#the problem is I NEVER. FINISH. ANYTHING.

[anonymoungus]

Here’s the list of dudes I know who went into the military v guys I knew who went to be cops

• I purposely chose people under 40 •

Cop:

Guy who doesn’t help his girlfriend with shit. Plays cod. Still acts like a high schooler last time I happened to see him

Former cop who’s nitpicky. We both have the same landlord but he’s constantly calling that old man for something. (Not usually a fan of landlords but he’s constantly giving us and the other renters free food and the rent is cheep. He also wasn’t aiming to be a landlord, the places were on are in his yard and family used to live in them. I’m living in his dead mother in law’s place. But he bugs them over like. A door being squeaky) also he makes his kids play outside all day.

Basically these guys just seem annoying

Military:

Guy who would scream (practically spitting) in my face at school, very misogynistic and ablist. Would try to make people cry. I’m pretty sure he was trying to push a girl into suicide.

Guy who was obsessed with Hitler. Disgustingly obsessed, would always call the nazis ‘efficient’. His parents insisted he didn’t actually like Hitler, just history but I think they just didn’t want to believe it. He also would make molestation jokes and joke about young girls (tweens) being sex workers.

These are probably two of the worst people I’ve met. Rancid.

It’s really weird to hear this now when the military has gotten increasingly more desperate for new recruits that they’re allowing more loopholes than ever before (the first guy even spoke proudly about his loophole and getting through it) the military has also been focusing on video games specifically cod and has had posters about the military being like playing it in real life which is weird government propaganda from a country that blames its gun issues on those very sort of video games. Rather than not believing that video games cause violence it’s like the military is hoping that that’s the case.

Yes, they are targeting high schoolers, hoping ones stupid enough to get snagged in, so do the police. They actually target kids younger than high school with specific copaganda but the thing about the military is that it’s full of people who know their mamas will never hear about all the horrible things they did there. They can get away with more, more than what we who live in the states will naturally hear about.

In fact. I’d say we’re only aware of how bad cops are from our own exposure which we don’t really get with our military.

Beyond that I assume that every country I’ve heard of that has stated how bad the US military is also has their own form of law enforcement that they probably also have complaints for but our troops are either an equal or worse problem.

Even if the regret rate is higher in military I would think the amount of living drafted people skewed that data. A guy forced to do something is more likely to be pissed and jaded about it. And even if they blew up civilians in the process of performing ‘job that kills people’ and feel bad about it after they followed every step that led to that. They could’ve done their job poorly or not do anything at all.

We all tell kids to step up when they see people doing something wrong and to step out when we’re the ones doing it. If you expect a teacher to step up when (not after, when) another teacher mistreats a child then you should have these standards for your imaginary poor little ignorantly drafted boy from Illinois. Not this ‘he spoke up after he was finished with his service’ shit.

Still occasionally think about that one post about how americans on the internet push back against anti US military rhetoric in a way they don't do with anti cop rhetoric because, unlike their police, the victims of the US military are mainly foreigners, and then some yank cunt decided to show up to do the standard you don't get it the military is made up of poverty-stricken uneducated kids who were fed propaganda :((((( etc etc shtick but also decided to go with "meanwhile the police can straight up murder you, steal your property and kill your dog with no consequences" like sorry friend what exactly do you think your military does.

[bitters-n-sweets]

take a break — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Robby is finally on vacation in Bali. He can't quite turn off the part of him that stays alert, but then he meets someone who somehow silences all the noise.

warnings: angst. smut 18+,  minors go away. this feels very romantic to me. i loved writing this. i never intended to include smut in this actually, i find it challenging, but it felt like a great addition to the story. pls be nice :") [p in v sex, no protection—don't do this kids, oral!fem receiving, fingering, swearing] not proofread. 4.4K words -- i think this is also the longest fic I've written so far masterlist

It just finished raining, and the air feels sticky with heat and flowers. Robby's on his third day of vacation in Bali, and he's yet to do anything on this island they call paradise. No tours, no yoga by the beach, not even a swim.

It's beautiful here—almost painfully—but he keeps checking his phone like someone might page him. Old habits. No one’s paging him. Time zones are a buffer, and besides, he’s on the other side of the world. What could he possibly do?

He’s halfway through drinking from his coconut, perched on a wooden lounge chair by the beach, when he hears a voice beside him, amused and warm.

"You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem with your drink."

He looks up. You’re barefoot, sun-kissed, wearing loose cotton pants and a tank top, your hair a little wild from the humidity.

Robby blinks. "Is it that obvious?"

You motion to the seemingly permanent frown on his face.

Robby's seen you around the resort before. Always by yourself, with two books in one hand and a drink in the other. He thought about saying something multiple times, but always chickened out. Something about you felt... unapproachable. Not in an intimidating way, more in a you’re living fully and I’m not sure how to do that so I don't want to possibly ruin it for you way.

Now you both sit in silence, while Robby continues to check his phone again and sighs. That's when you hand him your book. "Here."

He blinks down at the cover. A Man Called Ove.

"One of my favorites. You should read it." You say, "Better than constantly checking your phone and regretting it a second later."

Robby snorts. You have a point.

"You lend books to strangers a lot?"

"If they look like they've been through some rough shit, yes."

That startles a laugh out of him—genuine, low, a little rusty. "I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You can call me Robby."

You offer your name in return, then nod toward the book. "Give it a chance. Let me know what you think."

"What makes you think I'll give your book back?"

You smile, stepping toward the path back to the resort. "I've seen you around the resort. And if you don't, I'll hunt you down."

You're feeling particularly exhausted today. One, because you just went out surfing for the entire day yesterday, but also because today, you were supposed to be walking down the aisle with the most beautiful dress, about to marry the love of your life. Instead, you're in a hotel room halfway across the world, alone, and feeling like shit.

Well, you suppose the day wasn't half bad. You finally managed to talk to the broody, quietly handsome guy who looks like he’s seen too much and somehow still comes off calm and steady. A smile tugs at your lips. He’s more charming than you expected.

Bali was not a place you thought you'd visit alone. You always imagined you'd be here with your ex-fiancé, drinking and watching the sunset. So you decide it's time to take care of yourself, wear that sundress you've been saving for a special occasion, and head to the resort's bar.

You sit down at your table, putting your book down and picking up the menu, when someone clears his throat, standing next to you.

Robby.

"This seat taken?"

You try to hide your smile. "Be my guest."

He smiles and sits across from you, putting his your book down on the table. He looks good—too good. He’s traded his usual loose t-shirt for a navy polo that clings in the right places, and linen pants that make his long legs look impossibly relaxed.

"You clean up nice." You say.

"You look beautiful." Robby counters, "Can I ask what's the occasion?"

You chuckle nervously, not ready to share the sad part of your life yet. Thankfully, you're saved by the waiter coming to take your order.

"Do you drink Rosé?" Robby asks after ordering your meals. And you nod, surprised. "Great, let's open a bottle of dry Rosé." He says to the waiter.

You raise your brows once the waiter leaves. "Didn't take you for a wine guy—let alone a Rosé? You're full of surprises, Michael."

"You sound like my mother when you call me like that." He groans.

"'Michael'?"

"Yes, and she also mocks my drink choices."

You laugh. "So what's the story?"

"A friend gifted me a dry Rosé one time as a joke. I didn’t want to waste it, so I drank it. Turns out, I liked it more than I wanted to admit. But keep that between us."

You hum, "Ah, yes, can't have you ruin your naturally broody aura."

"Me? Broody?" He snorts like it's ridiculous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You absolutely are."

With the food almost immediately devoured, you're left with wine and each other's company. The ocean hums in the distance, with the breeze prickling your skin. Robby’s gone quiet, admiring the view, the half-full glass of rosé resting loosely in his fingers.

"So, how do you like the book so far?"

He exhales, tipping his head back. "I wasn’t ready to love it. But it... got to me."

You grin. "Ove grows on you, doesn’t he?"

"Yeah," Robby murmurs. "Grumpy bastard made me feel things I wasn’t in the mood to feel."

You laugh. "That's the point. He's angry at life, but still shows up for people. Even when he doesn’t want to."

Robby nods, quiet for a second. "I think I know what that feels like."

You glance at him, surprised by the honesty. His jaw is tense, but his eyes are soft. You wonder if you should ask—but something tells you this moment is already fragile, and curiosity might crack it too soon.

Instead, you wait.

"I'm an ER doc." Robby swirls the wine in his glass absentmindedly. "Lots of chaos. Long hours. Lots of traumas, deaths… I used to think I was built for this line of work. The pressure, the adrenaline... the fixing things. And sometimes I still do. But lately…"

You don’t speak. You let him go on, because he needs to.

He takes a deep breath. "Lately I’ve been wondering if it's all catching up with me. Like—I walk around carrying everyone else's worst days, and I don’t even notice the weight until I sit still." He continues. "I’ve seen kids come in with gunshots. Mothers who collapse from exhaustion. People screaming for someone to save them, and you just have to keep moving like it doesn’t get to you. Like you’re above it. But you’re not. Not really."

Robby then takes a sharp breath. "Sorry. I'm not usually this..."

You offer him a small smile. "Broody?"

That earns a faint smile, but it doesn’t erase the weariness from his expression.

You figured it's only fair you share your story, too.

You put your wine glass down, your finger tracing the rim. "I was supposed to get married today."

That catches him off guard. His eyes widen, gently. "Oh. Today? As in—today today?"

"Yeah," You laugh under your breath, "Booked the venue and everything. Until 6 months ago, I found out he was cheating on me with one of my bridesmaids. Classic."

"Prick," Robby mutters.

"Right? So I pulled the plug on the wedding, and I've been traveling the world ever since. Running away, I guess. I was so caught up in the relationship that I think I lost part of myself." You sigh. "So now, I'm re-finding myself. Yay."

Robby chuckles. "And how's it going so far?"

You smile, "Let's just say I'm glad I'm not spending today alone."

He mirrors your smile, lifting his glass to cheer. "Me too."

"Walk with me?" you ask, gesturing toward the beach after you've finished your wine.

Robby doesn’t hesitate. "Lead the way."

You both kick off your shoes by the beach entrance and walk slowly along the shore, the water brushing your feet gently. You can feel the wine in your system now. The salty air hits your skin and lets your hair flow freely. Robby has never seen anyone more beautiful. He's glad it's dark out now, or you would've seen him blush.

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Half-lidded, faintly flushed from the wine and maybe something more.

"I don’t usually let myself relax like this." He murmurs.

"And yet here you are, walking barefoot on a beach with a stranger, wine-drunk and poetic." You laugh lightly.

"Stranger?" He repeats, stepping in front of you gently, making you stop.

"No?"

"Feels like I've known you longer." He smiles lazily.

Your heart kicks up a notch, not sure what to say, so you just smile, turning to look towards the sea. The breeze has picked up, cooler now that the sun has long dipped below the horizon. You cross your arms, trying not to shiver, but the goosebumps along your arms give you away.

Without a word, Robby steps behind you. You feel his warmth before you feel the touch—his hands gently brushing your arms, then slowly wrapping around your waist. His chest is solid and steady against your back, and you let yourself lean into it, just a little.

He’s quiet, but you can hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, feel it where your shoulders meet his. The sea hums in the distance, but all you can think about is how your heart is racing—and how you can feel his breath on your skin.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met." He says.

You chuckle and glance up at him, suddenly meeting his eyes. "That's the Rosé talking."

"Maybe," he says, almost to himself. "Or maybe I just really want to kiss you."

Your breath catches. That weightless feeling flutters in your chest, and the world seems to narrow to just the space between your mouths. He waits for your permission—doesn’t lean in right away, doesn’t push. Just watches you, his fingers still resting lightly on your waist.

So you give in. You lean up and close the space between you. It's slow, exploring new ground, like you're testing the heat between you. Robby’s lips are soft, warm, and his beard grazes your skin in the most deliciously distracting way. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, and you find your fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

The kiss lingers on your lips even after it ends, like you don't want it to be over. Robby pulls back just enough to look at you, still hazy, still drunk on the moment. His hand is still snug at your waist, like he’s afraid to let go too quickly.

"I don’t want to overstep," he whispers, "But if I asked you to come back with me… would that be okay?"

You hesitate for a second, because something about this feels different than just a vacation fling, but you can't talk about it yet. You don't want to.

"I was hoping you’d ask," you murmur against his lips.

That earns you a smile and another short make-out session that leaves you breathless.

"Are we leaving or what?" You ask in between kisses.

He chuckles, "So impatient."

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and you walk together barefoot, tipsy, and a little giddy from everything that’s happened tonight. The resort glows softly in the distance, lanterns swaying with the wind.

Once inside his room, you walk in slowly as if it doesn't look exactly like yours. The mood shifts. Robby closes the door behind you, and for a second, neither of you says anything. You just look at each other in the dim light, the tension from earlier about to snap.

Robby takes the first step closer to you, dragging his finger to lift your chin so he can kiss you again. And again. And again. And you sigh into his arms, hands on his broad chest.

"You can stop me any time."

"I won't."

He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hands slip around your waist, then your back, and up to where the straps of your dress rest. You can feel your heart flip when he hooks it on his finger, slowly peeling it off your shoulder, as if giving you time to push him away, but teasing at the same time.

You let the strap fall down your arm, and the other one soon follows. Robby’s gaze follows the motion like he’s watching something sacred, like he's not sure if he's allowed to want this but can't help himself anyway.

His fingers trail over your now-bare shoulder, and you shiver, goosebumps forming on your skin.

You take his hand and slowly make your way towards the bed, sitting down and placing your hands on his waist. You tug at his shirt, hinting you want it off, and he obliges, the shirt gone in one swift motion.

"You’re beautiful," He groans as he leans down to lie on top of you. "God."

You memorize the feel of him: warm skin, a strong chest under your palms, the steady rhythm of his breath stuttering slightly when your hands roam lower to reach his belt. He lets you undo it. Lets you unbutton his pants and pull them down as he peppers kisses throughout your body.

You let out a soft moan when his hand trails up your naked torso, hesitantly, ever so gently caressing your breast, teasing your nipple with his finger, while his mouth makes its way down to latch onto the other.

"Fuck, Robby." Your hand goes up to tug on his hair, earning you a lustful groan, while your other hand grabs onto his arm as an anchor.

Your head is spinning, and something is itching. You buck your hips up to meet his, and now his hand is pinning your waist down.

"You really need to work on your patience." He teases and stops kissing you.

"Can you really blame me?" You daringly take one of his hands, resting it on the slick heat between your thighs.

"Fuck." Robby closes his eyes, pressing his thumb to where he can feel your clitoris is, the sensitive bud poking out and pushing against your panties.

You throw your head back, hips bucking against his hand.

Robby slowly slips the little piece of clothing off, and you watch as his fingers smooth over your slit. He keeps his eyes on you as he lowers himself. You swallow as you anticipate what he's about to do.

"So fucking wet." He murmurs, leaving kitten licks on your clit.

You can only moan while he has his way with you. His hands are holding your thighs open for him, and you try your best to keep eye contact, but it's only making you falter faster. His eyes are dark, lustful, hungry, and you feel like you could cum just from watching him.

He gently sucks on your swollen bud, and you lose your mind when he inserts one finger. Then two. Your slick makes it easy for his fingers to move around and find your sensitive spot, he found it almost immediately, he can tell by the way your eyes roll back and how you clench around him every time.

"Robby—" You sigh with pleasure—a warning, bucking your hips again, and this time he lets you, feeling you're close to the edge. His fingers move expertly in and out of you, curling just at the right spot. Your breaths become erratic, following the pace of Robby's fingers. "Come, sweetheart." He says, almost as a command, and your body arches moments after, breath catching in your throat as waves of pleasure crash through you.

Robby doesn't immediately stop. He pumps his fingers a few more times until you're trembling away, and with a proud smirk, he pulls his fingers out, licks them to taste you—making sure you're watching—before hovering on top of you to kiss you.

You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you whimper, feeling him pressing against your cunt. You're still sensitive, but it feels like you're desperately hungry for more. More of Robby.

Robby tries to pace himself, he doesn't want to rush. He wants to cherish this, drag this out, because he doesn't want this to end. He wants to keep feeling your plush lips against his, your soft touches, your hands in his hair, your body pressed firmly against his.

"Robby," you whisper, your voice barely more than air, "I want you. Please."

And he loses all of his resolve.

Robby bites his lip as he sees your disheveled state. Lips swollen, hair a mess, hooded and hungry eyes, how can he say no to you?

He takes his boxers off, freeing his cock and letting it spring back up to his stomach. You gasp at the sight. He's gonna kill you. First with his gentleness, second with his cock, because you don't think you can handle that.

"Fuck off." You unintentionally comment.

Robby lets out a laugh. "Relax."

"Are you kidding?"

He just shakes his head and hovers over you again, but this time you push him over so he's sitting and you're on top, your sopping wet cunt sitting on his aching cock.

"Sweetheart, you're killing me." He closes his eyes and groans as you drag your hips along his length.

You decide neither of you would last any more teasing, so you take him in your hands, covered in your wetness and his precum, and push him against your folds. Your walls squeeze him as he bottoms out inside you, and you have to hold still for a while.

Robby's hands grip your waist and you're sure it'll leave marks in the morning, but you don't really care. You lift your hips slowly, leaving just the tip before slamming yourself back down, eliciting a moan from both of you.

You're set on a pace, slow, steady, allowing you to have control, but it's not enough. You groan and bury your face in Robby's neck. "Robby…"

"Hm?" He teases, like he knows what you're about to ask for.

"Please," You whisper. "I need…"

He pulls you from hiding your face, a confident smirk on his. But he decides to be merciful this time. Chuckling, he moves so you're now flat on your back again, legs tucked up and pressed onto your sides.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?"

You manage to let out a giggle. "Robby, don't worry—" your words are immediately cut off when he reinserts himself, the position makes it feel completely different from before. "—Holy fuck."

Robby starts slow, letting you fully adjust before feeling you clench around him, and he picks up the speed. You feel like the air is knocked out of your lungs, only able to take short breaths as Robby brutally drives into you, making you feel all of him.

You can't even moan anymore, your mouth just hangs open as you put your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss you can't properly do. Strings of fuck—Robby—so deep—fuck—you feel so good are the only things you can muster as you feel your high approaching again.

You couldn't even warn him when your orgasm hits you. Your nails just dig into his shoulder as your eyes roll back, back arching as far as it could go, and walls spasming around him. He grunts, nibbling on your neck as his hips stutter, not expecting you to get so tight.

"Fuck." He moans as he spills inside you, staying still for a minute to catch his breath and make sure you're okay.

You're still panting and twitching under him, eyes still closed, but your hands draw small circles on the back of his head.

"'M gonna pull out now." He warns and you hum, moaning again when he does.

He stands up to get a towel to clean you up, "Don't go anywhere." He jokes.

You chuckle. "Don't think I can."

The room is quiet now, only the sound of the AC and the steady rhythm of your breaths can be heard. You're both tangled in the sheets, your leg draped over his, skin still warm from everything that just passed between you. Robby lies on his side, one arm wrapped around your waist, fingertips gently grazing your back in slow, absent-minded strokes. You’re tucked into his chest, your head resting in the curve of his shoulder, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.

Eventually, he presses a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there.

"You're kind of amazing," He mutters.

"Kind of?" You raise a brow.

He huffs a quiet laugh, "I’m trying not to let it go to your head."

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him. His hair is tousled, his eyes soft, still heavy-lidded. "Too late."

He smiles and presses another kiss to your lips.

"Do you always kiss like that on vacation?" You tease.

He chuckles, "Only when I meet someone who gives me their favorite book."

"Pretty exclusive club."

"You're the only member."

You nuzzle closer into him, smiling into his chest. "I'm not gonna lie," You start, "This all feels a little surreal. I never thought I'd meet someone like you. You make all of this feel… right."

"I feel the same way." He admits, "I want to pause everything and just stay in our little bubble."

The silence stretches comfortably for a moment. And then, you get a gut-wrenching realization. "Oh. Right. You said you're only here for a week."

He nods, voice tighter, his hand still tracing along your side. "Yeah."

"So we’ve got, what… four more?"

"Mm-hm." He pulls you close to him, perhaps it's a way so you can't see his sullen expression. "Four more days in the bubble."

And it's hardly enough time.

The next few days blur in sunlight and ocean breeze, you take Robby on winding motorbike rides, wild ATV tours through the jungle, surfing lessons where you both wipe out laughing, and quiet moments snorkeling with whale sharks. You try to make as many memories as you can, all the while masking the dread of his departure. And at night, it’s always the same—his touch like a promise, your body moving with his in the dark, like you're both pretending the end isn't coming.

You both made the silent decision not to say where you’re from. Maybe if you find out he lives just hours away, it’ll make this too real. Too painful. Better to keep things suspended in this bubble, this almost-fairytale. Better to let it end on a hopeful note, instead of a practical-hurtful one.

You’ve told yourself this is just a fling. That some people come into your life for a reason, and maybe Robby was never meant to stay. Maybe he’s just a beautiful lesson in loving deeply and letting go.

You try not to cry in front of him. You want to make the goodbye easier than it feels, to shield him and yourself from the ache that's already blooming in your chest. You try to seem light, even when it’s breaking you.

It’s not easy for Robby, either. If he could, he’d offer you his world—just to wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep with you tucked against his chest. But it wouldn’t be fair. He could never ask you to upend your life for him, no matter how much he wants to.

And maybe that’s the hardest part, he wants to do this right. He wants to believe this is more than just a vacation high. But what if his reality—grueling shifts, emotional exhaustion, his work-life imbalance—ends up driving you away? There’s so much he wants to say, but maybe silence is the merciful choice.

It's the night before he leaves, and you can't say goodbye. But it’s there, hanging unspoken in the humid air between kisses, in the way you cling to each other just a little tighter. You talk quietly about nothing at all, and everything at once—movies you haven’t seen, food you miss, a joke about whale sharks that makes you both laugh a little too hard at 1AM.

At one point, while tracing lazy circles on his chest, he asks, "Should I go before you wake up?"

You don’t answer right away, but then nod. Robby can see your lips quivering slightly.

He pulls you closer to him, but neither of you falls asleep quickly. You make love again, slower this time, as if trying to memorize each other’s skin. As if trying to stretch the hours. You fall asleep tangled together, heartbeats in sync.

By the time the soft blue of dawn creeps up, Robby’s already awake. He moves quietly, getting dressed in the soft light, careful not to wake you. Before he leaves, he pauses by your bedside. You’re still curled under the covers, looking peaceful and beautiful.

He looks at you like he’s trying to remember everything.

Then he pulls something from his bag—a folded piece of paper—and tucks it gently into the book you gave him. His fingers linger on the cover for a beat too long.

He leaves without a sound.

You wake hours later to an empty room, your chest already aching before your mind catches up. You sit up slowly, the sheets cold beside you. You scan everything in your room, maybe Robby had left something behind that you could keep as a memento.

Then you see the book. You open it to find the note inside:

"You changed something in me. Thank you for letting me be yours, even just for a moment."

And that’s when you finally let yourself cry.

------

part two for a reunion (edited here) coming up! would you like to be tagged? pls leave a comment if you do ❤️

[marauder-misprint]

hey! love ur fics! my request is a james potter fic where he’s jealous and decides to spy on the date (eat that type of stuff up loll) i can totally see him being in complete denial under the guise of being a protective friend, and then it all clicks. thanks!

Hi! Thank you for this request ❤︎ James is a protective friend. Reader shant be harmed! He is totally not jealous, he is just looking out for your safety. ❤︎ This is Fabian Prewett slander. Also, there is a sibling age-gap between Molly and the twins??? lol at least in my fics there is.

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Jacket

James Potter x fem!reader

4.2k words

cw: fluff, y/n, oblivious pining?

James was drying his hair in the locker room after quidditch practice when he heard of your upcoming date. He was minorly insulted that he hadn’t heard it from you, but rather from Fabian Prewett. Even worse, the date was with Fabian. All of it caught him off guard. James didn’t peg Fabian as being your type. Just don’t ask him what your type is; he doesn’t have an answer. Just not Fabian. 

When Fabian had announced that he snagged an absolute ten, he had the ears of the whole team. James thought Fabian was talking about some seventh year Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff that he personally would never pay attention to. James whipped his head toward Fabian when he clarified that it was you. He was almost certain that he must’ve heard wrong, but then Marlene questioned him further and Fabian repeated your name. 

James didn’t say anything as he finished changing and left the locker room. Usually, he would have a snarky comment or two. Not tonight. He was trying to process that Fabian really thought he had a chance with you and the fact that you had said yes.

“It’s a bit strange, innit?” James asked after relaying the information to the boys in his dorm. 

“That Fabian actually got a date? Yeah,” Remus said from his desk, earning chuckles from the others. 

“But with Y/N? He’s not her type.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Sirius said. “Girls are strange creatures. Bloody beautiful and distracting… but strange.”

“Just last week, Mary was screaming about someone taking her nail polish and then two seconds later, she comes back from her dorm with a chocolate frog ‘n’ is perfectly agreeable. Strange,” Peter added to support Sirius’ claim. 

James grumbled to himself as he reclined on his bed. This was you. You did strange just like every other girl, but a date with Fabian wasn’t right. It wasn’t you.  

“Oi, why you fuming?” Remus asked. 

“Fucking Fabian…” 

Sirius laughed, knowing his friend all too well. “That’s what happens when you don’t ask her out first.”

“I don’t want to ask her out,” James snapped before supporting his body with his forearms so he could glare at Sirius. “She can just do better than Fabian.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’d have no problem if one of us asked her?” Sirius asked.

James frowned. “No.” 

“Then who is she allowed to date?” Peter asked. “We’re the best people you know.”

“She can date…” James’ voice trailed off as he tapped his lips pensively. “Someone worthy of her. Prewett? No. You lot? No. … It’d have to be someone she could tell me about. I shouldn’t be hearing about her dates in the locker room.”

“Why is she telling you about who she dates?” Remus asked as he set his essay aside. That wasn’t getting worked on any more tonight. 

“Because I’m her friend! She should run these things by me.”

“Have you considered that you’re not her father?” Remus asked.

James pointed his finger excitedly at Remus. “You have a point! These idiots should get permission from me before asking her.” 

“No…”

“I can vet them before she wastes her time on them,” James continued, getting more confident in this theory as he spoke. “She should only be going out with the best of the best and I can weed out the gits and pervs.” 

“Prongs,” Remus warned, but James either didn’t hear him or pretended he didn’t.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Get her to cancel on Prewett until I make sure he’s worthy.”

“She won’t,” Sirius said.

“If she won’t… I’ll go on the date with her. Make sure his hands stay where I can see them. No funny business. No getting back to the common room too late.”

“I don’t think getting back late is going to be a worry,” Peter muttered. James sent a confused look his direction. “You’ll want to keep her away from his dorm.”

“Wormtail!” Remus groaned, throwing his back. “Thanks for putting that idea in his head.”

“No, thank you, Wormtail! That is definitely something I should be preventing!” 

Sirius threw a pillow at James. “Let a girl do what, or rather who, she wants!” 

James threw the pillow back with more force. You would not be sleeping with Fabian if he had anything to do with it. You could do better. He would make sure that you did.

---

“Y/N!” James practically sang as he sat across from you at breakfast the next morning. 

You grumbled out some kind of greeting before taking a bite of your breakfast. James being chipper in the morning wasn’t new. You weren’t a morning person while he was. You only put up with it because he had been one of your first friends at Hogwarts and he wasn’t someone you stopped being friends with. That and the part of you that wished he saw you as something more than friends. You knew you couldn’t hold out on that dream forever, so you had agreed to go on a date with Fabian. 

“You won’t believe what I heard last night,” James said as he piled food onto his plate. You raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “You have a date?”

You coughed, choking on your breakfast until Marlene hit your back firmly. You had told the girls almost immediately after Fabian asked you; they all squealed excitedly at the news. A seventh year? That was the talk of the dorm for the week. James didn’t sound like he was going to break out into squeals. 

“Yeah,” you wheezed before reaching for your cup to take a drink. “This weekend.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

You gave Marlene a sideways glance. 

“Is it your business who I go to Hogsmeade with?”

He flexed his eyebrows and ran a hand through his hair. He thought your friendship warranted the sharing of life events. You told him when you had your first kiss – a muggle boy from your neighborhood over the summer. You told him when you aced exams and received excellent marks on essays; you told him when you nearly failed assignments as well. You had knocked on his dorm door a few times when you had a nightmare or just couldn’t sleep in general. 

“Feels like something you’d share with me, yeah.” 

Good answer, James. Good, clean answer. Casual. Platonic and doesn’t seem like you’re expecting every detail. Work up to telling her that she shouldn’t go.

You rolled your eyes fondly and stabbed a potato on your plate. 

“Well, sorry you had to hear second-hand,” you said, sounding genuine, but then you added dryly, “How ever can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t think you should go.” Fuck.

The words left James’ mouth before he could stop them. That wasn’t the ‘work up’ he was mentally planning on. Marlene, Mary and a few more girls around you all stared at James in shock. Murmurs of ‘the audacity’ and ‘what did he say’ and the like filled the air. James was a loud person. Add that to the fact that people tended to listen when he talked, whether or not they were a part of the conversation or not, more people heard James’ statement than either of you would’ve liked.

“Ex-excuse me?” you managed to sputter out after a few seconds. 

“I… don’t think you should go,” James repeated, a hand ruffling his hair in an attempt to briefly cover his red-tinted face.

“And why is that, Potter?” His surname left your lips tasting bitter. You didn’t call him Potter. You called him James. 

“It’s Prewett! You can do better than him. I mean, come on!” he started spewing out. “Anyone can see that you’re out of his league. He shouldn’t even have had the balls to ask you out. And… and… What if he just wants to get into your pants?” 

You scoffed a laugh, but you reached across the table to pat his hand affectionately. 

“It’s just butterbeers,” you said sweetly. “Flattering you think I’m out of his league though.”

“You are.” A firm statement that made you flush slightly.

“Still, I’m not one to turn down free butterbeers, and I think it will be a good time. So… I’ll be going on the date,” you said, taking your hand back. “How about this for making it up to you: you can help me pick out what I wear.”

James’ immediate thought was to turn that down. Deciding what outfit you wore was something girls did. Why would he be interested in that? Then he realized that if he helped you pick out what you would wear, he could ensure that you didn’t wear anything too revealing or tempting. He could make sure that you were nicely dressed but not in a way that made Fabian really want to take you back to his dorm. And then spotting you in the Three Broomsticks would be even easier. 

Because, yes, if you were going on that date, so was he. 

“Alright.”

You smirked. You hadn’t expected James to actually accept your offer. But if he saw himself as one of the girls, it made sense that he was upset he didn’t hear about the date from you and being involved in the pre-date ritual would heal the wound you unintentionally caused. 

---

James laid on your bed on Saturday as you pulled clothing out of your trunk, tossing them on top of him. The boys had repeatedly cautioned James against this, and against what he was going to do. He couldn’t be reasoned with. He was fully convinced that this date was going to be a disaster for you and he’d be there for you when Fabian ended up acting like a dick. 

“So,” you said, standing up and clasping your hands together, “I’ve already decided on these shoes. If I’m going to Hogsmeade, I’m going to need to walk. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” James echoed. He picked at the skirts, shorts, jeans and shirts that laid around and on him. If you’d listen to him, you’d be in jeans and one of your plain t-shirts that didn’t hug your body all that much. 

“And I’ve already picked out my jewelry. I’ll touch up my makeup after we decide on an outfit. It’s still rather nice out, so I’m not thinking the jeans, but you never know. Some of the shirts just go better with them. But that red skirt? I really like that one. Is it too much for a first date?” 

Absolutely not, James thought. He thought you looked amazing in that skirt. But the goal was not to make you look amazing. James needed you to walk out of this dorm looking good, decent, alright. Not amazing. You were gorgeous so making that happen would be a struggle, but James was always up for a challenge. 

So he hummed, as if actually debating. “Maybe let’s pick a shirt first?”

Maybe he’d be able to find one of the shirts you said went better with jeans. You didn’t say anything as you started picking up shirts from the bed, holding them up to yourself as you looked in the mirror. 

“What about…” James riffled through the shirts until he found the plainest t-shirt from the pile. “This one?” 

You frowned. “I don’t know why I pulled that one out. It’s… not date material. Not making the cut. That’s a ‘Marlene nearly failed her Potions exam and we are not leaving this dorm until she can recite the ingredients to eight different potions’ type of shirt.”

“That’s a bit exact, don’t you think?” James laughed and turned the material over in his hands. “But I think it has potential.”

“James,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “I am going on a date. Drinking butterbeers. Being in public. Give me that.” You snatched the shirt back and shoved it back into your trunk. “Back where it belongs.”

You sighed and picked up a different shirt. Holding it up to your body, James knew that it was too tight and showed far too much skin for tonight.

“Nope. That’s a third date shirt,” he declared. He sat up and started actively searching for something that would maybe tempt you. He picked up an ever-so-slightly more fitted shirt than the previous shirt he chose. “This is a first date shirt.”

You let your choice fall to your side as you looked at what James picked. It wasn’t too horrible. If you paired it with a nice skirt, it could work. 

“Maybe…” 

You threw James’ pick over your shoulder and scanned your skirts that littered the bed at James’ feet. James tried not to look too triumphant, which proved easier than he originally thought once he noticed that you were back to skirts and not jeans. 

“It’ll be colder when you’re coming back to the castle. Jeans’ll keep you warm,” he suggested.

“James,” you sighed. “James, James, James. Are you, or are you not, a romantic?” 

He scrunched his features. “I am.”

“Then, pray tell, what happens when a girl is a little chilly after a date and she’s walking back with her date?”

James pressed his lips together firmly. Of course. 

“The guy gives her his jacket. But! Do you really think Prewett is going to have a jacket? Too risky.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jacket, scarf, I’ll take whatever. I’d take the shirt off his back,” you laughed. “Or hold his hand. Or maybe he’ll put his arm around me. There are so many options, my dear James. And, worst comes to worst, I’ll be a teeny weeny, titsy bitsy, tad bit cold. It won’t kill me.”

But it might kill me. 

You picked a cute skirt and then held the shirt and skirt combo out at arms’ length. You tilted your head slightly. Then you shook your head and put the shirt back down. James watched you with bated breath. You scanned the shirts on the bed one last time before your face lit up and you fished a sleeveless top out of the piles. 

“I think this is it!” you said more to yourself than James.

You went behind the dressing screen to change. James was mentally schooling himself to have a nice reaction to how you looked when you walked out. It wasn’t the outfit he was imagining at all, which meant his brain might take the mean route and he was not going to be the reason you cried before your date. 

He didn’t consider that he’d be rendered speechless when you stepped out. You brushed your hands down the skirt as you took in your reflection. You didn’t need a reaction from James. You exuded confidence and your smile showed it. You spun in a circle, ending facing James. 

“What do you think?” 

You think that even if you weren’t looking at him, you’d be able to feel his eyes raking over your boy. Definitely a good reaction. 

“James?”

He cleared his throat and sat up on your bed. 

“You look lovely. Prewett is one lucky bloke.” 

He meant it. Both sentences. Although they were both lacking. Lovely wasn’t the right word for how you looked; it was weak, an understatement. He just couldn’t articulate it properly. And, as previously sentiment might have suggested, Fabian didn’t deserve to be going on a date with such a beautiful girl. Lucky… Fabian must’ve drank liquid luck before asking you out. 

The door opened with a bang and Lily said, “Alright, Potter, out. I need my dorm.”

“Right,” James replied.

He nodded and stood up. He pulled you into a brief hug.

“You have fun,” he whispered, and then he walked out, closing the door behind him. 

Forty-five minutes later, he was walking a handful of strides ahead of the rest of the Marauders on their way to Hogsmeade. James was a man on a mission. The others were there with half a mind to prevent James from doing said mission. 

“Watching her on her date is creepy,” Remus said loud enough for James to hear. 

“Not watching her,” James said, turning around and walking backwards. “We are going to just happen to get butterbeers while she’s coincidentally there and in view of our table.”

“Coincidentally,” Sirius laughed. 

“You’re paying, right, James?” Peter asked. “That’s why we’re humoring him?” he added in a lower voice to Remus and Sirius.

“Heard that, Peter! But, yeah, butterbeers on me.”

“Why didn’t we press for liquorice wands too?”

“Because then I would’ve come by myself and Remus thinks that’s a bad look for me.”

“Because it is,” Remus sighed. 

You had walked to Hogsmeade with Fabian. You were already nestled into a small booth with him with butterbeers in front of you when the Marauders arrived. Fabian was telling you about his little nephew, William, who’d be attending Hogwarts in a few years; having an older sister who got married right out of Hogwarts allows that to happen. You were listening too deeply to notice that James strategically chose a table in the middle of the pub that allowed him to see both you and Fabian. 

“Little Charlie is the wildest of the three. Kid never shuts up when they visit. But Percy? Percy’s a quiet little thing. Tiny too.”

“I couldn’t imagine having three nephews already…” you said, shaking your head. “Nice of you to babysit for your sister though.”

He laughed. “Like I have a choice? Molly and Arthur just drop them off with Mum and then she hands the boys over to me and Gid. What am I supposed to do with a baby, a toddler and a small child? I mean, Percy is about the size of a quaffle…”

“Please tell me you did not play catch with a baby!” 

Fabian held his hands up in defense. “I didn’t! We didn’t! But it did cross our minds.”

“James, you’re seething,” Sirius commented. “Ah, thank you, Madam Rosmerta.”

Sirius slid a mug in front of James. He robotically picked it up and drank. James was too focused on you and whatever Fabian was saying to make you laugh. At least the ginger was keeping his hands on the table and not on you. 

“You know, I was joking earlier when I brought up liquorice wands, but now I kind of want some,” Peter said. “We should stop by Honeydukes whenever this is done.”

Sirius shot Peter a confused look. “Mate, you can go to Honeydukes literally whenever.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Ah, no buts. We’ll need you to help rein in James when Y/N’s date goes fine,” Sirius stated. 

James didn’t even register that Sirius said his or your name. Maybe if he focused his hearing enough, he’d be able to hear what you were saying. 

“I could use a few sugar quills,” Remus mused. 

“Fine! We’ll stop by Honeydukes so you can get off on sugar.”

“Don’t act like you won’t be buying anything, Sirius,” Remus laughed, flicking some of the foam from his mug into Sirius’ face.

Sirius made a disgruntled noise as he wiped it off. Again, James didn’t notice. The conversation and antics of his table were nothing compared to you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you leaned in slightly, the way you reached out and let your hand brush against his arm, the way your hand lingered. It was getting more painful to watch the longer he did. 

James only tried to get up from the table two times throughout the night. Sirius grabbed his arm and forced him to sit back down both times. 

“Prewett’s not groping her, it’s fine,” Sirius hissed. 

Somehow you still didn’t notice the boys the entire night. Fabian successfully kept your attention. He paid for your butterbeers and you got up to leave the pub. This time when James got up to follow you, Sirius didn’t stop him. James threw a handful of galleons on the table and disappeared out the door, leaving the boys behind. He lingered far enough behind you and Fabian to not be noticed but close enough to hear you tell him that tonight had been fun. 

“I’m glad you had a good time. I really enjoyed myself too. Although, I’d say it’s hard not to when you got a pretty lady keepin’ you company.”

You giggled. Then you wrapped your arms arounds yourself – a telltale sign that you were cold. James called it. Just as he called that Fabian wouldn’t have a jacket to offer you. James wasn’t even sure if Fabian caught that you were cold. He ran a hand through his hair. He was growing irritated, especially when you shivered and Fabian didn’t even say anything. 

Then you stumbled on the uneven stone path. James lunged forward to ensure that you didn’t fall on your face. Fabian hadn’t even reacted. 

“Shit, thanks,” you said automatically. And then, “Fuck, James?” 

“You alright?” James breathed as he helped steady you, with Fabian now standing awkwardly a singular step away. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine.”

You brushed yourself off despite not having actually fallen and you shook out your hands. The trip had sent a jolt through your bones. James shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you.

“I told you you’d be cold.” 

You gave Fabian an apologetic look, but then you took James’ jacket and put it on. You muttered a thanks. Fabian scoffed and walked away. He wasn’t going to walk back to Hogwarts with his date when she was wearing someone else’s jacket; that would be weird. 

“Oh… I guess date’s over,” you said quietly as you watched Fabian disappear around the bend. 

“I also told you he wouldn’t have a jacket.”

“You did.”

“He wasn’t offering you his hand, didn’t put an arm around you. Maybe you should’ve taken the shirt off his back,” James deadpanned. 

“James!” you exclaimed, slapping his arm. You adjusted his jacket over your shoulders. “Thanks, though. Really. This is warm.”

And it smells like you. Yeah, you weren’t saying that part out loud. Especially being that you just had a date with someone else. 

Without thinking, James threw an arm around your shoulder and started walking back with you. Anyone who saw you at that moment would’ve assumed that you had just had a nice date with James; you knew how it looked. 

After a few minutes of silent walking, you asked with a laugh, “What were the chances that you were there when I almost fell?” 

“Just lucky.” 

“You just happened to be in the area?” 

James nodded.

“This wouldn’t be connected to you not wanting me to go on the date in the first place, would it?” 

He scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Right,” you said with a nod. Of course not. 

“Maybe… I was… making sure Prewett behaved himself.” 

You stopped walking. “He did.”

“But he’s not right for you, as I predicted. No jacket,” James reminded you, turning around to face you after having taken one more step after you stopped. He popped his jacket’s collar to keep your neck warm. 

“Then who is right for me?” you asked, tilting your head and crossing your arms. “You?”

“I-I… We’re friends. I was making sure you were being treated properly.”

“Friends. Right. Then where’s Lily? Marlene? Mary? Emmeline? Lucy? Madison? All my other friends who care for my well being?” 

James was quiet for a second. “I’m just going above and beyond. For a friend.”

“A friend.”

“Yes. A friend. I’d do this for any of my friends.”

“So you’ve spied on Sirius’ dates? Peter’s? Remus’?” 

James pursed his lips. He didn’t have a response to that. You knew he hadn’t spied on his friends. You took a calculated step closer to James and looked up at him. The proximity made James run a hand through his hair. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

You looked amazing in his jacket looking up at him with your beautiful eyes, and he could smell your perfume. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Is this just friendship? Fuck it.

James leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. His hands held your face against his and yours gripped the sides of his shirt. His lips felt soft against yours. You smiled into the kiss. When James pulled back, his hands didn’t leave your face. He stared at you with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. Your smile faltered slightly. 

“Was-” James sounded breathless. “-was that okay?” He swallowed. “Should I have done that? Was that wrong?” He let go of your face, took a step back and ran a hand through his hair and then adjusted his glasses. Then he started pacing. “I mean, you just look so good in my jacket and fuck, you’re beautiful and perfect and one of my favorite people… Merlin’s tits… I think you are my favorite person and seeing you with Prewett just wasn’t right, and everyone kept asking me who I would be okay seeing you with and no names came to mind and I just-”

“James,” you said calmly. 

You only said his name. You didn’t move. You didn’t do anything else, but he shut up mid-ramble. He stopped moving, completely frozen in place. You walked up to him and took his arm to place it around your shoulder. You wrapped one of your arms around his waist. 

“Walk me back to the castle and take me on a date some time?” you asked, looking up at him with a smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye. 

“I can do that. I’ll ask you out properly too. Because, as I think I’ve already proven, I am a romantic.”

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

[moonstruckme]

face masks - send me a character + an au for a drabble

I'd LOVE to see your take on a college AU - maybe a meet cute? - with Lily?? no pressure at all, I just love your style and scenery so it feels like a cozy prompt! congratulations on 10k - I'm NOT surprised at all!

Thank you so much angel <3

Lily Evans x fem!reader ♡ 526 words

The pretty redhead who sits in front of you is wilting over her desk. Her cheek lays atop her notebook, uncapped pen still in hand and eyes closed. It’s the day of your exam review, but you don’t blame her for falling asleep when she did. Conjugating in the pluperfect is dreadfully boring. 

She doesn’t wake until class is dismissed and the students around her stand, all in a hurry to get to their next class or to the library to study or outside to enjoy the sunny day. She sits up with smudged ink on her cheek (adorable) and a dazed look that quickly turns to alarm as she realizes what’s happened. 

“Bollocks,” you hear her whisper. You have to bite down on a smile as you lean forward to tap her shoulder. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice softening with apology. Her eyes landing on yours feels like pop rocks fizzling in your middle. You rip a page from your notebook and hold it out to her. “Here. I made a copy.” 

Those eyes, still bleary but sharpening down by the second, fall to your notebook. “You…took two sets of notes?” she asks. 

“He speaks so slowly.” You give an awkward little laugh. “Leaves lots of time for writing, and I know you’d usually take your own, but…” 

“Thank you.” The girl finally grasps your outheld page. Her gaze lifts to yours again, brilliant green eyes framed by lashes tinted auburn. Her lips tilt in a tentative smile. “That’s really kind. I don’t know what happened, honestly, I’ve never napped in class before. I knew I should have stopped for coffee.” 

“I still have some left,” you say, before realizing how ridiculous this is. Why on earth would your pretty classmate want the watered-down dregs of your half finished iced latte? But you offered it to her without thinking, because you really don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t gift her to keep her looking at you like that. 

And maybe it’s charity in the face of your heart-shuddering awkwardness, but she takes the cup you hold out, sipping from the same straw your lips had touched. 

She sighs in blissful relief. “I have to be going through withdrawal or something. This is so good. Thank you, really.” 

The smile she sends you now is bigger than the last, more awake and more sure and all the lovelier for it. Your cheeks tingle warmly. “It’s no problem,” you say. 

“No, you’ve given me your notes and now I’ve just stolen your coffee,” she laughs. “You have to let me pay you back. Can I buy you another?” 

You blink. “Oh, you really don’t have to—” 

“No, I want to, please. Unless you have another class?” 

You press your lips together, shaking your head. She smiles. 

“Perfect. I know a place just around the corner.” 

While you start to gather your things, she turns your cup in her hand, reading the scrawl of black sharpie on the side. “Y/n?” She says your name like she’s testing the feel of it in her mouth, giving it a taste. Her eyes flit up to yours again. “I’m Lily.”

[perfectlyoongi]

CO-WORKER!YOONGI who reminds you to stretch your back. when you spend a lot of time sitting in front of a computer or lost among papers, it is normal for your posture to suffer some consequences that derive from that irritating pain in your spine. so when Yoongi would walk past you and see you too wrapped up in your work to pay attention to your needs, he would gently place his hand on your back, pressing his fingertips into the fabric of your shirt, making you straighten up automatically. neither of you knew how this habit came about, but you didn't care; for small seconds, for that tiny fraction of time that seemed to last forever, Yoongi touched you and that was enough for both of you. “i need the photocopies right away, don't forget. and please, straighten your back. you're going to turn into a banana before we even finish the project.”

CO-WORKER!YOONGI who always asks if you need anything. Yoongi was focused on his work, wasting hours between papers and meetings, but one thing about Yoongi was that he would never forget your needs. yes, your needs. even though Yoongi was an advocate of stopping for a second to breathe, the truth is that his focus was on you and not him; as such, between meetings and presentations, outings and photocopies, Yoongi made a point of passing by your desk and asking, very absentmindedly, if he could help you with anything. “i'll get some coffee before i go to the meeting. want anything? you need to eat. an apple isn't enough for breakfast. i'll get you a sandwich.”

CO-WORKER!YOONGI who always tries to lighten your workload. Yoongi knew that life could be intense and often hectic. and he also knew that a person was not made to spend hours locked in an office working on something that most likely wasn't even necessary. that's why Yoongi wanted to help you; if he had the time and the will, why shouldn't he help you? whenever he could, Yoongi would stop by your side, giving you tips and suggestions, stealing some paperwork and reports, trying to do everything he could to make sure you reached the end of the day less tired. “i've already finished today's presentation and i saw that you were a little confused. no, it's not a problem at all. tell me, what's stressing you out? i can help.”

CO-WORKER!YOONGI who has lunch with you whenever he can. you had to confess that on the days when he was busier and couldn't eat with you, you felt a little sadder. even though your lunches were sometimes steeped in silence, there was extreme comfort between you. like a blanket of acceptance, your lunches with Yoongi were perfect for you to recharge your batteries and gain strength for the rest of the day. sometimes talking about life, sometimes joking about work, you felt good next to Yoongi and he saw that. so, he always tried to have lunch with you, take some time out of his day to dedicate himself completely to you and make you happy, even if it was just for a simple hour. “tomorrow i don't know if i can have lunch with you, but i'll try anyway. if i can't, i promise i'll make it up to you the next day! but hey, don't wait for me tomorrow, okay?”

CO-WORKER!YOONGI who makes a point of praising you. “you did it!” was what he told you that day. “you actually managed to finish the project on time. how can you expect me not to praise you? despite everything, you didn't give up.” his smile was so wide it made you shy and his eyes had a shine almost as bright as the stars themselves — he was truly proud of you. “you are amazing and i don't think you've seen it yet. but trust me. you are capable of anything and you just proved it.”

CO-WORKER!YOONGI who always waits for you at the end of the day. whether you had to work overtime or leave early, you knew you could always count on Yoongi's company. sometimes you would return to your house at sunset, talking about childhood memories and remembering times when you hadn't met yet. other times, under the stars and protected from the freezing wind in his car, you passed traffic lights and road signs singing, grateful to have reached the end of another day. for a few brief minutes, which for you would be eternal, you shared Yoongi's company once more before the day ended and it was in that comfort and ease that you truly rested. “it's raining tomorrow, so i thought we'd walk today. we could stop by the bakery and grab a coffee before heading home. i heard they got a new cake and… sorry, i'm rambling, aren't i?”

CO-WORKER!YOONGI who thinks he's telling you something new, but you've always known. how was it possible for you not to know? it was in the way he looked at you — like you were painted by the most beautiful nebulas. It was in the way he spoke to you — as if all the poems resided in his voice. it was in the way he touched you — as if his very touch could ruin you. it was in the way Yoongi lived day after day — as if you were the only reason for his existence. how was it possible for you not to know that he liked you? “i thought it was more discreet. but i have to admit that it makes sense. it is impossible to live each day with so much love inside me and not have a way to express it. from somewhere, i had to spill these loving waters that make up the ocean of passion that i have for you.”

[rose24207]

You think pain makes you strong

Summary: You finally break on Suho for constantly getting into fights and shutting you out, and you walk away, fed up with his self-destructive ways.

ahn suho x reader

angst, arguing, hurt no comfort

Navigation

“You’re bleeding again.”

You hadn’t meant to say it like that—like you gave a damn right now. But there he was, leaning against the brick wall like some tragic hero, knuckles scraped, lip split, hoodie damp with sweat and blood that wasn’t all his.

Again.

“I’m fine,” Suho muttered, not even looking at you.

Your jaw clenched. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Oh, fuck off, Suho.” Your voice snapped like a whip. “You’re not fine. You’re never fine. You just think if you say it enough, everyone else will shut up and let you spiral in peace.”

He turned to you slowly, jaw tightening, the usual calm in his eyes flickering. “What’s your problem tonight?”

“My problem?” You laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “My problem is that you’re acting like an impulsive idiot, and you think I’m just gonna stand here and watch.”

“I’m not acting on impulse. He deserved it.”

“There it is,” you hissed. “That holier-than-thou logic you carry like a badge. ‘He deserved it.’ So what? That gives you the right to beat the sh*t out of him? To nearly get yourself killed?”

“I handled it.”

“You survived it,” you corrected. “Barely. And for what? Some twisted version of justice you decided was yours to dish out?”

Suho stepped toward you, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You weren’t there. You don’t get to judge how I handle things.”

“No, you’re right. I wasn’t there,” you snapped. “Because you didn’t tell me. You never tell me until it’s too late. I hear about it from other people—again. You leave me out like I’m just some clueless extra in your hero story.”

“It wasn’t about you—”

“It never is, Suho!” you shouted. “It’s never about me. Or anyone else who gives a damn about you. You storm off, pick fights, bleed all over the pavement like it’s a Tuesday, and then expect us to smile and say, ‘Thanks for protecting us, Suho. Thanks for carrying the whole damn world on your back like a martyr.’”

“I didn’t ask for a thank you.”

“No,” you spat. “You don’t ask for anything. Not help. Not support. Not perspective. You don’t trust anyone, and I’m sick of pretending like that’s noble instead of just selfish.”

He scoffed, folding his arms. “I’m selfish?”

“Yes!” you barked. “You think being quiet and strong and brooding means you’re doing this selfless thing. But you know what it really is? Arrogant. You don’t think anyone can do it like you. That no one else can handle the weight. So instead of letting people in, you burn yourself out, crash into every wall you see, and then act shocked when we’re mad.”

Suho looked away, but you weren’t finished. Not even close.

“You walk around like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be angry, the only one who’s allowed to hurt. But I’m pissed too, Suho. I’ve been pissed for weeks.”

His voice was quiet but sharp. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you don’t listen!” You stepped into his space, finger jabbing into his chest. “You pick and choose what matters. If it doesn’t fit your idea of ‘the right thing to do,’ you dismiss it. You dismiss me. Every time I try to get through to you, you shut down. You look past me. Like I’m talking to a damn wall.”

“I never dismissed you,” he bit back.

“Bullshit. You always do. You listen to Sieun, to Beom-seok—even when they fcked up royally. But me? I say one thing you don’t like, and suddenly I’m overreacting or ‘don’t understand.’”

“You don’t always understand!”

“And maybe that’s because you never let me in!” you roared. “You only show me the pieces you want me to see. You keep the rest locked up like your pain is some kind of secret weapon.”

Silence. Just the sound of cars and your heaving breath.

Suho’s hands were clenched. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t give a shit if it’s easy,” you snapped. “I want you to be honest. Vulnerable. Human. But you’re too busy playing the unbreakable knight to realize you’re bleeding out in front of everyone who cares.”

His jaw was tight, eyes cold now. “So what? You want me to just lie down and take it when people hurt the people I care about?”

“No. I want you to stop using violence as a crutch for everything you don’t want to feel.”

“I feel everything,” he growled.

“Then act like it. Stop hiding behind fists and fights. Grow the hell up, Suho. You’re not seventeen forever.”

He took a step back, like your words hit harder than any punch he’d taken tonight.

You stared him down, pulse racing. “I’m done tiptoeing around your trauma. I’m done pretending like I’m okay watching you destroy yourself over and over because you think pain makes you strong.”

You turned, heading for the streetlight at the edge of the alley.

And just before you walked away, you threw one last truth over your shoulder.

“I loved you enough to want to stay. But you? You love your war more than peace.”

A/N: had an argument and now I’m pissed. So there you go.

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[johanna-517]

"The Red Thread"

(Yandere!Batfam x Female Reader)

—Chapter 2:

The days following your birthday were as normal and peaceful as ever.

You went to school, studied, hung out with your friends, and returned home to your parents.

You had to go to dinner, so you left your room and went downstairs, walking towards the kitchen.

You paused for a moment, staring at the wall beside you. It was filled with family portraits. Some were from when you were younger, and others were more recent.

Your parents always enjoyed taking family portraits regularly, so there's at least one new one every year.

A smile spreads across your lips as you look at the portraits hanging on the wall.

Even if some are from several years ago and others are more recent, they're all similar; since in each one, the three of you are together, smiling happily, anyone who saw you would undoubtedly realize what a perfect happy family you are.

And you're glad, you're so glad that your home and your life with your parents has been as perfect as it has been up until now.

Finally, you tear your gaze away from the portraits and continue on your way, heading for the kitchen.

When you walk into the kitchen, you see that the food is ready and your parents are already sitting at the table.

You smile widely and walk over, sitting down in your seat as you grab a plate, ready to serve yourself and enjoy the delicious food your mom already has ready.

Dinner goes on normally, you enjoy the food, until you realize something is... Strange.

This dinner seems to be unusually quiet. And your parents are supposed to always like to talk at least a little at mealtimes, so why isn't that the case this time?

Besides the fact that they haven't said anything so far, the atmosphere also feels a little tense.

You stop eating, staring at your parents with a serious expression, hoping they'll finally be able to explain to you why they're acting this way and what's going on.

Your mother notices your expression instantly and realizes you want to know what's going on. So she agrees and finally starts talking.

"(y/n)... Your father and I have something important to tell you." He began, sighing lightly, his expression slightly worried as he looked at your father for a moment.

"The thing is... Your father lost his job."

Your eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected news.

Your father worked for a small company here in Metropolis. And his work had been going pretty well so far, but... From what your mother tells you, it seems the company had some major financial problems, and they'll have to close. And now, your father is out of a job.

"We... What will we do now?" You asked softly, your expression filled with concern. Your eyes shifted to your father, looking to him for an answer.

You know there are too many expenses, your father was the only one in charge of the money, so without your father's job, they would practically not be able to continue living the comfortable life they had until now.

"A friend recommended me for a good position at another company. The only problem is... We'll have to move."

You freeze for a moment. He said... Move? You'll have to leave the city? But your whole life was here in Metropolis. The house you grew up in is here, the place you know is here, your friends and loved ones are here. This is your home, you never thought you'd have to leave it.

You wanted to protest, but you stopped as soon as you saw your parents' expressions... You realized that obviously, this isn't easy for them either.

You don't want to leave here, but... It's best if your father can find a good job as soon as possible, so even if they have to move, there's no choice.

And honestly, you don't want to be selfish and complain, when you know that your parents have always tried to do the best for you and give you a good life.

"I... I understand." Your gaze lowers for a moment, trying to finish processing the fact that you really do have to leave the city you've grown up in your entire life up until now.

"I know it'll be difficult, but there's no other way. The job your father is being offered is a good opportunity, even if we have to leave," your mother said, reaching out to pat you comfortingly on the shoulder.

"We'll be fine... Moving to another city can be... refreshing." He added quietly, with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Hearing your mother's laugh makes you smile slightly. She's as positive as ever.

"I guess you're right... It might be interesting to get to know a new city," you stated, finally starting to feel a little more comfortable with the situation. Yeah, starting to live in a new city probably isn't so bad after all.

"So... which city are we going to?" you asked, looking at them curiously. You definitely wanted to know exactly which city your new home was supposed to be soon.

"Oh, the city we're going to is Gotham," your father replied, in a calm tone.

"Wait... We're going to Gotham?!" Your eyes widen in complete surprise once again, almost jumping a little in surprise.

You didn't expect it... The city you have to move to is Gotham? That dark city, full of criminals everywhere?

"I know it might not sound very good... But really, the job opportunity they're offering your father there is one he can't turn down. We... We'll be able to adapt to Gotham, we must."

Once again, you want to protest. Why does it have to be Gotham specifically out of all the other cities in existence?

You've never been to the city before, but there's enough on the internet about Gotham to know it's not exactly a peaceful or colorful place.

Not with villains as dangerous as the Joker, among many of the other villains in that city.

But before you can start complaining about why they have to go to Gotham specifically, your mother interrupts you.

"(y/n)... I understand that Gotham isn't exactly a city you'd like to go to, I understand that it's a bit difficult for you. But please... Your father can't let that job opportunity go, we need it, we can't refuse to go to Gotham just on a whim." She said, with a calm and understanding tone as she looked at you.

She understood that finding out you'd have to move to Gotham wasn't easy for you. As a mother, she definitely didn't want to make things complicated for you, but this time it was inevitable; it was the only option they had left.

Your eyes meet your mother's understanding gaze. You understand; you know they didn't choose this, and neither did you. You know that sometimes inevitable things happen that no one expects, and the only thing you can do is try to cope.

This is your home, it always has been. But really... Anywhere is your true home as long as your parents are there, isn't it?

You sigh softly, your expression one of resignation as you speak. "I understand... This is the only option we have. And... The most important thing above all else is that we stay together. It doesn't matter what city we're in, as long as we stay together as the family we are."

Both your father and mother smile with relief at seeing that you're finally accepting it. They both stand up and approach you, giving you a hug.

"Thank you for understanding, princess... I promise you that as soon as things get better, we can come back here. We'll only be in Gotham for a while; as soon as we have the chance, we'll come back here." Your father assured you, his tone calm but confident, promising that at some point they would return here to their life in Metropolis, to make you feel more at ease.

You can't help but smile slightly at your father's words; his calm, sincere tone gives you comfort. And of course, you believe his words. You'll always trust your precious father completely.

And so, the night ends. Although things were too surprising and unexpected at first, both your mother and father helped you feel better about the idea of moving away, convincing you that it would be the best thing for now and that their lives in Gotham wouldn't be bad.

So, trusting his words completely, you finally accepted it completely. You have to move to Gotham with your parents.

———

The following days, you and your parents began packing the most important things, preparing for the move that will be coming soon.

"Gosh... Are you really going to Gotham?" Emma asked softly, hardly believing that you were actually going, as she helped you pack some of your things from your room, putting them in boxes.

"Emma... (y/n) already made it clear, and we're literally just helping her pack right now, so it's obvious she's really leaving," Olivia stated, letting out a small, impatient snort.

"Don't scold her, I know it's hard to believe. After all, even I didn't expect to end up moving to Gotham at some point," you replied, letting out a small laugh as you continued packing some of your things into your suitcases.

"Well, it's not all bad..." Emma began, smiling widely as she tried to think of some positive aspects of moving to Gotham. "If you're lucky, you might meet Batman! Or some of the other vigilantes in Gotham. They're sure to be cute and cool!"

At Emma's words you couldn't help but shake your head slightly, those weren't things that interested you.

"No, thanks, but no. I don't need to meet some vigilante in a weird suit in the middle of the night in the city. My luck will be better if I don't run into any vigilantes or criminals. I don't need to get close to any other Gotham citizens."

Olivia laughs lightly, amused by your words.

"Oh, come on... You can't be so negative. You're going to a new city, you should take advantage of it and meet more people there."

Emma nods in agreement, quickly approaching you and giving you a small pat on the shoulder.

"Olivia is right. If you're going somewhere new, take the opportunity to meet new people too. Besides... Who knows, maybe in Gotham you might finally find your red thread, the person meant for you!"

As soon as Emma mentions the red string, you can't help but think for a moment.

Well, you haven't met your destined soulmate yet, so it's obvious that person isn't here. So... What if your soulmate is in Gotham? Could you finally meet him?

You shake your head for a moment, knowing this isn't the time to think about it too much. Instead, you focus on finishing packing your things with the help of your friends.

And finally... Moving day has arrived. You said goodbye early to your friends, and your parents said goodbye to their own friends and neighbors, and finally you all got in the car, headed for Gotham.

The drive was peaceful, although it seemed a bit long, almost eternal. It was probably because you were a little nervous. You'd never been to Gotham before, and going there for the first time in your life was a completely new experience.

With every passing minute, you feel further away from Metropolis but closer to Gotham.

It's amazing how the weather changes from one place to another, because while in Metropolis there were clear skies, with the bright sun high above, here in Gotham the sky was cloudy, and it was raining a little too.

Definitely... It's different.

You're well aware that Gotham isn't the same as Metropolis. But the real question is whether you'll actually be able to adapt to this new city.

Finally, the trip is over; you've arrived. As you step out of the car, your nerves return, reminding you that you're in a completely unfamiliar city.

All around you, you can hear the normal hustle and bustle of any city. You feel the small drops of cold water fall on you and your hair, almost as if welcoming you to this new beginning in a city like this.

You soon get to know your new home; it's a decent apartment, big enough for you and your parents to live in.

You're relieved to see that at least the new apartment they'll be living in isn't so bad, it's nice and comfortable enough, with enough space for you three.

It's been a few days since you arrived in Gotham, you still haven't managed to get into a school here, so for now you're just resting and spending time at home with your mother.

You don't like going out much right now because, first of all, Gotham is still completely unknown to you. And above all, you're afraid that going out on the street might end up getting you mugged or something, given the high crime rate here.

You sigh softly as you look out your bedroom window. It's still raining... It certainly seems to rain quite often here. The rain here seems almost eternal.

Since the day you arrived, the sun hasn't shone here for a second. It's always cloudy and rainy. The weather is too gray for a gray city like this... It was to be expected, to tell the truth.

But you can't help but feel increasingly bored here. Spending time alone in your room these days is becoming too much to bear.

You want to step outside for a moment... But at the same time, you don't want to.

So, you don't know what's stronger, your boredom or your fear of going out into the unknown streets of Gotham.

Finally, after a little more time, you realize it: the boredom is greater. This time, you can't stand it anymore.

You get out of bed and get ready to go outside. You also think about asking your mother to join you for a bit, but she can't because she's busy preparing dinner, so you'll really have to go out on your own this time.

There's a store a few blocks from where you live, so you decide to go there, buy some things, and then quickly return home to your mother.

"Don't forget to take an umbrella with you. It's raining outside, and I don't want you to get sick." Your mother reminded you from the kitchen, knowing full well that sometimes you're so forgetful or distracted that you forget important things, like an umbrella.

"Yeah, I know." You let out a small snort, grabbing an umbrella. You were really about to leave without it, but as always, your mom was there to remind you of the important things.

Once finally ready, you leave the apartment.

Stepping out onto the streets of Gotham, you are greeted by the crisp, cold air, and the rain-soaked ground as well.

You ignore the weather as you walk leisurely toward the store. Along the way, you see many people passing by, all immersed in their own worlds.

You hear the sirens of a police car on another street, and you can't help but wonder what just happened. But hey, this is probably common in Gotham; you should get used to the noise a little, too.

So, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the streets and everything else, you focus on continuing to walk calmly.

Once you finally arrive at the store, you smile slightly as you walk in, happy that you've successfully reached your goal without getting mugged by any robbers in the process.

When you enter the store, you walk down the aisles, looking at each shelf and choosing what you want to buy.

You end up choosing some drinks, and some candy too. So, you head to the register to pay for what you ordered.

Before you, at the checkout was a rather tall man who had bought a pack of cigarettes, so you waited for him to leave before finally walking over and paying for your own things.

Once you've paid, you pack your belongings into a bag and then calmly walk out of the store.

You hold up your umbrella again to protect yourself from the rain once you're back in the cold weather outside.

But, before you leave, you stop, noticing that the same man who was in the store earlier is now outside, smoking one of the cigarettes he bought.

You wonder why that guy decided to smoke right outside the store... You sneak a look at him for a moment, until he seems to notice and turns to you as well. As soon as that happens, you quickly look away, pretending you weren't looking at him.

You try to quickly think of what to do, you know the best option is to simply continue on your way and return to the department.

But... Before you can take a step, you remember that the man smoking doesn't seem to be carrying an umbrella either.

'Why didn't he bring an umbrella? He knows it's raining, he should have brought one. He could get sick from the rain...' you thought, with a look of doubt and worry.

You know you don't need to worry, but you can't help it. So, letting your worry get the better of you, you decide to be a little impulsive and finally approach him.

"Uh.. E-excuse me, don't you have an umbrella?" You asked, a small nervous giggle escaping your lips as your eyes met his.

He stares at you for a moment, raising an eyebrow at your question, as if he wasn't expecting it at all.

"No, I don't have one, but I don't need one." He replied, his tone cautious, though there was also a hint of curiosity about you; he'd never seen you around here before.

From his response, you instantly realize what kind of person this man is. He's probably a little bitter, right? Or maybe everyone in Gotham is like that.

You don't know... But what you know for sure is that he won't just accept your offer of your umbrella.

It's not that you're really keen to protect a stranger from the rain and hand them your own umbrella. But... You can't help but want to. Just out of kindness.

"Then... You can take mine, I'll be fine, I live very close by. Bye!" you said quickly, pushing your umbrella towards him and then turning around and running away, preventing him from being able to refuse your umbrella.

You run back to your apartment building, panting slightly once you finally arrive.

Gosh... It was really lucky that you didn't slip while running through the wet streets.

Your hair and clothes are now slightly soaked due to the rain, but you don't care.

Honestly, you don't even know why you felt the need to give your umbrella to a stranger smoking outside the store. Although, it doesn't really matter now; after all, you already did it.

Okay, this will be your act of kindness for the day. You sigh softly as you head back into the apartment, preparing to be scolded by your mother for losing your umbrella and getting soaked in the rain.

——————

Jason's eyes remain open almost in surprise for a moment longer, looking in the direction you ran.

Then his eyes wander to the umbrella in his hands that you gave him.

Of course, he doesn't need the umbrella or anyone's kindness, he was going to reject you and give you back the umbrella, but he couldn't do it as soon as you ran away.

Unable to help it, a small, amused smile spreads across his lips, making his expression no longer as serious or hard as it usually appears.

He's a little amused to remember the way you approached him, your quick, nervous words, and the way you ran away in the rain was even funnier.

"How unexpected..." Jason muttered to himself, putting out his cigarette and setting it aside.

It was extremely rare in Gotham for someone to be willing to care and make a kind gesture for someone as intimidating-looking as him.

No one in Gotham is too kind, because genuine kindness in a city like this is completely unnecessary to survive here.

Which makes him wonder if you're actually from Gotham, or if you actually come from somewhere else... Well, it's probably the latter.

Jason has lived long enough on the streets of Gotham to know that you should never be unnecessarily kind, especially to someone you don't know and who doesn't seem exactly trustworthy.

Yet you... You don't seem to know much about it.

If you're really new here, maybe I should look you up and check on you from time to time, just to make sure you don't get into trouble thanks to your naive kindness.

He can't help but feel a little more curious about you, so he'll definitely make sure to see you again soon.

Jason takes the umbrella, using it to cover himself from the rain as he turns and walks away from the store.

For now, he should focus on getting back to Crime Alley and solving some important issues. But as soon as he can... He'll definitely come back here, to try to meet you again.

❦:(Here's chapter two, I hope you liked it. It took me a little longer than I thought to publish it because I made it a little longer than I originally planned. // And now that Reader has arrived in Gotham, this is when her encounters with each member of the batfam begin. I chose Jason to start, but in the next chapters Reader will meet the other characters 😌.)

☆/Tag List: @alishii @staarflowerr @charlenexoxo1 @bunbunbread @caged-birdies-blog @sirenetheblogger

[lightsoutmatthews]

protective auston has me feeling some type of way lol can you do something similar for willy? something like they are already an established couple and he never had to be protective before so she’s never seen that side of him? thanks!!!

Oh Annon you got my creative juices flowing with that one because I was debating between this and what I wrote for Auston and I was HOPING someone would send in another request. 🙏🏼

I got you – William Nylander

You weren’t used to this side of William.

He wasn’t exactly a hothead, never had been. If anything, William was calm to a fault. He didn’t raise to bait, didn’t snap back when people ran their mouths in interview or chirped him on the ice.

At home, with you, he was easygoing. Chill. Unshakably steady and calm. That was one of the first things you loved about him. He made you feel like you could relax. No drama. No big emotional explosions.

So, when it happened, it caught you off guard.

The two of you had been dating for multiple years at that point. You weren’t still in that careful stage where you pretended things didn’t bother you.

You lived together, shared grocery lists, fought over whose turn it was to do laundry. You knew his morning coffee order by heart. He kept a drawer in the entryway just for your keys because he said you always lost them in your bag.

You had been through quiet nights and loud ones. Road trips. Boring errands. Injuries. Post-game slumps. Summer lulls.

But you had never seen him like this.

It started at a team event. A charity dinner. You were used to those, dressed up, made conversation with executives, sponsors, teammates and smiled for the photos.

Most people were nice. Some were fake-nice. A few were a little too into the whole girlfriend of an NHL player thing, but you learned to brush that off.

The guy who crossed the line didn’t start off as a problem. He was older, some kind of donor or sponsor of the team. He wore a watch that cost probably more than your car and looked like he lived on red wine and bad decisions.

He was talking to you and a few other people near the bar. You didn’t catch his name, just his business card when he slipped in into your hand.

“You should call me some time,” he said, his tone light but with a weird edge. “I do consulting. Media stuff. You´ve got a great look, could be good on camera.”

You gave a polite smile and stepped back half an inch. Not rude, not obvious. Just enough to signal you weren’t interested in his offer. You figured he would take the hint.

He didn’t.

“You with someone tonight?” he asked, like he hadn’t noticed the very obvious fact that you were standing less than ten feet away from your boyfriends table.

William had been stuck in a conversation with a couple of board members, his eyes flicking to you every few minutes like a clockwork. He was watching. Not hovering, just being aware.

“Yeah,” you replied making your voice sound as flat as possible. “I´m here with my boyfriend.”

“Let me guess. One of the players?” he chuckled, like it was a cliché.

“Yeah,” you repeated, less amused.

He laughed some more, leaning in a little closer. “That´s fun. Bet he gets jealous real easy.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. You felt it before you even saw him.

William´s presence sliding in between you and the guy like a wall. Not loud. Not even rude. Just there.

“Hey,” William opened the conversation, resting his hand lightly on your lower back, eyes on the man in front of you. “Everything good here?”

The way he said it was casual, but something in his voice was different. Tighter. Like a string pulled taut.

You turned towards him instinctively, he looked at you first, not the guy. You nodded. “Yeah, we´re just finishing up.”

But William didn’t move. Didn’t smile like he usually did with sponsors. He looked at the man, quiet for just a beat too long. Then, still calm, he said, “She´s with me.”

“I gathered,” the guy huffed, like William was being dramatic for stepping in. Still, he looked at him a little more carefully now. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave your girl alone in a room full of men eying her up and down in that dress,” he added regardless.

Now it was William that huffed. “Maybe you should take a hint when a woman is clearly not interested and taken.” He paused for a second. “I remember you seeing us walk in.”

The guy raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Sure,” William replied, still even.

The hand on his back never moved, it anything, his fingers curled a little tighter around the fabric of your dress.

It was a short exchange, a minute tops, but it changed something.

The man backed off, chuckled something under his breath, and walked away without another word. Then it was just you and William.

You looked up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, features softening. “You?”

“I´ve had worse,” you nodded carefully.

He nodded too, but he didn’t say anything else. His jaw was tight. Not really angry, but protective in a way that felt new.

You didn’t say much about it first. He stayed close the rest of the night, never smothering but definitely within reach. His hand found yours often and you caught him glancing around more than usual.

It was weird, seeing him like that. Not because you didn’t like it, if you were honest with yourself, you kind of did, but because it was different. Like you had unlocked a version of him you had never needed before.

Back home later that night, your brought it up.

“You dint usually do that,” you opened, slipping out of your heels. “Get, I don’t really know what to call it, protective, I guess?”

William, who was changing out of his dress shirt on the other side of the bed, looked over at you, “No?”

You shook your head. “I mean, you´re not the jealous type. You don’t get weird when people talk to me.”

“I´m still not jealous,” he argued, walking over and dropping onto your side of the bed next to you. “That guy just sucked.”

“He did suck,” you chuckled.

William tilted his head a little, thoughtful. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Especially, knowing you were taken.”

“He was a creep,” you offered.

“It wasn’t just that,” he muttered, much quieter than usual. “He didn’t respect you.”

You looked at him, there was something serious about his voice that made you sit up straighter.

“He didn’t listen when you said you were with someone,” he continued. “Didn’t take you seriously because you were with a player on the team. I know you can handle yourself, but I just…” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair.

“What?” you asked gently.

“I just didn’t like it,” he summed it up. “I didn’t like the idea if you feeling like you had to be polite to someone like that. I know it happens more than I probably realize.”

You were quiet for a moment. “It does.” He exhaled loudly. “Yeah.”

Your reached for his hand. “You were good, though. You didn’t cause a scene.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “Like, just for a second, I felt like, I guess possessive. Which really isn’t me.”

“It´s okay,” you hummed. “It didn’t feel like you were trying to control anything. You just showed up. That’s all.”

He laid back on the bed, letting out another loud exhale while staying quiet for a second. “I don’t ever what you to think I don’t care,” he muttered, looking up at you, instinctively grabbing your hand. “Sometimes I worry I come off too chill. Like I don’t notice that stuff.”

You laid down next to him, carefully curling into his side. “You notice plenty,” you mumbled into his bare chest. “And I like that you´re not the type to get into a fight or argument over nothing.”

His glaze softened and he carefully wrapped an arm around you before placing a soft kiss to your head. “But if it’s not nothing?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand that was still resting in yours. “Then I´m glad to know you´ve got my back.”

[lizpaige]

enjoy a snippet of a fic i may never finish ✌️

Adam knew that starting a relationship with Ronan would change things, but he wasn’t wholly prepared for how much. His mind constantly drifted to memories of warm gasps and wet lips, teeth and tongue and calloused hands running over smooth skin, black ink curving over strong shoulders, whispered curses and pleas and confessions and–

He was distracted. Constantly. All the time. Whether Ronan was in his eye line or he hadn’t seen him in days. He was busy with school and work, his schedule didn’t let up when Gansey was reborn, if anything, it all sped up. With college applications and final exams, Adam had very little time to study, sleep, and eat, let alone spend time with his boyfriend.

But he made time.

Although he didn’t exactly need to, he was doing his homework at Monmouth. He’d get more done if he went back to St. Agnes, but Ronan was there, lying on the floor by his feet with Adam’s jacket bundled under his head, headphones on, eyes closed, not participating, but close by. The room felt electric, air thick and buzzing with anticipation. Adam’s eyes kept drifting to where Ronan’s sweatshirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of skin above his belt.

Gansey had been chattering away about something school related and Adam had done an okay job of pretending to listen and chime in, while working through his calculus problem set. He would probably need to double check his answers when he got home. He wasn’t entirely confident he’d gotten any one of them right so far.

Adam was just about to get up and make some excuse to head home, if only to get Ronan to follow him out and have a second alone with him, when Gansey’s phone rang.

“Apologies.” Gansey’s expression lit up at the name on the screen. It was certainly Blue, who had a double shift at Nino’s and who Gansey had mentioned promised she would call on her break. He scrambled to his feet and began walking out of the room. His voice was quiet, but warm and pleased when he greeted her simply, “Jane.”

When Gansey was safely out of the room, Adam put his pencil inside his book to mark his page and closed it. When he moved his leg, Ronan reflexively grabbed his ankle, eyes opening. He moved his headphones away from his right ear. “Where’s Dick?”

“Phone call with Blue.” Adam’s mouth felt dry. He felt feverish. He felt anxious. He felt desperate.

“How’s homework?” Ronan smirked, reading him like a fucking book.

Adam leveled him with a look, then stood up, shaking Ronan’s grip off his leg. He started heading toward Ronan’s room without a word and without looking back. Sure enough, he heard Ronan scramble to his feet and follow after him.

[alltimecharlo]

OK but consider girl-Will, who is bros with Mack from the start of dev camp and it’s all good until, like, the teal carpet on opening night or the sharks foundation dinner where she does the hair makeup dress thing and Mack is like OH NO WILL IS HOT TOO, I HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM

oh yes definitely!!!! i have a soft spot for girl!will <3 mack would 100% malfunction, you are so correct anon 🩵 fic under the cut!

Mack doesn’t even clock it at first. Not the way people probably expect him to. He and Will hit it off fast, from the first day of dev camp—chirping each other, texting at all hours, getting competitive about everything.

She can toe-drag like nobody’s business and she already has a cult following on Sharks Twitter before either of them has even played a game. She’s just… cool. Effortlessly cool. In the way that makes Mack think of the kids he always wanted to impress when he was younger. The kind who make everything look easy.

They’re tight by the time rookie camp ends. Like, finish-each-other’s-sentences tight. Like, share-rides-to-the-arena-and-pick-up-coffee-for-each-other tight. So Mack never thinks about it. Never thinks about her like that.

Until the Foundation Dinner.

The Teal Carpet is a mess. Hot as hell, and Mack is sweating through his undershirt before they even hit the step and repeat. He’s still tugging at his collar when Will arrives, and he turns to wave her over—

—and chokes.

Literally chokes. On spit? Air? Pride? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that Will is walking toward him in a slinky navy dress that’s absolutely, one-hundred-percent illegal. Her makeup is subtle, sharp. Her hair is pinned back in that effortless way that definitely took two hours. She’s still Will. Still smirking at him like she knows he just forgot how to function.

“Hey, Mack,” she says, and it should sound normal. Casual. But it doesn’t. Not to him.

He stares. “You look—uh. Wow.”

Smooth.

Will cocks a brow. “You too. Not choking on your own tongue or anything, huh?”

Mack rubs a hand down his jaw. “Didn’t know we were dressing to kill.”

“You wore a double-breasted suit. You look like Bond.”

“You—” He gestures vaguely. “You look—like I need a drink.”

She laughs, bright and open, and hooks her arm through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is. It always is. That’s the problem.

Because now he’s aware of everything. The curve of her shoulder against his. The way her perfume is subtle but maddening. The slight pressure of her fingers where they loop through his arm. He should be able to ignore it. He’s ignored plenty before.

But then they’re sitting at their assigned table, and Will tosses her hair over her shoulder and leans in to whisper something sarcastic about the rubber chicken they’re being served—and Mack sees the line of her neck, the shimmer at her collarbone, and it’s like he’s sixteen again, flunking out of rational thought.

He’s so fucked.

“You good?” Will asks, tipping her head at him. Her voice is low, private. For him.

He forces a smile. “Yeah. Just—distracted.”

“By the speeches? Or my legs?”

Mack coughs. Chokes again. Will beams.

Yeah. He’s got a serious problem.

♡

[bard-doe]

"Why the fuck is every reader so eager when they are being edged or overstimulated? At least some people would have cried and called it a day. Why doesn't anyone think about... Oh, fuck, wait, I can write about it!"

A "crybaby" in bed

Note: My first fanfiction after... 🤔... A while. And I'm going to split this up into 4 different parts–John, Kyle, Simon, Johnny.

Word count: 1574

Tags(?): Price x GN!reader; some degree of hurt/comfort but I'm not sure; scenes of both sex and aftercare.

How did this even happen?

You were peacefully making your tea, humming some shity song under your breath when you felt large hands on your hips, kneeting the soft flesh. John carefully put his head on your shoulder and you started talking about that one film you wanted to watch but can't because of work. Then it spiraled into ranting about whatever problems you have there and John decided to help you unwind.

But it was becoming too much.

You've been at it for a while now, changed your position from the counter to the wall, then on the table.

"S' good... S' fucking warm, luv. Jus' another one, yea'?"

John murmured gruffly into your neck and he started bucking up, but froze when that pulled out a strained sob from your chest. He looked up to see you shaking a little, trying to hold back your tears. You didn't know if you wanted him to give you a hug or back off, so you opted for just holding onto his shirt.

" 'Ey, 'ey, what's wrong? Does it hurt?"

He carefully pulled out, wincing with you at your discomfort.

You shook your head, hiding your face in your hands. Great. You didn't want anything like this to happen. You were just so tired, and this was too much pressure for your body right now.

"Is alright. C'me 'ere."

Being the big man he is, John easily picked you up, deciding to get you into your comfortable bed first. When that was done, he quickly moved into the bathroom and reappeared in half a second with a warm washcloth. He cooed and soothed every time you tried to wiggle away–your body just couldn't be still. But it really was better once most of the cum was out.

You tried to apologize and offer him a blow job to finish, but John gave you a stare when you just opened your mouth. He knew what you were probably thinking and he was having none of that. You were definitely not going to work this day–should probably just quit, John never liked you working anyway–with a warm cup of tea, which he gave you after you drank some water, and a bowl of snacks. And that film you really wanted to watch.

[taeyongdoyoung]

say yes (fearless)

summary: you're tired of being broke. so, when your rich bestie suggests something shocking, you are compelled to say yes... pairing: seok matthew x reader genre: best friends to sugar daddy/sugar baby to lovers, smut, light angst warnings: swearing, themes of wealth/poverty, money-related insecurities, sugar relationship, they have a whole contract, reader is older than matthew but he has an oppa kink 🤷 kissing, neck-biting, dom!matt, blowjob, praise kink, strength kink, spanking with a belt, established but not used safe word, bondage, unprotected sex, possessive!matt, FEELINGS author's note: happy belated matthew day! 💗 evidently, this was heavily inspired by matt's amazing song say yes and it also has some references to taylor swift's songs bc why not word count: 3k

Your best friend's driving you down the road as you wonder if he knows you sneak glances at him every once in a while. But he's just so damn cool when runs his hands through his hair, absent-mindedly making you want him…

"Wanna check out this new bookshop I told you about?" Matthew suggests casually.

"Oh, sure!" you agree. You've always been a sucker for books and Matthew knows that weakness of yours all too well.

He parks the car and you two go inside the cozy bookshop. After browsing through the shelves for a while, you find a book that strongly catches you interest. You really want to get it. Discreetly checking your wallet, you sadly realize you don't have enough money for it. Sighing to yourself, you are about to put it back on the shelf where you found it when Matthew grabs your wrist.

"Why are you putting it back?" he asks. "I can tell how bad you want it."

"It's nothing," you're embarrassed to admit the truth.

"You can tell me anything, you know?" Matthew insists.

"I…don't have enough money in my wallet right now," you confess, looking away.

"Let me get it for you."

You shake your head, trying to refuse. You know that Matthew's considerably more well-off than you and it's never been a problem when it comes to the solidity of your friendship. But in moments like these when he offers to buy you something so nonchalantly, it serves as a reminder of just how much money has affected the majority of your life.

"I don't need it," you respond but Matthew doesn't listen to you and hurries to the cash desk to get the book.

A part of you feels pathetic about not being able to afford a book. But a part of you is grateful that he's so chill about it. It's not like he gets anything in return. He's just…so nice to you for no reason.

Back in his car, Matthew hands you the book triumphantly. You accept it shyly because you would be crazy to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"If you feel uncomfortable, just consider it as a birthday gift."

"There are months until my birthday," you remind him with a chuckle.

"Not yours, my birthday was recently."

"What kind of logic is this? You're supposed to be receiving gifts for your birthday, not giving them."

"I genuinely feel better giving people things," Matthew shrugs.

"Can't say the same," you laugh. "I love receiving things. Sometimes I even debate signing up for one of those sugar daddy apps just so I could get my fill of being spoiled."

"Don't," Matthew scoffs seriously.

"What?"

"Don't go on those apps," he barks the order so easily it sends goosebumps down your spine.

"Why not?"

"They're probably filled with weirdos and scammers. You could just…" Matthew lets his thoughts trail in a dangerous direction.

"Just do what?" you curiously urge him to finish his sentence.

"Use me. You could just use me. I have so much money I don't know what to do with it all.

"Matt, no, you're my best friend, it doesn't feel right."

"In what sense?"

"In that…you are worth so much more to me than money."

"I know that," Matthew insists. "Do you have any other concerns?"

"Yeah. It sounds one-sided. You are not getting anything in return."

"Would it make you feel better if I came up with something?" he raises an eyebrow mysteriously.

What exactly does he have in mind?

"It would," the words are out of your mind before you can think twice about the whole proposal.

"Great, it's settled, then. I'm your sugar daddy," Matthew announces happily.

"But…I'm older than you," you blink in shock.

"It doesn't matter to me," he explains. "Do you want to go to mine and discuss things in further detail?"

"Erm, okay," you agree, even though this is all happening so fast you can barely process it.

Did your best friend whom you've been crushing on for ages just become your sugar daddy?!?!

When you arrive at Matthew's place, you are once again overwhelmed by a feeling of inferiority. You rarely go to Matthew's because the house is ridiculously large for one person. Everything is so sleek and white, the rooms practically smell like money. Secretly, you wish you could live with him. No, a part of you wishes you could be him. You know it's kinda a toxic thought to have but the truth is it's not even the financial thing. The way Matthew carries himself, his kindness, his sense of humour, his beauty, his intelligence, everything about him is just so appealing you can't help but admire him hopelessly. Until it doesn't seem so hopeless anymore.

"You want coffee? Tea? Water?" he asks politely, ever the welcoming host.

"Water's fine," you reply meekly. Even though you don't know what you're so nervous about. He's your best friend. There's nothing to be afraid of…Right?

As you take a couple of sips of water in the hopes it will calm you down, Matthew opens his laptop and starts typing something. Once he's finished and shows you what he came up with, you feel like you're about to pass out. Oh, he's serious about this.

Matthew wrote a wholeass sugar daddy/sugar baby agreement. Contract?! Detailing how rather than giving you money, he would prefer to take you shopping himself or buy you the things you want himself. And in return he just wants at least three dates per week. That hardly seems fair, you think.

He clears his throat, signifying the urge to say something.

"Feel free to raise objections or offer suggestions-"

"Isn't the traditional sugar relationship sexual in nature?" you inquire.

"Sometimes, but there are sugar daddies who simply seek companionship."

"I'm literally your best friend, you can have all the companionship for free."

"Exactly because we're best friends, I didn't put a clause about…well, sex."

"So, you're not interested in sex?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're not interested in sex with me?" you keep growing bolder with your questions.

"It's not my lack of interest in you that you should be worried about," Matthew whispers darkly.

"Then, tell me. What should I be worried about?" you tilt your head to the side.

"Fuck it," he mumbles quietly and crashes his lips against yours in a rough, almost violent kiss. You accept his advances a little too eagerly, letting him fuck your mouth with his tongue. God, this is insane. He bites your lower lip harshly, as you dig your fingers in his hair. He's so beautiful you feel like you're being consumed by him. Matthew suddenly grabs you by the hair, tilting your head backwards so that your neck is exposed. Biting and sucking onto your skin, leaving marks as if to mark his territory. It drives you mad. But you can't get enough. Pulling him closer to you and wrapping your legs around his lower back as he pushes you into the couch. This is crazy.

Tragically, Matthew breaks the passionate spell just as suddenly as he started it. He stands up abruptly and runs a hand through his messsy hair.

"Apologies," he blurts out, sounding so prim and proper. You hate it. "This behaviour wasn't very…gentlemanly of me."

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes. "You want this. I want this. What's stopping you?"

Matthew sighs and sits down next to you again.

"I don't want to ruin our friendship," he confesses. "Sex complicates things."

"And being in a sugar relationship doesn't?" you scoff sarcastically. "I think our friendship is strong enough to withhold anything. Don't you agree?"

Matthew nods, deep in thought.

"Instead of adding a sex clause to the agreement, how about I add that no matter what we do in the course of our sugar relationship, we swear to remain friends?"

The suggestion is so wild and requires so much confidence in the other person that Matthew stuns you with the sincerity in his voice.

"Okay. You're never getting rid of me," you promise.

Matthew hurriedly types it on the laptop.

"I'll go print it-" he says, delaying the inevitable.

"It can wait," you interrupt him. "But I can't."

You kiss him again greedily. Once you've had a taste, you can't be satisfied. He unlocks a part of you that is so fearless, so confident that you barely recognize her as yourself. But the feeling is so addicting you can't afford to lose it.

"Get on your knees," Matthew orders you so easily you immediately comply. But even that is enough to increase your confidence. It's so strange.

Not waiting for a second order, you take matters into your own hands and unbutton his jeans. You've daydreamed about this moment a lot. As you wrap your lips around his girthy cock, you wonder if this is what heaven truly feels like.

"Taking oppa's cock so well like the good little slut you are, huh?" Matthew speaks about himself in the third person.

Oppa???

"Need I remind you I'm older than you?" you release him from your mouth momentarily to speak your truth.

"Shhh, just play along, will you?" Matthew looks down at you with his big, beautiful eyes. How could you possibly say no?

You envelop him with your mouth once again, refusing to waste any more time.

"You feel so good, baby," he moans, getting lost in the feeling. "So good for oppa."

Oh, well, you could get used to it. As you keep trying to take him deeper, you feel his words becoming more and more unrestrained.

"Where do you want oppa to come? Should I do it on your face? Should I pull out?"

And ruin your makeup? Not a chance. You wrap your arms around the back of his legs, trying to signal the fact that you just want him to cum in your mouth. Lucky for you, Matthew is smart enough to figure it out and does just that, spilling ropes of cum down your needy throat. You swallow most of it to the best of your abilities and lick him clean of the rest.

Matthew picks you up from the floor and hugs you in a tight embrace.

"Did so well for oppa, my sweet girl," he whispers softly.

Damn, it feels too nice. You're going to have a hard time pretending you're not falling in love with him.

From then on, your life completely takes a turn for the best. Spending time with Matthew now goes hand in hand with him spending money on you. All the books, dresses and food you've only dreamt about are now a reality. The sugar rush you feel is so intoxicating, so addicting that the more you get from it, the more you crave. It feels so good. Too good. Until it doesn't.

Because you can deny it no longer. You're in love with your best friend. And the fact he spoils you so easily is incredibly dangerous. Even though you've done a couple of sexual things, with each encounter, your feelings grow and you are beginning to worry about it ending. So, you do something stupid that won't solve the situation. You disobey the agreement.

It's now been two weeks of you ignoring Matthew's messages. You feel terrible. Not because you miss the new things he gets you. But because you miss him. However, the contract specifies that you owe him like…six dates. Even though he hasn't gotten you anything new, the mere fact that you signed this silly paper is troubling you. Then again, there is the clause about remaining friends no matter what... And developing feelings for your bestie turned sugar daddy definitely doesn't go well with maintaining a normal friendship.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell ringing. You go to open it in a daze, not even considering the possibility that it might be the very person you've been avoiding.

"Matthew," you gasp in surprise as he storms into your apartment. Oh, he looks…angry? No, it's not that. He looks upset. You hate to be the one to cause him such negative emotions. He's been so perfect and only deserves to feel happiness.

"Why have you been ignoring my texts and calls?" he asks directly.

"I wasn't-"

"Don't lie to me," Matthew replies, disappointment clear in his voice.

"I think we should dissolve our sugar relationship," you answer without thinking.

"Why? Are you not satisfied with the terms? I could buy you stuff more often. Or go down on you more. I could do anything, just say the word."

You shake your head, feeling overwhelmed by the desperate look in his eyes.

"I don't want this anymore," you cry out.

"Tell me the truth. Tell me how to fix it. I can't lose you," Matthew begs.

"You won't lose me. I'll always be your…friend," you say the last word as if it's venom. But it's the truth. No matter what, you promised. "I just need some time."

"Did you meet someone else?" Matthew asks a bit possessively. "I'll do you better than him."

"There's no one else," you swear. "There's just you. There's always been only you. And that's the problem, Matt."

"Why is it a problem?" he steps into your space, closer to you.

"Because I'm in love with you," you admit the feelings you've been keeping bottled up for so long. "Because I'm so afraid of fucking things up even more. Because I'd rather be your friend than be nothing at all."

"Oh, baby," Matthew murmurs gently and pulls you into a hug. "You will always be everything to me."

"But I disregarded the agreement…You don't hate me?" you sniffle.

"How could I hate you?" he speaks sincerely. "I only suggested the agreement hoping it'd help you see…that you don't need any sugar daddy apps to be happy. You just need me."

"I'll always need you, Matt."

"And I'll always love you," he replies, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "But you owe me six dates."

"And eternal friendship," you remind him playfully.

"I'm still mad at you for ignoring me," Matthew scolds you. "Do you have any idea how I felt?"

"I'm sorry," you look down guiltily.

"Sorry's not gonna cut it," he sighs. "Oppa needs to punish you so you'll learn your lesson."

You blink in shock. But the truth is, whatever he has in store for you, you'll gladly accept.

Matthew grabs your wrist and drags you to your bedroom.

"On your fours," he barks a command.

"Yes, oppa," you answer dutifully, assuming the position.

You can hear him shuffling behind you but you don't dare turn around to see what he's doing. You don't want to make him even more upset with your behaviour.

He tears up your leggins with his strong hands and the mere sound is enough to make you shiver. Your poor panties follow the same fate. Then, Matthew smacks your ass once with his belt. Hard. Fucking hell, that hurt. But then again, you ghosted him for two weeks…He was also hurt by your actions. So, you bite your tongue to prevent curses from slipping out.

"Count for me," Matthew demands.

"One," you mumble.

"One, what?"

"One…thank you, oppa," you cry out.

"Good girl," he chuckles darkly and repeats the actions fourteen times. One for each day you ignored him. Serves you right, you suppose. Once he's done punishing you, he turns you around and scoops you up in his strong, comforting arms. "Was it too much?"

"N-no, it's f-fine," you stutter. "I could have said the safe word."

"You could have. But I'm not sure if I would have stopped," Matthew replies cruelly.

"You would have," you insist. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't," he strokes your hair gently but there is nothing gentle about his words. "I can't restrain myself when it comes to you."

"Then, don't restrain yourself. Restrain me," you beg.

"Careful what you wish for," Matthew laughs.

"I'm serious," you respond and hold out your wrists for him. "You can do anything to me."

"You're crazy," he kisses you, though, and does as you suggest, wrapping the belt around your wrists.

"You love it."

"Too tight?" he checks.

"Just right," you try to chase his lips again, but Matthew pulls away from you.

You blink sadly at being denied your favourite thing. Kissing him.

"Please?" you beg prettily, pouting.

"Later, baby," Matthew promises and easily slides inside of you without warning. "Fuck, did my little slut get so wet from a little spanking? Are you like this for anyone?"

"Only for you, oppa," you play along, letting him use your pussy as he pleases.

"It better stay that way," he grunts, as he fucks you from the side. Even though your wrists are tied, he uses his strength to push your head deeper into the mattress. "You're all mine."

"All yours, oppa, I promise," you cry and plead, already missing the ability to touch him. How you survived two weeks without this is a whole mystery.

"So close. Where should I come?" Matthew asks, forever the considerate angel.

"You can do it inside of me, it's okay," you give him the green light and he doesn't need to be told twice, already spilling his seed inside of your warm pussy. Your release follows soon after, so addicting.

"Feels so good, wanna stay like this forever," he can't help but voice his thoughts out loud.

"What a heavenly idea," you chuckle.

Matthew, however, is quick to recover, and removes the belt from your wrists. Then, he rushes to bring some water for the two of you. Sitting in comfortable silence, you stare at his hands and wonder if he ever had any suspicions about how you felt for him.

"You're not subtle, you know?" he suddenly breaks the silence.

"Huh?" you whisper, almost in a daze.

"I've noticed how you look at me when you think I'm not looking. At my hands, nose, eyes…I notice every little detail."

"And how is that? How do I stare at you?"

"Like you're mine."

The End

[mommy-mortis]

Irish Vampire Blues - 6

Things had been quiet after the promise you made with Remmick.  

He seemed on the edge which you weren’t sure was good or bad yet. He looked paler than usual as if something was haunting him. 

So, when he disappeared out the door mumbling about getting some fresh air, you had decided to get some sleep, but the habit of getting up for work had never left your bones and you ended up waking up before the sun. 

You put the electric kettle on to make yourself something warm to drink. While waiting for the water to boil you go to open the long thick ass curtains Remmick must have had installed. 

You look out into the skyline; the reason you had chosen to live so far up was to see the beautiful sight of the sun peeking over the buildings. When your career became more demanding you had found that luxury more and more unattainable. 

A knock came from the door just as the kettle finished boiling the water. You had assumed that you had seen the last of him but there he was.  

He slowly walked through the entrance as if he was unsure of where he was supposed to be “The door was locked, are you trying to keep me out?” his voice sounding dejected. 

Maybe there was something you were missing but you just sighed waving off his dramatic shift in mood "There are worse things out there than you Remmick, I’m just trying to be careful.”  

Nodding along to your words he just stands there quietly observing you 

You notice a light smoke coming off his body and glance to the window then back to him "Is something wrong?" 

He holds out the bag you had dropped in the hallway   

“Close the curtains”  

His voice is vacant of emotion 

“Are you in pain?” 

“Do you want me to be?”   

You take the bag from his hand and without answering and walk over to the windows tightly gripping the curtains. You ponder throwing them open even farther; the sun seems to hurt him.  

Would it be enough to kill him immediately? You doubt it, and by the time he even got a tan he would have them closed. And you weren’t sure how forgiving he was right now, so you close the curtains. 

You throw the bag on your couch before walking back over to the kitchen to make your drink.  

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, blood smudged on his lower lip. 

You take stock ‘Blood on the lips, aversion to sunlight, active during the night’ you didn’t have to be Karen Jenson to figure this shit out. 

“So, are you like some kind of like, Vampire or something like that?”  

Finally giving you a smile cocking his head to the side “I’m a lover, a friend... but yes I have also been known to be called something like that."  

Bringing the cup to your lips you Humm, “Is Vampire like a slur to your kind?”  

Tilting his head, giddy at the implications, he squints his eyes while slowly shaking his head and gives off a huff of laughter “Why would it be, it’s just another label.”  

“Do you plan to turn the whole building?”   

He scoffs at you like you’re being facetious. 

“I’m serious - what the long-term goal here?”  

He smiles “I’m just trying to spread love, equality and understanding by forming a community of like-minded individuals?” giving you a toothy grin 

“By giving them a full-frontal lobotomy?” You take a sip of your drink “At a certain point you’re just playing with yourself.”  

He gives you a piercing look; you seem to have struck a chord.  

You don’t avert your eyes but the look he gives you does make you pause. 

Realizing he must be making you uncomfortable he turns his head to the side and walks in a small circle like he’s trying to cool himself off; he stop becoming fixated on a corner of the room and just stares at it. 

You place your drink on the counter and walk over and stand beside him; you try to figure out what he’s looking at, but you see nothing there. 

He watches as you give him an inquisitive look, clearly not understanding what the problem is.  

He lets out a weary laugh “You can’t see them, can you?”  

You want to tell him It’s just an empty corner, but instead you just slowly shake your head, Remmick has been acting odd (at least from what you’ve seen of him) since the promise. 

“You don’t even know what you’ve done,” he sounds exasperated. “They’re waiting for me to fuck up so they can drag me straight to hell.”  

You look down at the wound on your hand - what had you summoned?  

He grabs you by your shoulders and looks deep into your eyes. "After they get rid of me, you’ll live your life however you want but, in the end, they're going to take your soul." 

Your eyes go wide, what did he know, was he even telling the truth? 

“You didn’t you think you’d get something for nothing, did you My Sweet?”  

Pulling you close enough to see his blood-stained teeth he tries to make you understand, "If you come to me willing, we could get rid of them.”   

There’s a frenzied look in his eyes now - 

“Oh Girl, I knew you were one of a kind when I saw you, but if you can do all this on accident, only those up above and down below know what you could do with my guidance.”   

Fingers are caked with blood, he doesn’t seem to notice the smears he’s leaving on your shirt, but you do.  

“They’re waiting for me to fail, but I’m not afraid because I know that in my heart that you’ll see the truth."  

His grip softens but the look in his eyes is no less wild, “The only way you're truly going to be free is with me.”   

He said he wasn’t afraid, but you knew fear when you saw it. He begins to stroke your arm in a comforting manner. 

“Ah, but even if you don’t decide to join me on the other side so to speak, I’ll stick around till the end of yours.” he sounded delirious.  

“I promise, my treasure,” leaning in to kiss you, you stop him in his tracks; the look of rejection shows clearly on his face.  

“It’s not you Remmick it’s just...” you make a motion towards his face pointing at the blood caked to his face.  

The last thing you needed was for him to feel a certain way around you; you still need to find a way to manage him. 

“Ah, well silly me - I’ll clean myself up first, so don’t go anywhere,” he was smiling but the end of that sentence sounded dangerous.  

As soon as the water in the shower turned on you sprinted to the curtains shoving them open. 

Next you run to your closet, tossing off the clothes Remmick got blood on and slip on a sundress and grab your bag from the couch. 

Moving quickly towards the entrance you grabbed the first shoes you could get your hands on, which were unfortunately the heels you came in yesterday with; ‘fuck it’, you’d put them on in the car. 

Closing the door behind you, you sighed in relief to see the hallway was empty. 

Jumping in the elevator you pressed the lobby button holding your breath the whole way down. You didn’t know how many floors he had turned; you could only hope that you reached your destination before then. 

The first thing you see when the elevator finally touches down is the landlady. She looked nervous, had she been worried for you? 

"How did things go? No lawsuits I hope." 

‘Of course you should have known better’  

'If you cared about that maybe you should have stopped by.' You don’t stop walking, if she notices your bare feet she doesn't say anything. 

"Who am I to interfere in how you get things done? All that matters is that you got it done, right?" She says while looking down at your feet. 

‘Ah, she had thought you fucked, the unwanted house guest into submission. While her assumption wasn’t wrong in itself, she shouldn’t look at you like that when she was the one to ask for a favor’ 

“Yeah, No lawsuits” ‘for now at least’ you so badly wanted to say. 

"See, I knew I could put my trust in you." 

'If you say so.' 

You continue walking past the landlady. You didn’t know how much sunlight Remmick could stand but you didn’t want to test that by having a whole ass conversation, especially not so close to home.  

Walking to your truck and opening the door, you jump in, putting the heels on before buckling in.  

It should be impossible, but you can almost feel Remmick's anger from where you are. 

Doing your best to ignore the sound of sirens going off in your head, you peel outta the parking lot. 

You end up at a library flipping through books about dog training.  

The more you read the more worried you became. 

It seems like you already fucked up, but if Remmick was serious about hanging on you for the rest of your life you’d have plenty of time to train him. 

You think back to how afraid he had looked. You don’t know what he saw in that corner, but you knew that it had given you some more time. 

You had no reason to fully believe Remmick when he told you that the spirits or whatever they were wanted to take your soul, isn’t that what he had wanted all along? 

You had grown irritated by the thoughts that raked your mind and decided that you had learned all you could for the moment. 

The spirits had given you more time and seemed to be keeping him in check; that’s all you could ask for right now. 

Making your way to the nearest cafe you sat down to relax. In the books you read it had warned against leaving your dog for too long, ‘but what the hell - in for a penny in for a pound.’ 

You had a feeling you wouldn’t be going out in the daylight anytime soon after your little prison break, so you decided to enjoy yourself. Letting the vitamin D hit your skin you feel your muscles relax. 

You don’t realize you’ve dosed off until someone's rubbing your arm to wake you up. You blink, rubbing your eyes until they adjust. Finding a blond guy in front of you, you're confused at first at why he was blocking you from the sun. 

Until you see the badge on the side of his hip. 

“Hey, where have you been? It's been a while,” placing his hands on his hips he looks you up and down lingering on the parts he finds appealing. “It’s good to see you,” you can tell what he means even though his smile is tight. 

Looking over at his gun you try to act polite - the last thing you need is a cop having a grudge against you. 

“I was staying with a relative, but she recently passed.” 

Nodding along, but not really listening. 

“You know it’s funny that you should bring up someone passing away, do you remember an intern by the name of Sara?”  

Not knowing what could be funny about someone passing you nodded along. 

“She ended up being convicted of your fiancés murder - crime of passion, something about him not taking responsibility for knocking her up.”  

You hadn’t known that she was pregnant; he could tell you didn’t know by the look on your face, but instead of asking if you were okay, he just continued talking. 

“Took a plea deal,” a smile began to form on his face. “Too bad she tried to run when let out of the courtroom - I had to put her down.”  

‘Was he looking for praise?’ 

“That’s horrible.” You hadn’t liked her, but she didn’t deserve to die. 

He shrugged “Either way we can’t just let a killer run around, now, can we?” he gave a little chuckle.   

Your disgust at his nonchalant tone kicked him into gear instead of cooling the mood - like he got off on you being uncomfortable. 

“You seeing anyone?”  

You almost chastise him for his flippant response but then remember who you're talking to.  

“Am.. I.. How about you, you’re such a charming guy you must have cuffed someone by now,” Instead you try to redirect his attention while letting him down. 

You didn’t want to answer him, you could see he was obviously psychotic.  

Either he was dense or just pretending to be, but he seemed to be loving how uncomfortable he made you. 

“No, I just couldn’t get a certain black beauty off of my mind.”  

‘Was he out of his fucking mind; was that supposed to be a compliment?’   

‘Black beauty, what are you a fucking horse?’  

“Oh, that’s too bad I’m sure there’s someone out there for you,” hoping he finally took the fucking hint, you aimed your body away from him.  

“Yea, and I think they’re closer than they think, what would you say to that?”  

“I would say It’s great that you’re able to stay so optimistic,” your mask slipping by the second. 

Your patience was wearing thin, he looked like he was going to hand out another horrible pick-up line but before he did you abruptly stood up. 

“Well, I hope you have a good day; I should probably get going.”  

“You still live in that apartment of yours?”  

“Uh..” the air left your lungs all at once ‘why did he want to know that?’ 

“Maybe I’ll just stop by one of these days.” 

“Have a good day Officer,” you try to walk past him, but he grabs you by the arm. 

Lowering his mouth near your ear you can feel his breath on your neck, as he gently traces the wound on your palm "Please call me John, and remember to stay safe, life can be dangerous for a girl like you.”

The way he talked to you reminded of the interrogation and the way he subtly threatened you back then. 

“Okay John,” you said just wanting the conversation to be over. 

He let your arm go smile still plastered to his face as if he hadn’t unsettled the fuck out of you. 

You could feel a headache forming; you should have left earlier but you had wanted time alone, but your alone time turned into a verbal fight to the death. 

Getting in your truck you can see Officer John still watching you, “Fucking creep.” You couldn’t help letting the expletive slip pass your lips, but he really was a fucking creep. 

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Taglist

@avidreader73

[fanficswithrowan]

Hii!! I wanna help your writing journey and request something!! 😚

So..could you maybe write something off of the lines of reader and Dallas meeting for the first time? Maybe at a rodeo, diner or maybe when he lived back in New York!

So excited to see your writing!!! 💗

First meeting

Dallas Winston x reader

Master list

You had just moved into town. You’d heard about good old Dallas Winston — he was quite the name around here. People described him to you in all kinds of ways: troublemaker, heartbreaker, cold, and reckless. You figured you’d never actually see him.

Turns out, you were wrong.

You spotted him leaning against a brick wall near the corner store, cigarette tucked behind his ear, arms crossed like he had nowhere to be. As you walked past, he whistled.

You snapped your head towards him. “Excuse you!”

He smirked. “You’re excused.”

He lit his cigarette with his lighter, then looked you over. “You’re that new girl, right?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah… I’m new.”

He nodded back. “Say, wanna get a drink?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t heard too many good things about this guy. In fact, you’d heard more warnings than anything else.

“Um… alright, sure.”

He chuckled. “You don’t seem too sure about that, doll.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Don’t call me doll.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. “Alright, alright — my bad. Man, geez.”

You rolled your eyes, but you followed him anyway. He led you to The Dingo. It wasn’t fancy, but it was louder than you expected — full of jukebox music and Greasers laughing in booths.

You both slid into a booth, and a few minutes in, he looked at you curiously.

“So, what’s your name?”

You told him, and he nodded.

“Pretty name…”

You blinked. Did you hear that right?

Dallas Winston — the guy known for being cold-hearted and rude — just said you had a pretty name?

You felt your cheeks get warm. “Thank you…”

“Yeah, no problem.”

⸻

Later

After you both finished eating, he couldn’t stop looking at you. There was something about you — something he couldn’t quite figure out. You caught him staring, and just then, the waiter came over to ask how you’d be paying.

You started to pull out money, thinking it was going to be separate, but Dallas beat you to it.

“I’ll pay for all of it,” he said casually.

You looked at him, surprised — raising a brow like, Are you sure?

He just nodded.

“Thank you…” you said softly.

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing.

⸻

He dropped you off at your house later, walking with you to the front step without saying much. As you turned to unlock the door, you couldn’t help but glance back at him.

Something about the way he looked at you felt different than what you’d been warned about.

And for the first time, you wondered if everything people said about him was actually true — because the way he treated you… didn’t match a single word of it.

[mono-red-goblin-party]

What You Can't Have: Part One

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to save your floundering music career, you accept the lead role in Mr. Right, a reality TV show with a massive following. All you have to do is fall in love with one of twenty perfect guys, and you'll have everything you've ever wanted. There's only one problem, and his name is Joel Miller. Your cameraman is infuriating, unfriendly, and entirely off-limits. So why can't you stop fantasizing about him?

Tags: AU, smut, slow ish burn, no use of y/n, jealous!joel, dad!joel, extremely inaccurate production details because I want them to fuck

Part one preview: Joel may be life-ruining levels of hot with his mouth closed, but you could never be attracted to the patronizing jerk he becomes upon opening it. You tell the part of you that’s memorizing the slope of his chest to fuck off.

Word count: ~5.5K, This is prologue + chapter one

A/N: This is my first published fanfic, so please let me know what you think! I am back on tumblr after a literal decade because I am such a slut for Joel. Part two is in the works and it is thirsty. Comments would mean the world :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Prologue~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Top ten warning signs that your music career is over:

1. When Barnett Records releases your second album, you realize they’ve decided to name it Summerbash. 2. The label cuts all your original songs from the record. 3. When you complain about this to Grant Barnett, your producer and boyfriend of three years, he dumps you. A week before your thirtieth birthday. 4. You celebrate your thirtieth birthday. 5. Pitchfork rates the album a 1.5/10. You learn this from an article entitled “Summer-bash my head in”. 6. The “Summerbash Summer Splash” Tour is postponed. Indefinitely. 7. When Marlene – your manager – calls Barnett Records about a contract for your next album, the label doesn’t call back. 8. In fact, none of the record labels call back. 9. The only call Marlene does get is from the producers of a reality dating show called Mr. Right. They want to see if you’ll be their so-called Dream Girl next season. Because you’re now notoriously single and unemployed.

And the ultimate, irrefutable sign that your music career is over:

10. Marlene actually wants you to take the job.

“No,” you say. The music in the gym is always blasting, so you have to shout for Marlene to hear you. She originally convinced you to work out with her to build stamina for the Summerbash tour, and lately has been dragging you here with arguments about endorphins and you “not exactly being up to anything else”.

You raise your voice over the chorus of “Abracadabra” and continue your protest. “Absolutely not. Shows like that are completely humiliating.”

Marlene finishes her bench press and re-racks the barbell. Sometimes you think she deliberately breaks bad news to you here so that her insanely jacked arms add emphasis to her managerial authority. She sits up and levels you with a long stare.

“More humiliating than actually going on the Summer Splash Tour?” she asks, “because you were willing to do that, last I checked.”

You do not appreciate this comparison.

“This is not the same thing,” you say. “The tour would have involved actual singing. Mr. Right is a glorified beauty pageant.”

“I told them as much on the phone, actually.” Marlene gets up to pull plates off the bar and replace them with your much lighter ones. You give her a skeptical look, and she continues. “Well, not in so many words. I told them you’re a musician, not a reality star, and it would be a tough sell.” She nods to the bench. “You’re up.”

You lie back and brace yourself, then slowly lower the weight as Marlene spots you. It takes all your concentration to hold the right form, so you conveniently can’t interrupt her pitch.

“Apparently your career is a big draw for them,” she says. “If you take the role, they want to use one of your songs as intro music for the season. They even offered to pay for studio time if you want to record an original single for the show.”

You consider this as you finish your set. One single – even if you manage to write a good one – is not going to erase the legacy of Summerbash. But it’s the closest thing to a record deal you’ve seen in months. You struggle through your last rep and sit up.

“I get why you want me to do this,” you tell Marlene, “But it’s Mr. Right. I really don’t think it’s for me.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, rolling her eyes, “dating twenty eligible men is going to be so miserable for you.”

“Not dating,” you say, “marrying. One of them, at least.”

“Come on,” Marlene says. “Mr. Right has been on TV for twenty-four seasons. You know how many couples are still together? Three. Nobody on that show is really there to marry you.”

“I’ll still have to get engaged,” you protest.

“Maybe,” she says, “if you find someone you like. Or maybe you have a dramatic on-camera heartbreak. Either one gets you diehard fans.”

You don’t respond, and she drops to the bench beside you.

“I know you know this, but Summerbash only got fifty thousand streams,” she says. “No label is going to risk signing you after that, not unless you can guarantee better numbers. Do you know how many people watched the last Mr. Right season?Twenty million. You take this Dream Girl offer, you win over America, and I can get you your pick of labels.”

You let out a soft moan of despair and bury your head in your hands. Marlene tells the truth. It’s what you’ve always liked about her, but right now you want to hate her for it. Because when the facts are all in front of you, there’s really only one good choice.

You take the fucking part.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter One~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m a girl with an Iceberg Heart, Little heart but big feelings Hard to stop once you make me start, All these layers you’re peeling.”

--“Iceberg Heart”, Summerbash Track No. 6. Lyrics by Grant Barnett. Vocals by You.

Tonight, you meet your Suitors. Your call sheet for the day has a six-hour window for “getting dressed”, with a handwritten annotation in perfect cursive reminding you to show up on time. Not that you could really be late, seeing as the dressing room is in your hotel suite. It’s a beautiful room, with plush white carpeting and large French doors that open to a balcony overlooking the LA skyline, but you can’t take it in at the moment. You’re perched on a stool in front of a vanity mirror, trying hard to stay still while Courtney – the official Dream Girl Stylist – glues the final few lashes onto your eyes.

In the mirror, the reflection of Eliza, the head Dream Girl producer, buzzes across the room looking for problems to solve. Eliza is beautiful in a sleek, professional way, with a blonde high pony and eternally flawless French manicure. She’s also the one who submitted your name to the show-runners as a potential Dream Girl, and you probably should resent her for this, but she reminds you of Marlene and you can’t dislike her. She told you once that she loves your album – not the new one, but your EP, Glass Slipper. She might have been lying to soften you up, you think. If so, it worked.

Eliza’s running a steamer over the already wrinkle-free folds of your dress when somebody knocks on the door. She puts the steamer down and checks her Apple watch. “It’s six fifty-seven, so that has to be your camera guy. I told him seven sharp.”

She opens the door and there’s a confusing instant before you spot the actual camera when you think one of the Suitors has found his way into your suite, because fuck, your cameraman is gorgeous.

He’s tall, with broad shoulders that stretch against the fabric of his snug green t-shirt. It’s probably not a good idea to stare at him, but you’ve been on a strict no-dating regimen since you signed the Mr. Right contract, and a part of you can’t help but take in the strong outline of his chest, the way his worn-out jeans hang low on his hips. His hair is dark, curls slightly overgrown. You notice a hint of gray at his temple and figure he’s a few years older than you, mid-thirties maybe.

You catch his steady gaze in the mirror. A tiny thrill runs through you. Did he notice you checking him out?  Your cheeks warm and you might be imagining it but his expression shifts, a slight raise of an eyebrow. Oh, he noticed. Suddenly you’re remembering that all you have on is a satin robe and a no-show thong.

Eliza closes the door. Right. There are other people in the room.

“I want to introduce you to Joel Miller,” Eliza says, “He’s our best videographer, and he’s going to act as your personal cameraman this season.”

You tell him your name, and his tiny smirk widens.

“Reckon I already knew that” he says, and you’re almost too annoyed by his smartass comment to notice that even his voice is sexy, smooth and deep with a hint of drawl.

God, you need to get it together. Twenty of the hottest men in America are about to be vying for your affection. Marlene would kill you if she knew were drooling over someone else.

It turns out Joel is here to shoot a handful of “getting ready” shots for the first episode.  Eliza brings in a few PAs and Joel asks them to reposition the vanity three times before he’s satisfied with the lighting. Then Eliza hands you a mascara wand and tells you to look in the mirror and pretend to apply it to your lashes.

“Think about your future husband,” she says, “the man of your dreams is probably driving up in a limo this very moment. Look in the mirror and imagine how it will feel when you find him.”

Really, you’re stuck trying to imagine how anyone could believe these are your natural lashes, and it must be obvious because Joel is frowning into his camera behind you.

“Light still ain’t right,” he mutters. His hand settles on your shoulder as he guides you backward, turning you toward the window, the soft light of the sun just starting to set.

He takes a step back and trains the camera on you again. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Beautiful.”

You know he’s talking about the shot, but your skin heats up at the soft praise.

Eliza leans over Joel’s shoulder and confirms that the shot is “dreamy”, and then she’s whisking everyone out of the suite so Courtney can get you into your opening night dress. It’s a soft pink evening gown, slightly low-cut and fitted down to the waist with an A-line skirt that flows to your ankles. Eliza had final say over tonight’s gown. She wants this one to“reintroduce you to America.” No longer a pop star, but a princess.

This isn’t the first outfit you’ve been told to wear in your career, and hardly the worst of them. It’s nothing compared to the cover of Summerbash, which, as per the Barnett exec’s directive, depicts you clad only in sky-blue soap suds. You never want to be labeled difficult by complaining about little things like styling. You certainly don’t plan on rocking the boat tonight, especially since you don’t exactly have a closet of your own “Dream Girl meets her Suitors” looks. But it feels strange to play dress-up on the biggest stage of your career.

The door cracks open. Eliza calls in to see if you’re decent, and then she’s back with Joel and the PAs. Now that the sun is setting, they want a few shots of you outside in your dress.

Joel positions you in the center of the balcony, arms spread out, facing away from him. It's just the two of you outside. Silence stretches between you, and you’re not sure why but it makes you uncomfortable to stand there under his quiet scrutiny.

“So, are you from the south?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Where from?”

“Texas.”

No elaboration. Cool. Clearly Joel Miller is not much of a conversationalist, and this shouldn’t annoy you, but it does. You’re the goddamn Dream Girl, aren’t you supposed to be good at talking to men?

You try again. “Are you looking forward to filming this season?”

He gives a noncommittal grunt.

“So, hard yes?”

Joel doesn’t reply, and you figure he’s decided to ignore you completely when he breaks the silence.

“Y’know, the shot’s gonna be just as good if we don’t talk to each other while I take it.”

Fuck, he’s exasperating. You roll your eyes, grateful that the camera can’t see you, and you hear a small huff of laughter from behind you.

“I’m gonna need you to relax,” Joel says, “You look real tense on camera.”

“The back of my head looks tense?”

“Well, that too, but you’ve got a fierce grip on that railing.”

You let go instantly. A hot spike of indignation runs through you. Somehow Joel has had the upper hand since he walked into your suite.

Behind you, Joel lets out a low chuckle. You feel him move close, then he places your arms one by one back on the railing. You’re becoming increasingly convinced this guy is a nightmare, but some horny, treacherous part of your brain notes that his touch is surprisingly gentle on your skin.

“You know,” you say, “some consider it common decency to try and get to know a person you’re about to be glued to for the next six weeks.”

“That so?” He’s teasing you now, a playful current in his voice. “Because I’d say the decent thing is to let a man do his job in peace.”

Asshole. You say as much out loud.

He is tone is entirely unaffected when he responds.

“I ain’t paid to be nice to you, Dream Girl.”

Obviously not.

It’s a bit of a relief, to be honest. Joel may be life-ruining levels of hot with his mouth closed, but you could never be attracted to the patronizing jerk he becomes upon opening it. You tell the part of you that’s been memorizing the slope of his chest to fuck off. It’s time to meet your Suitors.

----

You’re standing on your mark in front of the Mr. Right Villa, fresh out of a final hair-and-makeup check with Courtney. Eliza budgeted four hours for you to meet twenty men, which seems excessive. Then again, you’re already running five minutes behind. Joel wasn’t satisfied with the camera crew’s setup, so the PAs are putting up an additional reflector in the driveway. Eliza is taking advantage of the delay to run through tonight’s events one more time with you.

“You’ll only have a few moments with the Suitors now. They have to say their names for the camera, but don’t worry about remembering. Just focus on the connection you feel.”

You nod. “Got it.”

“After they greet you, they’ll go ahead inside the Villa. Feel free to – ”

“Watch them walk away,” you cut in, “And comment out loud if they’re especially hot. I remember.”

Eliza’s brow furrows. “Are you nervous? You seem nervous.”

“Tense.” Joel offers, raising an eyebrow at you. Asshole.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Eliza.

You’re not fine. You’re nervous as shit. You’ve been on camera before, to film music videos, but always dancing or lip-syncing. You’ve never just had to be you, and it’s hitting you now that this whole season rests on your shoulders. You need to be electric. If you’re stiff, or rude, or boring, the fans will hate you.

The panic must show on your face because Eliza sighs. “You’re totally spiraling, aren’t you?”

You close your eyes. “Okay, yes, a little.”

“Talk to me,” she says.

You keep your eyes closed for a moment. You want to tell Eliza that you don’t even know how to connect with people if you can’t impress them with your career, that the only man you’ve ever maybe loved dropped you the second you screwed up, that you’re afraid all the Suitors will just see right through you. But there are already B-roll cameras recording you.

You open your eyes and sigh. “I think it’s just hitting me how surreal it is that I’m America’s Dream Girl.”

Behind Eliza, you notice Joel is done fiddling with his new reflector. He’s trained the camera on you and is staring into its screen, undoubtedly clocking every moment of your freakout. Great. His eyes flit up to meet yours, and his expression shifts slightly as he holds your gaze. You break the eye contact and focus on the producer in front of you.

Eliza smiles softly and squeezes your arm. “Believe it or not, the lead feels like this every season. But you deserve to be here. You’re going to be an incredible Dream Girl.”  She takes her phone out of her pocket and pulls something up on it.

“Technically phones are contraband,” she says, winking at you, “but I came prepared for night one jitters.” She passes you the phone and you realize she’s showing you footage Joel filmed earlier tonight. “I want you to see yourself the way America will see you,” she says.

The footage is incredible. Linen curtains part in the wind, letting through a shaft of amber light. The camera follows the light until it falls on an ethereal woman – you – touching up her makeup in a mirror. The mascara application felt stilted in the moment, but under Joel’s lens it comes across artistic. He’s positioned the camera so that it catches the fringes of evening light on your eyelashes. In the glass, your reflection is exquisite, her satin robe shimmering as she moves, shadow pooling beneath her exposed clavicles. Yes, the makeup she’s fixing is already perfect, yes, she’s a touch uncertain, but somehow this makes her seem human, desirable. You watch as her breath hitches, a flush spreading over her skin, and oh. You are the picture of romance.

Next is the balcony shot. The camera walks through the curtains to find you gazing out at the city, your silhouette haloed in gold. There’s a zoom-in of your hands lifting restlessly from the railing, then another full body shot as a sigh settles through your shoulders. The woman on the screen has a perfect view before her, but Joel makes it clear her mind is elsewhere. She’s aching for something more. She’s the perfect Dream Girl, and she’s yearning for love.

The footage ends. Your skin is burning. You can’t bring yourself to glance at Joel, but you look up at Eliza.

“Do you see?” she says, taking back the phone. “You belong here.”

You nod wordlessly. The girl on the screen isn’t here by accident. She already is the fantasy. You take a deep breath. You can do this.

Eliza is still looking at you with concern.

“Thank you,” you say, “for being the best producer a girl could ask for. I think I’m ready to flirt with some very hot men now.”

Eliza grins. “Attagirl. Let’s tell this love story.”

She strides off camera, shooing the remaining crew members out of frame, then radios into her walkie-talkie that you’re ready for the first limo. You shoot a glance at Joel as it pulls in, belatedly wanting to thank him somehow, but he’s fixated on his camera screen, ignoring you. Right then. You turn to face the car.

The limo comes to a stop and a PA opens the door. Your heart races. A tall Asian man steps out onto the driveway. He’s dressed in a deep blue suit, and you notice his hands jitter as he closes the button on his jacket. He meets your eye and gives you a shy smile. You smile back automatically as he walks toward you.

Up close, he’s even taller than you thought, easily a head above you despite your stilettos.  He’s also incredibly handsome, with high cheekbones and long, thick eyelashes. He hovers in front of you for a moment. His eyes jump to the cameras behind you, then back to your face.

“This is crazy,” he blurts out. His eyes widen in horror. “I mean, good evening.”

“Good evening,” you say back.

“Thank you,” he says, and you watch him cringe. There’s a pause. In your periphery, you watch Joel pacing a few steps closer to get a shot of you over the contestant’s shoulder. You probably look like an ice queen on camera. How can you salvage this?

You reach out and take the contestant’s hand.

“It’s okay,” you say, “I’m nervous too.”

He sighs shakily and runs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” he says, “Two seconds into meeting my celebrity crush, and I’ve called you crazy, forgotten how to speak, and now I’m cursing on camera.”

“Technically you didn’t call me crazy,” you reply, “and if I swear too will it make you feel less like a fuck-up?”

He laughs, a bit of the tension washing out of him. “You know, I read once that swearing actually helps us relieve stress. There was a psychological study where they measured people’s heart rates before and after they cursed, and their vitals improved every time.”

“Really?” You tilt your head at him. “Do all bad words work? Would ‘shit’ get me just as calm as ‘fuck’?”

“I don’t know.” He crinkles his brow. “And I can’t look it up, so the only way we can find out is via experiment. I think we’re going to have to test this out on our dates.”

“Oh, so we’re going on dates?”

“I hope so,” he replies. He takes your other hand and looks you in the eye. “If you can’t tell already, I’m really excited to be here. I even planned a whole introduction for us that didn’t involve profanity.”

Over his shoulder, Eliza is giving you the wrap it up signal. You squeeze the Suitor’s hands.

“Well, I can’t fucking wait to hear more about this would-be introduction later.”

“Sounds good,” he says, and he pulls you into a quick embrace before walking past you into the Villa.

You’re beyond grateful to have producers who know you well enough to send such a sweet guy out first. You try to play up an optimistic, love-struck expression. You’re about to comment on how cute he is when you see Eliza’s frustrated expression. All at once, you realize what you forgot.

You turn toward the Villa to call out to the Suitor, but he’s already running back. Joel backs out of the way as the man skids to a stop in front of you.

“Holy shit,” he says, “I completely forgot to tell you my name.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Henry.”

You shake his hand, amused at the formality of the gesture. “It’s very nice to meet you, Henry.”

He beams, then impulsively pulls you in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you inside,” he says, then jogs back toward the Villa as you laugh for the cameras.

Eliza is practically shaking with excitement by the time the door closes behind Henry. She shoots you a thumbs up over Joel’s shoulder. “That was perfect! I told you, you’re a natural!” She looks around at the crew. “We all good for the next guy?”

“Just a minute.” Joel’s gruff voice ends the moment of celebration as he strides over to you. He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you two steps forward. “We need you to stay on your mark,” he says, “Okay? And it’ll help me keep your face in frame if you cheat out at an angle from the men.”

Now that you’ve seen how good Joel is, you shove aside your frustration at his overbearing comments and try to follow his lead. You pivot your body slightly. “Like this?”

“Hang on.” He steers you into position. He’s barely a foot away, so close that you can see stubble dusting his jaw. He smells of woodsmoke and leather.

“There you go,” he mutters. He removes his hand and steps back, snapping into focus as he gives you instructions. “If you’re ever not sure about a shot, look at me, right? If you can see the camera without having to lean around anybody, all good.”

“Got it.”

He pauses for a moment. “You’re not doing terrible,” he says.

Gee thanks.

The limo exits continue. Plenty of the men are nervous, but no one else forgets to say their own name. A few of the contestants have customized their introductions for you. A dark-haired Suitor with a one-word named brings you fan mail from his niece. Solomon, a tattoo-covered guy who can’t be older than twenty-five, unbuttons his shirt to show a glass slipper inked on his ribcage. The most memorable of these Suitors is Lucas, a burly guy a little older than you, who steps from the limo in a recreation of your sky-blue soap suds from the Summerbash cover.

The remaining Suitors use their limo entrances to tell you about themselves. Mike, a soft-spoken paramedic, hands you a stethoscope so you can hear his heart racing. A Suitor named Jasper wants to teach you how to ballroom dance, and usually you’d be thrilled at the chance, but at this point you’ve been standing in the Villa driveway for two hours, and you’re suspicious that the stilettos Courtney chose for you tonight are actually medieval torture devices.

Your feet are killing you. These heels look great with your evening gown, and they felt okay when you tested them out in your suite. But now the straps are digging into you, and you’re pretty sure there are blisters forming on your toes. When Jasper leads you through a figure eight, it takes everything you have not to wince. Dream Girls do not grimace at their Suitors.

You do your best to keep the pain from showing, but you practically sob with relief by the time the last of the Suitors – an ex-hockey player whose name you’ve already forgotten – gives you a hug and heads into the Villa. You’ve made it.

Eliza runs out to congratulate you. “You did great! And you worked fast. We’re fifteen minutes ahead. We’re never ahead night one!”

The contestants still have filming to do without you, so you get to take a break. Hopefully a sitting-down break.

The crew disperses. Joel strides off without a word as soon as Eliza says you’re done. A few PAs start disassembling the outdoor lighting. Everyone else heads inside the Villa. There’s a big bedroom on the second floor that producers have set up as a green room, complete with a coffee maker, mini fridge and old leather couch. You make a beeline for the couch and sink down, barely suppressing a moan of relief. You want nothing more than to take off your heels, but you don’t think you have it in you to put them back on when the time comes.

Eliza perches on the other side of the couch. You feel as though you’ve been to war, but she’s still exuberant as ever. It’s probably because she gets to wear sneakers. She leans off the couch to open the mini fridge, extracting a water bottle and an energy drink, then hands both to you.

“Drink,” she orders, “We’re going to film until dawn at least.”

You drink, and the two of you sit in silence for a few minutes while you recover. Then Eliza checks her watch and sends the remaining crew members in the room to go find Courtney. She gets up herself to run and get "girl talk supplies", pausing on her way out.

“Just think,” she says, “one of these guys is your husband!”

You lay back on the couch once she’s gone. It’s the first real moment alone you’ve had since waking up this morning, and being America’s Dream Girl has tired you out. You close your eyes and try to practice dissociating from your feet so you can get through the upcoming cocktail party.

You hear the doorknob turn and open your eyes, expecting to go through cast photos with Eliza. But Eliza isn’t back yet. Instead, you see Joel slip into the room, something tucked behind his back. His gaze slides over you.

“Hey, Dream Girl.”

His voice is heavy, and you realize he’s nearly as exhausted as you are.

“Hey, Miller,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“I ain’t,” he grumbles. You hear him settle on the other end of the couch. “At least no more than I got to.”

You’re about to point out that he initiated this conversation and very much does not have to be talking right now when he speaks again.

“Open your eyes.”

You obey, and suddenly you realize what he was hiding behind his back. You sit up all at once.

“Joel.”

Shoes.

He brought you shoes. Flip-flops. Yours. He must have gone right to your hotel room after Eliza called for a break. You stare at him in wordless gratitude.

He meets your eyes and for an instant he’s smiling at you, really smiling. A warm band tightens in your chest. His expression stiffens and he drops his gaze. He hands you the shoes and stands up, walking over to the coffee pot.

“Don’t think this is me being nice to you or anything,” he says.

“Definitely not,” you agree, bending down to free your feet. “There is absolutely nothing kind or friendly about this heroic deed of yours.”

Joel scowls. The coffee in the pot is long-cold by now, but he pours himself a cup of dregs anyway and regards you steadily as he puts it in the microwave. “You were fucking up all my footage out there, hobbling around. No one’s gonna believe you’re in love, looking like that.”

“I’m not in love,” you say, glancing up at him, “I’ve known these guys for two minutes.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to press this point to Joel. Maybe because Eliza expects you to be so smitten already.

Joel doesn’t respond to this. He pulls his coffee from the microwave before the timer goes off and drinks it in silence, then turns to rinse the mug. You undo the last few straps of your heels, then ease your feet free with a soft sigh of relief. Warily, you eye your stilettos. Courtney or Eliza will almost certainly make you put them back on before filming.

As if he’s read your mind, Joel returns and bends to pick up the cast-off heels.

“Gotta get rid of the evidence,” he explains, his brown eyes dancing. “If Eliza complains about the change-up, tell her I said we’re done with full-body shots for the evening. Then mention that we’ll get behind schedule if you change your shoes.”

You nod, and he turns to leave the room. This is the second time Joel has helped you tonight. It makes you uneasy, owing him something. You try to think of the right way to thank him.

“It’s beautiful, by the way.”

Your words catch him as he’s reaching the door. He pauses, looks at you questioning.

“Your footage, that is,” you explain. You feel hot under his scrutiny. You think of the clips Eliza showed you, all the cracks in your composure that Joel somehow made beautiful. He can see right through you. The thought sets you on edge, and you speak to fill the quiet.

“I feel like you could take footage of a rock and make it tell a story.”

Joel’s expression is unreadable.

“If the rock’s still an option, I reckon it would be easier to work with,” he finally says, but there’s a tension in his voice. Is this what “pleased” looks like on Joel Miller? He tilts his head in your direction as he opens the door to leave.

“See you outside, Cinderella.”

Not your name, not “Dream Girl”. He probably just intends to poke fun at your missing shoes, but you wonder if he’s referencing Glass Slipper. Does Joel Miller, unapologetic asshole, sexy perfectionist and, apparently, part-time knight in shining armor, listen to your music?

[dol-dolly]

I wrote something I’m really proud of in my novel!

But also I only managed to write two sentences.

The trade-off is killer.