#this one's different from when you sent the ask even

[lowkeeho]

the first

pairing: Jake (ehna) x shy!virgin fem!reader

genre: first time, emotional intimacy, virgin!reader, college AU, flufffffffff/smut

cw: nsfw, mdni, virgin!reader, first time, oral (f!rec), fingering, face-sitting, missionary, praise kink, breast play, creampie, emotional vulnerability, slight overstimulation, crying during sex (emotional), soft dom!Jake

wc: 4.8k

a/n: not proofread (sorry😭), it’s been in my drafts collecting dust lol hope yall enjoyyy <3

You weren’t exactly friends at first. More like mutual nods across lecture halls, shared glances during group discussions, the occasional smile exchanged when your hands brushed reaching for the same classroom door. He was the kind of guy who filled a room—Jake, with his loose-limbed confidence and that lazy grin that seemed like it belonged to someone in a movie.

You didn’t expect him to remember your name, let alone sit beside you two weeks in a row in Psych 204. But he did. And when you murmured something under your breath about the professor’s weird obsession with Freud, he laughed—a real, full-bodied sound—and said, “You’re funny. I like that.”

That was the beginning.

From there, it was small things. Shared notes. Walks to the coffee shop on the corner after class. Texts that started as study reminders and turned into late-night questions about dreams, fears, music you loved but never told anyone about. He asked things no one asked. And he listened like your answers meant something.

Jake didn’t make you nervous in the way most people did. He didn’t crowd your space. He watched you, sure—but gently. Like he was trying to learn you. And somehow, he made you want to be seen.

You weren’t blind to the way people looked at him—the flirting, the smiles, the way others leaned into his orbit. But he always seemed to lean back toward you. Quietly. Like you were the one pulling him in without realizing it.

The first time he touched you was barely anything. His fingers brushed the back of your hand as you reached for your cup. But it sent a current up your spine, sharp and unexpected. He noticed—of course he did—and didn’t pull away. Just let his fingers stay there, resting against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You always flinch when someone touches you,” he said softly that day, eyes holding yours. “But you didn’t this time.”

You looked away, heartbeat skittering. “I didn’t want to.”

His smile then wasn’t cocky or smug. It was soft. Something more reverent.

And now, everything is shifting. You can feel it. In the way he lingers a little longer when you hug goodbye. In how he brushes your hair back behind your ear, like he can’t help but touch you. In the silence that falls sometimes—not awkward, but thick with things unsaid. Things you’re afraid to say.

Because you’ve never done anything. Not really. Not with anyone. And that part of you—your want, your hunger, your inexperience—you keep locked up behind polite smiles and tightly folded arms.

But Jake looks at you like he already knows.

And for the first time in your life, you’re starting to think… maybe that’s okay.

Jake’s room is quiet, save for the hum of his desk fan and the low music playing from his phone. You’re curled up on his bed, your laptop balanced on a pillow in your lap, legs folded beneath you. He’s sprawled next to you, lying on his stomach with his cheek resting on his arm, eyes flicking between his notes and your screen.

You’ve done this before—studied like this, side by side, close but not too close. But tonight feels different.

He’s closer than usual. His knee brushes yours every time he shifts. His voice is lower, slower, like he’s not in any rush to move on from this moment. When you lean forward to scroll, his hand gently tugs your hoodie back into place, fingertips brushing your spine.

You don’t even pretend it doesn’t affect you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmurs without looking up. “That test stressing you out?”

You shake your head slowly. “Not really. Just… tired, I guess.”

Jake hums like he doesn’t believe you. His fingers tap thoughtfully against his textbook before he closes it and turns toward you fully. The bed dips with the movement, and now he’s right beside you—close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks again.

“You always get like this when something’s on your mind.”

His voice is gentle, but it cuts straight through you. Jake doesn’t poke or pry. He waits. Gives you room to choose him, or not.

And tonight… maybe you want to be chosen too.

You stare at the screen a second longer before closing the laptop and setting it aside. “Can I ask you something?”

Jake nods instantly, like there’s no version of the world where you could say something he wouldn’t want to hear. “Of course.”

You hesitate, playing with the hem of your sleeve. It’s stupid. Or it feels stupid. But the weight of his gaze grounds you.

“I’ve never…” You trail off, pulse thumping in your throat. “I’ve never really done anything. Like—physically. With anyone.”

There. It’s out. Suspended between you and the walls of this room that suddenly feels too small.

Jake blinks. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk or make a joke. Instead, he sits up a little straighter, head tilting like he wants to read your thoughts.

“Okay,” he says carefully. “You mean… like nothing at all?”

You shake your head once, the heat rising to your cheeks. “I’ve kissed people. A couple times. But nothing else. It’s not like I was waiting for anything specific, it just… never felt right. I didn’t want to force it.”

Jake’s expression softens, all traces of curiosity replaced by something warmer. Protective. “That makes sense. You should never force it.”

You nod, biting your lip. “I just—I feel like everyone around me has already done everything, and I’m still in this… bubble. Like I’m behind or something.”

Jake’s hand reaches for yours, his fingers slipping gently between yours like it’s second nature. “You’re not behind. You’re just… you. And I really like who that is.”

Your heart stutters.

He holds your hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles. “For what it’s worth,” he adds, voice lower now, “I think it’s kind of beautiful. That you’ve waited. That you’re careful with yourself.”

You glance up at him, surprised. “Beautiful?”

Jake smiles—not cocky, not teasing. Soft. Real. “Yeah. Makes me want to be careful with you too.”

The tension between you tightens. His hand stays in yours. His eyes flick to your mouth, but he doesn’t move, not until you do.

And when you lean in—barely, uncertain—he meets you halfway.

His kiss is gentle. Thoughtful. A question, not a demand. His lips are soft and warm, his hand slipping to your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he’s too rough. It isn’t deep. It’s barely anything. But it steals the air from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and you don’t know what he’s thanking you for—trust, maybe—but it makes your eyes sting.

“I just… I don’t know how to do any of this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Jake smiles. “That’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to. We go slow. We go at your pace.”

And for the first time, your inexperience doesn’t feel like a flaw. It feels like something sacred.

Jake’s still close. His forehead is against yours, and your hands are still clasped. Your lips are tingling, still warm from that kiss—not just the contact but the meaning behind it. You didn’t expect him to be so patient. So still. Like he’s waiting for your heart to steady before he asks for more.

But he doesn’t have to ask. You tilt your head, let your lips brush his again, softer this time but with more weight. Like you mean it.

He responds immediately, like he was just waiting for you to want him back.

The kiss deepens slowly—there’s no rush in him, no pressure. Just a careful pull of your bottom lip, a low hum from his chest when your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. His other hand settles at your waist, grounding you. You think you might fall if he didn’t hold you there, gently anchoring you to him, to this moment.

You feel the smile tug at his lips before he pulls back just enough to whisper, “See? You’re already so good at this.”

You blush, and Jake leans in to kiss your cheek, then your jaw. Then—lower. His lips press beneath your ear, warm and slow, and your breath catches when he moves down to your neck.

The first kiss there makes you shiver. He notices.

“Oh,” he says softly, a quiet chuckle in his throat, “you’re sensitive here?”

You nod without meaning to, and he follows your pulse with his mouth—open-mouthed kisses, the faint scrape of his teeth, a low groan when you gasp and squeeze his arm.

You don’t realize when he moves, but suddenly you’re on your back, your legs still bent up on the bed and Jake hovering above you, elbow braced beside your head. He kisses you again, this time slower, longer, like he wants to feel every part of you at once. One of his hands slides up under your hoodie, fingertips brushing your skin just above the waistband of your shorts.

His touch is cautious, but it sets something off inside you. You arch up instinctively, heart hammering, and Jake pulls back only to study your face.

“You okay?” he asks, voice like velvet.

You nod quickly, already breathless. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

He grins—genuine, a little cocky, but still sweet. “Good nervous or bad?”

“Good,” you breathe. “Really good.”

He kisses your nose. “Then can I keep touching you?”

The heat spreads down your body in a rush. You whisper, “Yes,” and Jake hums like it’s the best thing he’s heard all night.

His hand slips higher, palm smoothing over your stomach, your ribs—everywhere but where you suddenly ache for it. He’s patient. Exploring. He pushes your hoodie up a little more and presses soft kisses to your exposed skin, warm and slow and reverent.

You swear your heart might explode when he mouths at the underside of your breast through your bra, teeth just barely grazing you. You gasp, arch again, and Jake groans into you.

“Shit,” he mutters, pulling back enough to look at you. “You’re already driving me crazy.”

His hand cups you fully over the fabric and you whimper, your hips shifting. His thumb strokes slowly over your nipple, still covered, and your breath stutters. It’s like every part of you is waking up for the first time—new, oversensitive, desperate to be touched more.

You don’t even realize you’re squirming until Jake chuckles.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice darker now, his free hand stroking your cheek. “So shy, but your body’s already telling me everything.”

You moan—embarrassed but also aching—and Jake leans in, his lips brushing your neck.

Your hands grip his shoulders before you can think. You whimper, completely undone by just his words.

“Jake…”

He kisses you again, rougher this time, and you feel it—his restraint starting to slip. But still, he holds back, lets you move how you need to. His mouth drops lower, trailing heat down your stomach.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs against your skin.

And you think you might. You think you might finally let yourself be seen, touched, loved like that.

You don’t remember nodding. You don’t even remember giving him permission with words. But Jake must see it in your eyes, or feel it in the way your legs relax, your thighs falling slightly open when he kisses the inside of your knee.

Because he moves like a promise—slow, reverent, steady. He slips your shorts down your legs, easing them past your hips with both hands like he’s unwrapping something sacred. Then he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, warm and patient.

Your breath stutters. You feel too exposed and not close enough all at once. You’ve never had anyone see you like this. Never had anyone want to. And now Jake is kneeling between your legs, hands gripping your thighs gently, thumbs stroking your skin like he’s soothing your nerves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, looking right at you. “Even when you’re nervous. Especially when you’re nervous.”

You let out a shaky breath. Your body is buzzing. Too warm. Too bare. Too full of anticipation.

“I’ve never… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you whisper.

Jake leans over you, kisses you gently. “You don’t have to do anything. Just feel. Just let me make you feel good.”

You nod, and his lips curve against yours like he’s proud.

Then he lowers himself again. Slowly. Carefully. He trails kisses down your stomach, your inner thighs, until he’s right there—where your arousal pulses like a second heartbeat. His hands rest on your thighs, holding you open without forcing. His breath hits you first—warm, steady—and your hips jerk slightly.

“Shh,” he whispers, voice gentle. “Just breathe for me.”

You try.

Then his mouth is on you.

The first lick is slow. Deliberate. His tongue flattens against you and drags upward in a way that makes your whole body jerk. You gasp—high and sharp—and Jake groans like you just did something to him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, lips brushing you. “You taste so sweet.”

Your thighs tense, but Jake’s hands keep you steady—secure, never rough. He licks again, deeper now, tongue curling right where you need it. Your back arches.

“Oh my god—Jake—”

His lips wrap around your clit gently, sucking, and your vision goes white for a second.

You can’t think.

You can barely breathe.

The sensation is overwhelming—hot and wet and perfect. Jake keeps going, keeps worshipping you with his mouth, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that could satisfy him.

You’re moaning now, helplessly, and Jake groans again.

“That’s it, baby,” he says against you. “Let me hear you.”

You can’t stop.

Your hands tangle in the sheets—then in his hair. You don’t even realize you’re grinding against his mouth until he moans again, gripping your hips tighter to hold you steady.

You’re so close.

It’s building fast—too fast—and you warn him with a stuttering gasp of his name.

“Jake—fuck—I think I’m—”

“Let go for me,” he breathes. “Be good and come for me, pretty girl.”

That’s all it takes.

You shatter, body clenching, breath catching in your throat as pleasure crashes through you in waves. Your hips buck and Jake holds you through it, licking you softly now, easing you down with kisses like you’re something fragile.

You’re panting, legs trembling, skin flushed. You can’t think, can’t move.

Jake crawls back up your body and kisses you—deep, slow, tasting like you. You moan softly into it, dazed and warm.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, low and proud. “You okay?”

You nod. Barely. Your body’s still trembling with the aftershocks.

“Never been better,” you breathe.

And he smiles like that’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

Jake shifts slightly beside you, one hand resting low on your stomach, fingertips barely grazing the edge of your shirt. His voice is soft, but there’s a distinct heat to it now—like a secret being handed to you under the covers.

“You know what I was thinking about earlier?” he asks, like it’s casual, like he’s not about to ruin you.

You swallow, eyes flicking up to meet his. “What?”

He smiles, just a little. Mischievous. Reverent.

“I kept looking at your thighs when you were tucked under my blanket… all shy and pretty, trying to focus on your notes,” he murmurs, letting his hand trace down your hip. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about how good you’d feel sitting on my face.”

Your breath hitches—sharp and instant. You try to blink the heat from your cheeks, but it floods you anyway, thick and fast.

Jake watches it all happen, his thumb pressing gently into your side. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he coaxes, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You, up there… thighs shaking while I hold onto you and eat you just the way you need. All that pressure, all that attention, just for you.”

You don’t mean to whimper, but it slips out, caught between disbelief and desire.

“I’d take my time, too,” he continues, dipping his head to kiss just under your jaw. “Make you feel everything. Over and over. Until you’re so sensitive, you’re begging me to stop—and then begging me not to.”

You feel like you might melt right into the bed. Your legs squeeze together instinctively, and he notices—his lips curve against your skin.

Jake tilts your chin so you’re looking straight at him. “I know it sounds intense,” he says, tone softer again. “But I’d never push you too far. Just enough to show you how good it can feel when you let go.”

You nod, because you trust him—because every nerve in your body is screaming yes.

“You want that?” he asks gently, but there’s a fire behind his eyes now. “You wanna sit on my face and let me take care of you like that?”

Your voice is almost gone when it finally comes out. “Yeah… I do.”

Jake smiles, proud and hungry all at once. “Good girl.”

Jake kisses you again, slower this time—long and lingering, like he wants to give you space to think, to breathe, to change your mind. But you don’t want space. You want him.

He shifts, laying with his head against the headboard and patting his chest with an inviting, wicked glint in his eyes. “C’mere,” he says, voice low and coaxing. “I’ll help you.”

You hesitate—not because you don’t want it, but because the thought of actually doing it, of being that exposed, that open for him, makes your heart pound in your throat. But he’s patient. He just watches you with a quiet reverence, like he’s already proud of you.

So you crawl over him, tentative and shy, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his head. He slides his hands up your thighs, his touch steady and warm.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. You look so pretty like this already.”

Your breath catches. You’re hovering just above his face, your core aching and wet and barely clothed, and his grip on your thighs tightens—encouraging, not forceful.

“Let me see you,” Jake says, gently tugging your panties aside with one finger, his eyes dark and hungry but still soft around the edges. “You don’t have to do anything but let go. I’ve got you.”

You nod, swallowing hard as your fingers press to the wall behind his headboard for balance.

His hands slide to your ass, firm and sure, pulling you the rest of the way down until your thighs are flush to his face and you feel the hot brush of his tongue against your folds. You gasp—high-pitched and sharp—hips jerking instinctively at the jolt of pleasure.

Jake groans against you, low and satisfied, and keeps licking—long, slow strokes that send sparks all through your body.

You try to hold still, try not to fall apart too quickly, but his grip is steady on your ass and he’s pulling you closer, deeper, nose buried between your thighs like he’s starving for it. His tongue circles your clit and your fingers curl against the wall, your knees trembling.

He moans again, louder this time, like the taste of you is driving him crazy.

“You can move, baby,” he murmurs between licks, his voice muffled but clear. “Grind on me. Let yourself feel good.”

You nod, breathless, and slowly begin to move—hips rolling, unsure at first, until his tongue catches right where you need him and your body takes over. The friction is overwhelming. Perfect. His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and swirling while he groans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your thighs are shaking now, your moans uncontrolled. And then—his hand slides between your legs, two fingers teasing your entrance before slipping in slow and deep.

You cry out, back arching, head falling forward.

“Jake—” you gasp, voice breaking.

“I know,” he says softly, still licking, still curling his fingers just right. “You’re doing so good, baby. So sweet for me. So perfect.”

You’re not sure how much more you can take. Every lick, every curl of his fingers, is too much and not enough all at once. Your hips grind harder, your moans getting louder, and Jake doesn’t stop—he holds you there, mouth open and eager beneath you, tongue lapping and flicking with practiced, reverent hunger.

Your orgasm hits hard and fast—unexpected, blinding. You sob out his name, thighs quivering as your entire body tenses and then collapses against him.

He holds you through it, never letting go.

And when you finally lift your hips—panting, trembling—Jake’s eyes are glazed over with pure desire. His lips are wet, swollen, and he looks completely wrecked.

“Could stay like that all night,” he says with a breathless laugh. “You taste so fucking good.”

You can’t even answer—you just collapse forward into his chest, face burning, heart racing.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, brushing your hair back, kissing your shoulder. “You did so good for me.”

Your body is still trembling from the aftershocks as Jake lays you back against his pillows, fingers brushing along your sides like he can’t stop touching you. His eyes search your face, warm and focused.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, flushed and breathless. “Yeah… I just…”

Jake leans down, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, and then your lips—slow and soft. “Tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay? We don’t have to do everything tonight.”

You shake your head gently. “I want to… I want you.”

His expression softens even more, if that’s possible—something tender settling in his eyes as he brings his forehead to yours.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Then I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He undresses you fully now, piece by piece—his hands warm and reverent on your skin, like he’s learning you by heart. You watch his eyes flick over you, and for the first time, you don’t feel self-conscious. His gaze is filled with so much awe that all you feel is wanted.

Jake undresses too, slow and careful, letting you see him in turn. And when he finally settles between your thighs, he takes his time—kissing down your neck, over your breasts, mouthing at your nipples until your breath catches all over again.

You’re wet again—still so sensitive—but the ache between your legs now has a different edge to it. A pull.

Jake props himself on one arm and reaches between your bodies with the other, stroking himself slowly, coating himself in your arousal.

“You sure?” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, heart pounding.

He lines himself up and kisses you—deep and full—before slowly, carefully, beginning to push in.

You gasp at the stretch, your body clenching instinctively.

“Breathe,” he whispers against your lips, pausing to give you time. “You’re doing so good. Just let me in. Nice and slow, yeah?”

You grip his hand, and he laces your fingers together, grounding you as he moves again—inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside you.

The fullness is overwhelming, but not painful—more like pressure and heat, something impossibly intimate. You blink up at him, wide-eyed, and he’s already watching you, completely still, his other hand brushing your hair back.

“God, you feel amazing,” Jake whispers, breath shaky. “So warm. So tight. You’re perfect, baby.”

Your eyes flutter, head falling back slightly as your body adjusts, and he takes that moment to kiss your throat, your collarbone, your chest—everywhere he can reach while he holds still inside you.

When he finally starts to move, it’s slow. Deep. Each thrust is deliberate, dragging along every nerve, making you gasp softly into his mouth.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “I wanna see you.”

You try to hold his gaze, but it’s hard—your eyes want to roll back with every slow stroke, each one brushing something deep inside you that makes your legs shake. But his hand squeezes yours, thumb brushing your knuckles, and he leans in to kiss you again—soft and open-mouthed, like he’s trying to breathe you in.

When he pulls back, you whimper, eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t hold back,” he says, voice rough with restraint. “Let me hear you.”

So you do—you let the moan slip past your lips, let your hips roll into his, and Jake rewards you with a deeper thrust, groaning softly into your neck.

“That’s it,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well. So fucking pretty like this, baby.”

Your body moves on instinct now, chasing the friction, the feeling, your thighs wrapping around him as the pace builds—still gentle, but heavier now, more urgent. His free hand slips under your back to hold you closer, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

And when you gasp again, trembling beneath him, Jake kisses you—slow and desperate—and whispers, “I’ve got you. You’re mine, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

Jake is still moving inside you—slow now, slower than before. His thrusts are deep and gentle, drawn out like he wants to memorize the shape of you from the inside. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, and his forehead rests against yours, lips barely grazing as you breathe each other in.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, like it’s the only truth that matters.

His hand finds yours again, fingers lacing tight. The other cups your jaw, thumb stroking softly as he keeps his gaze locked on you. “I want you to come for me one more time, baby,” he murmurs. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, barely able to form the word yes, your whole body humming with overstimulated pleasure and overwhelming trust. He shifts just slightly, angling his hips to hit the spot that makes you gasp, makes your toes curl, and it’s too much—but just right.

Jake kisses you as you fall apart. He catches your moan in his mouth, swallowing every sound like it’s sacred. His strokes stay slow but sure, coaxing the orgasm out of you like a promise he fully intends to keep.

Your whole body clenches around him, your nails digging into his shoulder, your thighs trembling as the wave crests and breaks. Tears spring to your eyes from the intensity—how good it feels, how safe it feels, how full your heart is—and Jake’s right there whispering through it:

“That’s it, baby. Let go.”

“You’re so perfect like this.”

“I’ve got you.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he’s brushing a tear away with his lips.

“Too much?” he asks, pulling back just enough to search your face.

You shake your head quickly, cupping his cheek. “No. It’s perfect. Just… a lot.”

“I know,” he says softly, kissing your palm. “You did so good.”

Jake comes just moments later, with your name on his lips and your body wrapped around him. It’s not loud, not rough—just deep and quiet and full of feeling. His hips stutter, and he holds you close, like he needs you as much as you need him.

He doesn’t rush. When it’s over, he stays still for a few seconds, breathing you in, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your shoulder, your forehead.

Then, gently, he pulls out and helps you lay back. You feel everything—every brush of his fingers, every whisper of skin on skin—and you don’t want to let go of his hand.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and careful.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.”

He smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Jake disappears for a moment and returns with a warm towel and water. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, murmuring soft apologies every time you flinch from sensitivity. He kisses your thighs, your knees, your stomach—like each one deserves a thank you.

Once you’re comfortable, he helps you into one of his soft shirts and pulls the covers over both of you. You curl into his chest without thinking, and he welcomes you into his arms like you’ve always belonged there.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he says against your hair. “I’m so proud of you. I hope you know how much this meant to me.”

Your eyes sting again, and this time you let the tears fall. Not from sadness, but from being seen—completely and wholly—for the first time.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Jake kisses your temple. “No, thank you. For trusting me.”

You fall asleep in his arms, warm and safe and full in every sense of the word—with the quiet certainty that something’s changed forever… and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[perfectlyvalid49]

It’s summer and that means the kids are going to camp! Last week the kids were at gymnastics camp at the place they take lessons. This week they’re at kosher culinary camp at the local Chabad.

The difference could not be more stark.

Last week, I drove up outside the front doors for pick up and drop off, shouted their first names through the window of my car, and either received a thumbs up at drop off, or had the kids walk out unaccompanied at pick up.

This week, I had to walk them inside (adults have to present ID to be allowed in the building) and check them in with two separate sets of adults. I had to present ID again (separately from getting into the building) to be allowed to pick them up. If someone who is not their legal guardian is going to pick them up, paperwork needs to be filled out in advance.

Last week, the only people outside the building were a couple of teenagers in orange vests to make sure the littlest of kids got inside the building ok.

This week, the only people outside the building were security guards with walkie talkies on one hip and very obvious pistols on the other.

My kids are signed up for three different Jewish camps this summer. All three of them have sent emails outlining the security measures in place to protect the children. No details, because the more people that know the details, the easier it is for someone with ill intent to discover and subvert them, but I know that there will be armed security personnel at all three camps and they will be coming with on field trips. I know that staff at all three camps have been conducting safety drills in the weeks leading up to camp, and I know that all three camps are partnered with local and federal law enforcement to stay up to date on any threats or recommended security changes.

I have never received information like this from any non-Jewish camp. I have received information like this from every Jewish camp.

This is what Jews are talking about when we say that antisemitism impacts the way we live our lives even when we are not being directly targeted by antisemitism. Summer camps shouldn’t have to hire armed guards to keep kids safe. Going to camp at the JCC should not put you at greater risk for violence than going to camp at the YMCA. Requesting that non-Jews help us live in a world where that’s true is not a ridiculous thing to ask.

And before anyone tries to say “Oh just because you feel like you’re not safe that doesn’t mean you’re actually not safe,” I’d like to point out two things. The first is that the Chabad my kids were at today has received multiple bomb threats in the last couple of years. We feel like we’re not safe because people have made it clear that they would like to attack us. We are, in fact, actually not safe.

And the second is that even if we were actually safe, and all the people out there who were saying that (((Zionist))) institutions should be attacked were just running their mouths and were not going to act on it (disproven by recent (and not recent) violent attacks, but we’ll accept the premise for the sake of argument), isn’t it pretty messed up that antisemitic actions have made Jews feel like this is necessary? Like, if one person in a couple was constantly so verbally threatening to their partner that the partner was 1) fearful for their safety and 2) felt it necessary to reach out to law enforcement, we would rightfully call that abuse. Why can we easily recognize that behavior as being immoral in that scenario, but find it acceptable in the local/national/fucking global treatment of Jews?

[mononijikayu]

thinking about how ryomen sukuna husband, marin the dog's dad, national athelete, pro-volleyball player is now stuck in this conundrum of a situation.

if he was being honest, he didn't even know how the national japanese team social media manager got him to do this. maybe it was because they bribed him with his favorite protein shake. maybe it was because they promised to stop bugging him.

but if he admit that they were the things that got him, it would be a lie. no, it was all the hd pictures of you from all the previous games these past season.

he didn't know they had existed since now. but because they had them, he had to get it. he had to get those really pretty pictures of you and keep it for only him.

ryomen sukuna was already regretting saying yes to the lie detector segment. he’d done interviews before for everything and not once has he ever been nervous.

after games, in locker rooms, on buses that smelled like sweat and glory. even when he was exhausted and ragged in the bones and just wanted to go home and sleep hugging you, he'd do it. even if it was a hassle.

but this situation was different. he was terrified. why shouldn't he be terrified? this was a whole different thing and people just knew it. everything about this was not something he was used to.

this was wires, blinking lights, a host who smiled like he knew too much, and a chair that felt suspiciously like it belonged in an interrogation room.

still, he looked good and cool.

sleeves rolled just enough.

the usual cocky slouch.

he had to fake it till he made it.

“all set?” the the social media manager asked, grinning.

sukuna shrugged. “unless this thing shocks me when i lie, yeah.”

they started easy. and he liked that. is your hair naturally pink? no. (duh.) do you think you’re the best player on the national team? yes. (double duh.)

each answer got a soft, obedient beep. truth. he was cruising. smooth. untouchable. until the host pulled a new card. this one looked different. evil, even. ryomen sukuna could sense it. he could feel it in his bones.

“sukuna-san, here's your next question.” the social media manager said slowly, way too pleased with himself, “is it true that when you were newly eighteen, you and your now-wife, [name]-san, had a pregnancy scare… and her dad almost murdered you for it?”

sukuna blinked. once. twice. “…i’m sorry. what?”

someone behind the camera snorted. sukuna’s eyes narrowed. and then, he heard it. he could feel his eye twitch all the sudden. your laugh. soft, familiar, and 100% guilty.

his jaw dropped. “oh my god. you’re here.”

you didn’t even try to deny it at all. i mean, this was the first time in a long while you'd gotten to be ridiculous. especially now that you've come back to work and had your hectic schedule again.

you always took the opportunity when it was offered. so, you sat somewhere off to the side and let yourself be silly. you laughed once again when you heard him curse.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you really sent that in? seriously?”

the host was trying very hard not to lose it.

“answer the question, sukuna-san!"

he sighed. long-suffering. dramatic.

“…fine. yeah. it’s true.”

beep. truth.

and just like that, the flashback hit him like a football to the face. it happend when you were teenagers, last year of high school. nothing even happened back then. it was just hanging out most of the time.

well, there was the occassional making out. but even when it went somewhere, you both stopped. and even when you wanted to, sukuna was the one to stop it all.

after all, he didn't want to ruin your future. you wanted to be an astrophysicist. you had a dream and he wanted you to focus on that. as much as he focused on volleyball.

so that day, it was all too different. and he could feel it in the air. you were on his massive bed, staring at your phone like it owed you an explanation.

sukuna walked in, unwrapping a sandwich, and you just… said it. “my love, i’m ten days late.”

he dropped the sandwich. “what do you mean, ten days late?”

“i mean what i said, my love. i'm late.” you said calmly, yawning in between. “ten. days. late. no period. no signs. my uterus is a cryptid.”

sukuna looked like he aged ten years on the spot. "w-what do you mean? w-we.... we didn't do anything just yet—"

"well i'm not sure!" you whispered to him. "i mean, when on my birthday, we both went and drank together quite a bit and—"

"yeah but i don't remember anything happening!" he says, choking as his red turned flushed. he stops and then his eyes go wide. "wait....i blacked out right?"

"yeah and maybe......" you hide your face in your hands, feeling like you were going to cry.

“okay. okay. don’t panic.” he said, immediately panicking. “we’ll go to a clinic. or a pharmacy. or maybe time travel. can we still time travel?”

you were surprisingly calm, at least from the standards usually had on pregnancy reactions. ryomen sukuna, on the other hand, looked like he was about to faint at the mere thought of diapers and daycare. but the worst part wasn’t the scare.

it was doing the impossible. it was telling your dad about everything. your ex-military, early-rising,suspicious-of-every-boy-on-earth dad, without him getting mad.

you told him while your poor unfortunate boyfriend was in the house. well, he thought that it was appropriate. even if he was shitting himself.

he was sitting politely in the living room with a mug of tea when you broke the news. your dad turned and just stared at sukuna. no yelling. no questions.

just pure, soul-piercing silence. for five whole minutes. ryomen sukuna sat frozen, gripping the mug like it was a grenade. it might be one of the worst days of his life.

you tried to ease the tension. “it’s probably just stress! we’re being responsible! we’re not even sure—”

your dad stood up. slowly. like an ancient god rising to smite. sukuna stood too. immediately. like his legs were possessed. your boyfriend, the former troublemaker and fist slammer, looked scared for the first time in his life.

“s-sir, respectfully, we're not....we're not even sure.” he blurted, voice cracking, “but i can swear to you that i respect your daughter. i-i swear....i'm going to take responsibility."

you covered your face all througout. ryomen sukuna, like years before, started mumbling about how from the very beginning, he's willing to stand up for you and be a father if you were pregnant. it was quite a thing.

in the end, you had nothing to worry about. after you took multiple tests, you were not pregnant. and a few days later, sukuna remembered what happened (likely out of fear of your father) and told you that you did not in fact make love.

back in the studio, ryomen sukuna shook his head like he was still recovering. he sighed as he looked at you. you were smiling at him giving him a thumbs up.

“i had nightmares about that stare for months!” he said. “every time her dad looked at me when i came by the house, i thought he was imagining my funeral arrangements.”

you laughed again off-camera, totally unapologetic. you were really lucky you were cute. he really couldn't get mad. not at you. not even once. he purses his lips.

“and the kicker?” sukuna said, leaning forward with a dry laugh. “she wasn’t even pregnant! just exam week stress. i almost died for nothing.”

he pointed toward where you were standing. “you’re evil.”

beep. truth.

a little while later, ryomen sukuna did get the hd pictures of you in a real big envelope. later, it was added to the pictures of you in his office. and all of that made him sigh, more fondly than ever before. life was good.

"i wonder what it would look like...." he mused to himself. "when we have kids too....."

"my love, dinner's ready!"

he smiles. "i'm coming!"

[txniesha]

Complication Sylus x Non!MC Reader Pt 5

Synopsis: You wanted to get away but he dragged you back like he always does. The only question is, why don't you leave, why do voluntarily stay?

cw: angst, typos, grammar

word count: aprox. 3000

A/N: finally got my macbook charger replaced so im back to writing. I'm excited to get back to updating this regularly and even starting a new one. I hope you guys enjoy and sorry for posting this so late at night.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 6

The ride back was a lot more awkward than you had expected. You expected screaming and anger, not pure silence. He didn’t even have music on; he was just staring quietly out of the window. It deeply unnerved you as Sylus was a quiet man but not like this. Usually his silence spoke volumes, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking at that moment.

When you arrived back to the N109 zone you felt a sense of nervousness, you couldn’t stop fidgeting with your hands and you really wished you could smoke a cigarette. Your phone was shattered and was barely functioning, so you didn’t even have that to distract yourself during the ride. “Here” Sylus says, and you look over at him. He was holding a box, a new phone. You accept the phone hesitantly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t even start it up. I heard how angry you were when we were talking and figured you would do something stupid… like break your phone” he says, his tone a bit disinterested, nodding at your shattered phone.

You just nod and give him a silent thank you. It irritated you that he waited the entire ride back from Linkon to finally give you the phone, but it was whatever. You spent the remainder of the ride setting up the phone and transferring your things over. You weren’t really surprised when you got the service set back up and your phone lit up with missed calls and text messages.

You looked over to see Sylus' reaction to the flurry of messages but were surprised to see him still staring out of the window. This behavior unnerved you. Usually, he would make some slick remark about your ‘boyfriend texting you’ or take your phone and power it off. You decided to ignore it and respond to the messages. You weren’t surprised to have a few from Xavier asking you to please tell him you were okay. You sent back a quick message telling him you were fine and not to worry. Zayne had also sent you a message, but you decided not to look at it. You didn’t know why but you felt like seeing a message from him would make you regret agreeing to go with Sylus.

The car came to a slow stop in front of the main base of Onychinus. This base holds Sylus’ multi-story penthouse at the very top. The driver opens the door for you, and you thank him as you step out of the car. You did not miss the cold dark city of the N109 and longed to be back in Linkon already. Sylus walked ahead of you, and you couldn’t help but follow behind him like a lost puppy.

The air here felt different, and you could tell everyone in the base was more on edge than usual around him. You felt bad that everyone had to suffer the backlash of your actions and walked with your head down. The elevator ride up was tense and awkward also, with Sylus not even looking at you, just staring blankly at the elevator doors.

The doors opened up to Sylus' luxury penthouse and you stepped out into the cold dark hallways. You were surprised to see Luke and Kieran leaning against the wall talking. They had somehow managed to make it back before the two of you. They perked up at the sight of you two and rushed over to Sylus. “We did well right boss!” Luke asks in an excited tone.

Sylus nods and waves them off. “Yes yes, the two of you are free to do whatever it is you both do for the rest of the evening.” Luke and Kieran high five each other and excitedly hurry to the elevator doors. “See you later boss lady” Luke shouts after you. “Don’t get in too much trouble” Kieran adds before the sound of the elaborate doors closing symbolizes the isolation of you and Sylus.

He turns and starts walking down the corridor and you follow behind him. You’ve known Sylus for years but had never actually been inside this property of his. The ambience here was so much different than the other properties you had been to. This one felt more like home. The place was a lot more decorated and smelt distinctly of him. You followed behind him like a lost puppy, hot on his trail, not really sure about what to do and not sure if you should do anything.

He led you to a big door with immaculate craftsmanship in the wood and it opened for him as if it sensed he was there. The room was beautiful, with a couch placed against a wall and a bookshelf lined with records behind it, both placed in front of a beautiful fireplace with leather chairs surrounding it. A gold record player was set to the side of the couch and behind that was a bed in front of a full-length window, red velvet curtains positioned to the side showing you the N109 zone in all its glory. You looked to the side and saw a small bathroom positioned behind a glass wall. The room was too grand to be a guest room. It was his.

You looked at Sylus confused as he took his blazer off and placed it over one of the chairs. “This is where you will be staying” he says as he loosened his tie, his back turned to you. “Sylus I can stay in a guest room” you say quietly. You started to speak again, but he raised his hand, silencing you. He turned and looked at you, his face stoic.

He walks towards you and corners you against one of the chairs, making you fall back in it. He grabs your face and makes you look up at him. “You left me. Lied to me. Slept with another man. You don’t deserve a guest room.” He lets go of your chin and grabs your hand. He reaches into his pocket and slips out a ring. Your ring. He slips it back onto your finger and kisses it. He leans down and gets face level with you. “Don’t try to run from me again. I need you” his voice is painfully full of emotion.

He gets up and gestures toward the in-room bathroom. “Go, take a shower. I’ll have dinner and clothes waiting for you.” He then leaves the room, and you get up and walk towards the bathroom.

It wasn’t much of one, just a shower and a toilet. The walls were lined with various body washes, shampoos, conditioners, scrubs, and facial products. You were not really shocked as he was a man who very much cared about his hygiene. What shocked you was the number of feminine products in the shower that were clearly used. You sighed, biting your lip in anger. This was just another sign that she had been here—frequently, at that.

You took your time showering and did a petty thing, pouring all of the products he had used down the drain and putting them back in their place. You used some of Sylus’ unscented washes and exited the shower.

When you left the bathroom, there was a plate sitting on the table and a pair of clothes—women’s clothes. You guessed that those were hers, and you refused to even put them on. You sat on the couch and ate dinner as you waited for Sylus.

He came back into the room as you were almost finished, and he looked at the pile of untouched clothes. He smirks slightly. “Do you plan on being naked for your entire stay?” he says as he sits next to you, crossing his legs.You roll your eyes. “No. But I'm not going to wear her clothes or use the things she showers with. You say you need me, but numerous things in here scream her.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re always so busy worrying about other people and what I do and who I see when I’m not with you. If it displeases you so much, I’ll get rid of all of it.” He reaches into his pocket and throws his wallet on the table. “Go buy the things you need tomorrow. I'm done with this conversation and we’re not having it again,” he says, his voice ice cold.

He gets up off the couch and walks to the bathroom.You get up and walk toward the only other door in the room that wasn’t the one that led to the hallway, guessing it was the closet. You were correct in your assessment and started looking around for what you expected to be there.

Sure enough, there was an entire section in the closet designated for her. You grab the clothes and begin throwing them out of the closet onto the floor. As you were digging through some of the drawers, finding more of her things, Sylus came in. “What the hell are you doing?” he says, his voice full of confusion.

“Well, if I'm going shopping tomorrow, I need space, right?” you say, continuing to throw her things out of the closet. “That doesn’t mean you go trashing my room,” he says, irritation now present in his voice. “I'm not trashing it. I'm going to pick them up and throw them away when I'm done,” you say, now turning to him.

He was wrapped in only a towel, much like yourself, his hair still wet and dripping water down to his torso. You had to look away, reminding yourself you were very much upset with him and would not be tempted.

He sighs heavily. “I told you I would throw it all away. Why are you making a scene?” he says, stepping deeper into the closet and grabbing your arm to make you look at him. “I don’t trust that you mean it,” you say, scoffing and pulling your arm out from his grasp.

His jaw tightens and you can see the irritation on his face now. “You think I would keep her things around just to what, taunt you, make you feel like she’s still a choice?” You nod your head, lips pursed. “Yes. I think that is exactly what you would do, because you’re a terrible person when you feel wronged or hurt.”

His face drops into one of stoicism and his grip loosens. He grabs your face gently. “Is that really what you think of me? Some manipulative dickhead who goes to extreme measures just to keep you around?” Yes, you say to yourself in your mind.

“I know what I’ve done to you in the past twenty-four hours is a bit extreme, but I just don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I don't know what you want from me, and I don’t know how to ask you without you blowing up on me. If you didn’t matter, if I didn’t…” he looks away, sighing, and drops his hands.

He turns and grabs a shirt off of a hanger, his shirt, and gives it to you. “I’m tired. Let’s talk in the morning. Sleep in here,” he says, and then leaves.

You stopped your rummaging and sat in silence, contemplating what had just happened. You sighed and decided to go and lay down, putting on the shirt. The bed was a luxurious one with silk sheets. Everything smelt just like him, and it brought you comfort strangely. Your moment of calmness made you realize that you weren’t just angry at him; you were angry at yourself for caring about him. For still feeling something for him, letting him get under your skin, drag you back to him. You close your eyes, deciding sleep is your only option now.

A week of awkwardness went by. A week of glances, unsaid words, and awkward dinners together. He worked in his office when he wasn't down in Onychinus base handling business. You had grown so tired of the awkwardness that you had started talking to his private chef as he made meals just to hear someone speak. Zayne and Xavier had been calling and texting, trying to get ahold of you, but you couldn't bear to talk to them knowing how much it would hurt. How you gave up on the two who cared and tried to protect you just to go back to the one who hurt you the most.

You walked into the kitchen expecting his private chef to be gone already and the kitchen to be empty, but were surprised to see Sylus in there pouring coffee, his hair messy and looking like he had been up all night. You turned to leave, but a red mist quickly pulled you back around to face him.

“No more avoiding. Sit,” he says, and your body involuntarily takes a seat at the kitchen island. He places two cups of coffee on the table and sits across the island from you. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” you say, taking the coffee and blowing the hot drink.

“Not talking to me for a week, awkward side glances, leaving the room every time I'm in there. If that's not avoiding, I don't know what is,” he says with a sly smirk. You sigh and shrug. “Maybe I just need some time to think about all of this. I don't know what you want from me, Sylus,” you say softly.

“You could've left a week ago. Could've run away again, hid better this time. I want you to stop acting like you're not here by choice,” he says softly and grabs your face. “I... I care about you a lot, more than I would like to admit.” You leaned into his touch, not ready to say the words held in your chest. “Sylus, I can't allow myself to be hurt by you again,” you say.

“I won't. I know I haven't given you much reason to trust me, but baby, I promise you, I will do better.” Before you could say anything, the elevators to the penthouse dinged. You both looked over, probably expecting the loudness of Luke and Kieran to grace your presence, but were instead surprised to see her walking down the hallway like she owned the place. Her hair was put up in a ponytail, and she dressed casually with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“Sylus,” she called out, not looking up from her phone.You look over to him and roll your eyes. “Doing better starts now. If you don't handle this, I’m leaving,” you say to him, irritated.

His jaw sets and clenches as he looks toward the doorway where she approaches. She finally looked up and saw you. You were dressed in his clothes, both of your hair messy. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was thinking.“Sy... what's going on here? Why is she here?” she asked.

You get up off the stool and walk out of the kitchen. “I'm serious, Sylus,” you say as you walk out of the kitchen. You stayed in the hallway, obviously going to eavesdrop.

“I told you it wasn’t a good time to come here right now,” Sylus says with a sigh.“What do you mean not a good time? Is it because she's here? You’re not involved with her, are you?” she says, her voice shaky and confused. There was a long and tense silence. “MC, right now is just not a good time. We can talk about this later. Just please leave,” his voice was desperate as he pleaded with her.

You hear a huff and then she comes storming out of the kitchen, not even noticing you as she walks toward the elevators and leaves. Sylus came out of the kitchen, rubbing his face. “Why didn't you tell her we're involved?” you ask.

“Please, just don't right now,” he says, rubbing his temples.“No! I'm just confused. You want me here but can't admit to her that you have feelings for me?” He grabs your arms and makes you face him. “It's more complicated than that. She... she's fate. You're—” he stops speaking and looks away.

“Say it, Sylus. Say what I am to you,” you ask desperately.

“You're a choice. My choice. Not one predestined for me. I want you, all of you,” he says softly.

You look at him and don’t see the put-together man that you usually do. You see one that was unraveling, struggling to come to terms with what he wanted and what he felt like he had to do. You don't know the extent of what he felt for her or how far back it went, but you knew those feelings would always be there.

“I know I'm selfish for wanting you... but I... I love you,” he finally says.

His ruby red eyes bore into yours with such intensity you felt like you were drowning in them. “Sylus, you make it sound like loving me is some kind of rebellion. You call her fate and me a choice, but you're hiding. I don't want to be loved privately like some kind of secret that will break the world. I want you to love me unashamedly, claim me, and show me off. And until she's out of your life, that will never happen.”

tags: @sillyfreakfanparty @crimsonmarabou @z3vl @96jnie @perqbeth @justpassingdontworry @malleus-draconias-rose @sleepykittyenergy @aboobie @syluslittlecrows @scrambledhuevos79 @madam8 @fandomenbylover@insidious-innocence @etherealsoul90 @xsammijoanneex @acasualattempt  @sylusgirlie7 @jasperjokester @animegamerfox @jae48 @goldenbirdiee @zoezhive @rxelarailuj @huuvu @simphoursonly  @athanasia-day @asakiyu @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @eolivy @caramelizedpopcirn @auraficial @dilf-destroyer-04 @hebreeee @noxus123 @satansdaughter123

[glowettee]

⋆˚࿔glowettee hotline 6: finding peace after studying.ᐟ

hey lovelies! 🤍i'm finally back with glowettee hotline

abbey sent in the sweetest question to the glowettee hotline about something i think so many of us struggle with. that persistent anxiety that whispers "you could do more" even after you've literally been studying for hours and hours? yeah, i know that voice all too well.

i was literally up until 3am last night reorganizing my color-coded study guides even though i'd already finished them, so trust me when i say i understand that perfectionist energy. there's something about academics that brings out that need for control in all of us, right?

first, i want you to know that what you're experiencing is actually super common among high-achievers. that anxiety isn't a sign that you're doing something wrong - it's actually your brain being a little too good at wanting to succeed. your brain has basically created this false equation that anxiety = productivity, when actually they're totally different things.

when i was in my worst perfectionist spiral last semester (we don't talk about the great midterm meltdown of 2024), my academic counselor shared something that literally changed everything for me. she called it "productive completion" versus "perfectionist completion" and the difference is everything.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ why your brain keeps doing this ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

your brain has been rewarded for being anxious in the past. every time you've pushed yourself to do "just one more thing" because of anxiety, your brain logged that as a win. it doesn't realize how exhausted and burnt out you're becoming.

also? uncertainty is literally uncomfortable for our brains on a neurological level. your organized nature (which is actually a superpower when balanced!) means your brain craves that feeling of "doneness" - but perfectionism keeps moving the goalpost so you never actually reach it.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ practical things that actually help ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

create a "done list" instead of just a to-do list. physically write down everything you've accomplished in a study session. when anxiety says "you've done nothing," you have literal evidence to the contrary.

implement a physical "closing ritual" to signal to your brain that work time is over. i close my laptop, put my books in my bag, and light this little vanilla candle that's only for post-study relaxation. your brain needs these concrete transitions.

use time-based boundaries rather than task-based ones. "i will study for 2 focused hours" is better than "i will study until i feel done" because perfectionism ensures you'll never feel done.

try the 5-4-3-2-1 grounding technique when anxiety spirals hit. name 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste. it literally interrupts the anxiety pathway in your brain.

create a "worry hour" where you give yourself permission to stress about academics - but only during that designated time. when anxious thoughts come outside that hour, tell them "not now, i'll think about you at 4pm."

practice self-compassion statements that feel authentic to you. mine is "being imperfect doesn't mean i'm ineffective." find yours and repeat it when that voice starts up.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the deeper work ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

here's the thing about perfectionism that took me forever to understand - it's often a protection mechanism. somewhere along the way, you learned that being perfect kept you safe from criticism or failure or whatever scary thing your brain is trying to avoid.

the real question to gently ask yourself is: what would happen if you did "just enough" instead of everything possible? what are you afraid would occur? usually when we dig into this, we find some core beliefs that need updating.

for me, i realized i had this weird belief that if i wasn't constantly anxious about academics, it meant i didn't care enough. which is obviously not true! you can care deeply about your studies while still having boundaries and rest.

abbey, i want you to know that your worth isn't measured by how exhausted you are at the end of a study session. your organized nature is a gift - but it should serve you, not control you.

sending you the warmest thoughts and a reminder that you're doing so much better than you think you are. your anxiety is lying to you about how much is "enough."

xoxo, mindy 🤍

leave a message after the tone…

submit your questions here!!

[ashthesalamipiece]

hi! idk if u can do it or watched the movie but i feel like it would be really cute like a bakugou x reader tarzan au and it would be like fluff with some smut? ive been thinking about it and i thought it would be cute. it dosent have to be exactly like tarzan i js thought the prompt would be a good story katsuki beibg raised by animals(you can pick it dosent have to be monkeys) and finally meeting someone like him and he dosent really understand it. thank you! (can you add smut though? if your comfortaby with that but id perfer it with thank you again).

"Wildfire" – Bakugou x Fem!Reader (Tarzan AU)

Setting: Deep jungle, Bakugou raised by a pack of giant feline-beasts (think panther-lion hybrids). You're part of a scientific expedition sent to study the uncharted wildlife—until you find something unexpected.

---

You weren’t expecting to survive the storm.

Your transport was supposed to drop you and your team deeper into the jungle basin, but the crash landed you miles off course, isolated from the others. You were lucky to be alive—but alone. Almost.

Something had been following you.

It never attacked. Just watched. Stalked. Protected? You weren’t sure.

Until the night you wandered too far into the river basin and slipped down an embankment. You would've broken your leg—if it hadn’t been for the blur of muscle and gold-red eyes that caught you before you hit the rocks.

His skin was sun-kissed and scarred, hair wild like the jungle flame, barely clothed in tattered wraps. He was strong—feral, even—but he didn’t hurt you.

Just growled.

And then disappeared.

Now, he visits you. Watches. Closer. Closer.

And tonight, he speaks.

“You’re like me,” he says, voice rough like bark, golden eyes staring into yours as he crouches beside your campfire. He speaks your language—but haltingly, like he’s mimicked it from a distance. “But not same. You smell… different.”

You swallow. “I’m human. My name is Y/N.”

He tilts his head. “Katsuki.”

It’s the first word he’s said that doesn’t sound borrowed.

His name.

His body is strong and scarred, but you can tell he’s young. Your age. And curious—especially about you. You’d expected a beast. But you see a man behind those animal eyes.

And god, he’s beautiful.

“Do you live with… people?” you ask softly, fingers twitching on your lap.

He shakes his head, scowling. “No. Not people. Pride.”

“Lions?”

He growls. “Mine. Family.”

The jungle is quiet. And yet… your heart is racing. He's so close. You swear you can feel the heat rolling off him. Like a wildfire waiting to spread.

“You fell,” he says gruffly. “Could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you whisper. “You saved me.”

He blinks. And then, unexpectedly, he leans in close—sniffing your cheek, your hair, your neck. You shiver.

“You smell… soft,” he says. “Warm. Want it.”

Your breath catches.

“Want… what?”

His voice dips to a low, almost possessive growl. “You.”

---

It happens fast—because he doesn’t know how to be slow.

One second, you’re sitting by the fire. The next, you’re under him, back pressed to the soft moss and your shirt already tugged up, his nose dragging along your stomach like he’s mapping you by scent alone.

“Katsuki—” your voice cracks, but not from fear. It’s the intensity. He looks at you like he’s starved. Like he doesn’t understand what’s happening, only that he needs it. You.

“Tell me stop,” he growls into your skin. “I’ll stop.”

You don’t. You can’t.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes. He surges up to capture your lips, and it’s messy and wild—his first kiss, maybe. But when his hands find your thighs and grip tight, dragging you open beneath him, there’s a gentleness in how he watches you. Eyes flicking between yours, waiting for a flinch that never comes.

He’s hard against you, clothed only in rough wraps and instinct. Your hands thread into his wild hair as his lips trail down your neck, his tongue flicking against your skin.

You arch when he touches you—calloused fingers exploring like he’s memorizing what softness feels like. He growls when he finds how wet you are, rubbing your clit with tentative but focused strokes, learning fast.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “It’s you. This… is you.”

“Yes, Katsuki,” you moan. “It’s me. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t need more encouragement. He grinds against you, pulling at the wrap around his hips, hissing when your nails scratch down his back.

When he finally pushes into you, it’s with a groan that sounds almost pained. You gasp—he’s thick, and the stretch is deep, primal, hot.

You clutch him, thighs wrapping around his hips as he sets a slow, careful pace at first. But instinct takes over. Each thrust becomes deeper, harder. You cry out, but he hushes you with kisses, with murmured words you barely understand.

“Mine,” he whispers. “You’re mine now.”

And you don’t argue.

Because he’s yours too.

---

Later, when you're curled up beside him in the cool jungle night, your body sore but sated, he traces your fingers like they’re magic.

“I thought I was only one,” he murmurs.

“You’re not.”

He looks at you like that’s the first real truth he’s ever known.

You smile, brushing his wild hair back. “You’re not alone anymore, Katsuki.”

He buries his face into your neck.

And for the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugou sleeps beside someone warm.

Someone who smells like home.

[barnesonly]

bad idea . ݁₊ ⊹

bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: Bucky can’t keep his eyes off you all mission and when you catch him moaning your name back at the safe house, you make sure to give him exactly what he’s been craving.

word count: 3,1k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, jerking off, oral (m receiving), PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding.

A/N: based on this ask.

The mission had been straightforward enough—infiltration, data retrieval, minimal contact. Bucky had gone over the plan a hundred times with you, listened to you recite it right back like clockwork, but none of that was on his mind anymore. Not when you were right in front of him, wearing that tactical suit that clung to every curve like it was tailor-made for you.

God, he was trying to focus—really—but every time you crouched low to disable a lock or slipped into a narrow corridor ahead of him, his eyes betrayed him. The way the dark fabric hugged the softness of your thighs, the cut of your waist under the belt, the tempting slope of your hips.

And the way you moved… smooth and confident, like you didn’t even know you had this power over him.

“Bucky, cover me,” you whispered into comms as you slipped around a corner.

“Got you,” he replied, voice a shade deeper than usual.

And he did have you—he’d take a bullet for you without a second thought—but tonight it wasn’t just protective instinct roaring in his chest. Tonight it was something hotter, more dangerous. Every whispered word between you sent a shiver up his spine. Every glance you threw him, all determination and fire, went straight to his gut.

You weren’t just his partner tonight. You were a distraction. A beautiful, maddening one.

Bucky told himself he had better control than this. That it was wrong—you were a close friend, someone who trusted him to have her back—and yet every fleeting touch, every breathless moment tangled up together in tight spaces as you avoided guards, just drove him further into his own thoughts.

By the time you two made it back to the safe house, adrenaline still thrumming in your veins, all he could see was you. The perfect bow of your lips when you smiled at him, the glimmer in your eyes when you joked, completely oblivious to the filthy thoughts running through his mind.

And god help him, when you finally disappeared into your room for the night, Bucky thought maybe—just maybe—a cold shower would knock this need out of him.

But the image of your pretty face, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the dark…

Yeah. That was the last straw.

Bucky kicked his door shut with his heel as soon as he was inside his room, hands already trembling as he tugged his gear off. The mission was over, but his head was still back there—in that darkened hallway, pressed up against you as you whispered his name, breath ghosting across his neck.

God, what was wrong with him?

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, dragging his hands down his face. Except all that did was summon up images of you again—the way that suit hugged your ass, the flex of your legs when you moved, the glint in your eye when you’d catch him looking and pretend you didn’t notice.

And then, like some sick joke his brain was playing, the image shifted: you, naked and needy, lips parted like you did when you were focusing, hands reaching for him.

A rough groan broke from his chest before he could stop it.

He was already hard just thinking about you—aching, trapped under his tactical pants—and suddenly there was no ignoring it.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, hands moving faster than his self-control as he shoved his pants and briefs down to his thighs, freeing his cock with a low hiss.

He wasn’t proud of this—jerking off to the thought of you like some horny teenager—but tonight? Tonight was different.

Tonight you’d looked at him. Moved around him like you belonged there. Whispered his name like it was some private language.

And now, as his flesh throbbed in his palm, it was your name spilling past his lips.

“God, baby…” he gritted out, leaning back into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as he gave in to the fantasy—you kneeling between his legs, hands on his thighs, your mouth so close he could feel your breath.

He stroked himself slowly at first, thumb circling the slick bead of precum at his tip, imagining that was your tongue.

“Just like that,” he murmured into the empty room, hips flexing upward on their own accord.

The coil of pleasure wound tighter as he pumped his fist faster, harder, chasing that mental image of you—the softness of your lips wrapping around him, your hands gripping him like you’d never let go.

He could almost hear you moaning around him—or maybe that was his own harsh breathing as heat built up in his spine.

“God, your mouth, baby… f-fuck,” he rasped, name slipping between curses as his abs tensed. Every stroke was slicker, more desperate, so close to the edge he felt dizzy.

And he was so far gone that he never heard the door creak open. Never noticed your silhouette in the dim light, your gaze fixed on him, lips parted in surprise—then hunger.

He was still groaning your name when you moved into the room, your knees brushing the floor as you came to him like a prayer answered.

And when he finally opened his eyes, breath hitching in his throat, there you were.

Kneeling between his legs. Eyes dark and glassy. Mouth open, inches away from his aching, leaking cock—like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

His fingers flexed against the sheets, breath stuttering out as the tension that had been coiled inside him all night snapped.

“Oh wow, Barnes…” you murmured, voice low and tinged with amusement as a slow, wicked smirk tugged at your lips.

His heart thudded so hard it echoed in his ears. “F–fuck,” Bucky breathed, his voice hoarse with surprise and need. “That’s not—”

But you weren’t going to let him finish whatever excuse he thought he could come up with.

“Shhh,” you hushed him, one hand trailing up his trembling thigh before your fingers wrapped around him—slow and sure, your palm warm and perfect.

He hissed through his teeth at the contact, cock twitching against your grip as you gave him one leisurely, deliberate stroke.

“You need my help, huh?” you teased, lips curving as you watched him fight to keep his eyes open.

Your voice was silk and fire, and the way you held him—gentle but possessive—made his spine arch off the bed.

“God,” he groaned, hands flexing into the sheets tightly. “Baby, please…”

And you liked that—liked him raw and desperate for you.

“You do, don’t you?” you murmured again, pumping him slowly, dragging every inch of his aching length through your fist as you leaned in, eyes locked on his face. “Need me to take care of you?”

He was trembling now, teeth gritted against a moan as slick precome dribbled over your fingers, making each stroke wetter, more deliciously obscene.

When you finally bent lower, breath ghosting against him, Bucky thought he might come on the spot.

And then your mouth was on him—hot, wet, perfect—lips sealing around the crown as you eased him in deeper.

A strangled sound tore out of him, hips flexing upward as your tongue swirled slow circles around him, like you were savoring him inch by inch.

“Oh, f—fuck,” he gasped, hands flying to your hair instinctively, needing to touch you, to feel that this was real.

And you moaned low around him in response, eyes fluttering up to meet his, never breaking that gaze as you hollowed your cheeks and started to move.

God, the sight of you—lips stretched around him, eyes burning up at him through your lashes—was enough to undo him.

Your hands steadied him as you took him deeper, bobbing your head in a rhythm that sent shivering heat up his spine and white noise crashing in his ears.

He was already leaking into your mouth, salty and needy, and the way you moaned around him—like you liked this, like you’d been waiting all night for this too—nearly shattered him.

“Holy shit, that’s it,” he panted, thumb brushing your cheekbone as you sucked him just a little harder.

And all he could do was arch into you, let himself go, eyes on you as you took him like you had all the time in the world—wet, filthy, and perfect.

He couldn’t look away—wouldn’t dare.

Your mouth was so fucking warm, lips stretched perfectly around him, tongue working him like you knew every secret to making him fall apart.

And god, you weren’t holding back—hands gripping his hips to keep him steady as you took him deeper, inch by inch. Every slick, sinful pass of your lips and the needy hum vibrating up your throat had him trembling all over.

“Jesus—yes,” Bucky choked, the sound raw as his hands fisted in your hair.

Your eyes stayed on him, hooded and dark with desire, and that was the last straw.

“Baby, I’m gonna—” he started, voice breaking, but you didn’t pull back.

You moaned, like you wanted him to come, your hands tightening, your pace quickening—up and down his length, wet and obscene.

That moan sent him over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” Bucky gasped, spine bowing as heat exploded up his back, his hands tugging gently at your hair without even realizing.

And then he was coming, spilling down your throat in hot, helpless spurts as you stayed right where you were—lips sealed tight around him, eyes fluttering closed as you swallowed every last drop, humming like it was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted.

“F-fuck,” he groaned again, breath shuddering, muscles trembling as he rode the last waves of his orgasm into your mouth.

And you?

You just kept going—milking him with slow, greedy sucks until his hands loosened their hold in your hair and his cock gave one last exhausted twitch between your lips.

When you finally eased off him, lips glistening, you licked them slowly—dragging your thumb across the corner of your mouth like you were savoring him.

Bucky was wrecked—utterly speechless—eyes fixed on you like you’d just shattered him and put him back together all at once.

And all you did was lean up, breath ghosting across his lips as you whispered, voice wicked and soft:

“See, Barnes? That wasn’t so hard.”

Your lips were still damp and glistening as you kissed him once, slow and teasing, before pulling back with a wicked glint in your eye.

“You really thought I didn’t notice, Bucky?” you purred, hands braced on his chest as you straddled him for a heartbeat. “You looking at me all day like you just wanted to take me right there against the wall?”

His breath caught—a harsh inhale as his hands flexed over your hips.

And you weren’t done.

“The way you kept staring at me,” you went on, voice husky, leaning closer until your lips brushed his ear. “You wanted to touch me so fucking bad, didn’t you?”

That was it.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest—pure need and possessive hunger—and in a blink, his hands were on you.

Your world spun as Bucky flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing, caging you in with his broad shoulders and solid arms.

“Goddamn right I did,” he ground out, blue eyes dark as they raked over you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Your breath hitched at the raw power of him—this was the Bucky you’d teased all day without knowing it, and now you had nowhere to hide.

“Bucky—” you started, lips trembling with anticipation.

But he was already on you, hands tugging at your clothes like they were the last thing on Earth between him and you.

Your top was first—pulled up and off with a rough urgency that left your hair tousled and your skin bared to his heated gaze.

“God, look at you,” he breathed, palms sweeping up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples in a way that made you arch into him with a gasp.

Your hands fisted in the sheets as he leaned down, pressing his lips to the valley of your chest, kissing and nipping his way along your skin like he was starving.

“Been dying for this all day,” he muttered against you, voice so low and raw it sent a shiver straight to your core.

And you could feel him—already hard again—pressed heavy and insistent against your thigh as he dragged your pants down your legs, peeling them off with the same greedy need as before.

By the time you were bare beneath him—nothing left to hide—Bucky paused, breath shuddering as his hands skimmed up your legs like he couldn’t wait another second to touch you properly.

“You have any idea,” he growled, leaning down until his lips hovered just above yours, “what you do to me?”

And all you could do was look up at him—eyes dazed, lips parted, pulse racing—and whisper, “Show me.”

Your heart was a drum in your chest as Bucky hovered above you, gaze raking over every inch of your bare body like he was trying to burn you into his memory. His jaw clenched, his breathing ragged, like he was holding on by a thread.

“Show you?” he rasped, voice so low and dark it sent a shiver straight through your core. His eyes were wild—desperate, hungry—like he’d been starved for you and finally, finally had you where he wanted.

And then his mouth was on yours—no soft, sweet kiss, just pure need, lips crashing into yours, tongue claiming your mouth as his hands grabbed your wrists and pinned them hard above your head.

“Gonna fucking ruin you,” he rasped into your mouth, teeth dragging against your bottom lip as he pinned you.

You gasped, but he didn’t let up—grinding his hips into you, cock heavy and hard against your soaked heat, making sure you felt exactly what you’d done to him.

“Been wanting this all fucking day,” he growled against your lips, breath hot, teeth scraping your mouth as he spoke.

And god, the way he held you down—metal fingers cool and unyielding around your wrists, flesh hand roaming down your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake—made you tremble beneath him.

Then he shifted his hips, lining himself up, and you barely had time to suck in a breath before he drove into you in one deep, devastating thrust.

Your cry echoed through the room, pleasure burning hot as your body stretched around him, filled so full you could barely think.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky groaned, head dropping to your neck, his breath shuddering against your skin. “So tight—so fucking perfect for me.”

He didn’t give you a second to adjust—didn’t want to—pulling back just enough to slam into you again, harder, deeper. The force of it rocked you against the mattress, made your head spin, made your toes curl.

You could barely breathe, barely think, just feel — the wet, filthy slap of his hips against yours, the sharp drag of his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you, the way he completely owned your body.

“B-Bucky—” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan.

“Yeah?” he growled, fucking into you with a brutal rhythm, his metal hand tightening just enough on your wrists to make you arch beneath him, helpless and open. “This what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to lose it? Wanted me to ruin you?”

And oh god, you did. You wanted this—wanted him like this, unrestrained, raw, needing you like his life depended on it.

You whimpered, eyes glossy, back arching as he pounded into you, the headboard thudding against the wall with every deep, savage thrust.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice wrecked, hips slamming into yours so hard the bed creaked beneath you. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, pleasure coiling tighter, burning hotter. “Bucky, I’m yours—please—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, mouth at your ear, pace relentless as he chased both your highs. “Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna fall apart on my cock?”

Your body was trembling, so close it hurt, every thrust sending you spiraling higher until you shattered, crying out his name as your climax ripped through you—wave after wave of blinding heat, muscles clenching down around him so tight he nearly lost his mind.

“Fuck—doll—” Bucky gasped, hips stuttering as your orgasm dragged him under.

He spilled into you in thick, hot pulses, groaning low and broken as he fucked you through it, milking every last drop. His body shuddered over yours, sweat-slick and trembling, breath coming in ragged bursts against your skin.

And when it was done, when you were both boneless and spent, he finally loosened his grip on your wrists, fingers tracing over the marks he’d left there—gentle now, reverent.

His forehead dropped to yours, eyes soft even as his chest still heaved. “Jesus, doll,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ve wanted that for so long.”

A wicked little smile tugged at your lips as you tipped your chin up just enough to murmur against his mouth, “I know… you were so obvious, you know that?”

Bucky froze, breath hitching.

Your fingers tugged playfully at his hair as you went on, voice breathy and sweetly smug. “Following me around like a lost puppy all day. Practically undressing me with your eyes every time I bent over.”

That earned you a low groan and a warning growl that rumbled in his chest.

“Careful,” Bucky muttered, hips flexing instinctively—and you could feel him already stirring against you, still inside you, his hands tightening possessively on your waist.

You just grinned, eyes dark as you arched into him. “Careful?” you echoed, lips brushing his ear. “Or what? You gonna pin me down and do it all over again, Barnes?”

And before you could say another word, he was kissing you—deep and filthy—his hands roaming like he was starving for you all over again, every slick inch of your body his to taste, to take, to wreck one more time.

tag list: @iamthatonefangirl @buckytakethewheel @buckybarneswife125 @thatsbucknasty

[xxhexwolfxx]

Can I request headcanons for Sean, Javier, Hoesa, John, Arthur, and Charles finding excuses so his gn crush will spend more time with him please?

𝓡𝓓𝓡2 𝓗𝓒𝓼

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I kinda got carried away with Sean’s, but I hope you enjoy! <3

DISCLAIMER: GN! Reader. No mentions of gender. Not proofread.

WARNINGS: None.

CHARACTERS: Sean, Javier, Hosea, John, Arthur, and Charles.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sean:

Sean is constantly attached to your hip. Whether you two are on a mission, doing chores around camp, or just resting near the fire. Sometimes, however, you guys can’t always be near each other. Usually, it’s for a day or two but sometimes it's longer than that. One time Dutch sent you and Arthur on a mission that took more than a week before you were able to come back. Even just you backed up on chores makes you too busy to spend time with him. Sean knows two simple ways to make you pay more attention to him than silly chores. First, he makes flirty jokes to get your attention. Whether it’s crude jokes or just silly pick-up lines, it usually gets your attention. Sometimes it doesn’t work however, so Sean does the next best thing. Lead you out to the nearest town by saying Dutch wanted you to get something for the camp. Instead of going to stores, he leads you to the nearest bar in the town. After a couple of rounds of alcohol have you realized, Sean was just wanting to spend time with you. It usually ends up with you two waking up in a jail cell or in a hotel room.

Javier:

Javier is more smooth with getting you to spend more time with him. He’s less attached but he does need some one on one time with you sometimes. When it's days of you being too busy with working or doing missions does he miss you. Usually Javier would just ask, but sometimes he does something differently. Javier would go your shared tent in the middle of the night, talking about how Dutch are sending you two on a mission. Yes, it’s the middle of the night. No, Dutch said this can’t wait. After you two get on your horses you both start to head off wherever Javier is taking you. Just a few minutes and suddenly you two were at a clearing in a field, it was open and you could see the stars perfectly. Only then did you realize this “mission” was just Javier trying to spend more time with you on the weeks you two barely see each other

Hosea:

Hosea is the king of making excuses so you would spend time with him. It could just be because you are spending too much time doing chores, missions, or even just spending too much time with others. Hosea isn’t a jealous man, but he does want to spend as much time as possible with you. To him, he doesn’t have that much time left so he just wants to spend as much time as he can with you. Usually, it's just him bluntly telling you to sit with him and spend time with you. Other times he isn’t that blunt. Hosea sometimes just asks you to help him with something he can obviously do himself. Either lifting something for a chore or “helping” him understand a book better. It’s quite obvious but you don’t have the heart to tell him. So, you just spend time with him. If someone tries to get on you for not doing something around camp, he'll be there to defend you. 

John:

John’s more awkward when it comes to this type of stuff. I mean look at how awkward he is when he tries to spend time with Jack. It could be him just asking to go on a ride with you to talk about stressors or going fishing with him. John would rather stay out of the town when with you as he doesn’t want to get in a fight and somehow scare you off. So fishing and horse riding it is. Sometimes he won’t outright tell you what you two are doing until you guys are further away from the camp, just so someone doesn’t follow in hopes of joining. He won’t make many excuses but he wouldn’t outright explain what you two are doing. John would prefer it just being you two with no one thinking they could just join. 

Arthur:

Arthur is more blunt when it comes to just asking you to spend time with him. If someone tries to tag along then he usually just tells them to go away no matter who it is. Sometimes you two go into the closet town, maybe just riding around, or maybe just going to fish or hunt. It depends on what mood he’s in and if he’s wanted around the area or not. When you two go into town, he’ll take whatever money he has and spoil the hell out of you. It could be new clothes or even just a nice but small dinner. Arthur feels bad sometimes when you seem sad around camp so he makes sure to bring you out when he can. Even if the excuse of needing you to leave camp isn’t a good one.

Charles:

Charles is more quiet and probably wouldn’t outright ask for you to spend time with him. It’s usually quiet cues or just sitting where you were sitting. When he’s in a talkative mood will he just ask if you would like to spend time together. Sometimes he’ll take out to go hunting or spending time away from camp for a night or two. He’ll go into town and might bring you along but it’s usually just so he could get some materials to craft with. Charles is more quiet when spending time in the camp but once you two go out hunting will he start talking with you. Charles won’t really make excuses, thinking that he should just ask instead of beating around the bush. 

[keisgirl]

the last serve ; atsumu miya

enemies to lovers ahh plot!!

you weren’t supposed to end up at volleyball.

you’d signed up to be the manager of the basketball team. you liked basketball. you understood the game. the rules made sense. it didn’t hurt that the team captain was cute either. but the teacher in charge of club placement misread your form. and now you were stuck with volleyball.

inarizaki volleyball team, specifically.

the first day, miya atsumu looked you dead in the eye and said, “great. another one.”

you didn’t know what he meant at the time. you would learn.

"another one" meant another manager who couldn’t keep up. who asked too many questions. who didn’t know what ‘pipe’ meant. who brought the wrong kind of tape. another distraction. another name he wouldn’t bother remembering.

he remembered yours anyway.

mostly because you annoyed him.

you asked questions. you took notes during practice. you made charts. you had a planner with page tabs and color codes. you told him once to stop flirting with a girl near the vending machine and get back to drills.

he hated that. he hated you.

for a while.

you got used to being around them fast.

aran was the first to treat you like a human being.

“ignore him,” he told you after practice one day, nodding toward atsumu, who was sulking on the bench after missing a serve. “he’s allergic to being told what to do.”

“that would explain the twitch in his eye when i said the word ‘schedule,’” you muttered.

aran snorted. “you’ll survive.”

osamu was... tolerable. mostly quiet. liked snacks. rolled his eyes whenever atsumu got too loud, which was often.

suna said little, but watched everything. you once caught him filming atsumu mid-tantrum and later learned he edited it into a meme and sent it to the whole team group chat. he called you ‘boss’ sarcastically after that.

but it was kita that you respected. everyone did. he didn’t say much. didn’t yell. didn’t need to. when kita looked at you, it felt like he saw through you. once, you forgot to update the hydration schedule. he didn’t scold you. he just said, “we trust you. that’s why we expect better.”

you never forgot again.

the first year passed like that. cold silence. glares. short, clipped conversations.

“water.”

“stretching sheet.”

“stats?”

and then you’d hand him whatever it was without looking at him.

you weren’t trying to impress him. you didn’t want anything from him. that’s what pissed him off the most.

people always wanted something from him. attention. praise. a photo. a text back.

you didn’t even want to be there. he could tell.

but you still showed up. rain or heat or tournament stress, you were always there. taping ankles. cleaning floors. analyzing footage. your handwriting in the match notes was always a little crooked at the bottom, like you were writing them late at night.

still, he never said thank you. not once.

second year was worse.

he started getting good. scary good. the kind of good that made other schools hate him. the kind of good that meant he started getting cocky. loud. unbearable.

you rolled your eyes every time he smirked after a spike. you told him to stop winking at the crowd. you said he wasn’t oikawa, and that set him off.

"take that back," he said, walking up to you after practice, hair damp and jaw tense.

"no," you said, shoving the towel into his chest.

he stared at you, chest rising and falling. sweat on his collarbone. mouth parted like he was about to say something cruel.

but he didn’t.

you walked away first. you always did.

third year was... different.

you’d both grown.

he cut his hair. started waking up earlier. started listening more. and you weren’t the same either. you’d gotten sharper. more confident. louder when you needed to be.

you were both older. almost adults.

that was the problem.

sometime after the summer training camp, something shifted. it was the way he looked at you now. it wasn’t annoyance anymore.

it was something else.

it started when you were alone in the gym, going over the libero stats. he came in late, said nothing, just grabbed a drink and leaned against the wall.

you glanced up, only to find him staring at you. hard.

you raised a brow. “what?”

he didn’t blink. “nothin’.”

but he didn’t stop staring.

and then there were the touches.

too-long handoffs. his fingers brushing yours when he grabbed tape. the way he’d lean close when you showed him game footage, shoulder pressed to yours, breath warm on your cheek.

the smirks returned too. not loud, not performative—quiet ones. like he knew something you didn’t.

you didn’t say anything.

neither did he.

the first real incident happened after a match.

you lost.

everyone was tense. it was the first major loss of the season, and no one wanted to speak.

atsumu lingered.

he didn’t get on the bus right away. instead, he stood outside, unwrapping his knee brace, jaw clenched.

you walked past him to load the equipment.

“you gonna cry about it or get on the bus?” you said.

he looked up sharply.

“fuck off,” he muttered.

you shrugged. “just saying.”

you thought he’d ignore you. instead, he walked over and backed you into the storage shed wall.

“you got a problem with me, manager-chan?” he said low, mocking.

you looked up at him. he was close. too close. his breath smelled like sports drink and mint gum. your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

“no,” you said. “just think you could’ve passed more.”

he scoffed. leaned in a little more. “maybe i like pissin’ you off.”

your voice came out quieter than you meant. “maybe it’s mutual.”

his eyes dropped to your mouth.

then he stepped back.

“get on the bus,” he muttered.

you did.

but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

after that, it got worse.

you’d find yourself looking for him during drills. watching the way his hands flexed before a jump serve. the way his uniform clung to the line of his back.

he flirted less with other people. but not with you.

with you, it wasn’t flirting. it was... watching. wanting.

you caught him staring at you during water breaks. caught him biting his lip when you tied your jacket around your waist.

it was insane.

you didn’t even like him.

you used to hate him.

but the thing about hatred is that it’s just passion in disguise. and passion, when left to simmer for too long, starts to rot. starts to burn.

by winter, you were both burning.

the second real incident happened after a late practice.

you were alone again. the gym lights dim. snow outside.

he stayed back.

you pretended not to notice, packing up towels.

“you need a ride?” he asked suddenly, voice echoing in the empty space.

you looked up. “no.”

he walked over anyway. stood in front of you. silent.

“what?” you asked.

he didn’t say anything. just stared.

and then he kissed you.

rough. quick. like he couldn’t help himself.

your hands were full of towels. your mouth was full of him.

you kissed back.

you shouldn’t have.

but god, you did.

he pulled away first.

you stared at each other, breathing hard.

then you left. didn’t say a word.

you didn’t talk about it.

you couldn’t.

it happened again two weeks later. after another win. this time in the locker room hallway. this time slower. more desperate.

he pulled your jacket down your arms. you tugged at the waistband of his warm-ups. it didn’t go far. it never went far. just hands. mouths. heat.

you never talked.

but you always came back.

finals season hit. college decisions. stress.

he started texting you.

it started with questions. game stuff. logistics. reminders.

then it was jokes. then it was late-night “u up?” texts. then it was nothing but your name in lowercase and a photo of his hand with a fresh wrap, like he needed you to see him.

you always answered.

you didn’t know what this was.

you weren’t dating. he never said you were pretty. he never asked you to hang out. you never kissed in daylight. only in corners. only in shadows. always hidden. always quiet.

but it still felt like something.

something dangerous.

spring rolled in.

you both knew it was almost over.

you had three matches left.

he started acting strange.

quieter. more focused. but his eyes would still find you. in the gym. on the bench. in the stands.

he kissed you before semi-finals.

you were in the equipment shed again. it was raining.

he pushed you against the wall, tongue in your mouth, hands on your hips.

“we shouldn’t,” you whispered.

“then stop me.”

you didn’t.

after the final match, you both stood alone outside the gym.

the rest of the team was celebrating.

atsumu leaned against the railing, hair wet with sweat, jersey half untucked.

you walked over slowly.

“you were good,” you said.

he didn’t look at you. “i know.”

you rolled your eyes. “so humble.”

he finally looked at you. “gonna miss this.”

you nodded. “me too.”

a pause.

then, softly—

“gonna miss you, too.”

you froze.

he never said things like that.

you looked at him. he looked tired. real.

“you don’t have to,” you said.

he laughed once, bitter. “what, you wanna sneak around in college too?”

you didn’t answer.

he stepped forward. closer than he ever had.

“i hated you when we met,” he said.

you smirked. “i know.”

“thought you were annoying. too serious. always in my fuckin’ business.”

you tilted your head. “and now?”

he stared at your mouth. then your eyes.

“still think you’re annoying,” he whispered. “but i want you anyway.”

you kissed him first this time.

he held your face like he meant it.

like he’d been waiting for this the whole damn year.

you didn’t know what would happen after graduation.

you didn’t know what he’d be to you in a year. in a month. in a week.

but you knew this:

miya atsumu hated you once.

and now he couldn’t stop wanting you.

not even if he tried.

[brokenpieces-72]

Visitors

New Neighbours | Navigation

TW: mentions of stalking, mentions of possible kidnapping, attempted kidnapping/hostage

You waited by the door, looking out the windows, checking for passing vehicles. Johnny noticed you'd started to wait by the door at the end of your shift, instead of outside. You kept brushing it off as nothing, but clearly something was bothering you. This was the seventh time though. When Johnny saw you checking outside, he came over to lead you to his car, his pack slung over his shoulder.

"Aye. Kid." Johnny said, checking the windows himself. No cars were passing, and most had already left. You looked over and walked up to Johnny, to follow behind him. Johnny noticed you'd been walking with him to the car oddly as well, keeping alert and almost hiding behind him.

"Ready?" You asked, taking a breath of relief.

"Is someone bothering you?" Johnny asked. You shrugged but Johnny just kept looking at you, eyes glancing up to the windows a couple of times. It was nothing, probably just your imagination.

"Just... don't tell mom okay? Cause then she'll start worrying, and then it'll be a whole thing." You said.

"Depends on what it is." Johnny told you. "If it's something worth concern then I'll tell your mom."

"Fine." You gave in. "The past few shifts there's this one car that seems to pass the store. I think it's a couple of cars actually, that's why it's not a big deal."

"At night?" Johnny asked.

"A couple times, but I think it was just to turn around. Other times it was in the evenings. They probably don't check the store hours properly." You reasoned. It was possible. Johnny wasn't convinced. Sure plenty of people came up and thought they could still get in, but they could be turned away easily enough.

"Anything else?"

"Well... I saw one of the drivers. I was on till and packing his items, and then was sent outside. When I got out there, I saw him leaving and he looked at me, and then he looked away. He was probably surprised to suddenly see me outside. It wasn't like he followed me around the parking lot."

"Yeah because you had the radio, and could call him out for harrassment." Johnny exclaimed. Your heart was starting to thump in your chest. You started to rethink everything, trying to find any other details that should have tipped you off. It was making you uncomfortable. It hadn't been just one customer. Your chest felt a little tight. You had another follow you when you didn't have the radio, and when you noticed, they turned and went to a different part of the lot. You figured they forgot where they'd parked their car. You were scratching your arms, protected by your hoodie. Another had lingered in an aisle while you were doing the closing. A couple of people had asked you about the hours when you were helping at the gas station.

"Hey. Hey." Johnny held your shoulders, seeing you worry. Shit had he taken it too far? "Deep breaths. Alright?"

Johnny saw you were starting to tear up. He needed to get you to the car, it would be safer and quieter. Thankfully, you could still walk, still holding some of your faculties. Johnny led you to his car, eyes open for anyone who might be lingering longer than they should. When you got in the car, you kept checking the window. Johnny got in and took a moment to talk to you before driving. He felt his own paranoia peeking out from where he'd shoved it down.

"It might be nothing." Johnny told you. "Been feeling it myself for a while, like I have someone watching me. "

"is someone watching me?" You asked quickly. Johnny wasn't sure. You were smart enough for stranger danger, and keeping personal information to yourself. It could be innocent stuff, it was multiple vehicles and the store had regulars, ones that you'd spoken to before.

"I'm not sure." Johnny admitted. "If this keeps happening though, you need to speak up. If you're inside, you tell a supervisor. If you're outside, go inside and tell someone, or use the radio. Alright?"

Without a word you nodded, taking his words as orders. Johnny told you he would be taking you to his place instead of your own. He didn't want to wake your mother, but he didn't want to leave you alone at your house, letting your thoughts run wild. If he caused your paranoia, he was going to deal with it. Johnny put the car in drive, and took a longer way back to his place.

Gaz was following them. He knew Johnny's address but suddenly he took a different turn than usual. Following was a little tricky when it came to a new route, since he had to take different turns keep Johnny from catching on. No other cars seemed to be following either of them. Good. That was the last thing he wanted.

You talked to your mom, Johnny nearby for support. Your uncle said it was probably nothing, just you being paranoid and it was all in your head. Your mother took it seriously though, even asking if you wanted to call in sick to work, explain to them that you didn't feel safe at work right now. A day off would be nice, but no. It could be nothing and it would be better to sit down with your bosses to tell them what was going on.

You sat down in the office, with two of your managers. They asked if Johnny's attendance was really necessary, but you insisted. Emotional support. He didn't tell them it was also because he felt responsible via association. If whoever was watching him, was watching you, he wanted to be ready.

"Is it the same person each time?" One of your managers asked.

"No. It's been a couple of different people. They get really close when they're talking to me, or they seem to be following me in the parking lot." You answered. The two managers were concerned, but they wanted to have all the facts and be sure before taking any big steps.

"What do they look like?" The other manager asked. Admittedly it's hard for you to pull exact descriptions. The moments were small, it was different people, and some of them you didn't see their faces.

"I can't recall. Usually caucasian. One had short black hair, another was wearing a face mask and have some graying hair." You continued your descriptions of them, explaining when and where it happened. Some were more defined than others. You admitted you weren't sure, and that it could be nothing. By the end your managers had a small, loose list that they could give to one of the security. They also asked if you wanted to go home for the day. Again, you said you wanted to stay. They let you leave the office, but Johnny stayed behind.

"Take ityou don't want to talk about the score last night." The other manager said.

No he wanted to tell her, that he was exmilitary, and had been recovering from amnesia for the past few months or so. Also there was a chance that he'd put you in danger becvause he too believed he was being watched, but seemingly only at his house, where he had a room full of new clippings and scribbled notes, trying to piece together his past. Oh yeah, and there's a good chance he had dreams about death and likely wasn't mentally stable.

"If y/n has another encounter like those... would it be possible to let me know?" He asked.

"Not really supposed to. It's more of a private matter for her." The first manager said. Johnny nodded in understanding.

"If Y/N needs some extra support and asks for you, we'll find you." The other manager assured him. "It's up to her."

"Thanks." Johnny said. "As for the score last night..."

Johnny brought you to the job site again. For a while everything seemed fine, no more random stopping cars or people seeming to follow you in the parking lot. The two of you boiled it down to coincidence. Johnny took you to the portable office to check in with Milena. You swore she hadn't changed clothes since the last time you saw her, wearing the same blue button up, and black pants. The matching blazer was resting on the back of her chair. When she looked up, she gave a small professional smile, talking to Johnny. The only time she talked to you, or rather about you was when Johnny brought you up. You were an afterthought, like remembering your coworker had a dog.

"I need to ask her a few questions." Milena said. Johnny nudged you when he noticed you were distracted. Milena wanted to talk to you? Oh shit were you in trouble? Did you get Johnny in trouble. Maybe she learned you were too young (you weren't but maybe she didn't want to risk liability).

"Did I do something?" You asked, your concern covering your face. Milena shook her head slightly, her smile turning a bit more friendly.

"No. I just need to have some information in case of an emergency and for your pay." Milena explained.

"Um..." you gave Johnny a quick glance. He gave a sort of half shrug and gestured to Milena. It was your turn for the routine. Nothing to be nervous about. Privacy policies exist for a reason. "Okay."

Johnny was asked to leave, and told you to come find him or someone else when you were done. You sat down in the fold up chair, while Milena finished typing. She gave you a form on a clipboard and a pen to fill out the general information. Name, birthday, contact info. You handed it back to her with a pleasant thank you. You got up and turned to leave when she stopped you.

"You forgot to fill out your address." She said, handing it back to you. Ever since the incidents you were cautioned to keep your address to yourself. You fidgeted with your hands.

"Um... Do I have too?" You asked, facing her directly. Milena straightened a little, withdrawing the clipboard ever so slightly.

"It won't be released to anyone else unless there is an emergency." Milena assured you. Still you hesitated. "If you're in the process of moving, it can be changed later."

"No, it's not that. We moved not that long ago actually. Uh..." You already told your managers, you may as well tell her. "It's complicated.''

"It doesn't leave this room." Milena said, setting the clipbaord down. She seemed interested, resting her arms down on the desk. Her head tilted ever so slightly with curiosity. For someone you had written off as reserved, she seemed very engaged.

"The past couple of weeks at my other job... it could be nothing, but I think a few customers were kind of odd. I think they were trying to follow me." You exclaimed. Milena's face went from curious to concern. "I'm not sure, it hasn't happened the past couple of days."

"Did you tell Mactavish about this?" She asked. You nodded. "What did he say about it?"

"To be cautious, and not give my address out." You said. Milena looked over the clipboard again, hovering her pen along the lines.

"You have an emergancy contact written down?" She asked, without looking up.

"I put Johnny, I hope that's okay." You said. Milena gave a silent nod.

"Just be sure to come and see me once you're sure everything is okay. If something happens we want to be able to get in touch with your family." Milena said, setting the clipboard down.

"I will. Do you need anything else?" You asked.

"No. That should be all." Milena said, still staring down at the desk. Her cellphone chimed, and she sighed.

"I'll head out then." You said, getting up. Milena gave a hafl hearted wave as she dialed her phone and put it to her ear.

Just before you stepped out you heard her say something along the lines of, "They're not done yet, I need more time."

As you stepped out a deliery driver stepped in, walking past you like you were an oversize door stop. Alright then. Little weird but whatever. Before spotting Johnny, you noticed the delivery. There was a guy standing nearby with a respirator over half of his face. He climbed into the back of the truck, raising the door. You noticed a lot of gas canisters inside. What were those for?

You heard yelling inside the portable. Shit. You reflexes kicked in and you went to the oppsite side of the portable, away from the job site and other workers. You could understand what was being said. It was too muffled and you were pretty sure it was Russian. Just in case, you took out your phone and took a photo of the truck, pressing against the side of the office. Something told you there might be a lawsuit coming or something like that. Couldn't hurt to take a pic of the truck, proof of delivery and all that. Once you had the photos, you went around the portable the long way, putting some distance between you and the situation.

You didn't show Johnny the photo. If Milena needed it, she would say something. You mentioned there had been an argument and delivery issue, but you weren't exactly sure.

"She's a busy woman. It 'appens." Johnny said. "She's probably fine, no doubt the others would give some asshole a piece of their mind."

You were satisfied with that. "By the way, I didn't ask you, but I figured it was okay. I put you down as my emergency contact."

Johnny looked at you and thought for a moment. "Alright."

"What?" You asked. "I could ask ehr to change it, I just figured it would be better than putting my mom or uncle. Mom has enough to deal with, and my uncle probably won't even pick up."

"Is fine." Johnny assured you. "Smart."

And the two of you left it at that.

"You're sure it was Konni Group?" Price asked again. Kyle sighed looking at the table with maps and lists and charts scattered around. Muscle memory led his hands to the edges of his tact vest, except there was none, so he settle for his hoodie pockets.

"They were careful. No positive IDs on any of them, no indication of affiliation, only that they kept looking around the parking lot. I couldn't stay in the lot for long before their own security asked what I was doing there." Kyle admitted. But come on, it had to be Konni Group. Who else would be watching Soap so closely? They needed proof it was Konni group though, otherwise they could go in half-assed, and have other groups on their asses. It could also be CIA or FBI, or even some stalkers.

"Does Soap suspect anything yet?" Ghost asked from the head of the table, arms folded.

"His fans? Possibly. Me? Well... he took a different route home one night " Kyle said.

The three men stood in silence, mulling over some options. Kyle wanted to just tell Soap everything and maybe get him to move. Then he would be safe while he recovered properly. Simon thought keeping Johnny in the dark was a bad plan. He needed to know his past, he needed to be back with them, where he belonged. To him, Johnny was a soldier and he needed to be one. More than once he'd seen Johnny sitting outside at night with his leg bouncing, or pacing in his living room. John, well, he was conflicted. On one hand he failed to save Soap, came too close to death. Soap deserved an easy rest. On the other hand, Soap was vital to the team and they were keeping him in the dark about everything, and forced to wait until Soap suddenly rediscovered himself. Even then there was no promise of him coming back. Price had built Johnny up into what he was, but that was when Soap was a soldier, a sniper and demo expert. Now Soap was Johnny. It was his choice to become Soap again.

"Right, in the mean time we focus on Konni group." Price said. "We have contacts to look out for as well. Let's not neglect them either."

More time passed, and you kept looking over your shoulder. Nothing. You started to let your guard down, as did Johnny. Something seemed to raise it back up for a split moment every now and then. Then you rationalized it as nothing more than circumstance. You'd get over it. You'd done self-defense classes before... not very many or recently but still.

You still had some nights of conspiracy at Johnny's place, more silly suggestions that seemed to lighten the gravity of the room. Other nights were spent at home, getting to lounge with your mom in front of the tv, usually when your uncle wasn't around. If he was, there was a game on, and you'd just sit and draw with your heaphones on. His cheers and shouting made you jump, but by now you were used to it. Any requests for him to quiet down were met with shooing gestures or his volume rising. Sometimes your mom would invite Johnny over to eat and stay to watch tv or to just chill in the living room. You liked seeing them get along. Your mom was happy with him around, and often asked about him. How was he, what is he up to, do you and him have anything planned?

Life seemed normal. A hint of wierd to it but it was normal for the most part. That's what it seemed like.

You were heading to Johnny's on foot with the rain pouring down. Your mom had to be out of town for a job interview, and you encouraged her to make it a small vacation for herself. Again, you were too young to be home by yourself for more than a couple of days and your uncles presence was never consistent. All you needed was a simple backpack as you had some clothes at Johnny's already.

As you walked a car passed by on the street. You recognized it. And the cap. You stopped for a moment to watch it go. Was he follo-no. You kept walking. Probably visiting a friend further in the neighbourhood or something. Carry on, don't worry about it. Everything is fine. You added a few skips to your stride, enjoying the peaceful pitter patter of the rain, pulling your hood down to let it soak your hair. Good day. It was a good day...

You were maybe two blocks away from Johnny's house when a car pulled up close to you, stopping maybe five feet away. You halted your stride. You couldn't make out a face in the tinted glass of the windshield but the maroon colour and size tipped you off. Everything seemed to slow down a bit, as the driver exited the vehicle. Your head kept telling you it was nothing, but you knew the car. You'd seen it before in the parking lot.

Options ran through your head as you crossed off each one. Scream? No your throat was too tight. Fight? As you saw more of the driver you knew it wasn't a good idea. Run home? He'd drive after you, and that was if he was following you. Smile and walk past? Yeah, easy target. Call the police? In front of him!?! The car door concealed his waist, you could see any weapons. Think fast, he's spotted you.

FUCK IT!

You broke into a run heading to the road and the opposite side of the car, towards Johnny's. You heard the man say something, but didn't listen. Your heart was pounding when you reached Johnny drive way. The driver was dangerously close, as you knocked on the door furiously. Johnny had the curtains closed, so he didn't see what was going on outside until he reached the door. Before he reached the door though, the driver reached you.

The driver was much larger and much more athletic, His arms grabbed you and attempted to pull you back away from the door. Panic hit hard as you struggled, thrashing and kicking like your life depended on it, which at the time, it did. The driver had put a rough hand over your mouth, attempting to reduce your alerts to Johnny. Dull nails dug into your cheek, as your tried to get your mouth on his hand. A car screeched to a stop behind you, but you barely heard it.

Just as Johnny opened the door and saw the scene, someone announced police, demanding the driver drop you. Johnny was quicker, punching your attacker in jaw, making him stumble. His grip loosened for only a second, which Johnny took full advantage of as he tore the driver's arms off of you, with a quick "come 'ere". Suddenly you were at his front door and behind him while he told you to go inside. The officer came up the drive way in that time, adding a stomp to the back of the driver leg, before pinning him to the ground.

The officer pulled out a cell and dialled 911 while Soap kicked the attacker in the side. "Sick fuck!"

"Sir, back off." The officer instructed. "Return inside."

Johnny went back inside quickly, and found you standing off to the side a couple of feet from the door, hugging yourself and tense. Yeah no fucking surprise there, you were probably in a mix of shock and a panic attack. You were staring at the door, the situation cropped out of the frame, only able to hear their grunts and harsh words, while your heavy breathing filled your ears. Johnny blocked your view and led you to his couch. "Sit down."

Your legs gave out under you, and you were caught by familiar cushions. Johnny got you through your panic attack, having you name things you could feel, smell, see and hear, while the officer dragged the driver away from the house and sat him on the curb.

"Can I touch ya?" Johnny asked. You nodded. "Take your coat off."

You did as he told you, and got your hoodie off too. Johnny reached out to your arms and you offered them. His hands were warm at least, so you didn't flinch away. He turned them over a little, checking for any marks or bruises. No doubt they would set in eventually, but for now they just felt sore. Your attacker had squeezed pretty tight, his large hand getting a good grip around your bicep when he grabbed you. Johnny told you to turn your head, to check your cheek. He winced at how deep the nails had gone into your skin. Any deeper or sharper, they would have broken skin. Johnny looked pissed, if it hadn't been for the officer you were pretty sure Johnny would give the driver the same treatment if not worse. Instead he got up and went to the kitchen retrieving a glass of water for you while he put the kettle on.

Soon enough, there were sirens and a couple cars pulled up. Johnny glanced outside, pulling the curtain back. The officer flagged the cars down, and spoke with the other cops. That's when Johnny had a moment to notice, that the officer who'd saved you, wasn't in uniform. Instead it was a blue hoodie and jeans. His vehicle wasn't a cop car, it was pedestrian. Johnny shoved his suspicions away for now. Another minute passed, and there was a knock at Johnny's door again. Johnny let the uniformed officer in and directed him to you.

"Are you the parent?" The officer asked.

"No." Johnny admitted. "Temporary guardian, her mother is out of town."

The officer then looked at you. "Would you prefer to have your mother present while we ask some questions?"

"Johnny's fine." You said in a small voice. The officer nodded and started to write down your statement. You did your best to answer his questions. You mentioned he might have been watching you for a while but you couldn't be sure.

"You're pretty fortunate that guy was driving by." The officer said once you finished. You looked up from picking at your fingers. Right, there was another outside.

You and Johnny shared a quick look. "Yeah... I am."

"He's still outside giving his statement if you want to talk to him." The officer offered. He gave both of you a nod and stepped out. Johnny told you to wait on the couch while he followed the officer outside. You remained sitting, pulling the blanket hanging on the back of the couch around your shoulders.

Johnny approached the man in the blue hoodie, who was getting soaked by the rain. He was talking to another couple of officers, too quiet to make out what they were saying. The man met Johnny's eyes, and faced him while the other cops dispersed. The driver was loaded into the car while Johnny looked the man over. Dark skin, light facial hair, blue hoodie, jeans, and his hood up.

"Thank you." Johnny said offering his hand to shake. "Johnny Mactavish."

The man looked a little stunned when Johnny introduced himself. Shit, he hadn't meant for this to happen, he only intended to help the kid. Fuck it. He returned the handshake, "Kyle Garrick."

"Got a light?"

"Smoking on the job Johnny?"

"Just blending in Lt."

Johnny blinked a few times. His head started to hurt again. Kyle noticed immediately. "You alright mate?"

"M'fine. Sorry." Johnny said quickly. "Who's the driver? He say anything?"

"Nah." Kyle said casually, watching the cop car drive off. "Probably just some creep. How's your kid?"

"Not mine. I'm looking after her." Johnny clarified. On one hand he didn't want to give anything away. He felt like he knew Kyle but couldn't place him. Kyle didn't remember him or he might be faking. Hell for all Johnny knew, Kyle had intended to make a move, but got interrupted. Regardless, Johnny wasn't sure who was the intended target. Best to keep things vague. "...Have we met?"

Kyle's calm expression looked like it had reset. Thing is, Kyle was only supposed to step in for emergencies. Interacting with Johnny was not part of the plan. The protocol was to take things casual, gauge how much Johnny might have recovered, and then dip. Kyle could remain calm, but this was complicated. If he told Johnny yes, then Kyle would be asked more questions. If Kyle tried to walk away or tell Johnny he isn't supposed to say more, no doubt Johnny would escalate. That was a given. Saying no, well if he did come back then that would be a very awkward restart to their work relationship. Fuck what was he supposed to say... fuck it.

"I've worked with a lot of people. Can't say if we have." He answered with a shrug. Definitely not a lie, but an equally vague response. "How is she?"

Johnny figured even a cop would keep his answers vague. Safety in secrecy. "Shaken."

"Understandable." Kyle said. He took out his phone. "I have to go. See you around."

And with that, the two parted ways like strangers.

When Johnny returned he went to get some pain meds, muttering to himself. You stayed on the couch, texting your mom to call you. No doubt she was going to come rushing back as soon as you told her. At least you weren't alone now.

"Should I call work?" You asked, looking over at Johnny. You saw him bracing himself against the kitchen sink. After you shrugged the blanket off, you went over to him, making small noises on your short path like bumping a chair and tapping the wall. Johnny had his eyes closed, like he was fighting a headache. You didn't touch him. You waited for him to change, or react. His jaw was clenched, and he was controlling his breathing. "Johnny?"

Another moment passed, and Johnny let out a small sigh, eyes opening and his body relaxing. After another sip of water, he noticed you were standing nearby. "That guy. I... I might know him."

"The one in the hoodie?" You asked. Johnny nodded standing up straight. "I've seen him around the neighbourhood a few times."

"He lives around here?" Johnny questioned. Could he have seen him in passing and nothing more? No, he'd had a moment of recollection. That was more.

"Just seen him driving." You said. You took a moment to think about it. How many civilians carried around cuffs? You saw him driving in the opposite direction as well. He could have looped around, but why? It was a little odd to call it coincidence. If he was someone watching Johnny, then did he know your attacker? "Maybe he's a cop. Like undercover."

"No cop car though." Johnny pointed out.

"I doubt undecover cops drive regular cop cars. Probably a ghost car."

"A what?"

"Ghost cars. They're essentially regular cars, but the inside has all the gear of a cop car." You explained. Great something else for Johnny to worry about. You carefully reached out and put a hand on Johnny's back. He was still a little tense. "What do you remember?"

"Short conversation... that guy, Kyle... shared a smoke."

"You smoke?"

"Rarely." Johnny said. You waited patiently for Johnny to process it all. "Your mom call yet?"

"No I-" As if on cue, your phone buzzed on the couch. You hurried over, and checked the caller. Not your mom. Your uncle. Great. "Uncle."

Johnny raised a brow as you answered. Your mom probably asked him to call you instead. He came over to listen to the conversation. "Hello? Uh... someone grabbed me on my way to Johnny's... The cops already came and arrested him... Yeah, I'm at Johnny's right now... No I'm fine. I already gave my statement... yes? ...I had Johnny with me, he's an adult... No he didn't say anything, I don't think he did... I wasn't paying attention..."

You went quiet at something your uncle said. You looked at Johnny for a moment, before replying. "No."

The call wrapped up, with your uncle saying you should have been more careful, or stayed home or something. Once the call ended, you just brushed it aside. There was one question that stuck in your head for a while.

"Did Johnny try to kill him?" You answered no.

"Fucking hell Gaz." Simon groaned.

"What was I supposed to do, let her get hurt?" Gaz argued, his head in his hands. He'd interacted with Johnny, and he had to tell his team. It meant he needed to avoid being spotted for a while.

"Soap would have taken care of it." Simon said. Price raised a hand to calm down the lieutenant.

"We don't know that." Price pointed out. "We know he has his instincts still intact. Fighting and hostage is another situation."

"He handled it." Gaz admitted.

"You made a judgement call sergeant. A risky one." Price said. Gaz may not be in the fire, but he was still simmering in the pan. "You gave nothing away?"

"He asked me if we had met, and I told him 'I work with a lot of people; can't say if I have,' and that was it." Kyle explained. Simon rolled his eyes. Kyle, the golden boy. Still being honest while incredibly vague.

"What about the attacker?" Price asked.

"I already gave the police Laswell's number." Kyle said.

"Right. Rest up." Price ordered. "We'll deal with the rest of this in the morning. No doubt Soap is gonna be on high alert now. It's time for the next step."

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @0wosugarmommymedic0wo @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @lolyouranelf @theotheronedotorg @yune1337

[alexanderwales]

Aphrodite hated dick pics.

The first reason wasn't one she shared with other people, because it felt very petty to her, even if it was how she felt: "dick" was a word and "pic" was an abbreviation, and "dickture picture" was a thought that always came to mind, unbidden, or sometimes "Richard picture".

But the other reasons were more cultural, social, and aesthetic.

"There is an art to capturing the erotic," said Aphrodite. "And the vast majority of men are nothing more than preschoolers showing off their scribbles."

Her girlfriend was curled up next to her. Julie was an awkward, somewhat androgynous lesbian who had moved to Seattle from somewhere in the Midwest. She had eyes that the Minoans would have gone crazy for. Aphrodite had picked her up off the street because she'd had trouble understanding what the woman would even look like in the throes of passion, and that was something that Aphrodite, God of Love, was normally incredibly good knowing about people.

It turned out that Julie looked cute when she orgasmed, with a kind of fetching innocence to her, and her face was plastered with love afterward, eyes wide and all-seeing. So they had started dating, in the way that Aphrodite did sometimes, which would last until she grew bored.

"So it's not that you hate dick pics," said Julie. "It's that they're not artistic enough."

"Well, no," said Aphrodite. "Even the most artistically done picture, by a master photographer, with the perfect subject, I would still dislike."

"Well ... why?" asked Julie. "You're bisexual."

Aphrodite didn't like that term, not when applied to herself. She was the embodiment of all forms of love and attraction. It didn't feel right, to distill that down in such a way. She let it pass, though it would be a conversation for another day.

"Erections are transient things," said Aphrodite. "To capture one in film is to take this moment in time and suggest that it's representative. That, I think, is the objection. A moment of passion, which fades away after the photograph is taken, is a lie, of sorts."

"So -- and just so I understand this -- you're fine with a dick pic that gets sent so long as the erection is maintained until you arrive to greet it?" asked Julie.

Aphrodite laughed, because there was something funny about that, perhaps the image of her restlessly waiting in a cab, or inspecting the erection to make sure that it was the same one as in the photograph and not a second, imposter erection. Julie laughed too, and Aphrodite found that somewhat annoying, because she couldn't imagine that they were laughing at the same thing.

"I think there's a sense in which men adore their own erections," said Aphrodite. "It's a narcissism. A failure to imagine women."

"For gay men?" asked Julie.

"Perhaps it's different," Aphrodite allowed. "But I would wager that most of the dick pics are sent by men to women, and I do think it comes from this sense of pride, and I do think it's sad how much disconnect there is, between what these men feeling, what they expect, and what the reality is."

"So in a world where women were reliably aroused by these pictures," said Julie, gently stroking Aphrodite's arm. "Perhaps that would be fine?"

"Perhaps," said Aphrodite. "I'm still not sure that I would like it though."

"There have to be women that do," said Julie. "Among all the natural human variation. A woman for whom an unexpected, unsolicited dick pic following a comment on a local neighborhood app gets her hot and bothered. Odd to think about, how different people are from one another."

And Aphrodite smiled, and held Julie closer, because it was one of the things that had remained odd to her through all her years. She kissed the woman on her collarbone, and her neck, and between her breasts, and this too was transient, an ephemeral moment, that perhaps she would one day like to have a picture of.

[paranoiastudio]

Dark prince

pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen х f!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, oral, pet name, sex video, daddy kink

word count: 3,0k

English is not my first language, sorry about mistakes

The Dark Prince. You knew about him, of course, among the other men on the porn site he seemed different. He never shows his face, almost all the videos on the channel are filmed in the "solo" genre, and even his few partners never appeared in his videos twice.

So what should you think when you received a message from him with an offer to shoot a video together?

You yourself had fun on camera alone: ​​you didn't have a boyfriend, and having sex with strangers in the studio was too much for you. Just a temporary job that helps you, a student, stay afloat.

Why did you agree? Why didn't you refuse or just ignore him? Probably, thoughts of his beautiful, pale and tattooed body influenced your opinion and you agreed to meet and work together.

Your "colleague" paid for your flight (of course, he is from the capital), a room in an expensive hotel and agreed to the day and time when you yourself would be ready.

- Hi. - You look up timidly and almost choke at his appearance. Everything you imagined, everything you fantasized about was not even close to true.

That long blond hair, those eyes. He was tall and thin, although you could see the relief of his muscles through his thin white shirt. It seemed he had recently taken a shower, droplets of water were visible on his bare, almost smooth chest.

- Hello. - His voice is confident, he is clearly not as nervous as you are. Against his background, you seem even shorter and the man glances at the soft pink dress you chose today.

- Hi… - Thoughts are swarming in your head, you feel yourself getting shamelessly wet, the thought that that very perfect dick is nearby intoxicated you like never before.

- Hi. - He grins and lets you into his room. You haven't seen such a room in his videos, it looked much more lived-in, as if he was here all the time. - How are you?

- Everything is fine. - The view outside the window was mesmerizing. - And you… Sorry, I don't know your name, I…

- Do you want to know my name? - You nod, afraid to anger him with this request, after all, you've only known each other for a short time. - My name is Aemond.

- Aemond. - You repeat, as if trying his name on your tongue. - Am I not allowed to use it?

- You shouldn't. - He chuckles quietly again. - I don't advertise it.

- Then why did you tell me? Do you know my name?

- Yes. I saw… The diploma on the wall. - Aymond takes a bottle of cola from the minibar and hands it to you. - Here. Don't be afraid, I don't bite… Unless you ask for it.

- The diploma?

- Yes, above your bed, next to the big flower. - Aymond thought about it. - Graduated with honors, huh?

A shiver runs down your spine. If he noticed, someone else might have too. How could you be so careless? The horror must have shown on your face, because Aemond starts talking again, and this time his tone is much softer.

- I don't think anyone else would have noticed. It's just that I… I used to watch that video of you in a bunny costume quite often, remember?

Of course you remember, you bought that costume before Halloween, made a video of it, and returned it to the store that same day. It was the first time you filmed yourself playing with your butt, and it's one of your most popular videos.

- I'll hide it. - You sit down next to Aemond and take the drink from his hands. The bottle was cold and sweaty, and Aemond's hand was so warm when your fingers touched the neck of the bottle.

- Too bad, I really like it. What do you think?

- I've watched your videos, and quite often, to be honest. You're beautiful.

- Not more beautiful than you, princess. - You've heard compliments before, but Aemond's words sent a shiver through you, a pleasant thrill from the realization that he actually thinks you're beautiful.

- And… What would you like to do? - You hadn't discussed it beforehand, and only now do you realize that it would be much easier to discuss it over text.

- I've been thinking about something for a long time… But you don't make videos with your boyfriend, and I don't know what you like.

- I don't have a boyfriend, but I get what you mean. - You take another sip from the bottle. - I guess I don't want my face to be seen… Anal, I don't think… Blowjob?

Aemond watches you flutter your long eyelashes innocently, fiddling with the hem of your short dress. You seem so innocent and somehow magically managed to convey it through the screen. That's why he chose you…

A large hand lands on your knee and squeezes the soft flesh, moving higher and higher. Aemond was so tall and big that you thought he could close you off from the world.

- I would be glad if you let me. - That look; you were ready to kneel right there and whisper "yes, daddy, please." - But first, your pleasure.

Aemond works quickly and precisely. He has already set up the light next to the bed, set up the camera. He also insisted that you stay in this dress.

Everything seems so normal when the camera starts recording. Everything feels right when Aemond squeezes your breast and kisses you so deeply and hungrily that you almost choke from the onslaught.

You fall on the bed on your back, Aemond turns you around so that the view of your wet pussy is the main one on the screen. His touches were confident and precise, it felt like he already knows you, knows how to touch you.

- Such a cute pink thing. - Aemond fidgets with the bow on the hem of the dress and lifts it to the waist, pushing aside the thin strip of underwear. - I'll take care of you, baby.

A hot mouth falls on your dripping pussy and you squirm, such caresses were unusual for you, because all the guys you met, more often than not, were too selfish for this.

- Oh god… - You press your hand to your mouth, but you moan louder when Aemond wraps his lips around your clit. - Please!

- I'm just getting started, baby. - Aemond holds your legs wide apart and begins another assault, intending to make you cum on his tongue. The thought that you must taste divine has been haunting him for months.

His nimble tongue penetrates you again and again, Aemond's thumb circling your clit, already swollen from kisses. You take two fingers at once without any problem, and you both moan as you feel how hard you clench.

A finger, then a second, penetrates, stretching your plush walls and causing only more whimpers. You were shamefully wet, soaking wet as soon as you saw him, but this… Is it possible to pass out from this? When your pussy is being licked by a man like Aemond, yeah, definitely.

- Let go, baby, let me taste you. - That growl-like cry pushes you over the edge and you break when Aemond's other hand squeezes your thigh, bruising it.

You've never been loud in bed, but no one has ever given you this much pleasure. Aemond doesn't let go of you for a second, devouring your orgasm with a hunger worthy of a starving man. His fingers slide in and out with a wet squelching sound that turns you on even more. You're like an animal in mating season, unable to think about anything but him and the way his cock is pressing into you through your jeans.

- Please, wait… - Your plump, wet, pulsating pussy was so sensitive, but the man kept licking you. - Daddy, please…

Aemond immediately looks up at you and you see the effect your words had. He seemed to get even more aroused, your whimpering and the fact that you continued to squeeze around Aemond's fingers did not help his calm either.

The man catches your palm and gently bites the thin skin of your hand, slippery fingers still moving inside and you no longer try to bring your legs together, knowing that it will not help against him.

- What do you want, baby?

- Fuck me, daddy. - You throw your leg over his strong shoulder and do not meet any resistance.

- Oh, baby… - Aemond buries his face in your chest. - Your dress is so beautiful.

You giggle, understanding why he asked to stay dressed. But what you do not know is Aemond's desire to undress you himself. It is like opening a gift that you have so long and desperately desired …

Aemond pulls the fabric of the dress, exposing your chest: hard pink nipples cannot help but attract his attention, the blond immediately circles one of them with his tongue, rolls it in his mouth and releases it with a loud "pop" made by his chiseled lips.

The man helps you sit up comfortably on the bed and you immediately open your mouth, wanting to feel his heavy taste on your tongue. With one hand you grab Aemond's strong thigh and with the other you pull the fabric of the dress even lower, something like a skirt hangs at the waist, you feel the juices of arousal flowing down the inside of your thighs.

Aemond pulls the zipper and you see him: as beautiful as you remember from all his videos, the head red and dripping, wanting to receive what you will gladly give him as many times as he says.

You swallow him as deep as you can and almost choke on the amount of saliva, this man turns you into an animal. You drool and move your head more actively, making the most indecent sounds. Aemond's long fingers bury themselves in your hair, gently massaging your scalp and pulling the soft strands so that they do not bother you and do not cover your face.

The sight of you sucking his cock, wrapping your beautiful lips around the shaft, the way you look into his eyes while licking the underside of his cock, excited him like nothing else.

- That look, baby. - His voice trembles slightly and breaks into a moan. - You look at me so innocently.

- Am I doing well, daddy? - A thread of saliva has formed between your mouth and Aemond's cock and you feel how the grip in your hair is getting stronger. - I'm trying, but you're big…

He really is bigger than all the cocks you've ever handled. Even on video, you've used small or medium-sized toys. But it was impossible to swallow Aemond whole, you squeeze his balls and suck on the head, continuing to circle it with your tongue.

- Such a good girl. - Aemond literally growls, catching the pace and moving more confidently. - You'll let daddy fuck that magic throat, right?

Your hand involuntarily reaches between your legs, the pulsation is so strong that it hurts. There's a pull in your groin and you touch yourself, smearing the lube and looking for at least some release.

Aemond penetrates deeper, sees how you inhale through your nose and continues to fuck you in the mouth, wiping away your tears with his thumb. You feel the stretch, it becomes difficult to breathe, but you exhale through your nose and choke on the cock, continuing to play with your pussy.

- I was distracted for a minute… - Aemond's voice is hoarse, his cock twitches in your mouth and he pulls away. - I didn't tell you to touch yourself, right?

- Daddy… - It's so hard to take your hand away, especially when he's looking at you, his gaze does not bode well. This man will ruin you.

He throws you down on the bed, face down, ass up in the air, Aemond pulls off your dress and you're left with only your shoes, with little white bows. A heavy slap lands on your ass and you gasp from the burning sensation on your skin.

- No one but me can touch this pussy. - Aemond's other hand grabs you from below. His palm is big enough to cover your entire cunt. - Do you understand?

- Yes, daddy… - You lift your ass higher, still hoping that he will stop teasing and just fuck you the way you want.

- Repeat. - A tone that will not tolerate an argument, impossible to disobey.

- No one but you can touch… this pussy… Please! - Tears flow from your eyes, because Aemond's nimble fingers have been touching you all this time where it was wet and hot. For him, because of him…

- And now we will reinforce this lesson. - You feel how he rubs against you, collecting your secretions and lubricating his cock. You smile slightly, noting that he cares about your comfort.

This thought leaves you as soon as Aemond fills you with one strong movement, right now he did not tease you and just took everything in one movement.

The sticky walls adjust to its shape, as if you memorize its outline. It is so heavy and hot, the angle allowed the Dark Prince to penetrate so deeply, at first you only roll your eyes, your ears seem to be blocked.

Somewhere in the distance you hear a groan, it is your own voice, so high… The man hits your round ass again to bring you to your senses and immediately begins to move.

You scream and wiggle your hips, feel like you are going to die now. But it's not death, it's an orgasm that hits you suddenly and hard, you feel yourself sucking Aemond into you, he moans long and hard, but doesn't stop fucking you, his balls slapping against you, he moved so fast, as if he was really hammering a lesson into you about whose you are now…

Still shaking, you suddenly feel light and find yourself on your back, Aemond, slightly flushed, with disheveled hair, looks at you, moving his cock with his big hand. You spread your legs and take him into your arms.

Aemond holds your legs, setting a precise rhythm and plunging into you with almost hypnotic awe. He catches your face by the chin, you hold his gaze, he doesn't break away from you for a second.

- Are you going to give daddy another one, baby? - He leans down and showers your breasts with light kisses. - Squeeze me one more time and I'll give you what you need?

- Cum on my tits? - Aemond kisses you and changes the angle slightly, your ass literally hanging off the bed, Aemond above you, fucking you like it's the last time. What a beautiful view on camera, you suppose. The thought of it drives you on and you leave kisses and bites on Aemond's thin neck. Your pussy clenches, he feels that you're almost there…

- Come on, princess. You take me so well… - His voice breaks, he's close.

Aemond rubs your clit with his thumb and kisses you again. Not a single moan escapes, he'll swallow them all, not letting you go until you're ready.

He's still hard inside you when he slides out and sits on your right side. You immediately open your mouth and smile invitingly, your hands automatically reach for your chest, you pinch your nipples and wriggle.

It only takes a minute for Aemond to cum, sperm lands on your chest and stomach, moans and tries not to close his eyes, continuing to slide his gaze over you.

You lick a few drops and smile at him. Aemond leans down and kisses your forehead.

- Can I get a close-up? - You just nod and stay on the bed.

The man takes the camera from the tripod and comes to you. Your face is out of frame, he focuses on your tits and the cum dripping down you. You play with your breasts a little when Aemond changes the angle and your pulsating pussy is right in the frame, the man catches your gaze and smiles, receiving another nod.

He runs his finger along the entrance, pinches the clit with two fingers, you giggle, but spread your legs wider. He penetrates again with his fingers, pulling out a couple more wet slaps; pulling out his fingers, he slaps your pubis and ends the recording.

You are still lying on the bed when he brings a warm towel and washes off the traces of your passion. Silently, you let him do it, using the opportunity to examine him up close once more. Aemond does everything good and carefully, he is too experienced.

The sudden urge to touch him overcame common sense and your palm ended up on Aemond's cheek. He looked up and you stared at each other for a few seconds, you were the first to reach out to him and innocently, quickly and lightly, touched his lips.

- I felt good… - You don't know why you're even saying this.

- Me too. - He smiled and leaned into your touch. - Do you want to take a shower? And then we can… go to lunch if you want.

You agreed, you spent a couple more hours together, Aemond promised to send you the final version of the video before publishing it, so that you could check everything and approve it.

As promised, you hid the video that Aemond had mentioned, but sent it to him, writing in the message "since you like it so much, you can be the only one who has it xx"

That same day, Aemond sent you video and you were pleasantly surprised. Everything looks really good, and this is your first sex video with another person.

As soon as you finished watching, another message came from Aemond.

“How about we always make videos together? And I would also be happy to take you on a date”

[candydollface]

where the silence lives (i can’t quit you)

while reading listen to:

oh my love — john lennon

lonesome town — ricky nelson

thoroughfare — ethel cain

lover, you should come over — jeff buckley

word count: 1,000+

warnings: internalized homophobia, emotional repression, drug use, drug dealing, emotionally destructive relationship dynamics, cheating (implied), rural homophobia (implied), non-explicit sexual content, bittersweet ending / unresolved grief, self-destructive behavior, emotionally abusive upbringing (implied for rafe)

a/n: inspired by the movie brokeback mountain! also i’m 🧁 anon from @starfxkrinc blog so blog reveal! also thank you @cameronsbabydoll for proofreading this bby!

the first time barry laid eyes on rafe cameron, he thought: fuck no.

he was a pretty boy with blood on his boots and hate in his mouth, hands always in motion like he didn’t know what stillness was.

too clean. too careless.

barry didn’t like him.

didn’t trust him.

but then they got sent up into the mountains together—two weeks alone, checking fencing and counting cattle for some old man barry owed a favor to.

rafe didn’t have a reason. he said he was bored. said he wanted out of figure eight for a while.

barry didn’t ask questions.

didn’t realize then that rafe wasn’t running away.

he was running toward something. he just didn’t know what yet.

they drove up in silence.

barry at the wheel, rafe hanging out the window like a dog.

they didn’t talk much the first few days—just worked. set up camp. drank in the evenings by the fire while the cicadas screamed.

and then it rained.

cold, hard, unrelenting. soaked their tent and their clothes and their bones.

rafe couldn’t stop shivering. too proud to say anything.

barry just opened his sleeping bag and looked away.

the first night they slept like that—back to back, heat pressed close, breath fogging—it wasn’t anything.

just survival.

but the second night, it was different.

rafe turned over.

touched barry’s chest.

didn’t say a word.

barry let him.

that first kiss was clumsy and fast, all teeth and panic and hunger.

like they were trying to undo years of being told not to feel.

rafe’s hands were shaking. barry’s jaw was clenched tight.

they didn’t talk about it the next morning.

barry cleaned his gun like he always did.

rafe smoked two cigarettes back to back, eyes fixed on the trees.

—

but it kept happening.

every night, a little closer. a little softer.

the touches turned tender.

kisses slowed down.

hands found places that made them both ache.

rafe would pull away after, sitting out by the fire with a far-off look in his eyes.

he’d throw rocks into the dark like he wanted to break the night open.

“this ain’t real,” he muttered once, almost to himself.

barry didn’t answer.

because it was.

and they both knew it.

—

when the job ended, they didn’t say goodbye.

just packed up and drove down the mountain in silence.

barry watched rafe out the corner of his eye the whole way home—jaw tight, fingers tapping against his thigh like a ticking clock.

he dropped him off outside the cameron estate. rafe didn’t look back.

barry sat in his truck long after he was gone, palms aching from how hard he’d gripped the wheel.

months passed.

they didn’t talk.

barry went back to the usual: late nights, cheap deals, silence.

but sometimes, late at night, he’d still wake up reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

someone he never should’ve touched in the first place.

and then one night, rafe showed up.

drunk. bruised. jacket half-off one shoulder like he’d been in a fight.

barry opened the door before he could knock.

they didn’t speak.

just moved.

rafe pushed him back against the wall and kissed him like he wanted to crawl inside his skin.

when they were tangled up in bed after—bare skin, heavy breath, hearts pounding out of rhythm—rafe said it again:

“this don’t mean nothin’.”

barry stared at the ceiling.

“then why do you keep coming back?”

rafe didn’t answer.

just curled into barry’s side like he always did, like it meant everything.

—

it became a pattern.

rafe would disappear for weeks.

months.

sometimes he’d show up with another man’s cologne still on him.

sometimes he’d come fresh from a bar fight, knuckles split and bleeding.

sometimes he’d cry into barry’s chest like a little boy.

and barry—barry never turned him away.

not once.

because rafe cameron was the only person who ever made him feel alive.

and barry knew he’d ruin himself before he ever let him go.

—

“we could leave,” rafe whispered once, drunk on cheap whiskey and moonlight.

they were out by the river. clothes half-off, skin flushed, laughter still stuck between their teeth.

barry had never seen him look younger.

“just go. start over. somewhere no one knows us.”

barry looked at him.

“you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?”

barry kissed him, slow and full of grief.

“no, rafe. you don’t.”

because rafe loved the idea of freedom.

but he was raised on power. on pride. on legacy.

he’d never leave figure eight.

never leave the cameron name behind.

he’d choose the cage every time.

—

barry got older.

his hands started shaking more.

he stopped sleeping.

he heard rafe got engaged.

to a girl from charleston.

her father owned banks.

her smile looked plastic.

barry didn’t go to the wedding.

but he saw rafe three months later.

outside a gas station.

middle of nowhere.

they locked eyes.

neither spoke.

and then rafe just said: “i had to.”

and barry said: “i know.”

and then they walked away.

—

the last time rafe came to see him, it was raining.

not like the first time. softer. like something was being washed away.

he didn’t kiss barry.

just sat beside him on the porch, hands curled tight in his lap.

“i can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you,” he said.

voice low. shaky.

“even when i try.”

barry swallowed hard.

“you don’t try that hard.”

rafe looked up, eyes glassy.

“i wish i was braver.”

barry nodded.

“i wish you were too.”

—

and then rafe left.

for good.

—

years later, barry kept a box.

inside:

a photograph of the mountain.

a note rafe had once scribbled on the back of a bar receipt.

and an old, beat-up flannel shirt that still smelled like sweat and smoke.

he never opened it.

just kept it on the top shelf, collecting dust.

like a wound he didn’t want to touch.

but sometimes—on cold nights, when the world was too quiet—he’d pull it down and press it to his face.

and remember.

—

he never loved anyone else.

not the way he loved rafe cameron.

not with that kind of devastation.

not with that kind of ache.

—

“truth is,” barry whispered once, years later, to no one at all—just the wind, and the woods, and the long-empty bed beside him—

“i never could quit you.”

[bellfilmz]

𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe x Princess!reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Just a royal seeking freedom Reader enters the world of elite university life, determined to escape expectations and live on her own terms. But the deeper she goes, the harder it becomes to keep her identity and her heart hidden.

⸻

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

⸻

The sun outside the window was too bright.

Reader squinted against the light as her flight descended, her hand curled loosely on the leather armrest. Twelve hours of turbulence, sterile meals, and polite silence had left her with a stiff neck and a restless pulse.

Her security detail flanked her quietly, never too close, never too far.

Her parents had arranged for everything—except the feeling.

That weightless, dangerous sense of possibility.

She was in America. A thousand miles from protocol.

And the crown she’d worn all her life suddenly felt like it didn’t quite fit.

⸻

Campus was larger than she expected. Brooding stone buildings lined with ivy, a sprawling lawn crisscrossed by footpaths, and clusters of designer-clad students dragging expensive luggage behind them. It smelled like fresh-cut grass and old money.

It may not have appeared different, but deep down, she felt the change.

Reader followed her assigned chaperone to the welcome center. The woman behind the desk was blonde, cheerful, and annoyingly chipper.

“Room 6C, top floor,” she said, handing over a sleek keycard. “Oh, look at that! It seems your roommate you’ll be sharing with is Kennedy Jones. She’s a sophomore, so she can show you the ropes.”

Reader froze. “…I’m sorry, a what?”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “The woman smiled without hesitation. “You have a roommate. We usually give students the option to choose a single-person dorm, but it seems the west wing is under construction, so we assigned you a roommate. I hope that's okay.”

Reader said nothing. She only tightened her grip on the keycard.

Her parents had explicitly instructed: private accommodations, secured and vetted. But now? She was walking into a room with a stranger.

“Is there a supervisor I can speak to?” she asked politely, her voice cool but composed.

Reader wasn't going have these people be the reason she was sent home.

The woman tapped her nails on the desk. “Everyone’s a little overwhelmed today with move-ins. If there’s a serious issue, you can submit a form online.”

Submit a form.

Of course.

⸻

The dorm room wasn’t what she expected. It smelled like coconut hair products and cherry lip balm. Music drifted from a Bluetooth speaker, and one side of the room was already claimed—messy in a carefree, artfully chaotic kind of way.

A girl in an oversized sweatshirt stood barefoot on the bed, tacking a collage of photos to the wall. Her braids were tied back with a green scrunchie, and she moved like she belonged here.

Reader cleared her throat.

The girl turned, eyes widening.

“Whoa. You’re my roommate?” she asked, jumping down from the bed. “Hi! I’m Kennedy. I heard you’re British?”

Slightly startled, Reader muttered her name in response, saying a small "yes."

“Well, rommate from across the pond, welcome to hell.” Kennedy grinned, brushing her hands off on her sweatpants. “Hope you don’t mind a little chaos. I keep it clean, but not, like, super clean.”

Reader raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll manage.”

Kennedy laughed, tossing a protein bar onto her bed. "So, what's your backstory? Are you rich, famous, or secretly the heir to something?"

The reader’s lips twitched in annoyance. “Something like that.”

⸻

The day passed in fragments.

Unpacking her luggage felt surreal—carefully chosen pieces, hand-folded by her lady’s maid, now tucked into tiny drawers that didn’t even glide smoothly.

She tried to fit in. She really did.

But every moment was a reminder that she didn’t belong here. Not really.

When Kennedy offered to take her on a campus walk, she agreed. Maybe fresh air would help.

They passed clusters of laughing students, loud and unfiltered.

Boys with backwards caps leaned out of dorm windows, catcalling girls walking by.

A group of girls near the main quad whispered behind their manicured nails, eyeing Reader just loud enough for her to hear.

“She’s new, and I think she’s from the UK.”

“I be, just look at her. I bet she thinks she's better than us.”

Reader didn’t flinch. She was trained for worse.

But it still stung.

Nevertheless, Reader continued to follow Kennedy.

It was just a quick fifteen-minute stroll around the dorm, but reader could tell the student at this school had the freedom she’d always dreamed of.

She watched as student socialized through gossip, sports, and even teachers lurking around.

Reader knew she made the right decision.

She was finally going to be free.

⸻

That evening, Kennedy rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a tube of lip gloss.

“Alright. There’s a mixer tonight,” she said, popping the cap and slicking the gloss over her lips. “It’s mostly for new students. Painfully awkward, occasionally entertaining. Wanna come?”

Reader hesitated. Her instinct said no—she didn’t like crowds, especially ones full of strangers.

But she’d promised herself she’d try. She wanted to be normal. Didn’t she?

“I suppose I could… for a little while,” she said carefully.

Kennedy chuckled. “Girl, that was the most forced ‘yes’ I’ve ever heard.”

Reader smiled faintly. “Force of habit.”

⸻

The mixer was worse than she’d imagined.

It was loud. Cramped. Smelled faintly of sweat, alcohol, and too much cheap body spray.

Reader kept close to the wall, sipping a can of sparkling water as Kennedy weaved through the crowd like she owned it.

“Do not trust boys in salmon-colored shorts,” Kennedy said over her shoulder. “They’re all in frats and they all think deodorant is optional.”

Reader wrinkled her nose.

“Also,” Kennedy added, “see that group of girls over there?”

Reader followed her gaze. Perfect hair, identical outfits, identical laughs.

“Mean girls,” Kennedy said. “Like, Netflix mean girls. If they ask you to go to brunch, it’s a trap.”

As they talked, someone bumped into Reader’s arm. Her drink sloshed.

“Watch it, princess,” a voice drawled.

Reader flinched at the name princess.

A boy stood there, smirking.

Tall. Sun-bleached hair. Button-down half undone.

Sharp jaw. Even sharper eyes.

He didn’t move. Didn’t apologize.

Reader raised her chin. “Excuse me?”

The boy smirked. “You look like you’re about to pass out,” he said. “You lost, or just slumming it with the rest of us?”

Kennedy’s eyes narrowed. “Back off, Cameron.”

Cameron. The name sounded vaguely familiar—someone she’d heard whispered about during her walk. Someone even mentioned a Rafe Cameron.

Reader kept her voice even. “Do you make a habit of insulting strangers, or am I just lucky?”

Rafe’s smirk grew. “Depends. You always look this uptight, or is this a special occasion?”

Readerblinked slowly. “Special occasion. It's not ever day you get to meet the wanna be prince of America”

Kennedy cackled.

Rafe tilted his head, just slightly. For a second, something flickered behind his eyes.

Amusement. Interest. Maybe even respect.

“Well,” he said, stepping back. “Maybe this year won’t be so boring after all.”

He walked off without another word, disappearing into the crowd.

Reader let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Kennedy nudged her. “Girl, What was that? ”

“I don’t know,” Reader said, heart still pounding. “But I don’t think I liked it.”

Kennedy smirked. “He totally likes you.”

⸻

By the time they got back to the dorm, it was nearly midnight.

Kennedy peeled off her lashes and collapsed onto her bed.

Reader changed into a silk nightdress and sat at the window, the lights of campus blinking below.

Her first day as a normal girl.

And she’d already made enemies.

Or… whatever Rafe Cameron was.

Whatever this place turned her into—whatever normal looked like—one thing was certain:

It was nothing like she expected.

And yet, deep down?

She didn’t want to run.

Not yet.

⸻

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @zulema222 @love-4-rafey-lando

[tfewondergottenau]

✧ Back to Skyland…?

After the not so mysterious message from the second ruler of Skyland has been sent to The Føol. Unexpectedly, he has accepted going to the spot he has been told. Turbø standing in front of the small, yet tall building that seems to be a clock tower besides the cable car transport between Bon thé Vil and Skyland. There's more small buildings around too like the buying tickets and waiting spot, but whatever that isn't important right now.

Continue reading ↷

The robot woman, Pal, standing beside him while putting her hands on her hip. It's looking like she isn't trusting what the letter said.

“ I thought you would be smarter than this, Turbø. This is clearly a trap. ” She said.

“ For what?! I already told you that there's no point for them to capture us. Our bounty is gone, we get banned from the city, we even kill the monster not long ago!- ” The Føol reply back, but get interrupted by Pal.

“ But what if they trick us to go back to the city, and then blame us for sneaking in, so they’ll have a reason to imprison us. You know that Frollo hates us and how much damage we do there. ”

What she has is a possibility to happen. It's making Turbø rethink this for a little. He put the hand on his chin, before looking back at the clock tower.

“ Then.. if they want to trick us. Why did they even send a letter of wanting to meet us in person first anyway? That can be evidence later. Or maybe they're just that stupid, I don't know. ”

A lot of things are not clear. Both Turbø and Pal are discussing this for a while until The Føol looks up again, but this time; it’s different. He sees a blurry shadow of a man behind that clock. He doesn't even know that someone can inside that, but at least there's actually someone waiting for them… and even looking at them for a whole time.

“ Maybe we should give it a try. I mean, I think it can't get any worse now, right? ” 

Turbø said as a final word before walking towards the front door, it's usually locked or only for staff. He's knocking the door for someone inside to notice, and soon, the unlock sounds can be heard. Looks like it's really welcome to both of them.

Turbø offers to be the one who opens the door, but when he takes a look inside; it's mostly empty like he's kinda expected to be. The inside is covered with brown wood, looks old but stable. There's a spiral staircase in the middle for going up to the clock above.

Both of them looked at each other for one last time, checking their weapon in case something went wrong before starting walking up the stairs. It's very dusty for sure, and also in every step having a squeaking sound of the wood. When they arrive at the top, it's quite a little more spooky than their thoughts.

The top is still dusty like the others. Above them is full of cogs for the clock. And the only thing that lets the light shine in the room is the giant clock at one of the walls. It's weird to see another side of it. In the middle of the room; there's two chairs and one table between them. And on one of them having a man sitting on it.

A pale skin man with gradient green to yellow bob hair, he's wearing his goggles down; probably to keep himself from looking mysterious and professional. That man who's known as the head of Madness factory, aka the secondly ruler of Skyland, or in what most of the people know; Orson, the living ghost. 

“ You really come here, The Føol ” He said with a monotone voice. However, Turbø decided to reply with a little off topic question.

“ Wait, how long have you been waiting in this building? ” He ask, making Orson going quiet for a sec before replying

“ …Half hour, but that isn't important. How about you take a seat, so we can talk about our deal? Also, sorry that I didn't prepare the seat for you. ” 

Orson turns around to Pal, before she shrugs. She seems to not mind it. On the other hand, she can get ready if anything bad happens. While Pal is moving to standing in one corner of the room, keep the eyes on two men. Turbø having sat down in the opposite side to Orson, facing him.

“ First, I’m not saying that I’m gonna accept whatever deal you're talking about, I’m not gonna fall for your silly trick you're gonna put on us.” Turbø said with the series tone, making the other side know that he’s not gonna take this easy.

“ Oh.. I understand that you're still paranoid about us. You can leave if you're not interested in the deal, but I’m just waiting for you to listen first. ” His voice sounds so professional and reliable. Absolutely what you would expect from someone who's doing the paperwork and taking care about the deal between land for Frollo.

The Føol didn't reply back, crossing his arms and leaning on a chair, still not fully trust him, but still giving it a try.

“ As you know, right now we're searching for the illegal Casino that's suspected to be open somewhere in Skyland, but we couldn't find it. So, we want you to come help us find it, both of you. ” He's looking to both Turbø and Pal before continuing. 

“ You might be curious why we're picking you two. Well, we see the potential in both of you. We might underestimate you at first but after seeing how much you can do while being in the Skyland. We're fascinated by how much you two know our city better than us. The little hidden ally and everything… and we believe that you might know something about the Casino, or at least be able to navigate it. ”

Turbø is still a little hesitant about it. Even though he's hearing those sweet compliments out of Orson, there's still not enough for him. He isn't being some kind of person who's care about that Casino or anything, he's only looking forward for everything and anything that keep his journey in progress; he can go and show them the location of that Casino anytime he wants, however he can't really said the location out because of some weird spell they have.

“ I see.. So, you want to collaborate with us, huh? You know I wouldn't do anything without benefits, right? ” He clearly wants something in return. 

“ We know, and we know what you're looking for. If you help us, not only will you get money, but you’ll also be a free man in Skyland; we’ll not hunt you down anymore, and help you to your next destination. For summary; We’ll give you money, you’ll no longer get banned from Skyland, and we’ll give you the free tickets for going to the Caspian Sea. If possible we might contact the ruler to help you too. What do you think? ”

That's… an unbelievable good deal for both of them. Definitely benefits like never before. Turbø looking at Pal, it seems like she's also a little hesitant about this too. Skyland is truly the only thing that's preventing them from getting to the next land, if they can pass it, everything will be a lot easier. It's too risky to pass it out. Turbø let out a sigh before leaning forward.

“ ..You really know how to convince people. I hate that it's working too damn well too.. I accepted the deal. ”

Pal at the corner looks a little surprised, but there's nothing can do about it either. Hoping this is for the best. Turbø reaches his hand out to shake for the deal, which soon; Orson accepts.

“ It's good to make a deal with you, sir. I’ll send the invite to Skyland later, and we can discuss the plan. ”

Turbø isn't sure if this is good or not, but no matter what, it's for the best for both of him and Pal.. 

Now, all he needs to do is wait for what is coming next.

————————————————————

[hufflezki]

Hii! I've loved everything I've read from your account so far and wanted to request something of course only if you're interested/have time ✨️🫶

This is a Sirius x reader situation.

I was thinking a reader maybe like Malfoy little sister or any other pureblood family, and she is a "rebel" just like Sirius. The reader and Regulus could be classmates or know each other because they migh have classes together, partnering for projects, childhood friends or something like that...but since she's also different/same situation as Sirius, he [Sirius] might feel attracted to her because he feels like she understands, so he asks his brother for help to get her attention, in a way reader could be a bridge between the Black brothers, like Regulus' best friend and Sirius' partner/gf?. She might end up taking Regulus with her from Black Manor.

Thank youu, sorry if this is long idk how detailed it should be a request 😭 no problem if you decide not to write it 💕

[ 🦢 ᝰ.ᐟ ] thank you for requesting, loviee<33 sorry if this took a little while. I also ended up changing some things, but I hope you don't mindd!

-> sirius black x gn!reader, who doesn't share the same beliefs as her pureblood family, reader and regulus are close friends, james potter being a wingman, the black brothers live in the potter manor, word count: 1,233

“Come on, Jamie, don't tell me you’re not even a little bit curious?” Sirius whisper-yells at his bespectacled friend, as they peer at you and Regulus—in the living room—from behind a wall, not at all looking amiss. James wasn't quite sure how he ended up following Sirius’ steps. He’s been acting like this ever since he found out from Regulus, he definitely didn't beg him for information, that you had rejected another one of your parents’ proposals for an arranged marriage. And, apparently, this time you—alongside your younger sibling—finally decided to leave home with a friend's help. Hearing that alone sent Sirius into some kind of nostalgic mess. Which is why you’ve never left his mind the past few days.

Sirius knew you, you’d been one of the first few friends Regulus made at Hogwarts. The both of you share quite a few similarities, something that probably brings sense as to why you’re both so close. You both won't tolerate anything you deem nonsensical. You’re both just as stubborn. But you know how to use your wits to your own advantage. Which Sirius finds very admirable about you.

At first, he tried dismissing his feelings as just him being worried for his brother’s friend. After all, Regulus seems very fond of you out of all his friends. His little brother never misses to mention your name in a heartbeat. And Sirius, wanting to earn back his title of a good brother, began entertaining you as well when you came over. That’s until he found himself falling deeper into your labyrinth. Turns out, you shared more similarities with him. You come from a lineage of purebloods, that you despise because of the way they treat you. And you have a younger brother—who you’re trying to raise the best as you can. And that made Sirius dote on you even more. To the point his friends are beginning to notice.

“Curious? About my best friend's brother’s friend?” James scrunches his eyebrows together, repeating his words. “Geez, I think I’m gonna have a stroke.” He adds, but Sirius is too distracted to even hear him. Leaving James to stare at his hopeless looking friend. He’s never seen him this way before. Though, to be fair, you are giving his best friend a hard time just by being Regulus’ friend. Not to be taken as offensive, or anything, but he’s been acting kind of like a huge wall between you and Sirius. James finds it funny, though. Apparently, all it takes to cockblock Sirius is his own little brother.

A minute later, your two spectators see Regulus stand up, mutter something inaudible to you, before leaving. Sirius and James are forced to separate, pretending on doing their own things by the hallway. Regulus passes by them and eyes them, suspiciously, as James strangely inspects a nearby potted plant while Sirius fixes the broken head of a lamp. “You two can stop. We've already seen you.” The two friends exchange a look, before Regulus turns the hallway and heads to the kitchen.

Sirius gives James an incredulous look, before his friend gives him a slight push. “Go!” James eggs him on, grabbing him on the shoulders and turning him to the direction of the kitchen. “What? What do you want me to do?!” Sirius pushes himself back on his feet, but fails to do so when James starts pushing him forward. “Just ask Regulus to help you! You’re so obvious already!” Sirius turns around to face him, eyes wide. “I am not!” He looks at him as if James was the one being ridiculous for accusing him of acting like something that he is. Suddenly, you pop out behind them, from the living room.

“What’s all the commotion?” You startle James for a bit, but he finds his composure and convinces you with an excuse. Now, he’s dragging you back to the living room, with a promise to play chess. James, narrowing his eyes at his best friend, then mumbles. “Talk to him.” Before disappearing with you.

Sirius is then left to do one of the least things he wants to.

Talk to his brother about the way he feels.

“You like my friend?” Sirius feels like a proper dog with its tail tucked between its legs, as he feels Regulus’ scrutinizing gaze. Or is that just how he stares at people? Either way it was a little terrifying. He was trying to be vulnerable here, telling his little brother about how things started changing after you and him had that talk the last time. And suddenly the air seems rigid between him and Regulus.

Then a sigh, Sirius sees his brother grab the teapot and pour him a cup of tea. “Here, it should ease your nerves.” With his voice monotonous, he gives it to Sirius, who’s still a little bewildered. “Take it.” Regulus starts insisting, and eventually Sirius carefully grabs it from him, taking a big sip. And it did help, quite a bit actually, as his shoulders started to grow lighter.

“Green tea?”

“Yes. It's the only thing we have left.” Sirius hums, nodding his head as he takes another sip, before placing it back down on its coaster. “Anyway, I don't control how you feel. If you like them, I think it's best if you had this talk with them instead of me.” Regulus turns around, pouring himself a cup this time. Sirius follows him, pursing his lips, unsure. “Are you sure? That this is alright with you, I mean.” Familiar grey eyes stare at him once more, before Regulus speaks. “Like I said, I don't control the way you feel. Either way, I know you have good intentions. And they seem equally as interested in you” Regulus pauses. “I say, take the risk and just tell them. You deserve love too, Sirius.” With that said, Sirius feels much better than he did before.

He may not have been present for Regulus the last few years, but he’s glad that his brother’s giving him a chance to redeem himself.

“Sorry to interrupt your sibling time, but I just beat James in chess, and now he wants a rematch with an audience.” Your voice can be heard entering the kitchen, James trailing behind you like a defeated puppy. Sirius can’t help but smile. “If that's the case then,” He approaches you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, not missing the way you try to avoid his gaze. “I’m on your side.” Sirius mumbles, and he sees the corner of your lips tilt up.

“Great choice.” You finally meet his eyes, causing him to feel a little dazed. You’re even more charming up close. “As much as I want to team up with you as well. Seeing the circumstances, I guess it leaves me no choice.” You both hear Regulus pass by between the three of you, exiting the kitchen. “Wait, you’re teaming up with me?!” James trails behind him, giddy to have someone on his team.

“No, but I’ll be here to watch you lose again.” You both hear James’ loud gasp from the hallway.

“We shouldn’t let them wait much longer.” You say, Sirius trails his hand down to the small of you back, nodding in agreement. Before the both of you make your way back to the living room as well.

This day might’ve turned out much better than he anticipated.

marauders era masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ