around you as a suffocating claustrophobia floods your veins. You didn't have to avert your gaze from the door to know it had no viable exit, besides the one currently guarded by some twisted, demonic Jehovah's witness. As long as those boots stayed planted, you were stuck in here.

You look up and blink skyward, as tears of frustration begin to well in your eyes. You bite down on your tongue, and claw your nails into your shoulders, as hard and deep as you possibly can. You close your eyes, and focus on the pain, your time-honored strategy for preventing yourself from crying. You dig in harder, slam your back into the ladder rungs behind you, bite your lip harder, harder, squeezing your eyes shut with all the force you have left.

It's not until the familiar salty taste of iron oozes from your split gums that your shallow breaths begin to deepen. Every muscle relaxes with a resounding sigh as your back slides down the rough face of the beam. Your knees buckle as you take a seat on the soil below. The tears had crawled back to where they belonged, leaving nothing but apathy in their wake. You pull your knees into your chest and straighten your position against the beam. Your eyes don't leave his boots, twin stains across your line of sight, ominous and unignorable.

You'd wait him out, that much you were sure of. If he wanted to play this game with you, you'd sooner die than see him win.

There'd been many a sleepless night you'd spent staring at the cracks in your bedroom ceiling, nights you'd once considered eternal in length. Those nights were child's play compared to this one, where a threat was looming right outside your door, the soles of his boots mocking you in their stubbornness.

Didn't he have anything better to do? Surely there were ways to occupy his time that were more entertaining than this. You could think of a few yourself, and you'd be more than happy to write them down for him and shove 'em down his cheeky fucking throat. But more than likely, doing so would end better for him than it would for you. So, you settle down bitterly in unsatisfying resolve and continue to glare at the thin beam of light emanating from beneath the door.

This resolve burns through the night, a steady, coursing flame of hatred that holds your bloodshot eyes open. So, when the daylight finally breaks over the mountains, and the soft glow of sunrise seeps between the cracks, and you are left without any resolution, an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. The satisfying sounds of departing footsteps you'd envisioned your victory to be met with are absent, as are all other indications of the man's presence.

As the sun chases the shadows away, the crack under the door shifts from a beacon of light in the cold blue darkness, to a misty grey shade below the door, the mark of his boots no longer visible.

He couldn't possibly have left, you tell yourself, his shoes hadn't so much as budged all night. But as sunlight floods through the slats in the barn's wooden walls, you're filled with a strange confidence. Who did this man think he was, to believe his mere presence could keep you cowering behind a door, helpless as a wood mouse?

No, you think, rising to your feet with a determination that is quickly hindered by the stiffness of your sleeping legs. You wouldn't stand for this. You wouldn't lie passive before this creature. If you were going to die, so be it. You'd be buried alongside your dignity.

After a couple stomps to get the blood flowing through your arteries once more, you close the distance between yourself and the door with a few heated strides. Resigned with a resolute conviction, you swing the barn door wide open, ready to meet whatever horror awaits you on the other side.

Your eyes are met with absolutely nothing. The doorway is empty, all remaining being the usual view of the house, farmland, and forest that lay beyond. Confused, you look down to see a muddy pair of men's boots, left orphaned and unlaced before the door by their owner hours prior.

The banshee-like scream that erupts from your throat nearly shakes the rafters loose.

-

The man's boots lie smoking in front of you as you sit cross-legged before your makeshift bonfire. The leather curls like weathered paint off the quarters, peeling and cracking as the flames you've lit consume it.

You rise to your feet, towering over the blaze, and empty what's left of a half-drunk whisky bottle onto the dying flames. The embers surge once met with the alcohol, flames fiery tongues stretching to lick your knees, before once again returning to flickering embers.

You tilt your head upwards, to the darkening sky, and blow a thin plume of tobacco smoke from between your lips. You suck one last inhale from the shrunken stub of your cigarette, before flicking it too, into the fire.

You gaze across the land, and you can survey for miles in all directions. In the east, the flat, barren plain stretches infinite to the horizon. Beyond its lush Spanish moss grove, the west is lined with a backbone of dusty, silhouetted mountain ranges, crowned in gold as the daylight wanes upon them, the light dissolving into sunset behind their misty crests. Through all of this, cicadas sing, their song carrying a promise of the stranger's return. Their word is true as the sky, and you know this fact good as any.

You know this as you turn on your heel and start off towards your porch, leaving his boots to char in flames behind you.

You'd be ready when that thing came back. And sure as hell, you'd tear that fucking grin off its face.

At the thought, a thin stream of drool congeals at the corner of your mouth. As you wipe it off with the backs of your bruised knuckles, you swear you can hear someone laughing in the distance. But as you reach your front door and grip the handle, you don't look back.

-

The moon is absent from the night sky, as you gaze up at it from your kitchen window. Once your curiosity is satiated, you close the limp cloth curtains and sit back down at the table in the corner of the cramped room. The unusually strong wind outside whistles through the walls, rattling the bones of your house.

An empty glass bottle, which an hour ago was filled with rum, sits before you like a mock centerpiece. To your right, a loaded shotgun, with which you fidget, cocking the barrel and fingering the trigger with a detached sort of malice. Despite its presence, the part of you that's buried deep within your core knows it’s only for show, that your expected guest likely won’t be phased by its bullets. You were fooling yourself if you thought for a second it would give you any protection. But despite your knowledge of this, it stayed propped in the corner of your kitchen.

Another smoke hangs limply from your cracked lips, its paper end beginning to dampen with your saliva. The egregious amount of alcohol you’d consumed in the past hour had slowed your thoughts to a dull roar. Inhibition and reaction time lowered, along with the tempo of your racing fears. So when a sudden crash from somewhere deep within your home shakes its rickety floorboards, you don't even flinch. Your curiosity is piqued through, so with a grunt, you rise to your feet and venture down your darkened hallway towards the source of the noise.

Moonlight leaks into the hall from a door left ajar, the one leading to your parent’s bedroom. As you step within, you see the open window you’ve neglected to close, and the damage caused by allowing the wind inside. The wooden crate of your mother’s belongings, previously sat upon her empty bureau, are strewn haphazardly across the floor, the crate left empty and upturned. Delicate necklace chains tangle together in heaps, pages from her many open books are torn from their spines by the wind and sent like falling leaves across the room. Even the sapphire glass of her perfume bottle has shattered into bits, the jagged glinting pieces scatter everywhere, and the liquid once within seeps into the floorboards.

Most notably, the worn collection of witch cards your mother had inherited from her mother lie scattered, facedown, across the floor. “Arcana cards”, she’d called them, and regrettably, at your father’s sin-fearing insistence, you’d never been taught how to read them. Despite the strong meaning you’d always sensed emanating from their strange, heretic illustrations, their suits and markings remained unknown to you. A foreign language you could only have been taught by the woman you’d buried.

You kneel down, and pick a card at random off the floor, turning it over in your palm. Ten of swords.

The harsh knock from your front door echoes through the house like a bell toll.

You stand up, letting the card and all its unknown meaning fall back to the floor. You leave the room slowly, shutting the door behind you silently.

Another sharp knock radiates from the front door. You approach it like a prisoner does the guillotine, walking towards it armed with the same nihilistic resolve you'd had in the barn the night before.

This time, the man who awaits you on the other side is exactly the one you expect.

“Well hey there,” he says, standing in the doorway casually with his hands in the pockets of his suspenders like he’d received an invitation. “Long time no see.”

You grip the doorframe in front of you with an outstretched hand, glaring at him through your browline.

"You happen to see my boots anywhere?" He asks, with a cheery grin. "Reckon I left 'em down by yer barn last night." He smiles at his own joke, as if he was the funniest man alive. Yeah, as if.

“What do you want.”

He leaned back a little on his soles, a cheeky grin pulling at his mouth as he pointed a finger toward your chest. “Now see, I thought I’d made that perfectly clear with ‘ya.”

“Must’ve forgotten. Why don’t ‘cha tell me again.” You rasp bitterly, taking your cigarette from between your lips and extinguishing it on the wooden doorframe, eyes not leaving his for a second.

He flashes his crooked teeth at you, before straightening back up again. “See, I’ve been watchin’ you fer some time now, long enough to know you’re not happy cooped up here in this fuckin’ shack,” He says, slapping a hand against the side of your house for emphasis. “And listen, I don’t blame ya’ one bit. I’d go a little nuts too if I was all alone out here in the middle of mutherfuckin’ nowhere.”

“I don’t live alone.”

“Well yer daddy hasn’t really been present from what I’ve seen. This here ’s more of his pitstop between women. No real kinship in this place.”

Your mouth drops open, your first instinct being to defend your father against this strange man, but despite all reason, you realize, you agree with him. Your hatred for your father was a slow growing beast. It’d been festering within you since your mother’s passing, and you hadn’t even realized it.

Unable to argue against his point, you default to another strategy.

“How long ‘ya been spying on me for?” You say slowly. “Sure must’ve been a while, if you ‘sposedly know more about me than my own damn self.” You spit, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you glare at him.

“Oh,” He says, with a deep snickering laugh, “For a good while now. Enough to know a helluva lot about ‘cha, thats fer sure.”

“Yea?” You snap, your sarcastic skepticism horribly apparent in every way you held yourself. “Like what.”

“Oh I know lots o’ things. What kinda liquor you fancy, the way ya’ sit, the way ya’ sleep, the records ‘ya keep replayin’,” He looks at you with that stupid, smart ass grin playing on his face. “The way ya’ like to touch yourself.”

Your eyes widen in horror instinctually, and it takes every fraction of willpower to shove down the bubbling embarrassment prickling through you. You knew that was exactly what he wanted, to get a rise out of you, the piece of shit. Maybe you’d like the way he looked a little more if you crushed his skull in with the hilt of that shotgun. You imagine grabbing him by the roots of his hair, and slamming his face into your wall, over and over, till whatever substance left to fill his empty veins coated your porch. This calmed you down a little, settling the choking burn of your anger.

He rubs a hand over his stubbled jawline in a mocking sort of way, as he grins, eyes darkening beneath his brows. For a moment, the mask of humanity slips, red pinpricks glowing within his shadowed eye sockets. But only for a moment, and then the usual dimpled, foolish smile is back in place. “So trust me when I say, that I know, I know I can give you exactly what you’ve been lookin' for. Family, happiness, a freedom like nothin’ else you’ve ever known, all of it, It’s yours.” He’s closed the little distance you’d had between each other, standing close as his law would let him. “So long as ya’, y’know, let me in.” His grotesque, razor jagged fangs glint under the humming glow of your porchlight as he grins, staring into your soul, searching for any semblance of an invitation. "I can even throw in a few other things to…sweeten the deal.” His voice takes on a husky rasp as he says this, a clawed hand digging into the doorframe beside you.

Your stomach, and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint, churn beneath you, your body tensing in anticipation as you lean away from his face. His teeth are slick with dripping saliva, congealing with a viscosity you’d never seen in any human’s mouth. That brazen, shameless look smeared across his face has stayed just the same though, itching with anticipation he knew he couldn’t act on. At least, not yet.

Everything about his presence screamed danger, kicked your fight or flight instincts into gear with a ferocity like no other. But something intangible, either the sparkling allure of his offer, or something…different… held your arm from slamming the door on him again. It was ridiculous, for all you knew he was a nothing but a brass faced liar, his promises pure fantasy. Yet despite this, despite your mind flooding with doubt from every corner, despite your gut cursing you for your stupidity, you hesitate.

You don’t realize your mouth had dampened until you’re bringing your knuckles to them once again, wiping the spit thats welled in the crevices.

He chuckles again, as he looks at you from the other side of the threshold, darkening your doorway like something ancient you’d ought to be scared of. And last night, though you didn’t dare show it, you absolutely were.

But tonight, as he stands before you once again, you find, strangely, that you aren’t.

pt 3 coming soon

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cool for the Summer 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Humping it up on hump day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You taste the cocktail and make a face. As sweet as it is, the alcohol is stringent in your throat. You set the glass down as Bucky’s fingers tap on his pint. You glance up, surprised to find him watching you. 

"Don't like it?" He asks. 

"Mm, no, I mean yes. No." You stutter out. "It's good, I just... don't drink much." 

"She's a good girl." Your mom teases. "I always had to push her out the door. Oh, don't even ask about prom." She grabs his forearm and cackles. "You would think buying a dress would be fun. Nope. I think she'd have rather gone to the dentist." 

Your cheeks turn hot. Four years past and you still cringe at the fitting room torture. You look down and fiddle with the cutlery wrapped in a red napkin. You really wish she wouldn't treat you like a child. You suppose at times you might act like one. 

"Those things can be tough. I barely remember mine. Only went so my buddy didn't feel like such a loser," Bucky shrugs. "But look at how far you've come. I'm sure high school is like a blip on the radar. Now the real fun begins, huh?" 

You know he's trying to help and you appreciate. But it only makes your chest tighten. The dread throbs in your temples. Life, it's all ahead of you but you have no idea where to start. 

"Yeah, I... I barely remember." You talk to the table. 

"She's a smart one," your mom praises. "I really lucked out. No teenage angst, no rebellion." 

You chew your lip and pick at the trim of the table. You sound lame. You are and you never minded the safety of that trait. Still, you'd like to be known as more than a boring little bookworm. 

"Okay, here we are." The server rescues you from further humiliation. "Chicken caesar." 

She puts your salad in front of you, "cheese steak sammy and macaroni salad." She lays a plate in front of Bucky, "and the sizzling fajitas." 

Another server appears with a wooden plank, set with a cast iron pan atop it and fixings; tortillas, salsa, guac. It smells delicious but you know it's too early for all that. You'd be even sleepier and you still have to get unpacked.  

"Enjoy," the waitress smiles and struts away. 

You unwrap your cutlery and use the knife and fork to shred the lettuce. You should've known better than to order salad. It's always so awkward to eat with others around to see. 

"Mm, pretty good," Bucky says. "Lauren, how's that extravaganza? Really went all out." 

"Wasn't expecting all this." Your mother scoops grilled peppers into a tortilla, daintily with her fork as her nails shine in the light. You remember when you asked to get a manicure and she said they were impractical... 

She's changed but you don’t feel all that different than when you left for college. Maybe you should have tried harder. Well, it's not like your life is over. Far from. 

"How about you?" Bucky prompts and once more you meet his gaze with a startled blink. You nod and swallow. 

"Good. Just boring old salad." You say. 

"Always chicken caesar," your mother chirps. "Creature of habit. Don't worry. You'll hardly be surprised. By tonight, she'll have one of her books and you won't hear another peep." 

You bite down on your tongue. You're not sure anymore if she's bragging or she's chiding you. Her life is so exciting now. Her hair is highlighted, her nails are filled, and her makeup... she's actually wearing makeup. 

"Didn't think you could work with those." You say as she catches her nail on her napkin. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm not in the ward anymore. Sweetie, didn't I tell you? I do clinicals now. I just show the new ones what to do. Not much hands-on stuff." 

"Uh, I remember. Sorry." 

"Too sharp," Bucky chuckles. "Can't even hold her hand without getting clawed." 

She jabs him with her shaped tip and he grunts. They laugh together and you look around. You're the sore thumb sticking out. Ever the third wheel. Even when you had 'friends', you sat on the sidelines, confused by their inside jokes. 

"It's very good. Thank you." You sit forward and focus on the salad. The sooner this is over, the sooner you can do exactly what your mom expects. Hide with a book. Alone. 

🩵

Home is always a comforting sight but not as much as you expect. A flicker of guilt sparks in your chest. Bucky just bought you lunch, you shouldn’t be so negative. Still, you just want to unwind after a long day of traveling. 

As much as you want him to just go, you would never say as much. Your mom seems happy with him. She even seems healthier. It’s nice to see her taking care of herself, she’s done enough of that for others for too long. 

You get out of the car but Bucky’s too fast. He has you bag in his hand before you can react to the trunk opening. He smiles and insists, “I got it. You lead the way.” 

“Mm, I could nap about now,” your mother calls over the car roof. 

You agree internally. The whole train ride, you looked forward to burying yourself in blankets and leaving the world behind. It would be rude to do so with company around, even if they aren’t yours.  

You follow your mom to the front door and she unlocks it with a yawn. You enter and slip your shoes off on the mat. Things are different. Not too different, you can’t quite place everything. Yet you notice that the coat rack has been replaced with mounted hooks across the wall and the rug at the bottom of the stairs is new. 

“Oh!” Your mom spins, surprising you before you can sneak past her. “I forgot about your surprise!” 

You look at her then over your shoulder at Bucky as he plunks down your bag. You wait for him to respond. He just offers a small curve of his lips. You turn back. 

“You,” your mom taps your nose. “Come on. Ah,” she waves around you at Bucky, “bring her bag with you.” 

Your mom grabs your arm and ushers you upstairs. You can’t resist, too swept up in fatigue and confusion. He follows behind you. What’s happening? 

“Okay. I hope you like it,” she goes to your door and your stomach flips. Oh no, what did they do? She swings the door open and backs up, waving inside, “tada!” 

You hesitate but make yourself step into the doorway. You glance around and your mouth slowly falls open. You blink at the room. Wow. 

It’s not awful, just another change you’re not ready for. Instead of your old rectangle bookcases, new circle ones have been built into the walls; white instead of brown. Your bed is the same but the wood is newly re-stained and the bedding is shade of pink you wouldn’t necessarily choose. A heart shaped rug is spread across the floor and your previous desk has been replaced with one that folds into the wall. 

There is an entirely new piece that stands out. A vanity in the corner. The mirror is the same shape as the carpet and the stool has a fluffy seat. 

“Oh, wow...” you utter as you step further inside. 

“Bucky is so handy! I always wanted to do this but I didn’t know where to start. Oh, just wait until you see his place,” she rambles as she trails you. “He built the whole thing himself.” 

“I had help,” he tuts and sets your bag down. “Tried not to do too much but just added a fresh coat to everything.” 

You’re silent.  

“Sweetie?” Your mom touches your arm. 

“I’m... surprised. That’s all.” 

“She’s speechless, Bucky!” She squeals and claps her hands. “I knew she’d love it.” 

“Heh, yeah. Well, I hope it isn’t too much.” He rubs his neck as he looks around. “You can let me know. I can change whatever you need.” 

“No, no, it’s really nice. Like really. I...” you wring a finger in your other hand. “Thank you.” 

“Lauren,” he sidles past you and nudges your mother gently. “Why don’t we let her get settled in? I’m sure she’s beat from the road.” 

“Right, right,” she beams around the room before she faces him. “Of course.” She glances over at you, “sweetie, let us know if you need anything, okay?” 

“Mom, I’m fine.” You show your teeth sheepishly and hover around the wall. 

Bucky leaves first, your mom following as she cranes to stare at the room. She leaves you with an excited wiggle and you go to close the door behind her. Once it’s shut, you sigh. You weren’t ready for any of this. Somehow coming home has proven even more disjointing than going away to college. 

You plod to the bed and flop onto it. You roll onto your back and let your eyes rove. It is so cute. You would have killed for a room like this in high school, even on campus. Yet it does seem a lot. You’re sure once you get a job, your mom doesn’t expect you to stay too long. 

Maybe this is a good thing. A little less pressure on you to get out but not exactly. With Bucky hanging around, you can’t help but be in the way. You’re not the only one who needs to adjust to your return. 

You can worry about it all later. For now, you need to close your eyes and stop thinking. 

🩵

The afternoon wears on as you dawdle away on your phone. You can barely keep your eyes open as the screen glares back at you. It’s almost six when you make yourself stop the addictive word game.  

You lay listless, trying to urge yourself to get up and do something. You lose the battles as your eyes close and you drift off without realising it. In your subconscious, you’re just as you are in reality. Just lying there, motionless and mindless. 

You wake slowly as pressure squeezes in your pelvis. Your bladder forces you to action. Even with the painful weight throbbing inside, you move without urgency. You sit up slowly, dizzy from the unexpected doze. You stand and shuffle to the door. 

You leave it open as you go into the hall and let your feet guide you. Habit takes down to the bathroom door and you reach for the handle. It turns from the other side and you recoil in surprise. Bucky stops short as he emerges and apologises. 

You stammer as you gape back at him. Somehow after the whirlwind morning, you forgot all that change. In your grogginess, you didn’t see the new walls or the white bookcases or think. 

“S...Sorry...” you murmur.  

You’re consumed in radiating heat as you stare at the stubble along his neck. Any lower and he might be embarrassed. He is shirtless after all. You’ve never been the best at looking people in the face but you have no choice. You examine his silver-streaked hair, slightly tussled, and his grizzly beard with its dusting of white along his chin. 

You step back as he raises a palm and dips his head. “No problem. Gotta get used to each other, I guess. Bad timing, is all.” 

“Right,” you agree dully. 

He looks back at you and his forehead creases. “You okay?” 

You wince. “Yeah, why?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Just... you look... a little out of it.” 

“I fell asleep,” you run your fingers along your throat nervously. The motion catches his eyes. Their startling blue hue gleam in the light. 

“Right. I figured you needed it. Long ride...home.” His gaze flicks up to meet yours. “Sorry you’re stuck here with us boring old people. You probably miss it already.” 

You shrug, “not really.” 

“Not really? What about your friends?” He rests his hand on the door frame and leans. 

“Didn’t... just study buddies. Classmates.” You look away and shift as your bladder aches. 

He clears his throat and stands straight. He steps out of the frame and you jump at his sudden movement. He touches your hip to keep from colliding with you and sidles by. 

“I’ll just get out of your way, baby girl,” He squeezes, his hand lingering for a moment. “Welcome home.” 

He lets go and turns, strutting down the hall as you stand frozen. You hurry forward and shut yourself in the bathroom as you scramble with the sudden agonizing pang. You don’t have time to think, you have to go! 

[cherrydipp]

heres me rambling all my notes from today / what i remembered

act 1 :

- chettrip is real. at bucks party they were in the room together they were getting FREAKY.

- during that number when the cop interrogates cherry and paul at the top, it seemed like cherry and paul were fighting and paul like told her to stop talking

- melodys mic was UP in far away from tulsa

- during ggah soda was WHIPPING everyone with the towel IT WAS SO FUNNY

- also during fatdi when the girls sing “aint no better than time than” or their little sequence, trip jumped onto the tire and did like “a girly dance” to mock them heheh it was SO FUNNY

- ace still smacked sodas butt

- during fatdi marcia and trip were ALLL over each other. marcia gave him a hug from behind and didnt let go it was so cute

- chet and paul were chatting it up during fatdi

- bob seemed relatively happy during fatdi up until the end

- bob stumbled a lot more very drunk, so did trip they were good at playing drunk.

- when dally got splashed, trip mocked him and dallas PUSHED him to the ground and HELPP it was like paul yelled at trip to go in time out he yanked him up like a cat and pointed to the car HEHEHE

- COLE TRIP IS SOOO FUNNY

- when the “aint that right ace” ace replied like more sultry?? i dont want to say seductive but idk any other word. it was more serious than when tilly does it

- i LOVE aramie dallas he plays him like a teenager

- emma was more angry today than sad which i liked. when she said “i said BEAT IT.” she MEANT IT. she was angry af

- BOB DID THE MOCKING THING YASSSS YASSSS it was so epic to hear live

- yall know my fave dance move…. (when that clock strikes three) I WATCHED CHERRY DO IT SO GOOD OOOOUUU YALL KNOW I LOVE THAT

- paul and bev were very chummy like very close

- after soda got the papers thrown at him he saw johnny jump and assured him it was just paper while smiling ☹️☹️

- CHERRYCOLA IS REAL. THEY WERE SMILING AT EACH OTHER AT THE END OF THE OPENING NUMBER LIKE FULL ON SMILING AND ADMIRING EACH OTHER.

- also when the line “NO SHIT!!” happens he didnt say it how he normally does he was more like “no… shit 😳” i like to think its cuz he was flirting with cherry after opening number okay let me live

- darry said the “look at these hands” part less angry ?? maybe vocal rest ??? or he is sick??

- JORDAN IS SO FUN TO WATCH DANCE I CANT TAKE MY EYES OFF HIM

- this made me lol when dallas is like “twobit u got ur grease?” he went “no 😏” LIKE DEAD PANNED IT WAS SO FUNNY

- when i saw melvin carrying that plank i got so happy……

- chettrip kept giggling with each other guys theyre reallll they are reeeealllll they were bumping into each other like cray cray

- aramie looked so cool in buck merril red lighting door like it was sick he has so much aura its insane. i love u aramie

- emma pittman was on time YES QUEEN YESSSS 💗💗💗💗💗💗 she looks so beautiful on stage u guys

- these girls in front of me just got told off by this british lady HELPPP THIS SCHOOL KEEPS TALKING IT WAS SO FUNNY SHES SO AMAZING THAT BRITISH LADY I LOVE U THEY BETTER STFU NOW OMFG SYBAU SYBAU…….

- the opening number i almost cried its so good. like oh god its so satisfying to watch its the best number i think to watch.

- not much marbit content tbh idgaf i got martrip thats all that matters to me

- HELP ME YHESE GIRLS R MOVING HAHAHAHAHAH IM CRYINGGGG HELP ME YES GET CLOCKED GET CLOKCKED “is it that big of a problem” YES. U WOULDNT SHUT UP DURING ANYTHING OMG.

- marcia had her legs wrapped about trip during fatdi concessiong stand oh i guess thats icttyal not fatdi

- cam brill flipped off the greasers

act 2 :

- jft the interrogation part. paul like elbowed cherry and she back away, she didnt make eye contact ONCE with the cop or paul. paul was mad

- trip had the DIRTIEST GLARE EVER AT CHERRY STOPPP thats ur bff leave her alone omfg.

- cam brill was so AGGRESSIVE trying to snatch bobs jacket from cherry. she full on like stumbled backward. trip jumped in her face and she flinched.

- cherry opt up you guys. it was so fricken heavenly. she also added an extra riff oh my LORD IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL I SHOOK. paul was very angry

- paul didnt step on twobit today, he kneeled on his chest instead.

- the darry and dally fight was different than normal. instead of dally overpowering darry, darry pushed him ontop of the car and didn’t let up until sodapop pulled him down. that’s when he fell to the ground.

- cherry’s legs shook during jft like she was uneasy on her feet, clearly nervous.

- melvin dipp during the fire again dont play

- jordan jumping on darrys back at the end of hoods turned heroes HELP it was so silly hes so tall and lanky on top of him i tried not to giggle.

- oh i forgot to mention they changed the ace and twobit choreo during the drive in obviously because daryl cant lift someone way taller than him like that.

- during jft bev had her head on brills shoulder while he just held her.

- martrip wouldnt let go of each other and when marcia had to to comfort cherry, she gently plucked him off.

- melvin HELP melvin ran a little to keep up with sergei when they walked out in trouble.

- trip went over and massaged melvins shoulders. i wish they kept it how it used to be with sean jones where he points to ace, but i guess it made sense for this show (idk if they always do this) cuz aint no way in HELL trip would point to the boy whos 103748291 feet taller than melvin

- WATCHING MELVIN FIGHT JORDAN ACE WAS SO FUCKING FUNNY DTTM.

- either bob or trip (pretty sure it was bob cuz the socs were saying bob) like was practically in the audience. and their voices were so heartbreaking as they pulled him in it was a direct parallel of pony pulling johnny.

- oh goodness me pony’s voice when johnny went silent broke me. dont even. stroblboy is a amazing im sorry for ever doubting you

- ARAMIE IS THE DALLAS. he is my dallas i preferred him sooo much over josh boones dallas.

- he plays dallas much younger and looks younger like he was shorter than darry and all.

- his mic was messed up for the beginning of little brother but he still sounded phenomenal.

- genuinely his dallas portrayal is heartbreaking and he sounds so beautiful oh my goodness.

- during little brother i love watching the socs and greasers at the bottom and oh goodness cherry moved with like such pain you didn’t need to see her face to know it. i like to imagine the closer they are to the front is the more guilty they felt for johnny’s death so cherry being in the front had me drop a tear bruh.

- hoods turned hero the projection was lowkey cut off cuz COLE. IS TOO SHORT AND SO IS MELVIN BRUH. stupid dipp brothers.

- hopeless war had a few added riffs i believe. emma pittman is so amazing

- okay so during the scene where cherry gives pony johnny’s clothes, when she first entered here’s what i noticed. last time i saw it, sodapop was so much more hesitant to let her in, he was like “no you can’t—“ and walked over but this time he was so much more wrecked. like he and darrel both just replied with a soft “hi.” when she left his eyes followed her the entire time.

- darry’s voice when he said “we love you.” had me in SHAMBLES.

- when ponyboy saw johnny in the rumble oh sweet neptune.

- trip is directly in front during the rumble he looked so angry and so did melvin. when they do the last punches when they face the audience, melvin like threw gravel and shouted “COME ON” or something like that. proving my point about him and fighting.

- HELP ME THE PPL KEPT GETTING YELLED AT TS SO FUNNY

- uh the ending number bob was so nonchalant leaning against the wood plank smh.

thanks emma pittman for introducing me to cherry and paul siblings. also this is all my opinions. i hope u wnjoy the tidbit about the british lady

[floorbe]

“Straying Eyes” [Hector Barbossa x Fem!Reader]

**Commission for @jesseapples !**

Warnings: phonetic spelling of accents, p in v s/x, possessive behavior / language, hints of soft Barbossa, men hit on reader in a pub but not for long

Summary: When you and the rest of the Black Pearl’s crew finally docked in Tortuga, you hoped for a night of celebration in the pubs— of course, things never quite go to plan, do they?

Or;

Drunken men hit on you in a pub and Barbossa gets jealous.

Pairings: Hector Barbossa/fem!Reader

A/N: gods this dialect was hard to pin down, so so fun to work on tho omg

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

Word count: ~5.3k

~

As much as you loved the sea, and you did love it, you were excited to stand on solid ground that didn’t shift and shudder beneath your feet with every wave. As sturdy as the Black Pearl was, you couldn’t help how the creaks and groans of the wood at night reminded you that you really were at the sea’s will. 

This fact popped into your head once more as you hopped easily off the boarding plank and onto the pier below. Despite the disorienting feeling of walking on steady ground again instead of the familiar pull and weave of the ship, the earthy (and alcoholic) scent steadied you. You stretched your arms over your head, cracking your back with a grunt as you felt your muscles stretch. 

Before you could take a step forward there was a familiar warmth pressed against your lower back. You let out a curious hum, tilting your head back to meet your partner’s gaze. Barbossa’s cool blue eyes met yours with a smug cock of his eyebrow. His fingers tapped a rhythm on your lower back before settling on your hip, tugging you into his side. 

“Attached already?” you teased quietly, nudging his side with your hip, “We’ve barely docked, Cap’n.” 

He scoffed beside your ear, rolling his eyes with a scowl you knew was just for show by the way his hand squeezed your hip with faux warning. “Be it a crime now to lay claim in what’s mine?” he asked. His voice dropped an octave as he leaned a bit closer to rumble sarcastically, “Forgive me if I’ve… concerns about the ingrates that swarm the bars of Tortuga.”

You opened your mouth to respond but nothing came out, cheeks warming at the reminder. “...Maybe,” you retorted lamely after a moment, clearing your throat. 

He hummed, tapping his fingers on your hip once more before drawling, “Well, what’s another crime added to our list, hm?” 

You groaned playfully, turning away from his faux curious gaze. His breath puffed against your neck as he laughed at your demeanor, pulling away only to lead you alongside him as the rest of the crew crowded past you, scattering through the streets of Tortuga. 

You let yourself be dragged towards your usual pub, slipping inside the rowdy bar with ease. The familiar warmth of Barbossa’s hand on your hip faded as you both weaved through the crowd, ducking beneath potted plants being thrown and beer spillage. It was easy for you after all of these years, the pub becoming like a second home (ship?) away from home with how often you all stopped there. The musicians played a hearty tune as you spun through the sea of people, eyes scanning any available seats. 

As you slipped into an unoccupied bar seat you felt a familiar presence looming over your shoulder. You glanced to the side to find Barbossa leant comfortably on the stool beside you, scanning over the crowd with an elbow twisted to rest on the bartop behind him. He briefly met your gaze, raising his brows in acknowledgement before turning back to the crowd. You watched as Jack, the little monkey that had grown quite fond of you, scittered down his arm to the counter before grappling onto your shoulder. 

“Hi, Jack,” you cooed, reaching a finger up to scratch behind his fuzzy ear. He let out a trill of contentment, butting into your finger encouragingly as you relayed your order to the bartender. The presence was one you were all too familiar with by now; Barbossa often had Jack “watch over” you when he couldn’t be around to do it himself. 

It was sweet really, how protective Barbossa was over you when he claimed to be otherwise. It was also, admittedly, a bit annoying how often he seemed to swoop in whenever you were faced with the tiniest bit of danger. Even now you remembered how, when you two had first started seeing each other, he would shove you out of the skirmishes on deck in favor of banishing you to his cabin. Despite how furious you always were at the end, he ended up brushing off your complaints with a sneering reminder of who was Captain. 

It had taken you a long while to see through his cold demeanor and realize it wasn’t that he thought you couldn’t take care of yourself, rather that he hadn’t wanted to risk anything happening to you. It was a startling yet sweet realization, one festered with his taunts of how “there be a reason naught but few ladies on these seas”. It was bullshit, of course, an insult to keep you at arms length from his feelings. 

Still, the concern from him was… touching. You rarely saw the softer side of Barbossa, even when concealed with his snark, and any reminder of it left your heart clenching in affection for the man. You supposed Jack was proof of that, regardless, though– your furry friend only ever left your shoulder to perch on Barbossa’s. 

You were snapped out of your thoughts as a mug was placed in front of you, the bartender already whirling around to serve another patron. You took a big gulp of the drink, nose scrunching up at the burn that followed. You suppressed a cough, favoring swirling in your barstool to survey the bar once again. Your gaze flitted through the crowd, searching for any familiar figure. 

You barely made out one of your crew, Ragetti, trying in vain to grasp his wooden eye that you assumed was rolling on the floor. You snickered into your mug, taking another gulp as you appreciated the view of Ragetti’s frantic crawling and weaving through the crowd’s legs. The blasting bar music muted whatever he was trying to yell, and you huffed out a laugh when someone ended up tripping on the eye, setting their angry sights on Ragetti as the culprit. 

Before you could witness what was certainly most entertaining fight of the night, you felt Jack’s tiny claws sink into the cloth of your shirt with a quiet chirp. You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to see whatever had caught his attention. Before you could turn fully, you felt a weight snake around your waist from your side. Assuming it to be Barbossa, you swiveled in your seat with a growing smile. 

It immediately faded into a scowl when you didn’t recognize the patron. His eyes were hazy, already way too drunk to be in the bar, a sleazy grin on his face that you were sure he thought was sexy. You cringed, leaning away from him with a roll of your eyes, “Not interested.” 

“H-hey gor-rgeous,” he slurred out, batting his eyes. He either hadn’t heard you, or… didn’t care. Either way, it made your frustration spike. 

“Take y’er hand from my hip or you’ll be losin’ it,” you growled, shoving his chest. Jack screeched in what you assumed was agreement, quickly clawing at the man’s face for emphasis. Too drunk, Jack’s claws easily met with the man’s cheek, blood already clotting from the scratch. 

“Y-ye fuckin’ rat!” the man shouted in surprise, stumbling backwards. In the time you’d taken to reject this man, another had saddled up on the other side of you, his smooth voice booming in your ear uncomfortably. 

“The lady said nay,” the new man scoffed, wrapping an arm around your waist. You cocked an eyebrow in disbelief at the bold move, turning to see the, slightly less, drunk man who took it upon himself to “save” you. “Ye okay, lass?” he asked with a crooked grin, sending a wink towards you before continuing, “I can keep y’a company, lass. Keep these scoundrels away.” 

“Nay, she won’t be needin’ the likes of you to assist her,” another voice growled, one that sent a flutter through your chest. Jack screeched in greeting, scampering off of your shoulder to race up the inky black sleeve of your beloved. 

“An’ who are you to speak for th’ lady?” the man scoffed, tightening his grip around your waist. You’d forgotten his arm was still around you, scrunching your nose in disgust as you made eye contact with Barbossa. The corner of his lip curled up into a scowl you’d seen far too often, his hand instinctively snaking down to his holster. 

“Her lover,” he ground out with a snarl of his lips, eyes narrowing dangerously. In a flash, Barbossa’s gun was pressed to the man’s jaw, prodding uncomfortably as he toyed with the trigger. “Whaddya think, Jack?” he taunted, tilting his head to the monkey, who chittered in response. A sick grin grew on his face at the supposed response, cocking the barrel with a practiced thumb, “Aye, you be right, Jack. He be worthless.” 

Within seconds the man’s arm was jerking away from your waist, palms raising up in surrender. You watched the man gulp, trembling as Barbossa leant in closer to him. Your chest squeezed once again at the display. Another reminder of his care for you. …Even if he was about to shoot someone in a bar. 

“Cap’n,” you tried, raising a hand to rest it on his forearm. His eyes flit to yours briefly, raking down your form to check for anything that might’ve happened. His thumb didn’t relax until you stepped closer, squeezing his arm with a silent reassurance. You were fine. 

His scowl deepened momentarily, and with a flourished spin his gun was back in his holster. Jack let out a whine that you swore sounded disappointed as the man stumbled back. “I’d advise y’e keep y’er hands to yourself, boy,” Barbossa hissed, watching intently as the man scrambled away, “Lest ye lose ‘em to a man far crueler than I.” 

Before you could process what had happened, Barbossa’s arm was curled tight around your waist, fingers digging into your hip almost painfully. Within moments you were dragged out of your own seat, hands scrambling for purchase on his sleeve. Your feet bent awkwardly as he pulled you onto his lap, his arm steady around you. 

Your back hit the solid warmth of his chest, thighs slotting between his as you shifted to get more comfortable. His chin settled on your shoulder, and when you felt his warm breath puff against your cheek, you instinctively leaned your head against his. You huffed softly, leaning back into his embrace as your brows furrowed in annoyance. 

“Thank y’e,” you mumbled, reaching out to grab your mug of rum for a sip, “Gods forbid I spend more than a few minutes alone lest the dogs swarm.” 

He hummed in your ear, his arm shifting around you more securely, “Dogs be a lackluster term for the vermin here.” 

“An’ what would you choose?”

“Feckless ingrates, horned mutts, cockroaches–” 

“Aye, aye,” you laughed, leaning back into his chest and earning a huff of laughter against your cheek, “Well, it be not our problem now–” you were cut off by him suddenly shifting beneath you, raising you both up from the seat. 

You felt yourself being tugged away from the bar, eliciting a surprised exclamation and a final gulp from your mug. “Hector,” you whined in his ear, squirming in his hold, “I didn’t even get to get tipsy–” 

“I’ve rum in my cabin,” he muttered, not relieving his grip on your hip.

“The crew–?”

“Will find their way back,” he shot you a sharp glance, squeezing your hip lightly as he dragged you out of the bar. 

You groaned in frustration, struggling to hold back the amused grin trying to worm onto your face. “Is that how ye thank y’er savior?” he mocked, rolling his eyes as he shoves open the pub’s doors.

“Thank you,” you retorted sarcastically. Despite your tone, you readily leaned into his side as he weaved through the alleyways of Tortuga. He huffed in response, and you’re sure that if you’d seen his face he would be rolling his eyes once again. He was silent the rest of the short trip. Silence wasn’t unusual for you two; many nights you two spent in his cabin silent, him charting his maps and you milling around with his trinkets or reading.

You admired the stars above as he led you back to the boarding plank, wood creaking beneath your boots. You hopped onto the ship easily, noting the way Barbossa’s hand slid from his ironclad grip on your hip to resting firmly on your lower back. You resisted a shiver at the feeling, biting the inside of your lip as he guided you to his cabin. 

“Were I a dumber man,” he started finally, kicking his door behind him shut, “I’d say y’e enjoyed that little show.” 

“Enjoyed?” you scoffed, sending a grin over your shoulder, “Sure, if you call me getting two sips of my rum enjoyable–” 

You were cut off by his hand snaking down to grip your ass, squeezing one cheek between his nimble fingers. A startled noise was ripped from your mouth, back arching instinctively to flinch away from his hand. “What was it you were sayin’?” he taunted, his other hand raising to trace his nail along your jawline. 

You scowled at the action, twisting your head to angle a half-hearted glare at him, “I said,” you repeated, a pout gracing your lips as his hands left your form, reaching for his own stash of alcohol, “I only got two sips of my rum before you interrupted me.” 

“I interrupted you?” he guffawed with an obvious roll of his eyes as he poured you a replacement mug of rum, “An’ I suppose we’ll just be ignorin’ the attention you got, then?” 

“Aye,” you tutted, crossing your arms defiantly, “We will be.”

“Ah,” he gave you a thin smile as he placed the rum in front of you, “So, am I right t’be assumin’ you liked the attention y’got?” 

“You know I didn’t,” you shot back, snatching the cup from in front of you to bring to your lips, “I just want one night where I’m not dragged out by the end of the first hour.” 

“Be it my fault those ingrates–?” 

“No,” you groan frustratedly, “But do we have to leave the second it happens?” 

“Well, apologies for not enjoyin’ the way those boys were tryin’ to take what’s mine.” 

“Why d’you care, Hector? You know I be yours,” you sighed again, rapping your foot on the wooden floor quietly. 

“Aye, you are, and it seems y’e need a reminder of it,” he rumbled, taking your chin between his fingers, forcing your eyes to meet his. You met his icy gaze, resisting a shudder at how intensely he inspected your features, as if trying to commit them to memory. He thumbed gently at your bottom lip, almost tender in the way it traced over every curve and dip. His gaze trailed over your features, his own softening slightly, only enough for you to notice how his brows unfurrowed the tiniest bit, how his nigh permanent scowl seemed to quirk up into something almost affectionate. 

You swallowed hard, heat blooming in your cheeks at how vulnerable you felt under his eyes. When you tried to glance away, feeling embarrassed at the attention, you only heard him tut quietly, similar to a sound he makes when scolding Jack. 

“Shy?” he asked, the corner of his lip raising to reveal a crooked smirk.

“...Nay. Hard to concentrate when y’er looking at me like that,” you mumbled, scrunching your nose in defiance at his taunt. 

He hummed in response, using his grip on your chin to turn your eyes back to him, “An’ how else should I be lookin’ at y’e?”

The question made you falter, combing through your mind for any sort of smart retort. It seemed you took a moment too long, for you heard Barbossa’s chuckle as his thumb climbed up your lip and prodded at the seam. Obediently, you allowed his thumb into your mouth, dropping your jaw agape. 

“Cat got y’er tongue, lass?” he continued, emphasizing his words by pressing the pad of his thumb down on your tongue with an amused chuckle. You closed your lips around his thumb, nipping the flesh playfully. 

Barbossa’s eyebrow cocked, slipping his thumb out of your mouth with a scowl (one that you knew was teasing from the softened curves of his expression) before rolling his eyes, “Charmin’. No wonder I’ve competition for y’er affections.”

“Aye, I’m a catch,” you grinned up at him, placing your rum aside as he drew closer. 

“Aye, and y’er mine,” he growled out, eyes crinkling as he grinned crookedly down at you. 

You couldn’t stop the shudder that ripped through you even if you’d tried, swallowing hard at the sudden warmth pooling in your abdomen. Fuck, sure he’d said similar before, but never this direct. He seemed to notice your sudden flustering, for he chuckled before tugging you up out of the chair. 

“Ah, hit a nerve, love?” he nearly purred, his free arm snaking around your waist. 

“...Nay,” you lied, feigning nonchalance. You could practically feel your clit swelling, each throb making your mind fuzzier. His hand squeezed your hip before tugging you closer, pressing your hips flush to his. You were just barely able to suppress the gasp that threatened to slip from your lips. 

“Ah, so if I were to…” he released your chin, instead sliding his hand down the side of your torso, tracing each curve before halting just above the waistband of your pants. 

“Go ahead,” you breathed out, swallowing hard. You could feel the lips of your cunt already sticking to your underwear, clinging to the fabric as his hand dipped beneath your bottoms. 

You shivered as the pads of his fingers traced over your folds over the underwear, tutting teasingly, “Y’wouldn’t happen to be lying, would y’e?” he murmured, pressing a finger down on your clit, just weighted enough to make you gasp. 

Encouraged by your response, he let his finger circle your clit through your underwear, applying the slightest bit more pressure. Your knees weakened at the sudden pleasure, clasping onto his sleeve to keep steady. “U-unfair, Hector–”

He cut your complaint off with a laugh, crowding closer to you to guide you back to the bed, “Unfair that I know y’er body better than those slobberin’ mutts?” 

“Aye,” you pouted, allowing him to back you up onto the bed. 

“Best hope I be feelin’ merciful today, then,” he retorted, eyes glinting in the dim lighting as he climbed on top of you, “Though, somehow, I think that be not the case…” 

A snarky reply made home on the tip of your tongue, furrowed brows accompanying the playful scowl that curled your lips. Before you could bite back at him his hand was finally slipping underneath your underwear, calloused fingers dipping through your folds. You shuddered at the feeling, hips bucking up when his thumb joined in by pressing down on your clit. 

You gasped out a moan, leaving your cheeks feeling warmer at the sudden noise. Barbossa’s chuckling was not helping your flustered state, and neither was the way his middle finger circled your hole teasingly. You swallowed down another soft moan as the tip of his finger just barely dipped into you, swirling around as if collecting your slick. 

“What was it y’e were sayin’, lass?” he laughed breathily, sliding his finger up to swirl your wetness against your clit before pinching it lightly. He grinned as your hips twitched, a noise mixed with pain and pleasure jetting from your lips. You bit your lower lip instead of responding, knowing him well enough by now to know he would just do it again if you tried. 

You felt his hand slip out of your underwear, leaving a trail of wet as he glided up your abdomen. You watched with interest as he raised his hand to his mouth, only to gawk when he popped his middle finger into his mouth. “Y-you…” you sputtered, still reeling from the sudden rush of arousal that shot through you at the sight. Your body burned, a deep throb reminding you of how empty you felt without him in you. Gods, was it really this easy to rile you up? You would be embarrassed if he didn’t look so fucking hot doing it. 

“Better than apples,” he teased after a moment, licking his lips as if to collect any leftover fluid. He looked over your expression with obvious amusement, eyes crinkling in a silent laugh as he leaned closer to you, “Want a taste, love?” 

You found yourself nodding before you even processed his offer, body buzzing in need of any sort of relief, any sort of touch from him. Your hand found the nape of his neck, dragging him down to meet you.

His lips met yours in a passion, his tongue immediately licking the seam of your lips. You bit his lower lip teasingly, refusing his tongue entry into your mouth. You vaguely felt his hand reach up to cup your chin, keeping you in place as his other hand dipped beneath your underwear once again. This time, his finger had no problem slipping into your dripping entrance, eliciting a gasp from you. 

Barbossa used the startling to lick into your mouth, slipping his tongue against yours and exploring the familiar grooves of you. You moaned softly as he slowly added another finger, sinking them deeper at a painfully gradual pace as you squirmed beneath him. 

Your tongue tangled with his eagerly, pressing closer to him as you faintly tasted your juices on his tongue still. He seemed pleased by the reaction, for he let out a low groan and quickly sped up his fingers, curling up into that perfect spot that made your hips jerk. His mouth quickly moved from your mouth to trail down to the column of your throat, nipping at the skin before suckling harshly on the sensitive area. You tipped your head to the side, encouraging the marking as you grinded down onto his fingers. 

“Needy,” he growled against your neck before letting his thumb join below and rub circles on your sticky clit. “Still pissy we left early?” he continued, pairing it with a third finger sliding into you, spreading out to stretch your hole.

Even his fingers inside of your aching hole weren’t enough to sate the deep emptiness you felt in your core, even if you felt your orgasm coming along quite quickly because of them. Nothing compared to feeling his thick cock splitting you open, throbbing inside of you as his arms caged you in… Fuck, the thought was enough to send you to the edge as is. 

The feeling of Barbossa’s fingers sliding out of you snapped you back to attention, an irritated groan leaving your lips as you shot him a weak glare. Your cunt ached at the emptiness, walls clenching around nothing. “N-no,” you answered finally as he cocked a brow at you. 

He hummed in mock thought, using his now free hands to rumple up your shirt, rolling it easily over your head. “An’, remind me, love,” he started, voice in almost a coo as his fingers found your puffy nipples, rolling them over with his thumbs, “Why is it that we left?” 

You shuddered at the new stimulation, back arching slightly to encourage the action, “Th-there were men–”

“Cretins,” he corrected swiftly with a pinch to one of your nipples. 

“C-cretins,” you repeated, body shuddering as he crowded more into your space, spreading your legs with his knees as he knelt above you, “And you be jealous.” 

Despite the technically correct answer, his lips curled back into a scowl with a roll of his eyes, “You might want’a be rephrasin’ that, lass.”

“An’ how would I rephrase it, Cap’n?” you retorted. He scoffed before shifting closer, hooking your knees over his thighs as he leant over you. You felt his hips slot against yours, his already hardened cock rubbing deliciously against your clothed clit. 

“That I was almost plundered,” he growled, rutting his hips against yours with a low groan. His hardened cock rubbed against your clit, making you gasp as your hips instinctively moved in tandem to meet his. 

“Pl-plundered? What, am I an object?” you bit back, though the breathy tone in your voice left the edge weak. 

“What be mine was almost taken from me,” he rumbled, hips rolling perfectly against yours as his hands eagerly groped your breasts. His eyes were locked onto yours, glinting in what you could only describe as a predatory fashion. He continued breathlessly as he leant closer, “Be that not plundering?” 

Your hips jerked at the statement, eyes fluttering closed briefly as your poor pussy clenched around nothing. 

“Aye, that be what I thought,” he chuckled, interrupting your protests with another hump of his hips. 

“H-Hector,” you gasped out, shooting him a weak glare, “Stop teasin’-”

He tsked, halting the movement of his hips to give you a cocky grin, “Nay, I think there be a better way to ask, don’t you?” 

You let out an indignant groan, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. The sudden lack of friction was making your head fuzzy; you tried to grind your hips again instinctively. Barbossa’s hands were gripping your hips almost immediately, stilling any movement you hoped to make. He tilted his head, pouting teasingly down at you as if he wasn’t the one contributing to your frustration. You could feel his bulge grazing lightly against your soaked folds, crumbling any resolve you may have had to be defiant for him. 

“Yours, I’m yours, now please–”

“Y’can do better than that, lass,” his hand slid over to lightly circle your clit through your bottoms, putting just enough pressure to make you squirm underneath him, seeking more friction than the almost painfully light touches. Heat rushed through your body, throbbing deliciously and making your mind spin. 

“Need you to fuck me,” you finally gasped out, clutching onto the ruffles of his shirt as your hips strained against his hold, “I feel so empty, please, need you inside me–” 

Barbossa growled at your words, moving to grip your bottoms. He yanked them off in one go, revealing your drippy folds to his eyes. You matched his energy easily, unbuckling his belt and dragging his pants down to reveal his aching cock. You wasted no time taking it into your hand; it was heavy and hot, and as you gave it a shallow pump you swore you already saw a bead of precum dribbling out of his tip. 

It seemed Barbossa was just as eager, for within moments his cock was prodding at your pudgy clit, hips jerking to rub against it. You shuddered at the feeling, whining with a kick of your hips and eliciting another chuckle from Barbossa as he finally, finally, edged his tip into your fluttering hole. 

Your eyes rolled back as he slowly sank into you, caging you with his arms as his cock bullied its way into you, splitting you deliciously open. “I’d say y’e were thrown overboard with how wet you be,” he mumbled, a low groan underlining his words as he pressed his forehead against yours.

The comment sent a snort of laughter through you; true as it was, here he was, cock stretching you open, and he compared you to a traitor thrown overboard. “Romantic, Cap’n,” you retorted playfully, squeezing your cunt around his cock for emphasis. You caught his familiar eye roll before you squeezed, making him groan and jerk his hips. 

The sharp riposte poised on his tongue died as you squeezed around him again, forcing a low moan from his lips as his form shuddered above you. Instead of replying, he set a slow but deep pace, hips slotting against yours.

A choked moan left your lips as you felt his balls slap against the backs of your thighs, his elbows dipped on either side of your head. One of his hands reached down to pinch your clit once more, grinning at the whine you let out. You could feel his cock throbbing and twitching inside of your cunt, eager to feel you contract around him once more. 

Truly, nothing compared to how Barbossa would fuck you. His mouth circled your nipple, suckling it as his pace quickened with each clamp of your walls. You could feel your orgasm rapidly building already, mind already too hazy to care about how wanton your cries were coming out. 

It was, of course, right when you were about to tip over the edge that he halted. You let out a petulant groan, tossing your head back in frustration of being denied your pleasure again. Barbossa was merciful with your pleasure, usually, but it seemed tonight those vagrants at the bar had gotten to him. 

“Who d’you belong to, lass?” he rumbled against your collar, nipping at the heated skin, “And choose your words carefully, lest I find myself less… generous to y’er plight.” 

“Y-yours, you know that,” you gasped out, a whine underlining your tone as you felt his cock throb inside of you, “The men in the bar meant nothing, Hector. Nary do they compare to you.”

“Aye,” he growled, resuming his pace with a newfound passion, “That be true. None can make y’e cum as hard as me, isn’t that right?” 

You moaned out his name, nodding emphatically as you wrapped your arms around his neck, locking your ankles behind his back and pushing him deeper. 

“Aye, only my hands do this to y’e, my words, mine,” he moaned, pressing his forehead against the crook of your neck. You could feel as his hips began to stutter, the gasping breaths that puffed against your neck another telltale sign that he was close. 

“Fuck, aye, only you, Hector-!” your head tipped back as his thumb suddenly found your clit again, rubbing in deep circles as you toppled over the edge. You came hard, squeezing your walls around his cock to the point where you could hear an almost pained hiss come from behind his teeth. You didn’t have time to question it before he was trembling, hips stilling with a deep thrust before he finished inside of you. 

Your eyes rolled back at the feeling of his cum spilling deep inside of you, each jerk of his hips making sure that none went to waste. Your ankles tightened around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper as your cunt milked his cock dry. All you heard for now was the heavy breaths of you two, followed by a creaky groan as he slowly sat up, slipping his softening cock out of you. 

You shivered at the feeling, squirming a bit underneath him at the sudden emptiness. He chuckled, hands resting on your thighs before one traveled down to slide through your folds. The overstimulation made you whine, though it quickly turned into a gasp as he pushed a finger back inside of your still fluttering hole, grinning down at you. 

“Waste not,” he drawled before chuckling, eyeing the way your combined fluids molded around his finger. 

“Tryin’ to knock me up, Captain?” you teased breathlessly as he climbed over you to rest beside you. 

“And if I am?” he rumbled, tossing an arm over your middle and dragging you against his side, “A swollen belly will keep filthy dogs away from y’e.”

“...You want to raise a babe on the seas?” you retorted with a raise of your brow, grinning. You couldn’t deny the flutter your heart gave at the thought of being, well, domestic with him, though your lives were far too hectic for that. 

“...Aye, y’have a point,” he grumbled, pressing his nose into the side of your head, “I’ll just have y’e on my lap at all times, then. No mistakin’ there.” 

You huffed out a laugh, already feeling your head drift off into a comfortable sleep, turning over to press your nose against his collar, “...Aye, more than fine by me.”