#using this as cover for my small notebook

[drgrlfriend]

Fanbind: Do Every Stupid Thing by thepartyresponsible

This was an already-made typeset generously shared with me by someone on the Renegade server (@runawaymarbles). I used their beautiful design element for the cover as well (although I cannot recommend doing interlocking elements in different colors if you are visuospatially-impaired like I am!). It was the perfect baby-step into my first actual text bind, whereas up until this one I had only bound blank notebooks or done rebinds of already-printed books. I was worried it might be too over the top with reflective foil used for all four colors (even the top, which photographs looking a little white, is reflective silver foil), but I ended up liking it. It's a nice contrast with the matte gunmetal bookcloth, and echoes the quote that says, "Don't let 'em break your heart. That small one's kinda flashy." (Rosa, my dearest, you were only there for a few pages but you live forever in my heart). This copy was meant for me, but ended up being timed just right (with a little doing-this-instead-of-work on my part) to send to my amazing beta and fandom bestie, @kangofu-cb, so the next copy will be for me! The fic is Do Every Stupid Thing by @thepartyresponsible, a.k.a. the fic that got every single one of us into the Jason Todd fandom. @thepartyresponsible, I sent you an ask, but if you want a bound copy of your fic I would be thrilled to send you one!

[hhhwnr]

ꨄInk-stained affection — S.R

masterlist + navigation

genre: fluff/mutual pinning word count: 1,1k

pairing: post prison!Spencer Reid x sunshine!reader

warnings: brief mentions of prison.

summary: Some things are easier to write than say. Especially when he has forgotten how to say anything at all. But you were patient—and paper listens just as well as you do.

author’s note: post prison!Spence is my beloved. I’m new to writing on Tumblr and in English (which isn’t my first language), so please be kind. I’m open to suggestions or feedback, as long as it’s respectful :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It started with a journal — not as some grand romantic gesture, but something quieter, simpler, something that didn’t demand too much. After prison, words weren’t easy for Spencer, not in the way they used to be. He still talked, of course, still rambled sometimes about quantum theory or 18th-century handwriting, but even those rambles were slower now, more deliberate, like each word had to be checked and weighed before leaving his mouth. Conversation felt like walking across a rope bridge in the wind — possible, but uncertain — and some days, no matter how much he wanted to connect, the space between thoughts and speech felt too wide to cross. So you didn’t ask him to talk. You just left a blank notebook on the edge of his desk one afternoon, nothing fancy, just a soft-covered journal with a post-it on top that read: In case speaking feels too loud today. You didn’t expect him to use it, but two days later it reappeared on your chair, opened to a page written in small, careful handwriting: Do you want to get coffee after work? That was all. But it was enough.

Over time, the journal stopped being just a bridge and became a home for the quiet parts of your connection—the kind of things too soft or too strange to say out loud. You took turns without rules, slipping it into desk drawers or messenger bags like a secret waiting to be found. Sometimes it was practical—grocery lists, book club notes, flight times for a shared case. Other times it was tender: a pressed flower from a walk you’d taken apart but thought of each other during; a doodle of his cardigan draped over your chair with a tiny “missing you” written in the pocket; a smudged coffee ring beside a scribbled line of poetry neither of you could quite finish. It was a slow, careful accumulation of small things—anecdotes, quotes, quiet thoughts in the margins. You looked tired today, but beautiful still. I thought of you when I saw a crow with a limp. This passage reminded me of the way you fidget with your sleeves. The kind of notes you don’t say aloud in case they sound too big or too honest, but that, written down, felt just right.

Spencer stared at the open page for a long time before writing anything. The journal sat between his hands like it always did—familiar, worn at the corners, faintly smelling of lavender and ink. He tapped the pen against the edge of the paper, like the rhythm could pull the words out of him. He’d written so much in this journal—facts and fragments and safe little glimpses of affection—but this felt different. This felt like crossing some invisible line he wasn’t sure he could uncross.

Still, he wrote.

You were humming in the elevator today. I didn’t know the tune, but it stayed with me all day. I think that’s what love does sometimes—slips in without a sound, nestles between your ribs, and makes a home there before you’ve even noticed.

I used to think of you when I was still inside. Not often at first. Just… little things. Your voice in meetings. The way you held a pen. How you always had a hair tie on your wrist, even when your hair was up. I think I was clinging to whatever felt normal, whatever reminded me that the world was still going even if I wasn’t really in it. But somewhere in those small, quiet thoughts, you became a kind of comfort. A light that wasn’t too bright, but steady. Familiar. You were one of the few things I let myself keep.

And now, here you are. Reading my bad handwriting, correcting my book quotes, drawing ridiculous doodles in the margins like it’s your full-time job. And I still don’t always have the words when I need them. Even when I talk, it’s slower now. Softer. I second-guess things I never used to. But you never make me feel like I have to perform. You listen like it’s second nature. Like I’m worth listening to. And that… that does something to a person.

So I guess I’m writing it here, because I still don’t trust my voice not to tremble: I am in love with you. Tell me in ink.

The next morning, he brought you coffee—your favorite, made exactly how you liked it, which he somehow always remembered even when he forgot to eat lunch or where he last put his keys. He didn’t say much, just set the mug beside your hand and lingered there a moment longer than usual. The notebook followed, placed gently on top of the folder you’d been reviewing, its familiar spine worn soft. He didn’t look at you when he left it there—just gave a quiet little tap against the cover with two fingers and mumbled something about paperwork. But his ears were pink, and you could swear he smiled when your hand brushed his knuckles in thanks.

He didn’t expect it back so soon.

But there it was, sitting neatly on his desk that afternoon like it had been waiting for him all along. The cover still smelled faintly like your hand cream—coconut and something citrusy—and there was a tiny yellow post-it stuck to the front, a smiling sun doodled in the corner. He opened to the next blank page and found your familiar handwriting, looping and full of warmth.

Spence, I read your note three times. Not because I didn’t believe it—but because I wanted to feel it over and over again. You don’t know what it means to me that you let me into your heart like that.

I think I’ve loved you in small ways for a while now—like how I always look for your face first in a crowded room, or how I find myself smiling when I see your name on my phone. It didn’t hit me all at once. It was like the warmth of the sun sneaking through a window on a cold day—soft, unexpected, and completely impossible to ignore.

And even if you’d never said it, I think I still would’ve kept writing to you. Because even before I loved you, I liked you so very much. And being liked by you in return? That’s already one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.

So… meet me after work? You can tell me in words this time. I’ll bring your favorite muffins. You bring that smile I like.

And there it was—at the bottom of the page, a soft lipstick mark, right where your signature might have gone.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, his fingertips tracing the edge of the page like he could hold the feeling steady just a little longer.

He couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day.

Thank you for reading ♥︎

[theycallmelittleangel]

JOEY!!!! (again) ❤️❤️🥁🥁🖤🖤

[sevicia]

I NEEEED to start keeping track of the stuff I'm in the process of making or wanna start making/drafting cuz I just opened one of my sketchbooks and flipped through and was like FUCKKK I really like this idea why haven't I finished it yet........ It's cuz you also have 8645312 other ideas you really like and haven't finished yet just get a grip man

[sunjoys]

found out about "commonplace books" abt a month after accidentally starting one.. v fun

[cherrygirlfriend]

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ polaroids

pairing: stepbro!rafe x reader synopsis: stepbro!rafe blackmails reader into letting him use a vibrator on her warnings/tags: smut, STEPCEST, DUBCON, blackmail, MDNI! wc: 1.5K a/n; i’m not sure if this would be classified as dubcon or noncon but please read the synopsis before reading! originally posted 10/19/2024

stepsis masterlist ♡ rafe cameron masterlist ♡

"rafeee, can you get my charger? it's in the top drawer of my nightstand!" you called up from downstairs, making your stepbrother roll his eyes.

"fucking get it yourself!"

"the food's gonna burn!"

despite you being on the first floor, rafe could hear the whiney tone in your voice, and almost picture the way your lip bottom lip would be pulled in with that despicable pout that managed to get you everything from both his father and your mother, and so, begrudgingly he opened the door to your bedroom.

he rounded the corner of your four-poster bed, bending to open the top drawer of your nightstand, spotting your charger on top of a bunch of your other shit, and letting out a small scoff as he threw the charger onto the bed.

but when rafe spotted a small key peeking out from underneath some stupid fashion magazine, his interest was piqued; he didn't even need to pick it up to know what it went to. it was the bottom drawer of your nightstand, him having an identical nightstand in his own bedroom, and knowing the almost scandalous contents of his own bottom drawer made him curious as to what you could be hiding in yours.

he picked it up, observing it for a moment before slamming the top drawer closed, swiftly putting the key in the lock and twisting it open. when he pulled it open, at first it appeared as if nothing was in it, but he knew better. he pulled the false bottom off, throwing it onto the bed, and when rafe's eyes fell onto what was in your nightstand, he couldn't help the grin on his face.

some of the contents were pretty tame; a pile of notebooks that he assumed were your old diaries, some weed, and some adderall that he knew you used to pop like fucking skittles back when you were in high school and had a big test coming up.

but his eyes widened slightly when he spotted the bottle of lube and the small, pale pink bullet-shaped vibrator; sure, he knew you had your vices and you weren't an innocent girl like you led your mother to believe, but you'd always been kind of a prude; you'd never let any of your old boyfriends mark you up even back when you'd been in high school like most girls that were too horny to even realize, and even now, he saw your face flush whenever there was a fucking sex scene on television and you conveniently looked down at your phone for the duration of it.

what really struck his eye was the stack of polaroids he knew you'd taken with the instax mini camera ward had gotten you for christmas, and when he picked up the stack and turned them around, only the first image was enough to cause his jaw to slack slightly.

it was taken on a timer, and you were kneeling on your bed, your hand splayed on your neck, wearing a sheer pink lingerie dress, lacy pink panties covering your pussy while your nipples were covered by red, heart-shaped pasties.

he went through the polaroids, his eyes widening and his shorts tightening with each picture, shots of you wearing different lingerie sets, ones of you looking over your shoulder seductively while you were kneeling on the bed, showing off your ass in a pair of thongs, pictures taken where your tits were soaped up and just covered by your arms, ones-

"rafeee! did you find it?!"

he chuckled at your called-out question, so unaware of the things he had found, putting the polaroids back in the bottom drawer, "yeah yeah!" he called back out, but as he was starting to put the false bottom back in, he got an idea.

and so, before he put the false bottom back in the drawer, he slipped the bullet-shaped vibrator into his pocket.

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat; you had no idea where it could've gone, having used it literally that morning. even though you remembered putting it in its usual spot in the bottom drawer of your nightstand, it was nowhere to be seen.

you thought that maybe you'd accidentally left it on your bed; your bedding, now on the floor. maybe it was on your top drawer instead, the contents dumped on the floor next to it. now you were going through your bookshelf, your teeth biting into your bottom lip so harshly you could taste blood in your mouth.

it wasn't only that you didn't want anyone to find it; it was also that you were so fucking sexually frustrated. you'd already gotten yourself off in the morning, but still, everything even slightly sexual had caused you to press your legs firmly together to seek some relief.

you nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard someone clear their throat, and when you turned to look at who it was, you were faced with your stepbrother, a smug smile on his face.

"looking for something?" rafe said, holding up the pink device you'd been looking for, your eyes widening when they landed on it

"did you go through my stuff you psycho?!" you stomped to him, rafe holding the vibrator over his head and out of your reach when you tried grabbing it. "give it to me!"

"i don't think that's how you speak to someone when you want something from them." rafe tsked, his jaw clenched as he pressed you against your bedroom wall, his hand on your chin, making you look up at him, "see, you're supposed to ask nicely. didn't mommy teach you that?"

"what do you want, rafe?"

"you know, when i found this little thing," rafe tapped the small vibrator against your cheek, "i found some really interesting pictures." he grinned, your eyes widening, your heartbeat picking up, immediately knowing the pictures he was talking about.

rafe turned on the vibrator, letting it travel down your chest, until coming in contact with your clothed nipple, slowly, involuntarily pebbling under the vibrations, your stepbrother's breath hot on your face, an obvious tent in his sweatpants. "it would be such a shame if your mom saw them, you know?"

"they don't show my face..." you said with a small sniffle, your eyes starting to sting with tears, meanwhile you felt your cunt starting to get slick with arousal from the stimulation to your nipple.

"aw, she might be stupid but she's not an idiot. you really think she won't recognize that pretty little body? all those pretty marks and dots on your body. are you willing to risk it?"

rafe's hand started traveling lower, the vibrations trailing down your ribs and abdomen, causing you to tense up your muscles as you spoke, your teeth gritting together, "what do you want?"

"to own you."

rafe had you pinned down on your bed, your hands gripping onto your already crumpled sheets; your lacy panties clinging to your pussy, thoroughly soaked in your arousal, and you knew they were beyond saving.

your flimsy top had been pushed up to reveal your breasts, and he'd been using the vibrator on your poor pussy for an hour now, and somehow it had been the most excruciating yet exhilarating hour of your life.

"i can't..." you whined as rafe brought the vibrator to your clit, and even though it was covered by the soaking fabric, it felt as if there wasn't any barrier at all, the stimulation bringing you closer and closer to your third orgasm. "'s too much... feels too good…"

rafe let out a cruel laugh at that, only bringing up the volume of the vibrator, pressing it even firmly against your clit, causing you to let out a yelp that turned into a moan, roughly grabbing at the fat of your breast as he brought his face closer to your face.

"you're gonna take it." he smiled, pressing a small kiss between your breasts, before standing up. "keep it in place." rafe commanded, and you brought your hand to weakly hold the vibrator at your clit while he walked around your room, in search for something.

"what... what are you doing?" you mumbled, your mind hazy from the pleasure coursing through your body, your eyes widening when rafe turned around, holding your polaroid camera. "r-rafe?"

rafe walked towards the bed, turning on the camera as he kneeled over you, swatting your hand away from the vibrator, replacing it with his own. "this is gonna be your best picture yet."

before you could protest, you were blinded by the flash, trying to use your arm to cover up your eyes, the picture slowly coming out of the camera, and rafe set it down next to you on the bed while it slowly changed from black to a picture of your body, showing your bared tits and the soaked panties that had molded to the shape of your pussy, rafe's large, ringed hand holding the vibrator against your clit.

rafe turned off the vibrator, throwing it onto the bed, grabbing the photo, and shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants, before leaning closer to your ear.

"i own you." he whispered roughly, tapping your cheek before standing up and leaving your room.

[sameergaza]

To all Tumblr users, don't leave me alone ‼️💔

My name is Samir, and I am just a simple man, carrying great love for my family and small dreams I have always wished to fulfill.

Our path in life has never been easy. We are a family of seven, living under harsh conditions that only God truly knows.

I do my best every day to provide my children and family with the basics of life: food, clean water, and a dignified living. But the burden has become heavier than I can carry alone.

Every day, I wake up with the sunrise, holding on to a new hope that I can cover our most basic needs: a simple meal on the table, clean water to drink, and a notebook and pencil for my son who dreams of completing his education.

But expenses continue to rise, and the small income I earn is barely enough to cover even the essentials.

I did not turn to this fundraising campaign out of greed or luxury, but out of genuine need and belief in the goodness that lives in people’s hearts.

I humbly ask for your support to help me provide education for my children, and food and clean water for my family.

Your help, no matter how small, could change our lives and open a new door of hope toward a better future.

I appeal to you from the heart of a father who only dreams of seeing his children grow up healthy and safe to be part of this journey with us.

Please, contribute whatever you can and share our story with others. Your support whether through donations, words, or sharing truly makes a difference.

I got $1760 in a very long time almost 7 months

I need any small donation, it will mean a lot to me, any donation, even if it is $1

May God bless every giving hand and reward you with goodness.

[deansbeer]

★ in his arms, the world fades // clark kent.

synopsis. feeling unwell and overwhelmed, you seek comfort in clark's arms. his warmth, soothing touch, and sweet words make the ache in your stomach—and your heart—feel bearable.

warning(s). fluff | comfort | f!reader | s1!clark | reader feels unwell stomach aches | nausea | difficulty eating | mild angst | distressing moments | academic stress | brief mentions of exams | studying | cuddling | kisses | superman references.

kari yaps. last night, i had horrible stomach pains and wrote this <333 + a lil disclaimer! i'm on ep 5 of smallville (the ads on hulu r mad annoying) so i only know a little about clark. but don't worry i will get to know all ab pookie soon !!! trust <33

it starts with the ache. sharp and twisting, like someone's wringing your stomach out like a wet rag. it's been days now—days of barely keeping food down, of your appetite wavering between nothing and everything, only for nausea to win every time. eating has become a battle, and losing feels inevitable. but you haven't told anyone, not really. maybe it's pride. maybe it's not wanting to worry anyone. maybe you're just hoping it'll go away on its own.

still, it lingers, and today's no different. you pull up to the kent farm, the gravel crunching under your tires, the sight of the red barn and yellow farmhouse somehow grounding you. you're supposed to be here to study. algebra—not exactly something you're excited about, but clark's always been good at making the hard stuff easier. it's one of the many things you love about him: his patience, his steadiness, the way he seems to know when you need a little extra reassurance. and maybe you need that today more than ever.

"hey, pretty girl," clark greets you at the door, his smile soft and familiar, like it's meant just for you. "you okay? you look…" he trails off, squinting at you in that way he does when he's trying to figure you out. "…tired."

you force a smile, shrugging it off. "just didn't sleep much last night."

it's not a lie, exactly. the ache had kept you up most of the night, twisting and turning beneath the covers, unable to find a position that didn't make it worse. but clark doesn't need to know that. not right now.

he nods, stepping aside to let you in. "i made us some lemonade," he says as you follow him up the stairs to his room. "my mom said it's good for focus or something. i don't know, but it tastes good."

you hum in response, though the thought of drinking anything right now makes your stomach churn. you'll figure out a way to avoid it later.

when you get to his room, it's the same as always—neat but lived-in, the bed made but the desk cluttered with papers and books, a small stack of cds next to his stereo. it smells faintly of pine and something distinctly clark, like sun-warmed hay and fresh laundry. it's comforting in a way you didn't realize you needed.

you settle on the floor with him, textbooks and notebooks spread out between you. he's already flipping through his algebra book, pen tapping idly against his knee as he scans the pages.

"okay," he says, glancing at you with a smile. "where should we start? graphing inequalities or quadratic equations?"

you groan, letting your head fall back against the bed. "do we have to start?"

he chuckles. "the exam's next week. i don't think mr. phillips is gonna let us wing it."

"worth a shot," you mutter, but you sit up anyway, flipping open your notebook to a blank page. you try to focus, really, but the ache is still there, dull and persistent, and it's hard to think about numbers and graphs when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.

half an hour in, you're staring at your notebook, pen tapping against the paper. clark's voice is distant as he explains something about parabolas, the words blurring together in your head. you're not even sure when you stopped listening. all you know is that your chest feels tight, your stomach twists again, and suddenly, you just can't anymore.

"hey," clark says, his voice soft with concern. "what's wrong?"

you don't answer, don't even look at him. instead, you set your notebook aside, shifting closer to him until you're wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. his skin is warm against your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering there. you don't say anything, and neither does he, not at first. he just sits there, still and quiet, letting you hold on like he's been expecting this all along.

then, slowly, he moves. his arms come around you, strong and steady, and he shifts your things aside before effortlessly pulling you up with him onto the bed. his back hits the mattress, and you're lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. his hands find your back, warm and soothing as they rub up and down in slow, gentle strokes.

you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. his touch is enough to warm you, enough to quiet the ache in your stomach, at least for now. you don't know how he does it—how he makes everything feel a little less heavy just by being there.

your hands move to rest on his collarbone, fingers brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt. the side of your head presses against his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

he doesn't say anything at first, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to calm you down. but then he starts murmuring soft, sweet things in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

"you're okay," he says, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "whatever it is, you're okay. i've got you."

his hand moves to rest on the side of your head, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hair. he presses another kiss to your temple, then another, each one softer than the last.

"you don't have to say anything," he whispers. "just let me hold you."

and you do. you let yourself relax against him, let yourself melt into his warmth. his chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and strong, and you match your breathing to his without even realizing it. the ache in your stomach is still there, but it feels distant now, muted by the way his hands move against your back, by the way his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

"you know," he starts after a while, his voice still soft, "i'm not great at algebra either. but i'm pretty sure lying here with you is a way better use of my time."

you let out a quiet laugh, your breath fanning against his chest. "you're supposed to be the responsible one."

"yeah, well," he murmurs, his fingers threading through your hair, "even superheroes need a break sometimes."

you tilt your head to look up at him, catching the small smile playing on his lips. "superhero, huh?"

"what? you didn't know?" his grin widens, teasing. "i'm kind of a big deal."

you roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "you're ridiculous."

"maybe," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "but i made you laugh, didn't i?"

you hum in response, letting your head fall back against his chest. the silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. his hand moves back to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against your spine.

"i mean it, though," he says after a while, his voice quieter now. "whatever's going on, you don't have to go through it alone. you can tell me."

"i know," you whisper, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "i just… i don't know. i've been feeling off lately. stomach stuff. it's probably nothing."

he frowns, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "how long?"

"a few days," you admit. "it's not a big deal. it'll pass."

"you don't know that," he says gently. "have you eaten today?"

you hesitate, and that's enough of an answer for him. he sighs, his hand resuming its slow movements against your back.

"you're stubborn, you know that?" he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. just concern, soft and steady, like everything else about him.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, your voice muffled against his chest.

he chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath you. "fair enough. but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"okay," you say, and you mean it. because if anyone can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, it's clark.

you stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. the algebra books are forgotten, but neither of you seems to care. right now, this is enough. he's enough.

and for the first time in days, the ache in your stomach feels bearable.

⎯⎯ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @aileenunfiltered @st4rfckerz @jasvtsc . . . ୨୧

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part two)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: as both of your best friends, steve tries to get you and bucky to bond

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut in an elevator, fingering (r!receiving), discreet, mutual pining, angst, not proofread I'm lazy and tired

notes: thank you guys for the response to the first part...what the fuck?? everything i write for bucky goes insane and i didn't think people wanted more but i got too many messages not to keep writing for him.

ps: wanted to post this tonight… so it may not be seamless, but i will edit when im fully awake bc im half asleep rn

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The next time you saw Bucky was the following day. He was seated next to Steve as the pair of them lounged in the grass at a park near your house. Steve and you came here a lot—him making a reason to escape Avengers duty and you simply living within walking distance. 

“Hi.” You offered an awkward wave to the men, sitting down on the throw blanket they’d laid in the grass. 

While Steve greeted you, Bucky hardly acknowledged your presence, averting his eyes to watch his friend next to him. Steve dug into a bag beside him and pulled out a few small notebooks. One of them was noticeably more worn; you recognized it as his own sketchbook. 

In his free time since being off ice, Steve found solace in drawing the world around him. Between each image would linger small lists of to-dos, figures of speech he had to know, and bucket list items he hoped to complete one day. He was almost finished with this one, keeping it on him to use at his leisure. He wanted to offer the experience to you both as well, his best friends. 

“I got you these,” Steve passed you and Bucky each a book. “I also have some of my favorite pencils here.” He grabbed a handful and let them fall in front of you. “Whenever I’m feeling...overwhelmed or anxious, I just,” he exhaled a deep breath, “I just put something in here. It helps.” 

You and Bucky watched him intently, nodding at his explanation. 

He continued, “We don’t have to talk—you guys don’t have to…but maybe we could just do this together?” 

“I’d like that.” You spoke first, grabbing a few of the pencils and an eraser. 

“Me too.” 

Bucky spoke. It was low and filled with apprehension, like he was testing the waters of what it was like to use his own voice. You whipped your head to him at the sound, arching your brow as his covered hands reached for a book and pencil. He sat for a while, though, just looking between you and Steve without putting anything down. 

As time passed, you chuckled at your paper a bit, drawing a rough picture of Steve’s concentrated face. He was quite fond of birds, you realized, and he would often draw them. Their presence was fleeting, and he loved that challenge, the idea that one moment they could be here and the next gone. It was similar to life in that way, how the people he loved most would be with him and then not. 

The greatest joys of his life were when a bird would return, perched on the ground in front of him. He found that his life, in particular, was like that. Just when he thought Bucky was really gone, he came back. He was able to finish his drawing now, and you were an amazing addition to the artwork. 

“So,” Steve clasped his hands together, “Who wants to show theirs off?” 

You perked up and excitedly flipped yours with a laugh, pointing to Steve’s upturned face in the sketch. 

He immediately laughed and snatched your book, eyeing the scratch before looking up at you. “No way we sat here for an hour and you drew me in your book.” 

“Believe it,” you shrugged, “I’m an artist.” 

Steve scoffed playfully before tossing the book back to you with a light underhand throw. “What about you, Buck?” 

He’d been into it by then. You weren’t sure when he started to actually draw, but he wouldn’t look away. His brows were pinched, and he pulled at the inner skin of his cheek in concentration. You and Steve exchanged a look when he didn’t reply. 

Steve outstretched a hand toward the book, “Bucky-“ The harsh movement of Bucky pulling his work back toward his chest cut Steve off—he held his hands up in a surrender. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?” 

“I’m good just…got kind of invested.” 

You nodded, observing the way Bucky still clutched the book. “It’s really relaxing Steve. This was a great idea. Right, Bucky?” 

“Right.” He looked between you and Steve before closing the small book and tucking it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He moved to stand suddenly backing toward the road, “I’ll be in the car when you guys are done.” 

He was always like this, pushed people away.

Steve looked to you when Bucky was out of earshot. “Did I say something?” The look on his face was one of pure confusion and concern. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t push it. At least he actually put pencil to paper, you know?”

“You’re right—this is sort of a milestone if you think about it.” 

“I agree, big step for him.” 

On the way back to the tower you let your mind be on Bucky again—the way he so quickly let the good moments be pushed away by whatever small thing bothered him. 

There wasn’t much talking as the group of you got into the elevator, save for Steve making a last-ditch effort to get you and Bucky to talk again. 

“I have a few things to do, but feel free to wait around, and we can hang out again later.” He stood facing the elevator's closed doors with the stoicism he always had. 

Neither you nor Bucky spoke as Steve stepped out of the elevator—his words seeming like an order rather than a random comment. He had that authoritative way about him.

A few seconds after, the doors shut and allowed the cart to spring into action. It made you wobble a bit, the startling movement making you both off-balance briefly. 

When he regained his composure, Bucky finally spoke, glancing over at you. “Today was a good day.” His voice was filled with unease, not having had a moment alone with you since the day prior. 

You nodded. “It was. I had fun.” It was fine, entertaining the small talk. “You have fun?” 

He looked over to you as the tension he’d been holding slowly dissipated—you had that effect on him. Bucky was instead filled with nerves as your eyes rested on him. His lips parted to speak in response, but he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him so fondly, actually interested in whether or not he enjoyed himself. 

All he could muster was a tight nod, assuring you that he had enjoyed himself, before looking ahead to the elevator doors. Then they jolted again, this time stopping abruptly at the pull of the emergency stop button. 

He looked over at you again but this time in confusion, concern even. “What are you doing?” 

“Why are you being weird?” You tucked yourself into the corner, covering the button so he couldn’t try to leave. You knew, of course, that had he tried he'd be out of here faster than you could even process. But the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch said enough to you. 

“I’m not. I’m being normal-“ 

“Normal for you isn’t…whatever this is.” You looked him up and down, “You’re more—more reserved, methodical. You’re not a jittery person, Bucky.” 

He let out an amused scoff. “I’m only jittery because we’re stuck in an elevator. I'm claustrophobic.” 

“You could get out and you know that.” You crossed your arms, “You just don’t want to.” 

“That’s not it-“ 

“Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Move me.” You stepped off the wall and inched closer to him. “Move me out the way and press the button.” 

He swallowed but didn’t move—like you expected. Suddenly, you broke the eye contact. He watched you turn and push the red knob back into place. 

As the metal box started to move again you scoffed at him, purposely avoiding eye contact. His breathing sped up, suddenly enticed to prove you so extremely right. 

“Fuck it,” he grabbed your hip with a single had a let his lips fall onto yours. He’d simultaneously pulled the button with a free hand, distracting you by how eagerly he’d started kissing you. 

The startling jolt of the elevator and Bucky combined sent you back into the side wall, colliding with the long bar with a hiss. Bucky didn’t stop, swallowing the sound with his own mouth on yours. He was needy, pressing his tongue into and through your lips. He’d waited so long for this, and it was absolutely worth it. 

You were completely insatiable. You let Bucky use you, a fondness for the feeling now. The both of you moaned into each other, carelessly wrapping yourselves in one another. You snaked your hands up to his face, pulling him in impossibly closer. You could feel his stubble on your face, suddenly smiling at the burn you’d have between your thighs with him settled there. He felt your smirk and pulled away to look at you. 

Buck smirked, too. You were in a daze, swaying on your feet as your eyes pulled back into focus. 

He watched you leaned into the wall, lowering his head. The layered top of his hair fell over, covering your view of his beautiful face. He stayed looking down but spoke in a low tone, “Take off your pants.” 

“Make. Me.” You smiled, repeating yourself slowly. 

He made a show of lifting his head and letting his hair settle back into place. He was in that damn jacket again, always was. You stayed watching him, tilting your head in amusement as he shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. Even slower, he took off his gloves. You’d never even actually seen both his hands, only hearing of the metal arm that rested beneath his clothing. 

He let his hand flex in front of you, gulping at how quickly he’d decided to show you this part of himself. Bucky didn’t think twice, actually, completely motivated by the opportunity to be close to you. He kept eye contact, hands on his hips and moving forward until your chests met. 

“I have no problem taking matters into my own hands.” With that he simply moved a hand to your pants button. You could tell he was proud, bobbing his head lightly at the way he could so easily strip you without even looking away from your face. You cracked a smile at the way he slid your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. He let you slip your shoes off too, still chest to chest. 

He kept looking at you, spreading your legs with his thigh. He ignored the way you were dripping, sliding one of your legs up onto his waist. He kept his grip there, firmly holding you. 

“Don’t move, I got you.” 

He slipped two fingers into you slowly, pumping in and out at a torturous pace that immediately had your jaw dropping. The sight of you unraveling was amazing and he kept his eyes locked with yours until they fluttered shut. 

You felt helpless, completely entranced by his fingers rubbing your walls. Your breaths came out ragged, “We just—we don’t tell him okay?” You shook your head, eyes opening slightly at Bucky. 

“Mhm, yeah…no Steve.” Bucky looked at you, eyebrows pinched and whimpering. “It’s nothing-“

“Right.” You moaned between each word now, bouncing with his harsh movement. “Nothing.” 

He kept going, speeding up at the squelching sounds that were now like music to his ears. He could tell you were struggling, teetering on the edge every few seconds but not quite exploding. The continuous heat made it feel like you could pop at any moment. It was too good. He was too good. It felt cliche to let this overtake what was blossoming for you both—the transition from acquaintance to friend. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

You’d been holding onto the bar on the wall, but the position was a lot. As he pressed into you over and over, you started to lose balance, hardly standing on the toes of one foot. He kept going even as you shook. He felt your body sliding, hardly keeping yourself up anymore. Your hand fell to the side and accidentally highlighted over a cluster of the floor buttons, illuminating them in an irregular pattern. 

Bucky chuckled but quickly readjusted without missing a beat. He nudged your body into his arm more, completely holding you up with ease now. You felt like a ragdoll, and it reminded you so quickly of the sheer strength of the man that was in you now. You could tell with his hand jacking into you regardless, the flesh of him flexing into you so tastefully. 

He suddenly stopped, slipping out of you as you gripped his neck for more leverage. He again moved you with ease, putting you into his right arm now. His head tilted, ready to see your reaction to his metal hand filling you. 

You gasped at the cooled tips of his fingers teasing your hole, just barely entering before he pulled back out. He could tell you were sensitive now and savored it, only letting you feel him when you calmed down from his slow pumps before. 

He let you whine like this for a bit longer before adding a finger, surprising you with three fingers ramming into you. He was completely soulless about it now, mouth agape at the way your body reacted. He knew you were close and urged you on. 

“Doing so good.” He nodded. “You gonna come soon?” His tone was almost mocking, your condition evident. Suddenly, you snapped, head falling into his neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes…” You couldn’t help but repeat to yourself, whispering through the writhes into his palm. 

Your hips rolled, and he met you with a soft kiss into your temple. You slowed, then, coming down from the intensity of the ordeal.

You breathed into him without a word, smirking at the man in from of you. Bucky let you down, grabbing your pants for you and sliding them onto your now wobbling legs. He nudged your shoes with his feet before kneeling down and sliding them on, patting your leg when he was done. You were in another world, only slipping back to him at the sound of the elevator returning to motion.

You let out a laugh at the elevator slowly stopping on a random assortment of floors. At a higher one, Bucky finally stepped off, turning back to look at you for a second. You hadn’t expected anything more; he was often wordless, and he proved you right the night before…when he left so carelessly. 

“You coming?” 

With a ding, the elevator doors slowly moved to close. Through them, you watched Bucky, standing and looking at you expectedly. “Just did, actually.” 

He choked at that but jerked forward, putting a hand between to doors to stop them. “So, is that a yes?” He tilted his head back, “Maybe watch a movie or something?” 

You intended to head home at first, not expecting him to extend this hand. This wasn’t like him—his usual closed-off self. Admittedly, you enjoyed this better. He now had a willingness that never was there before. It was jarring—the way he seemed to do a 180 from last night. 

You reasoned that maybe you could enjoy yourself and finally be the friend Steve needed you to be—to love his friend the way he did so many years ago. For Bucky, it was grasping at straws; he wanted to keep you around in any way he could. He would never be Steve—could never be the image of a perfect man that you deserved. 

We’re better as friends. 

He repeated the mantra in his mind, affirming himself despite part of him saying otherwise. He could stand to be this with you, friends with something more every once in a while. Hell, every day if you let him. He settled so you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t deserve someone like him, an undeniable shroud of darkness that clouded over your blinding light. 

“You know what, why the hell not?” You stepped off the elevator cart and brushed by the man. “I get to pick the movie though.” 

“‘Course, doll.” 

part three

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[cherbii]

-> just a something small

thinking about boyfie!Sukuna with creative gf!reader.

“Don’t move,” you said, brow furrowed as you traced yet another swirl of henna onto Sukuna’s already tattoo-covered arm.

“I’m literally not moving.”

“You breathed. I felt it.”

He stared at you, unimpressed. “That’s usually encouraged.”

You didn’t respond. You were too busy drawing a stick man, very deliberately, right inside one of his thick, black tattoo bands. It looked comically out of place. Like someone had graffitied a caveman onto the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

You sat back proudly. “Look at him. Living his best life.”

Sukuna tilted his head to examine the stick figure. “He has no face.”

“He’s minimalistic. Don’t be rude.”

He said nothing, which in Sukuna-language meant “this is ridiculous but I’m letting it happen because I love you or something.”

He didn’t mind being used as a canvas. That much had become clear. You’d started with henna, but the chaos had escalated over time.

One evening, while you were studying on the couch, you realised his hand was resting peacefully on your lap. Completely still. Completely unguarded.You grabbed a pen.“You’re doing something,” he said without looking.

“No I’m not.”

“You’re drawing on me.”

You were. A tiny cat on his thumb, a sunflower on his pinky, a suspicious-looking frog on the side of his hand.

He looked at them after five minutes of silence.“Why is this frog judging me.”

“He knows what you did.”

Later, you sat him down at the kitchen table like you were about to perform a very serious operation. You held up a bottle of pale pink nail polish.He glanced at it. Then at you. Then at his lighter.

“I’m repainting it,” you said. “Your personality is 90% violent and the other 10% is whatever colour your hair is. We’re leaning in.”

He didn’t even argue. Just pushed the lighter across the table like a defeated man handing over a family heirloom. You worked in silence for a bit, tongue between your teeth. “You’re very precise,” he said.

“I trained under the ancient masters of DIY TikTok.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Good. That’s how I maintain my mystery.”

You didn’t stop there. Oh no. Next was Labubu. Your slightly terrifying big-eared plush toy. One morning, Sukuna walked into the living room to find you sewing tiny pink thread onto its head.“What’s happening.”

“He’s becoming you.”

Your Labubu now had angry little eyebrows, a tiny scar, and black ink marker tattoos all over his felt arms. You handed it to Sukuna.

“He’s your plush clone. Be gentle. He’s moody.”

Sukuna stared at it. “It looks like it’s planning murder.”

“Just like you.”

He didn’t argue. That meant you were right.

You found a DIY jacket tutorial and decided Sukuna needed a makeover. He was napping. You were in a creative mood. Dangerous combination. You ironed on three patches, one of which said “Menace to Society,” and drew a snake on the sleeve in fabric marker.

When he woke up, you showed him.He blinked at the jacket. Then at you.“I was asleep for twenty minutes.”

“You trusted me. That was your first mistake.”

He was a man of very few words. You were a woman of… too many. Somehow, that balanced. He let you paint his lighter, design his hoodie, and vandalise his body with henna frogs. He let you stitch thread into a plushie’s forehead and call it bonding. He let you use his hands as notebooks when your own were full.

And in return, you kissed his scar without asking, drew hearts on his knuckles, and said stuff like, “You’re the calmest chaos I’ve ever met.”

He didn’t smile often. But sometimes you caught the edge of one when he thought you weren’t looking. Especially when the stick man got a little cape.

“Don’t,” he warned when he saw you giggling.

“He’s a hero, Sukuna.”

“You need supervision.”

“You are my supervision.”

That shut him up. Mostly because it was true.

[lilhughesy]

Your Love Feels Like Forever | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

warnings! mentions of fighting, divorce, slight angst. word count: 6.8k

summary: Y/N grew up next to the Hughes Family, sharing their love over the sport of hockey. Jack and Y/N are each others lifelines until distance brings them apart. Despite numerous attempts to see each other, it seems like life drives them apart until an open window to final be together after years apart.

a/n: Hi! This is my first hockey fic and I'm so sorry if it's not any good but I just had this story idea in my head forever and finally decided to write it and post it. I hope you enjoy!

-----

Since she was a little girl, she was full of love, smiles, laughter, and what seemed like an unlimited vocabulary with a side of love towards sports. Growing up in the outskirts of Toronto, she was seen chasing a ball with her hockey stick on the streets in the summer months and gliding across the ice during the winter. On the other hand, if she was not found outside her family home, Y/N was likely to be found lost in the story of her novels or scribbling away in her notebook.

She loved the way that the simple motion of opening a book can be a gateway to an alternate universe, whether it be a fantasy world with magic and fairies or diving into a beautiful story of romance. Y/N cherished the ways authors used words to comprise an empire of imagination - motivating her to hopefully be able to do the same one day.

Currently, little 10-year old Y/N was out in the harsh Toronto winter with her dad as they skated across the neighbourhood outdoor rink chasing after the small black puck. She was fortunate to have her dad to keep her company with her different hobbies, though sometimes she felt guilty for constantly craving being active.

David, her father, was a single dad after her mom ultimately deciding that this family no longer was fulfilling what she wanted in her life. The early years of Y/N's was rocky with her parents constantly arguing over the different views they had on what a "perfect life" looked like. It's been almost 3 years since her mom packed her things into a few suitcases and slammed the front door shut, never to see her daughter again. Y/N, at that young age, didn't understand the gravity of the situation and what it meant to no longer have her mom in her life. On the contrary, she was lucky to have the Hughes Family that lived next door.

During those nights where David and his (now ex) wife used to raise their voices, determined to prove themselves correct, Y/N would run to the Hughes' home. Ellen and Jim had a fraction of an idea of what was occurring behind the walls of the L/N household, and they were more than happy to provide the young girl with a safe place to stay.

Y/N sat at the top of the staircase, her hands covering her ears as her parents were yelling at each other yet again. She couldn't understand why they couldn't agree on... whatever it was that they were fighting over again. She just wanted to read in peace since it was too dark outside for her to continue playing ball hockey with the other neighbourhood kids.

She huffed in frustration as she finally stood up from her spot and walked back to her baby blue bedroom. She grabbed her under armour backpack, marked with her hockey club's logo and her jersey number #86. Y/N grabbed her novel, her hoodie, and of course her beloved bunny jellycat - quickly shoving it into her bag

She quietly crept down the staircase and towards the front door where she slid on her runners and quickly slipped out of the house. Besides, her parents were clearly not concerned with what their daughter was up to at the moment of a heated argument.

Y/N stood on her front porch, scanning over her front yard which faced the rest of her neighbourhood, trying to determine what her next move would be. Her shoulders slumped, feeling a bit lost in her decision. She pursed her lips, her hands gripping onto the straps of her backpack a bit tighter. Her eyes landed on the white painted home which belonged to the Hughes.

She's never stepped foot inside that home, she only really knew Mrs. Hughes from provided kids with lemonade in the summer and her three sons. Quinn, the eldest who was 9, Luke, the youngest at 5 years old, and then Jack - the middle child who was the same age as her. They were all friends from playing soccer at the park or ball hockey in the warmer months and playing hockey at the ODR in the colder months.

Without much thought, Y/N walked over to the white home and rang the doorbell. In seconds the door opened to reveal Jim, who seemed surprised to see a young girl at his front door.

"Hi Y/N, how can I help you?" He said kindly to the girl. Jim figured that she was likely asking if he wanted to buy Girl Scout cookies or maybe donate to her team. It was a few moments before he realized that she was completely alone, which was unusual.

She shrugged at him, not exactly knowing what to say to the man, "Um, can I read my book here?" Y/N asked him, her hands pulling the straps of her bag closer to the middle of her chest, "My mommy and daddy are fighting, I think... I don't know but they're so loud and I can't focus."

Jim's facial features softened as the words that left the girl's mouth, he was going to respond before,

"Honey? Who is it?" Ellen called out from the dinner table.

"Of course you can come in, Y/N," He told her as he opened the door wider to allow the small girl to step into the warmth of his home, "Have you had dinner yet?"

She quickly shook her head, "No, I've been waiting since I had to stop playing ball hockey because the street lights went on. My parents were yelling, so I was waiting in my room."

Jim watched Y/N as she kicked off her shoes as he closed and locked the door shut. He grabbed the backpack off of her, "Here, I'll take this off of you."

She smiled at him and nodded at him, he motioned her to follow him down the small hallway. At the other end was the dinner table where the rest of the Hughes family sat. Four sets of eyes all looked up at the girl, she froze in her spot - suddenly feeling awkward for intruding their family dinner. Jim placed her bag near the wall, "Y/N is going to join us for dinner, no questions asked, alright boys?" He stated, looking at his sons.

They all nodded before resuming back to their eating. Ellen immediately stood up from her seat at the other end of the table, "Hi sweetheart, come with me! I'll fix you a plate." She told her as she walked into the kitchen, Y/N stood next to Ellen as she made a dinner plate.

"Can I wash my hands before I eat?" Y/N flashing a small smile, Ellen chuckled,

"God, of course you can honey. I wish you could teach my sons the same habits," Ellen commented as she placed the plate at the empty seat next to Jack, "The bathroom is to the right of the front door"

Y/N nodded her head before walking towards where the bathroom was. As soon as the adults heard the door close, Jim spoke quietly to his wife, "She asked if she could read here, she said her parents are fighting and... yelling."

Ellen frowned, "Awh, that's terrible"

"She also said she's been waiting since the streetlights came on to eat dinner and was hiding in her room until the yelling stopped"

A frowned etched onto Ellen's face, but was quickly wiped off as Y/N returned and she sat next to Jack.

"Are you sleeping over?" Jack asked her as she started eating, "We could watch a movie or play a game or something! Actually, it's perfect since we will have even teams!"

"Jacky, she just got here!" Quinn exclaimed at his brother, "Give her a second to settle in."

"Um... I don't know" Y/N answered, "I just want to read my book"

Luke perked up, "Like a bedtime story? Quinny stopped reading those to me a long time ago."

She giggled, "I don't know if you want to hear about wizards and witches before you go to sleep."

Luke only shrugged, "I think they're cool."

Dinner progressed and Y/N quickly melted into the dynamic of the Hughes family. They discussed hockey together, activities they did at school, and whether or not a hot dog is a sandwich.

It was late and the four kids were cuddled up on the large couch, all of them focused on the movie that played on the screen. Ellen's heart melted at the sight of Y/N squeezed between Jack and Luke, and her little Luke's head resting on her shoulder.

"I'll send a text to David to let him know that Y/N is here and is on the brink of falling asleep," Jim mumbled to Ellen as he pulled out his phone, "Plus, I don't want to send that girl back into that house if they don't have their argument resolved." Ellen agreed quickly.

The rooms were then split to Jack and Luke sharing Luke's room, giving Y/N Jack's bed for herself. She crawled into his bed, clutching onto her stuffed animal and read her book with the light of his night lamp on. She sniffled to herself, feeling a bit sad that she was completely alone. The whole house fell silent at the late hour, only she was awake and lost in the story. The door to the bedroom cracked open, catching her attention. She quickly wiped the stray tear away from her cheek as Jack tip toed in, "Hi" He waved shyly.

"Hi Jack," She waved back, "Are you okay?"

He only shrugged, "Lukey keeps hogging the blanket, I was coming to steal my extra to sleep on the couch."

"No way," She scoffed, "You are not sleeping on the couch in your own home."

"Well, I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch either."

Y/N sat in a moment of thought before she perked up, "Just sleep here! I curl into a small ball when I sleep, I promise I won't hog the blanket either."

Jack grinned at her, "Sounds good!" He climbed onto his bed and tucked himself underneath the blanket, "Whatcha reading?"

"Harry Potter," She told him, "Wizards and witches and stuff"

"Can you read it to me?"

And so she did. The two seven year olds stayed up into the late hours of the night as Y/N read out loud the words of her novel. Jack was quickly immersed into the story, holding onto his blanket as she read to him - voice soft and spoke eloquently. He quickly realized that he could probably listen to her talk forever. They giggled at the funny parts and she explained the details that he missed from earlier. The two quickly fell asleep together. Harry Potter falling off the edge of Jack's bed, and the start of a beautiful friendship blooming.

Their friendship formed into playing street or ice hockey together (always on the same team), sitting together at school so they can giggle between each other, and reading books together when they were feeling more mellow. They cherished each other deeply as they always understand the other. Jack protected her, when he closes his eyes, he often sees the small little girl that awkwardly stood in front of his entire family during dinner that one night. If she was happy, he was happy. The same goes for her. They shared emotions, they understood each other perfectly. They kept each other's deepest secrets, swearing to never tell another soul as they locked pinkys.

"Forever?" She asked him as his pinky wrapped around her.

"Forever." He promised, locking it.

Her father was glad that his daughter content and happy despite the hardships she went through in her childhood. She found solace in the shape of the Hughes brothers. She was good friends with Luke and he always helped her bake when she did. Luke always thoroughly enjoyed when she would read to him since he claims that books are only good when she tells them. He often looked up to her as the big sister he never had.

Quinn always kept an eye on her whenever they would play with the other neighbourhood kids; some of them often claiming that "Girls can't play sports" or "No girls allowed", which he was always quick to shut them down. The two would also discuss different books with each other as they were both big readers.

Y/N and Jack were now entering their teen years, both at the ripe age of fifteen. Hockey both played such a large role in their lives as each of the Hughes brothers and Y/N both played competitively. Y/N would do her best to watch each of their games when she could, and the same goes for them.

The sound of her stick contacting the puck, sending it flying straight into the net. The red light behind the goalie turning on as the horn blares, signalling the end of the game.

Her arms flying up into the air as she scored the final goal of the game and the stands erupted into cheers. She undoes the clasp of her helmet, pulling it off while gliding past the glass where she flashes her infamous bright smile at the sight of the Hughes family standing up in the audience. Ellen was standing with her phone out, clearly taking photos of Y/N's win.

"You were amazing!" Jack exclaimed as she walked out of the change rooms with her large hockey bag dragging behind her, "You were the best on the ice!"

She grinned at her best friend while approaching him, immediately wrapping her arms around his neck when he was within reach. He responded like it was a reflex, his arms around her waist and lifting her slightly off her feet.

"What can I say? I have a good personal coach" She teased, commenting on the fact that Jack was constantly helping her improve.

"Good game kiddo," Quinn told her, his hand ruffling her hair, "None of the other girls stood a chance."

She sighed in contentment, Jack's arm around her shoulders while Jim took her hockey bag off of her hands. Y/N felt so surrounded by love from the family that wasn't her own, the only question being: "Where is my dad?"

They all moved as a unit towards the van, all kids stumbling into the back seats while the adults took the front seats. Jokes were cracked throughout the drive and constant comments about her performance were made.

Jim pulled into the driveway, Y/N swift on her feet to grab her bag, "Thank you guys for coming, it means a lot" She told the family.

Ellen's hand squeezed her shoulder, "Of course, honey. We'll always be supporting you even if it's from a distance."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "...What do you mean by that?"

Ellen and Jim look at each other before turning back to the kids, before sharing the news that will cause a shift into their worlds,

"We're moving sweetheart," Jim broke the news, "We're moving to Michigan."

The air shifts and Y/N feels her stomach drop, "W- What?"

"Wait what?!" The brothers yell out, "When?"

"Since when?"

"Why?"

Questions were shot left, right, and centre from the kids while Y/N stood frozen in place. The Hughes... weren't going to be her neighbours anymore?

"I should go home..." She mumbled, looking down at her feet.

Jim and Ellen ushered their boys into the home while they continued protesting as Y/N slowly dragged her feet back to her own house. She slumped against the closed door, bag dropping to her feet. For the first time in a while, she didn't know what was to come.

-----

The transition was, without a doubt, hard on her. Jack and Y/N sat on the bed of the packed away bedroom, tears falling down her cheeks faster than he could wipe away. They swore that they will remain as each other's best friends, no matter what happens. They promised to text each other every day, and FaceTime when they were able to.

"You'll always be my number one girl, okay?"

"Forever?"

"Forever."

She stood alone on their driveway as she watched their car turn the corner and out of her view, her arms hugging herself. Everything was about to change.

-----

Y/N was now sixteen, her sweet sixteen. Yet she felt so alone. Of course she had other friends at school but nothing filled the hole that was left behind by Jack moving.

She shifted as a person. She quit hockey since money was getting tight for her and her dad. Rather, she delved into the depths of writing - more specifically writing about sports. She quickly became the writer for her high school's newspaper for the sports column. Writing gave her a new sense of freedom, so much more different from how she felt when she used to write little story books for Luke as a kid.

Maybe it was because she was at the peak of her teenage years. Maybe it was because it is the prime time to learn more about yourself. Try new things, maybe it won't hurt. Or maybe it was her urge to find something that will stay. Writing about sports could be her future. Maybe this won't leave her the same way that her ability to play competitive hockey did, or the way Jack moved across the border and left her behind in Toronto.

Regardless, the two stayed close over the past year away from one another. They kept their promise of texting each other daily.

But as it happens, Jack and Y/N drift slightly as their schedules get busier with his heightened hockey practices and her increase in school work. Responses become further apart, their windows to catch up over FaceTime slims. Long distance friendships are anything but easy.

Deep down, although it hurts, she knows that he will always be there for her and plus she is so happy for Jack. During the countless late night conversations, he would tell her how badly he wanted to play in the NHL. It is his dream to play in the major leagues. This was just a step closer to him achieving it.

Y/N continues to write for the school paper but quickly gains attention from parents,

"Hi, I'm so sorry if this is strange," a woman said as she sits next to Y/N, who is observing the Varsity Boys Hockey team belonging to her high school, "But are you by any chance, Y/N L/N?"

Her eyes widened at the question and nods, "Yeah, I am! Can I help you?"

The lady's shoulders relaxed while adjusting in her seat, "I'm Lynda, it is such a pleasure to meet you. I have been reading your sports columns since my daughter has been bringing the school paper home and I can't help but be so impressed with your talent!"

Y/N's face flushed red from the compliment, she wasn't used to attention aside from the typical ones made by Jack.

"Really?" She asked, trying to read Lynda's face to see if there was any sign of lying but none to be found, "Thank you so much, I appreciate that a lot actually."

"I'm only telling you the honest truth," Lynda chuckled, "I write for town newspaper and I wanted to offer you the opportunity to write outside of your school's paper."

"Are you serious?!" Y/N's jaw dropping at her words

"Absolutely! I think it could be a fun learning experience for you whether or not you decide to pursue sports journalism in university or college." Lynda explained to her, "You can write similar to how you do for your current paper but you can branch out to the club teams and even the competitive ones if you want. It probably won't be a large section just because you still are in high school, however, experience is experience nonetheless!"

Y/N immediately took Lynda's offer on the spot. The two exchanged contact information and soon Y/N's world of journalism expanded even more. Weeks past and Y/N found herself excited and eager to get out of bed to go to school, learn, go watch some hockey, and spend her free time writing about it.

It was like a collide of her worlds, athletics and her love for books and writing in one.

She flopped onto her bed, rolling onto her side to keep her phone propped up, "It's been unreal, Jacky"

Jack grinned from the other side of the screen, "That sounds so awesome, smiley, seriously. You're awesome."

Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink as she looks at her best friend on her phone screen, she feels her heart flutter at his words - was it always like this?

"How are you though?" She asked, tugging on her hood of her sweater, "I feel like we haven't talked in forever."

He sighed, "Busy, really busy but it's been a blast. Although, I wish I had you writing weekly news columns for me." Jack joked while she playfully rolled her eyes, "Also, I can't visit you this summer anymore... I know we've been talking about it, but you know, hockey camp and all..."

Y/N feels a small frown tug at her lips, a pang of disappointment punching her gut but she hides it. She shoved down her emotions, appearing unaffected to his news, "That's okay, I get it."

"I'm really sorry, Smiley," He told her, his own disappointment painted across his face, "I haven't seen you in a year."

"I know, but at least we have FaceTime!" She responded, "Plus, this is going to be so good for you! You're going to have such an amazing time!"

The two best friends continue talking about everything and anything for the following hour or so before hanging up. Y/N settled further into her bed before allowing herself to feel the weight of her emotions. No Jack until who knows when, is this the new normal? Just the inability to see each other in person until the one day that they will cross paths again?

-----

Years passed, the two graduating high school and although they weren't able to physically attend each other's ceremonies, at least they were watching over the phone. Luke held up his phone at Jack's graduation, giving Y/N a perfect view of Jack walking across the stage to receive his diploma. Y/N, as always, being his number 1 cheerleader.

Jack moves onto playing for the New Jersey Devils in the NHL, Y/N watching him from her TV in her hotel room at the night before her father's wedding night.

David remarried to Liz, Y/N watching from the view of the bridal party that her father is finally having a marriage that makes him truly happy. Liz was a loving and one of the kindest woman that she's ever met. From the moment Y/N met Liz, she knew that this woman was made for her dad. All she wanted was her dad to be happy for the sake of himself, and not for his daughter. While growing up, her dad gave her everything in attempts to give her somewhat of a normal childhood. It was never an easy task for David to mimic being a mother to his teenage daughter, but he still managed to pull through for Y/N - and she was forever grateful to have him as her father. Although he missed the majority of her hockey games or seeing her before each homecoming, at least he tried to be there for his daughter. She watched the love grow between her dad and his now wife, and after everything her dad had gone through with his divorce and having to raise his daughter alone, she was buzzing with excitement for her dad's start at a new life. He gets to live his life for himself for the first time in so long as Y/N was moving into the big busy city for university. It was bittersweet, but neither one could be happier at the moment.

Y/N continued onward to attending the University of Toronto to study Sports Media and Sports Journalism, finally finding what fulfills her. With Jack being busy with his rookie year, she is able to fully focus on her studies and striving towards her dream. She often finds herself thankful for the opportunity offered by the sweet woman, Lynda and giving her the experience to write in the town's paper. It gave her a leg up in comparison to her school mates as she learned so much from Lynda.

Her life feels align and perfect, except for the fact that she's watching the life of her childhood best friend through the media. They try their bests to call or see each other whenever the Devils are playing the Leafs, but it is always a slight miss.

"Hey! I'm in Toronto for tonight until tomorrow around noon," Jack explained over the phone as he pulled his luggage out of the bus, "We should see each other, it's been so long!"

She smiled to herself at the sound of his sweet voice, oh, how much she missed him, "I know, we should! I have this paper due tonight so I can see you around 8?"

He groaned at the time, "I'm playing until like 10, what about after?"

"I can maybe stay out until 11? I have work in the morning so I need to be in bed by a certain time," Y/N sighed, knowing once again, it probably won't work, "And before you say anything, no, I cannot skip work because unlike you, I need this for my future." She teased

"Oh come on! You know if you just ask, I would pay for everything for you, you won't have to work another day for the rest of your life!"

"As tempting as that sounds, I refuse to be a sugar baby," Y/N laughed, putting her phone on her desk to continue typing away at her assignment.

"I'm literally in your city right now."

"I know that."

He rolled his eyes as he stepped foot into his hotel room, "Just come to the arena, please? Even if its for an hour, I want to- I need to see you."

Warmth filled her chest, it has been forever.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be there."

Y/N found herself standing where Jack told her to wait over the phone, the game ended half hour ago and the Devils won. She kept checking the time on her phone anxiously, waiting to hear something from him. She continued pacing on the spot, where was he?

The time on her phone hit 11PM, yet she still wanted to wait... at least for a bit longer. She wanted to see Jack so badly. With time progressing and the stress of her other obligations, and the annoyance crawling on her skin that Jack wasn't coming - Y/N decided to leave, even though her heart begged for her to stay and just wait.

As she sent her text to let him know that she was in fact back home after standing around for over and hour and ultimately deciding to order an Uber back home, she felt a wave of frustration.

Jack sounded so eager to see her, it had been years. He was in her city and although the time was tight, they were willing to make it work to see each other. But, he didn't show up. He got caught up with the media crew and his teammates, so he pushed her aside.

It's fine, she told herself while waiting for her body to go to sleep.

She stayed in touch with the Hughes family, often sending short and sweet messages on birthdays or during the holidays. Y/N knew that they were always rooting for her, even from Michigan. Ellen calls her more often than the rest, because in Ellen's eyes, Y/N is her daughter. She stays in the loop of Y/N's life, whether it be her school, home life, or the different experiences that she comes across in Toronto, Ellen wants to hear it all.

Luke also reaches out to Y/N more often than he would like to share, but in different ways in comparison to his mom. It's more TikTok's and Snapchats that they send to each other. He misses her more than anything else he left behind in Toronto.

Unfortunately, at every one of their attempts to visit or see each other, life comes in the way. It can't be helped considering the elite levels of hockey at Jack, Quinn, and Luke all partake in or the fact that Y/N is constantly swamped with the load of work from university. But for this summer, Luke is determined more than ever to bring the band back together.

It's nearing 7 years since the Hughes have seen Y/N, but with summer around the corner and the plans of the annual boys trip to the lake house and Y/N graduating with her bachelor's - it's essentially the perfect plan.

-----

Y/N looked around at the bustling airport of people searching for their suitcases, but she was looking for one person. Her chauffeur, Luke Hughes. It wasn't a difficult task since he stood out with his height and his New Jersey Devils hoodie.

His eyes locked onto hers and a massive grin drew upon his face and his arms opened as she immediately jumped into them, "Lukey!"

"Oh god fucking god," He said into her hair as they embraced each other for the first time in 7 years, "It's been way too long, like criminally too long"

"You're so tall now! You were so tiny the last time I saw you," She laughed as they pulled apart, "It is so good to see you."

He chuckled, "I can't believe you're here and not a figment of my imagination."

The two leave the airport and start their trip to the lake house, catching up on life on the drive.

"By the way," Luke turned to look at her as they reach a red light, "No one else knows you're coming. It's a surprise."

Y/N's eyes widened, "What?"

"Everyone wants to see you, okay? But if Jack knows then god knows something is going to come up, I swear something always does."

Suddenly, this trip is much more nerve-racking than she initially anticipated. What if they don't want her there? It's an annual boys trip and she's crashing it. Luke seems to notice her sudden change in behaviour and gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze,

"It's going to be perfect, trust."

Their car rolls into the driveway of the lake house and she is in shock. It is beautifully breathtaking. The sun shining through the leaves of the trees, and the gorgeous house that stood before her.

"Here goes nothing!" She breathed out, bracing herself for what could be the worst. Luke guided her towards the door to the house, abandoning their luggage in the trunk of the car.

Luke opened to door, "I'm here!" He called out while tucking Y/N behind himself to hide her.

A series of multiple loud footsteps approach them,

"Hey Lukey!" She can hear Quinn's voice, "You made it."

"Lil Hughes!" Another voice that she can't exactly place but sounded familiar to old FaceTime calls she had with Jack.

"Jack! Lukey's here!" A third voice shouts, before the one voice she was used to hearing over the phone chimes in,

"Took you long enough!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Luke chuckled, "Had to make a lil detour."

"For?" Jack questioned before Y/N stepped out from behind Luke, "Y/N?"

"Hi Jack" She offered her signature smile, suddenly whatever nerves that were racing through her bloodstream diminished. In milliseconds she was engulfed into the tightest hug she'd ever been in. The soft scent of his shampoo mixed with the muskiness of his cologne surrounded her, blinding her sense. She wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he spun them in circles.

He breathed her in, finally. The sweetness of her perfume and the warmth of her embrace. She was here.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're here." Jack mumbled into her hair, placing multiple kisses on her temple as he careful put her back on her feet, "Look at you! My pretty girl!"

Y/N blushed while also staring at him and how beautiful he is in person. The waves of his hair and how the sun seemed to perfectly land on him, almost like a halo. It was evident that he'd been in the sun prior due to the gorgeous tan he had and the freckles sprinkled across his features. Her stomach did hundreds of flips as she took him in,

It didn't last long before she was pulled into another hug, a bear hug from the eldest Hughes brother, "You've grown up so much, Y/N. Last time I saw you, you were the star hockey player and now you're a university graduate."

Tears welled up in her eyes while she squeezed Quinn, "Says you, Captain Q!"

He released her and ruffled up her hair like how he always did, "Lukey, you outdid yourself with this surprise."

Luke laughed, "I know I did. Also, Y/N, this is Trevor and Cole!" He quickly introduced to her.

"Hi guys, it's so nice to finally meet you," She beamed, finally putting the pieces together that she has in fact met both of them over FaceTime with Jack.

"Rowdy! You never told me how jawdroppingly gorgeous Smiley is, holy shit" Trevor exclaimed as he hugged her, "Please tell me you're single."

Jack shook his head in disapproval, "Off limits, Z, you know that."

"Nice to meet you too, Smiley!" Cole said, he also greeted her with an embrace, "Come, you and Lukey need to catch up with the drinking! What do you drink? White Claw? Beer? We have it all!"

The six of them stood around the kitchen island while chatting and sipping away at their drinks. Jack stood next to Y/N, keeping an arm around her shoulders and wanting to keep her close to him.

She leaned her head on his shoulder while she laughed at whatever joke Trevor was making.

"Come on, what are we doing inside? There's still sun out!" Luke pointed out and marched his way outside, the rest followed and they seated themselves around the fire pit. Quinn and Luke busied themselves with building the fire whilst Jack and Y/N sat next to each other, Trevor and Cole opposite to them.

"So tell me, Smiley," Trevor grinned, bringing his beer to his lips, "How come Jacky has never introduced us before?"

"Maybe because this is the first time we've seen each other since we were like... fifteen?"

Cole's eyebrows shot up, "Fifteen? Jesus, that's like forever!"

"Is that why he can't keep his hands to himself?" Trevor teased, pointing his bottle towards Jack, who kept an arm on the back her chair while adjusting the hat he was putting on.

"Oh come on now," Jack rolled his eyes, "She's been busy! Little miss prestigious Canadian university"

She gasped dramatically and lightly shoved his shoulder, "At least I have a degree! Something that noooone of you guys have."

"Oh, you hurt me, Y/N!" Cole cried jokingly, "Good for you though, I honestly... Could never!"

The sun began to lower and the six sat in their chairs, listening to her stories of university and her plans for work after summer ends. Jack brought up old stories of her history with hockey, poking at the fact that she could have gone pro if she wanted. She only brushed off the comments, claiming that she would rather write than to play the game.

"In all seriousness," Quinn started, looking directly at the girl who he still could not fathom was fully grown to be a woman rather than a teenager, "We're all really happy to have you here. I know things haven't been easy since we moved away from Toronto and who knew that we would be here together now."

She smiled softly at Quinn, "Thanks, Q. I'm glad to be here, it's something I think I needed for the longest time."

Luke pulled out the ingredients to make s'mores, him, Trevor, and Cole competing with each other on who can make the best one. The breeze picked up and Y/N shivered slightly, wishing she had grabbed her sweatshirt beforehand,

But, as per usual, Jack understood her without her even having to say a thing.

"Need another beer?" He asked Quinn, who nodded. Jack got up to grab another beer from the kitchen while also picking up one of his hoodies. He returned, handing his brother another tall boy and placing his sweater in Y/N's lap.

She looked up at him before carefully putting it on, "Thanks J"

His smell imprinted on the material, she only wished that she could bottle it up and keep it forever.

"You know I got you," He smiled while sitting back down. Jack moved his chair to be right next to hers so she could snuggle into his side.

"Lukey, that shits burnt!" Y/N laughed as Luke pulled his marshmallow away from the fire, to see that it was in fact completely charred.

They all stayed out for while longer, listening to Zach Bryan play off the speaker while talking about life. Slowly, one by one, they shuffled into the house to head to bed, leaving just Y/N and Jack outside.

"Do you want to go to bed? You had a long day," He said in a hushed tone, she tilted her head to look up at him - only realizing now how close their faces were.

"Maybe," She hummed, "I just like being here with you."

"Come on, it's getting cold." He told her while standing up, offering her his hand, "We can still hang out inside, yeah?"

They walked side by side, their arms brushing against each other as they entered the home. Once Jack had shut the glass door, he pulled her into another loving embrace,

"I still cannot believe you're actually here, you know. I think I've spent everyday missing you. No matter where I was, I was always missing you" Jack whispered, his lips brushing her forehead, "Every game, every event, fuck, like every day, all I wanted was for you to be there with me. I know you've been crazy busy, little miss bachelor's degree" She could feel his smile on her skin, and she melted a bit more to his touch,

"I was always thinking about you and what we missed out on by moving away. I always thought that one day we would be a smoking hot hockey couple in high school. Like, both are amazing at hockey plus you were so pretty but now you're even more gorgeous. I see every photo you send me or my mom or even post on Instagram and I don't think any of them did you justice for how beautiful you are."

"Jack..." She breathed out. She didn't know what to say but somehow these were the exact words that she had been waiting to hear for years.

"Maybe we lost our shot in our teenage years but hey, you have your degree, so many our chance is now. You can work in Jersey, I can pull strings for you. 'Cause right now, I don't want to even think about you being away from me ever again."

He looked down at her, seeing the runaway tear slip from her eye. His hands softly cupping her face, the pad on his thumb gently wiping it away. Just like how he did when they were just kids, "I want you with me all the time, you know what I mean?"

She nodded quickly, a quiet sob leaving her lips, "I know."

"What do you say pretty? You've been by my side forever but from a distance. No more distance, just you and me against the world?"

Y/N smiled through her glassy eyes, "I can be your sugar baby?" She joked, referencing an old phone call they shared earlier in the year. He laughed, carefully brushing away her tears,

"Yeah, baby, if thats what you want."

"A shot at forever, eh?" She beamed, placing a gentle kiss on his palm.

Jack place another kiss on her hair, "Forever."

"I think I can work with that."

[alohajix]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

Description: a late-night interview with Harry Styles turns into a game of control, filthy whispers, and desk-fucking in a locked studio where the mics are off—but the heat’s just getting started.

Warnings: this one-shot contains explicit sexual content, including oral sex (m/f), fingering, dominant language, mild choking, rough sex, and dirty talk. Readers +18.

Words count: 2.3K

*****

The studio was dim, lit only by the warm orange glow of the backlit shelves and the soft overheads above the mics. It was quiet, late, the city humming faintly behind soundproof glass.

I adjusted my headphones and clicked my pen, heart thudding harder than I’d like to admit. He was already seated across from me. Calm. Casual. Dangerous in the way only someone who knew their effect could be. Harry Styles. Black trousers, a partially unbuttoned shirt that made it impossible not to glance at his chest. Rings glittering under the low light. A few curls were pushed back behind his ears, and when his eyes met mine—slow and steady—I nearly forgot how to breathe.

“You nervous?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

I smirked, covering my fluttering chest with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You already know I’m not.”

God. His voice. Like honey dripped over gravel. Smooth, but with the scratch of something darker beneath. I cleared my throat, leaned toward the mic. “Alright. Final episode of Midnight Truths, and tonight’s guest probably needs no introduction—but I’ll give him one anyway. Singer, songwriter, actor, and a man whose fashion choices continue to outshine everyone else’s—Harry Styles.”

He grinned, biting the corner of his lip. “Thanks for having me.”

I pressed my lips together, composing myself. “So… what made you agree to this interview? Late night, small studio, no team, no pre-set questions.”

He shrugged one shoulder, eyes fixed on mine like he already knew the answer. “Heard you were good.”

“Just good?”

His smile widened. “Alright, fine. Heard you were dangerous.”

That sent a jolt down my spine. “I only ask honest questions.”

He leaned forward. “Then ask me something honest.”

The way he said it—soft, slow, velvet-wrapped—made the mic between us suddenly feel like the only thing keeping this professional. I clicked my pen again, flipping to a blank page in my notebook more for show than need. “Okay. First question: What’s something people think they know about you that’s completely wrong?”

He hummed, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “That I’m always sweet.”

I blinked. The pause stretched between us.

“I think they’ve got it mostly right,” I said carefully.

His tongue wet his lower lip. “That’s ‘cause they’ve never had me cornered at midnight in a locked studio, have they?”

My stomach flipped. I shifted in my seat, pretending not to flinch at how wet his voice made me. “You think you’re cornering me?”

He grinned, slow and wicked. “Aren’t I?”

I cleared my throat again, heart pounding so loud I was afraid it’d be caught by the mic. “Let’s move on.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thought we were being honest.”

“I am,” I replied, voice tighter. “Honestly trying to stay focused.”

That earned a deep, warm laugh. “Alright. Your turn.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You ask honest questions. So do I. Your turn.”

“That’s not how interviews work.”

“Maybe not,” he murmured, “but that’s how I work.”

The air went still. I swallowed, hand tightening on my pen. “Fine. One question.”

He leaned in like he was settling in for a story, one arm draped over the back of his chair, shirt tugging across his chest. “Good girl.” My thighs clenched. I hoped he didn’t notice. “Why’d you agree to interview me alone tonight?” he asked.

My lips parted, but no words came out right away. His eyes didn’t waver. Neither did his smirk. I stared down at my notes, all the clever responses I’d rehearsed fading into useless dust.

“Because…” I said softly, “you make good content.”

He chuckled. “That all I make?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Do you flirt with all your interviewers, or am I just lucky?”

His eyes darkened. “You’re not lucky. You’re distracting.”

That shouldn’t have thrilled me. But it did. When I didn’t answer, he reached down and casually tugged his mic away. “Turn yours off,” he said quietly.

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because what I want to say next isn’t meant for the public.”

I hesitated, finger hovering over the mute button on my mic. I flicked the switch. My mic light went dark. So did his. It was just us now.

He leaned forward again, forearms braced on the table. “I’ve been thinking about what your voice would sound like if I had my fingers inside you.”

My breath hitched. No warning. No teasing lead-up. Just—filth. Coated in that soft, velvety tone.

My pulse pounded in my ears. “Jesus,” I whispered.

Harry smirked. “Is that a yes?”

“You can’t just say shit like that.”

He leaned closer. “You didn’t say no.”

I stared at him. At the way his eyes dragged over my lips. The way his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. The way his ringed fingers flexed slowly against the edge of the table.

“What if someone comes in?” I asked, trying to stay grounded even as I shifted in my seat.

“They won’t.” He stood, slowly, circling the table. “You locked the door, remember?” I had. God, I had.

He stopped behind me, fingers grazing my shoulders, then drifting down my arms. My skin lit up, nerves dancing.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured near my ear. “You’re distracting. I couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth the moment I sat down.”

I exhaled shakily. “And now?”

His hands slid to my hips, guiding me to stand. “Now I’m wondering how soft you’ll sound when I make you come.”

I turned in his arms. Our chests brushed. He was warm. Broad. Smiling just slightly, but with heat simmering in his eyes.

My fingers curled in his shirt. “Are you always like this?”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over mine—barely there. “No. Just with you.”

That was the moment I gave in. I kissed him. Hard. Hungry. He groaned into my mouth, one hand fisting in my hair, the other dragging down the curve of my back to squeeze my ass. I gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding slow and sure against mine. He tasted like mint and something headier, something that made my knees weak.

“Table,” he murmured, breath ragged. “Sit.”

I stumbled back and boosted myself up, the cold wood shocking against my thighs as I hiked my dress up. Harry moved between my legs, fingers already tugging at the edge of my underwear.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, eyes locked on mine as he dragged the lace down my thighs. “Is this all from me?”

I swallowed. Nodded.

“Fuck,” he breathed, dropping to his knees. “Let me taste it.”

My head tilted back, lips parting with a soft moan as his mouth met me—hot, wet, and filthy. His tongue worked slow circles at first, lazy and confident, then picked up pace as he spread my thighs wider and sucked on my clit. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. One hand anchored me on the table. The other threaded through his curls.

“Harry—”

He groaned at the sound of his name, then slid two fingers inside me.

My hips jerked. “Fuck—oh my god.”

He pumped them slowly, curling just right, his tongue relentless. Every sound I made, he answered with a moan like he loved it. Like he could come from this alone.

“Look at me,” he whispered against me. “Want to see your face when you fall apart.”

I lifted my head, eyes locking with his. That was it. I came hard, a choked cry breaking from my lips as I clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop—kept licking, kept moving—until I was trembling, pushing weakly at his shoulder. Only then did he rise, licking his lips, eyes dark and blown out.

“You good, love?”

I nodded, chest rising and falling fast. “Holy fuck.”

He laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in to kiss me again—slow this time, sweet.

“You’re not getting away with just that,” I whispered against his lips. “My turn.”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

I slid off the table, dropped to my knees, and looked up at him.

“Take your time,” he said, voice strained. “I’m all yours.”

I unbuckled his belt slowly, my fingers steady despite the thrum of anticipation between my legs. He watched me—eyes low, chest rising and falling—his rings brushing through his hair as I tugged the button of his trousers open.

“You’re teasing me,” he murmured.

I looked up through my lashes. “Good.”

A dark chuckle left his lips. “Fucking hell.”

His cock was already hard beneath his briefs, the outline thick and heavy. I ran my fingers over him through the fabric, loving the way his hips pushed forward, subtle and hungry. When I slipped my hand beneath the waistband, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Pull it out, baby,” he whispered, voice thick. “Wanna see those pretty lips around it.”

God, he was filthy in the softest fucking tone. I freed him from his briefs—thick, flushed, the tip already wet with pre-cum. I wrapped my hand around the base and leaned in, dragging my tongue along the underside slowly, deliberately.

“Shit,” he hissed. “Just like that.”

I swirled my tongue around the tip, teasing him, tasting salt and heat. His fingers tightened in my hair, not pushing—just holding. Waiting. Watching.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered. “So fucking sexy on your knees.”

I moaned around him as I sank down further, letting him fill my mouth inch by inch. He groaned—deep, broken—and his hand tightened.

“Fuck, your mouth feels unreal.”

I bobbed my head slowly, keeping eye contact, loving how his jaw clenched and his brows drew together. When I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder, his hips jerked forward.

“Ah—shit. Baby. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

His voice cracked. His other hand braced against the edge of the table, rings clinking softly.

I pulled off for a moment, stroking him slowly with my hand. “You gonna come for me?”

His eyes were wild. “If you keep sucking me like that—yeah.”

I smirked, kissed the tip, and took him in again, this time deeper. Faster. His thighs trembled slightly. He let out a groan so filthy it echoed through the quiet studio.

“Such a good girl. Taking it so well. Fuck, you’re perfect—look at you.”

He started to move with me, fucking into my mouth with soft, shallow thrusts. I let him. Moaned around him. Loved the way he lost control.

And then he warned me—voice rough, almost broken. “Fuck—gonna come. You sure?”

I nodded, didn’t stop. Looked up at him with wide, hungry eyes. He came hard, gasping my name, spilling down my throat with a curse and a groan that sounded like it had been ripped straight from his soul. I swallowed. Every drop. Then pulled off with a soft pop. He stared down at me like I’d just ruined him.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, cupping my jaw as he leaned down. “You’re incredible.”

I smirked, licking my lips. “Good content, huh?”

He laughed, deep and breathless. “Best fucking episode of the season.”

Harry helped me to my feet, but the second I stood, he spun me around and pressed me back against the table, his chest warm against my back.

“You’re not done,” he murmured, voice low and rough in my ear. “You think you get to suck me off like that and not get ruined for it?”

I gasped when his hand slid between my legs, two fingers sliding through the mess he’d already made of me.

“Still this wet?” he growled. “Fuck.”

He dragged his fingers up to my mouth and tapped gently. I opened without hesitation, sucking them clean.

His breath hitched. “That’s it. Good girl.”

My dress was bunched at my waist, my panties already gone—somewhere near the mic cords, maybe. I didn’t care. Not when he was undoing his shirt behind me with shaking fingers and then stepping back in, bare chest pressed to my spine, cock already hardening again against my ass.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the moment I walked in,” he whispered, lining himself up. “Bent over this fucking table… moaning for me.”

“Then do it,” I breathed. “Fuck me.”

He didn’t hesitate. One hard thrust, and I cried out, fingers gripping the edge of the table. He filled me completely—thick, deep, perfect—and didn’t give me time to adjust before pulling back and slamming in again.

“God—Harry—”

He wrapped a hand around my throat from behind, not tight—just holding me there, anchoring me in place.

“You like that?” he growled, fucking me harder now, pace brutal and steady. “You like being used like this?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes—don’t stop—please—”

The table creaked beneath us, my skin slapping against the wood in time with his thrusts. One of his hands came around to play with my clit, rubbing quick circles that had my vision going white.

“You gonna come for me again?” he asked, voice rough and breathless against my ear.

I nodded desperately. “I’m close—I’m so close—”

“Then let go. Give it to me.”

His pace didn’t let up—just kept driving into me with filthy, focused precision, until I shattered around him with a cry that echoed through the silent studio. He kept fucking me through it, chasing his own release now, his hand still on my throat, his cock thick and perfect inside me. When he came, it was with a broken groan of my name, slamming into me one final time and burying himself deep.

We stood there, breathless, shaking, skin slick with sweat. His hands softened, sliding down my body like he didn’t want to stop touching me.

“You alright?” he murmured against my neck.

I smiled, still catching my breath. “More than alright.”

His lips brushed my shoulder. “Think this episode needs a part two.”

*****

a short one this time guys 💕

[nymphbnny]

adrenaline

────── ryomen sukuna

⤷ formula one driver!sukuna who takes an interest on a shy reporter.

tw: doggy, daddy kink (slight) oral (male female receiving), mating press, breeding kink, spanking, not proofread, MDNI

got inspired by this beautiful work here, go show some love <3 @to00fu

it was loud — overwhelmingly so. the roar of engines echoed off the narrow streets of monte carlo as you arrived at the circuit de monaco, badge swinging around your neck, notebook clutched to your chest. your team had sent you to cover the monaco grand prix, one of the crown jewels of the formula 1 calendar. it was your first time at a live event of this scale, and your assignment? try to score an interview with none other than ryomen sukuna — two-time monaco winner, three-time berlin champion, and the most elusive driver on the grid.

he wasn’t known for giving interviews. in fact, most in the press pen described him as cold, cocky, and unreachable. but still, if you could manage to get him to speak to you — really speak — it would be a game-changer for your career.

“hey, you ready?” your coworker called from the media shuttle. “we’ve got to be in the press briefing before the pre-race prep starts.”

you nodded quickly, adjusting your press lanyard, and followed the flow of reporters into the media center. inside, the buzz was palpable. you took your seat, legs crossed tightly, foot tapping against the floor. you were trying to calm your nerves, but your eyes kept drifting toward the door.

and then, the room shifted.

cheers and whistles broke out as sukuna entered. you stood instinctively, craning your neck to get a glimpse — and there he was. tall, broad-shouldered in his fitted team suit, race cap pulled low over his sharp eyes. he didn’t wave or acknowledge the room, just walked in with the quiet authority of a man who knew he didn’t need to try.

your throat dried. he was stunning. the kind of stunning that made your cheeks burn as you forced your gaze back to your notes. inappropriate thoughts crept in anyway. you pressed your knees together, trying to shake them off.

one by one, the journalists posed their questions. sukuna’s replies were short, clipped, sometimes sarcastic. he didn’t suffer fools — or flattery. and then it was your turn.

you stood, heart hammering. he watched you as you rose — not dismissively, but with interest, eyes following the way you clutched your notes like a lifeline.

“i was wondering,” you began, voice just steady enough, “about the profile picture you use across your social media — the one with you and your father in the small f1 kart. was he your inspiration to race?”

there was a beat of silence. a few reporters chuckled. someone scoffed. but sukuna didn’t. instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. he twisted the cap onto his water bottle and looked straight at you. “my dad was everything. i learned to race to make him proud,” he said, and for a second, his voice softened.

you nodded, lips curling into a smile, and sat down — your heart doing laps faster than any car on the grid. the rest of the questions blurred together. you could feel his eyes on you now and then, sharp and unreadable.

engines revved in the pit lane as the sun dipped lower over monte carlo’s harbor. the race was chaos and choreography all at once — twenty cars weaving through the tight hairpins and unforgiving chicanes, the scream of the v6 turbo engines reverberating off the grandstands.

you watched from the media zone, gripping your headset as the final laps unfolded. overtakes were rare in monaco, but sukuna was a master of precision. when he made his move into the nouvelle chicane, it was clean and lethal — the kind of move that made commentators lose their minds.

and then, the checkered flag waved. sukuna had won.

the crowd erupted. flares lit up. and the press surged forward.

“come on!” your coworker shouted, already pushing toward the media scrum gathering by parc fermé. reporters crowded around the victorious driver, shouting over one another. microphones flashed. cameras clicked.

you tried to move forward — but it was impossible. the mob was too thick, too loud.

“watch out!” someone yelled, but too late — another reporter shoved past you, knocking you off balance.

you stumbled forward, straight into someone’s chest. strong arms steadied you. a hand curled around your wrist. it was him. security started to react, but sukuna raised a hand, waving them off. his eyes — sharp and amused — scanned your face.

“you again, sweetheart?” he said low enough for only you to hear. his thumb brushed gently across the inside of your wrist. or maybe you imagined that part. you weren’t sure. he was close — so close it was dizzying.

he leaned in, lips near your ear. “if you’re serious about that interview,” he murmured, “meet me at the hotel hermitage. room 1801. nine o’clock. reception will let you up.”

and just like that, he walked away, ignoring the press, his team, everyone else.

your coworker caught up to you, wide-eyed. “what did he say?!” you blinked, still stunned. “he said… my questions were soft.” you lied, smiling to yourself.

you didn’t know if you’d go, but it might just be your shot.

you stared at the clock in your hotel room: 8:52 p.m.

you had paced the suite five times, changed your outfit twice, and debated texting your editor a dozen more. was this a mistake? would he even remember he invited you? your press pass lay on the nightstand, staring back at you like a dare.

by 8:57, you were in the elevator heading to the 18th floor of hotel hermitage. the hallway was quiet, plush carpet soft under your shoes. everything smelled like expensive cologne and fresh linen. it felt like the kind of place where secrets were expected — and kept.

you knocked on the door marked 1801.

no response.

you hesitated, lifting your hand again — but the door cracked open.

he stood there, Ryomen Sukuna — hair still wet, towel slung around the back of his neck, a few droplets of water catching the light as they slid down his bare chest. tattoos sprawled across his torso, wrapping around his arms, ink trailing over defined muscle and disappearing under a pair of low-sitting black lounge shorts. no shirt. just heat. and skin. and ink.

he looked completely unbothered by his own state of undress.

“you’re early,” he said, voice gravelly — not annoyed, but amused.

you tried to say something — anything — but your words got lost somewhere between the towel on his neck and the line of his collarbone.

he tilted his head slightly. “you coming in or just going to stare?” you stepped inside before you embarrassed yourself further.

the suite was dimly lit, with soft light coming from the floor lamps and the glow of monaco’s coast beyond the balcony windows. there was a half-open bottle of wine on the table near the couch, two glasses already waiting — like this had been a plan from the beginning.

you turned back toward him just as he closed the door. he didn’t move to get dressed. didn’t apologize for it, either.

“so,” he said, walking over to the wine. “you’re here for your big scoop?”

“you invited me,” you managed to say, even if it came out smaller than you intended. he poured the wine slowly. “i know.” he stated lowly, his eyes casually drifting at you, his muscles flexing with every move.

he handed you a glass, and when your fingers brushed his — warm skin, damp from the shower — it felt like a jolt of something you couldn’t name.

“well?” he said, lowering himself onto the couch. “ask your questions.”

you sat across from him, notebook in your lap more for show than purpose. your pen hovered midair, mind trying to chase the professionalism you were supposed to have walked in with. he sipped his wine, eyes never really leaving yours — studying, waiting.

you cleared your throat. “okay. first question… you’ve raced this circuit five times now. do you still get nervous before a big start?”

he leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the towel shifting slightly on his neck. “not really. nerves are a waste of energy. you either trust yourself, or you don’t.”

you nodded, scribbling something down even if it was just to give your hands something to do. “right. uh… who do you think your biggest rival is this season?”

“depends. on paper?” he took another sip. “probably hajime. but mentally? no one.”

you smiled despite yourself. “cocky.”

“confident,” he corrected smoothly. “if you don’t believe you’re the best out there, you’re already behind.”

you made a small noise of agreement, then flipped the page — pretending you weren’t hyperaware of the way his muscles shifted every time he moved. “okay, let’s talk personal life.”

his brow lifted. “now we’re getting interesting.”

you hesitated. “are relationships hard for you, given the lifestyle?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he let the silence settle, then said slowly, “they’re not hard. they’re just not built to last.”

you glanced up at him. “why not?”

“because most people don’t want the truth,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “they want a version of you that makes them feel better about themselves.” your pen paused.

he leaned forward slightly, gaze sharper now. “you ask a lot of curious personal questions.”

“it’s my job,” you replied, trying to match his tone.

“sure,” he said. “or maybe you just want to know what kind of women i like.” your breath caught — not because he was wrong, but because of how plainly he’d said it. your silence stretched too long, and his smirk deepened.

“want me to answer that?”

you swallowed. “wouldn’t that be off the record?”

“maybe,” he said, voice dipping low. “maybe not.” your fingers tightened slightly around your pen. “i’m not uncomfortable.”

“didn’t say you were,” he murmured, leaning in a little more, elbows resting on his knees now, glass dangling from one hand. “but you haven’t moved since i brought it up.”

you met his eyes — steady, unreadable. “so? what kind of women do you like?”

he smiled, slow and deliberate. “ones who ask bold questions with their voice shaking.”

you exhaled — not quite a laugh, not quite a breath — and before you could respond, he tilted his head, voice dropping even lower.

you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from him. his gaze was magnetic — intense, and unwavering.

“you sure you’re still here for the article?” his voice was low, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his words.

you blinked, caught off guard. “i’m… i’m here for the interview,” you said, trying to steady your nerves, but the line between professional and personal was blurring fast.

he didn’t smile this time, his gaze sharpening as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “you know,” he said, his tone almost teasing now, “i don’t usually invite people to my room for just a ‘chat.’”

your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the weight of his stare. you weren’t sure if you wanted to step back or closer, but his next words made it all the more complicated.

“tell me,” he murmured, his voice rough but controlled. “after all the questions you’ve asked about everyone else, you haven’t told me much about you.”

his eyes flicked to yours, dark and assessing. “you want to know what kind of woman I like? it’s simple: someone who knows what she wants.” his words were heavy with meaning, lingering in the air.

you swallowed hard. you had no idea where this conversation was going, but you felt your body respond to the shift in energy. it was no longer about the interview, or the questions.

“maybe you’d like me to show you,” he said, leaning closer. there was no mistaking it now. his breath was warm against your skin, and the air felt thick, charged with something undeniable. “or do you prefer to just keep asking?”

this was it. this was the moment you’ve been fantasizing about ever since you’ve laid eyes on him. you lean closer to him, his winey breath on your skin. “i guess, no,” you took a small breath, “i want you to show me, what you like.”

he smirked, his hand removing your glass from your trembling fingers. his face was closer to yours, his other hand wrapping itself around the back of your neck pulling you closer as he captured your lips with his. your stomach erupted, goosebumps rising on your skin as you found your brows furrowing into the kiss.

you placed your hands on his cheeks pulling further toward you, his body lying you down on the couch as he took place above you, careful with his movement without breaking away.

“tell me what you want beautiful and it’s yours,” he whispered into the kiss, “it’s all yours, god.”

you wrapped yourself around him, separating your face from him, face red and flushed. “i want you, please, sukuna,”

without a second wasted, sukuna grabbed your body pulling you up from the couch, his bulge rubbing against your clothed cunt. your hips attempted to get a better feel, pressing yourself closer to him but it was all cut to an end when you were thrown onto his bed.

“so needy,” he chuckled throwing off his towel with a tug, “you want me that bad huh?” he grinned removing his shorts, revealing his swollen tip. your mouth drooled at the sight, his inked body, his beautiful muscles and his aching cock. you couldn’t help but crawl to him, your bottom lip tugged under your teeth as you reached to grab him.

you wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum, and he groaned, one hand tangling in your hair. you took him deeper, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as you worked him, but he wasn’t patient. how could he when your throat felt so good. he thrust into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. tears pricked your eyes, but the sound of his low, filthy moans made your cunt drip onto the sheets.

“fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. “take every inch baby that’s it.”

you moaned around him, the vibrations making him curse, his grip tightening. he pulled out suddenly, leaving you gasping, spit dripping down your chin. “not yet,” he said, hauling you to your feet and pushing you back . “i wanna feel that tight little pussy first.”

he shoved your body to his liking, face-down, ass up, pulling down your skirt and panties down. the cool air coming from the open windows hit your slick folds, making you shiver, but then his hand cracked against your ass, the sting blooming into heat that made your clit throb. “look at this perfect ass,” he muttered, spanking you again, leaving red handprints. “begging to become one of my trophies.”

“please,” you whimpered, spreading your thighs wider, desperate. “sukuna…”

he chuckled, caressing your soft skin, leaning down to kiss it. “you gon’ be a good girl and take all of daddy?” he taunted. your cunt throbbed, giving him all the answers he needed. sukuna teased your slit with his tip before thrusting into you, one long stroke that stretched your pussy to accommodate his girth. your lips parted, letting out an ecstatic gasp as your gripped onto the silk sheets. his balls were slapping against your clit, the trimmed hair brushing against your skin.

“you feel so good, mhm so fucking good,” he grunted, hands gripping your hips as the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy taking him filled the suite. sweat slicked your skin, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down, biting your shoulder before kissing it, his mouth trailing from your blades to your neck.

his thrusts pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you, your cunt spasming around his cock as you screamed his name. he couldn’t stop, fucking you through it, chasing his own release. “gonna fill you up sweetheart,” he mumbled almost whimpering, his cock rubbing against your warm insides before spilling himself inside you.

your head fell heavy on the pillows, body trembling as his weight pinned you to the bed, his cock still buried inside you. your breaths were ragged, the room spinning, cum and sweat staining the sheets.

you whimpered painfully as he pulled out, cum leaking from your tired pussy. a sight for sore eyes, he thought.

it wasn’t until you felt his tongue on you that you realized he wasn’t done yet, lapping at the mixture of both his and your orgasms, moaning as he made out with your folds.

“couldn’t help but have a taste, fuck” his voice sent vibrations to your clit, your hand grabbing his head from behind as best you could to guide him through your climax.

he chuckled at your attempt, “don’t got anymore questions f’me?” he spat on your folds before plunging his fingers, toying with you. “don’t get all shy on me now, not after how you treated my cock,” a trail of moans was your answer, hips bucking as you rushed yourself to come.

“oh yeah i can feel that, gonna come again for daddy baby? yeah?” your nodding was rapid, toes curling as you allowed yourself to be overwhelmed by your orgasm.

“daddy… coming,” you whispered, breath shaky. he would be lying if he didn’t enjoy seeing you like that, calling him daddy, letting him do as he pleases. but then it hit him, he still hasn’t seen your fucked out face.

he smeared your juices all over your cunt, lubing you to prepare you for his hardened cock again. with a simple tug he flipped you over, legs on his shoulders as he dug in, capturing your yelp in his mouth, this time going faster.

you grabbed onto his shoulders, legs wrapping around him to keep him close. he knew he wouldn’t last long, how could he when you were squeezing him like that. he reached to your buttoned shirt, ripping it open, the sounds of your buttons scattering on the floor.

sukuna looked down at you, your soft voice expressing how good he is making you feel. he smirked, his fingers pulling down your bra to be mesmerized by your tits, his hungry mouth unable to resist latching on them.

“oh my god fuck, sukuna… sukuna shit!” your fingers were now in his hair, your nipples respectively getting sucked and played with. “fill me up again, felt so good to have your cum,” you begged, eyes filling with tears.

“never say no to a win,” he chuckled, his face dropping next to yours as he buried his face next to yours, your legs unconsciously letting go of him as your body began shaking, vision getting cloudy.

he moaned in your ear, his skin slapping against yours a few last times before he let himself loose inside you once again.

“you better mention how much i love the adrenaline rush i get in your article sweetheart.”

[rkivefae]

(repost from old acc, it's been a few years since I've been on here)

Okay, so my friend has doodled in my chemistry notebook when I let them borrow it, then I began thinking,,

Steddie high school au

Eddie draws continuously in chemistry class and he has certain things he draws with inspiration from that class and doesn’t want to contaminate it with other classes so he hides the notebook, poorly, in hope that when he comes back, it'll still be there.

Steve comes to his seat, in the back of the class and notices it immediately. His first thought is that someone lost it so he grabs it in hopes of seeing a name but instead sees crazy drawings. Ranging from small sketches of supposed knights to fantasy creatures that Steve never would have thought of seeing.

"If found, leave where it is OR ELSE" It read in thick sharpie letters on the front page.

He felt bad for being nosy and going through it but he couldn't help himself as he continued looking through it. After some heavy overthinking, he decides to draw something back. He wasn't the most talented but he was better than most in his art classes, so hopefully they didn’t laugh too much at his attempt.

He decides to draw a jester, tried his best to shade in all perfectly and portion everything properly. To say the least, he was impressed with his final product because this is better than anything he’s ever done in is classes. Next to it he writes, as if the character was saying it, “You should put this in better places.”

He didn’t even focus in class, AT ALL.

But when he came back to the class, he found the notebook again. Took one look at it and tried to fight back the desire to just crack it open and see if they wrote back. His fingers itched to have the glosses cover turned open. just a peak. He tried to reason and at first he held back. Trying to focus in class but that ended terribly, so he grabbed the notebook after about 5 minutes of spacing out on the teacher and eyeing it.

When he opened the page, there it was. A reply.

It was a king, you could tell by the crown he wore but fangs were prominent in the grinning feature. Black curled hair that fell onto his shoulder that was covered by a dark suit. A hand stretched out with a sword towards the Jester, “There is a trespasser? And a fool? State thy business!”

Steve fucking giggled. Giggled! Of all things he could’ve done, he giggled! King Steve Harrington since freshman year, had all the ladies wooing at him and guys wanting to be him just giggled because the owner of the notebook drewsomething for him.

Steve would never get focus back into that class since he replied. Always waiting for the notebook and it became his priority. He didn’t understand how he was still passing that class with how much he began lacking!

They talked about simple silly things at first before Eddie began picking it up more, talking more about who he was but never stated a name, not yet. They weren’t ready for that.

Steve even helped Eddie decide on what to use as his Hellfire club signature look that was going to be fought to be published as an official club on school record!

But when the last page came along at the ending of the school year, Eddie spoke about it. Said, “It’s the end of the year, the last of this book. Could I finally ask your name?”

Steve’s whole world stopped spinning. He couldn’t even begin to explain the thoughts racing through his head.

When they know, would they stop being friends with him? No one truly liked Steve Harrington, he became popular by default of being a pretty boy and on the basketball team. Most talked about how his group of people were assholes and that he might as well be, too. He wasn’t oblivious, he knew what most people thought. He was a boy of a rich family that was spoiled. That wasn’t a lie, but his life wasn’t pretty, thanks to his father and mother. But could anyone really understand that? Walking through the door of his home in fear of what he’ll walk in and see, what would happen to him if he breathed wrong in the presence of his father?

What if when he says his name and they don’t want nothing to do with him? What if when he says his name, he loses the only honest friendship he has? What if they share the things he told them in the notebook to everyone else withproof as a way to ruin his life because they didn’t like him? Maybe they weren’t like that but Steve couldn’t take that risk. No one with this chance would not take it, right? Tommy would take it. The rest of the boys on the team would take it. Carol would take it and laugh about it. He couldn’t expect different from other people, right?

Steve’s breathing quickened as his chest tightened, tears welling up and he gripped his chest. He rushed out of class with an unsteady balance, the teacher yelling behind him and he didn’t return for that period, the notebook left open and unsigned.

He couldn’t.

That moment was talked about everywhere, how he rushed out of class and didn’t return. No one bothered to question why, just whispered how panicked he was. Poor Steve, they said mockingly in the halls but never to his face.

Eddie knew.

It didn’t take long to piece it all together, the incident, the opened notebook, the fact that it was all too much of a coincidence and the things he said just made sense for it to be Steve Harrington.

He didn’t want to believe it at first, laughing that it was just dumb and there was no way that Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was talking to Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson with passion. But then again, they both didn’t know who each other was.

When Steve talked about dumb moments with his ‘friends’ and how he felt bad for the people they ‘hung’ around, the games he lost and how he beat himself up, even the moments that Steve told him how he hated the social ranking - it all should have made sense. At first, Eddie thought that the person writing back was like him, a freak with nerdy interest. Which, in a different font, Steve was.

However, as the next few years flied by, Eddie just watched Steve from afar. From sucking faces with Nancy Wheeler in the hallway, picking her up and twirling her around, smiling bright because he was happy to the moments that it looked like Steve was seconds away from turning over and dying. The bruises that cascaded over certain parts of his body being a brushed off topic and the fear that was in his eyes when he turned the corner. Like he knew things he shouldn’t.

There was raw fear, hatred, anger and even disgust that Eddie was able to recognize. Part of him wondered where the happiness went and the other was tired of him staying afar, wanting to talk to him because Steve Harrington was more than just a pretty boy from what he knew and the look on his eyes only said more.

Eddie never got to, Steve rushed past every day, ready to get the day over and he couldn’t talk to him. Soon, Steve graduated and Eddie was held-back again and he took that as a sign. A strong one. To just get over it. He was never going to know Steve Harrington and it was stupid for him to even think so. Plus, if he did, it was stupid! The town freak with the most loved boy in town? Not a good duo. So, he stayed afar for good.

Until he didn’t.

Steve Harrington waltzed in with an arguing Dustin Henderson, the club all watching the two before Steve Harrington scoffed. “I’m serious, I’m not playing your nerdy campaign just because you’re missing a person! I don’t understand it,” He said, pushing a bag towards Dustin’s chest. “You know I’m not smart enough to understand that.”

Before Dustin could reply, Eddie took that as his chance to finally greet them. He climbed out of his chair rather loudly, catching both of their attention before walking up to Steve, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning forward.

“Well, Well, if it isn’t the missing Jester.” He said, a cocky tone laced within it

It took only a few seconds before Steve’s eyes widened when it clicked.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

[tikitakatia]

Swapsies — A.Putellas x Reader

WC: 0.9k

Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet night just watching netflix. Now you're late, Alexia's wearing toothpaste, and someone definitely packed the wrong lunch.

You wake up in a panic.

The kind of panic that comes from realizing you and Alexia were definitely not watching Netflix until 2am like you promised yourselves. No. There were zero shows. Just a lot of kissing. A little dancing in the kitchen. And then… Well, let’s just say the couch is never going to look at you two the same way again.

Now the sun is way too high in the sky, and both of you are tangled in sheets, limbs, and disaster.

“Mierda,” Alexia mumbles, hair a complete mess from how many times your hands had been in it last night: angled, tousled, and very much the result of non-sleep-related activities. “I have that meeting at the foundation.”

“And I’m late for my first day at the new school,” you groan, pulling on pants backwards and realizing only after you’ve buttoned them.

Chaos becomes teamwork. You pass her a hoodie while brushing your teeth. She hands you a banana with her mouth still full of toothpaste. Somehow, two lunch boxes make it into two bags and kisses are exchanged like a panicked currency.

“I love you!”

“Don’t die!”

And you both vanish into the day.

You’re halfway through your substitute teaching gig, taking a small food break when you realize: something’s wrong.

This isn’t your lunch.

You open the container expecting your sad, weird combo of a PB&J sandwich, half a granola bar, and the cookie you accidentally sat on last night during “couch activities.” Instead, you’re staring at a perfectly arranged, macro-balanced meal of grilled salmon, quinoa, avocado, and steamed broccoli. There’s even a tiny tupperware of tahini dressing.

You’ve made a terrible mistake.

Across town, Alexia is chewing on your sandwich like it personally offended her.

The granola bar crumbles in her hand. The cookie is fused to its wrapper in a way that feels disrespectful. By 11:30, she’s in a boardroom, smiling politely while her stomach growls loud enough to register on nearby seismographs. One of the interns glances under the table like a small animal might be loose.

Alexia excuses herself with the calmness of someone about to rob a bank.

The school receptionist doesn’t even question her. Just blinks twice as Alexia, hair in a bun, hoodie half-zipped, marches through the door like she owns the place.

She’s almost made it to the staff room when it happens.

“OH MY GOD.”

Three kids spot her first.

Then five more.

Then ten.

Suddenly, she’s swarmed.

“ALEXIA PUTELLAS?!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

“Are you a substitute now? Is it for P.E.?!”

“Can I touch your hair?!”

“Do you live in Messi’s old house?!”

Before she can say a single word, one kid is hugging her leg. Another is already climbing her back like she’s a jungle gym. A small girl with sparkly glasses hands her a crayon drawing of “Alexia and a lion fighting crime.” A boy in a Spider-Man T-shirt asks if her knees “make robot sounds when she runs.”

Someone gives her a juice box.

Someone else tries to trade her a Pokémon card for “one goal in a real match.”

She’s signing a notebook when a group drags her to the gym for an impromptu penalty shootout using a foam ball and a laundry basket as a goal.

“Play fair!” one girl yells. “You’re a world champion, not a cheater!”

Alexia raises her hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to eat!”

They don’t care. She’s theirs now.

By the time she finally finds you, she looks like she’s survived a toddler uprising. Her hoodie is covered in stickers. There’s glitter on her face. A “Be Kind” badge has been clipped to her chest, crooked.

You’re sitting in the cafeteria, already smirking, watching her approach. You know what’s coming. Alexia, with her signature determined look, angling straight for your lunch, ready to reclaim her stolen meal. She’s probably plotting her usual move to swipe it from right under your nose.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say, leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed, making sure to place her lunch in front of you like a prized possession.

“They mobbed me,” she says, eyes wide. “I got tackled. Tackled. I played an entire match and didn’t get this bruised.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. “Did you win?”

She looks down at her foam ball trophy with marker scribbles and shrugs. “Barely.”

You chuckle. “You’re always so dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow back, giving you a pointed look. “I’m not the one who stole food.”

You’re about to respond when she makes her move. She shifts toward your lunch, clearly intent on getting back the meal you “borrowed” from her. You brace the usual swift maneuver, but instead of snatching your food, she pulls out another lunchbox, a second one, and slides it in front of you with a grin.

“You’re not the only one who can play the food game,” she says. “I figured you might need something healthier today.”

You stare at the neatly packed lunch: grilled chicken, roasted veggies, quinoa, and hummus. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“You’re a sneaky one,” you say, shaking your head in amusement.

She smirks, sitting down next to you. “Just making sure you actually eat something that won’t leave you starving in an hour.”

You look at the meal in front of you and then back at her. “This is way too nice for me.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, picking at her own lunch with a satisfied look, “you’ve earned it.”

You lean over, kiss her, glitter and all, because even after a chaotic morning, she’s found a way to take care of you.

And somehow, she still looks like she could score a hat trick right after.

[theliving-radio]

Big Brother Malleus notices that something is wrong the moment he sees you walking in the hallway.

You look tired, your eyes were having a hard time staying open. Grim was hanging off your shoulder and kept pawing at your face to stay awake. A few times you would bump into a student and immediately started apologizing. Were you trying to rest your eyes while walking?

That wont do.

“My Baby Sibling, is something the matter?” Malleus walked straight into your direction to check up on you.

“Oh? Morning Horton, I’m doing alright! Nothing is wrong.” A lie. It was clearly a lie

Malleus raises a brow and looks over at Grim.

“They had a nightmare last night.”

“Grim!”

“What?! I’m not gonna lie to him! Plus you need rest! You weren’t able to fall back asleep! How is my Hench-human suppose to help me be the most powerful mage, if they can’t sleep well!”

Malleus made a mental note to gift Grim a treat for his honesty later.

“You lost sleep because of a nightmare? That won’t do, come my dear Baby Sibling. I shall help you rest.”

“Oh, Horton that’s all right-,” Malleus ignored you and took your hand in his as he carefully dragged you off with him.

Grim grabbed his notebook and hopped off your shoulder, heading to class now while the dragon fae whisked you away. “Mraaa! You better get some sleep this time!”

You kept protesting against Malleus, saying that you were fine and everything is ok with you. Did he listen? Nope. Not even for a second.

You’re his Baby Sibling who needs their sleep. And as the Big Brother, he’s gonna help you sleep.

Malleus took you all the way to his dorm room, guiding you over to his bed.

“Horton, I promise I’m fine! I need to get to class! Grim will have a hard time without me.”

“Nonsense, you clearly need rest.”

“A day without sleep wouldn’t kill me…”

“No, but it would kill me seeing my own Baby Sibling suffering throughout the day because of a nightmare that haunted them.”

Malleus gently guides you to sit on his bed, you just sit there and stare up at him while he looked down at you expectingly.

“… what?”

“Climb into bed”

“What- no!”

“Why not?”

“Horton, I can survive the day just fine, let me go to class.”

“Ah I see, you need to be in more comfortable clothes.”

With a flick of his wrist, your school uniform turned into a pair of cozy pajamas.

Is he serious right now?!

You were too baffled to say anything as Malleus begins to move you up his bed. He pulled the blankets all the way to your chin when he got you under the covers, making sure to tuck you in comfortably.

He stood back and puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his work.

You just looked like a head on a pillow in a sea of blankets.

“There, now you shall be able to sleep properly.”

You blinked up at the dragon fae and try to sit up, Malleus just flicks his wrist again to use magic to make you lay back down.

“Oof! Really?!”

“My Baby Sibling needs to sleep.”

“I can’t just automatically fall asleep!”

“Hm, you’re right.” Malleus began to think for a bit, he then smiles as he pulls a chair from his work desk and sits beside the bed. “Then I shall keep you company while you sleep”

“Horton, that’s sweet and all, but I think this is just a bit too much.”

“I would say it’s not enough. As your Big Brother, it’s my responsibility that my Baby Sibling is well taken care of. And that includes your sleep”

You stare at Malleus for a long time. He wasn’t gonna let you go until you get some sleep in your system.

… and you were very comfortable…

But there was a a darkness creeping in the back of your mind, telling you to not close your eyes. That the events of the nightmare would happen again…

“… I’m scared to fall asleep.”

Malleus eyes widen at your confession, but his expression softens and smiles at you.

“You do not have to fear a nightmare to ever haunt your dreams. I will protect you from them.”

“Because you’re my Big Brother?”

“Exactly.”

You let out a small giggle as you shuffle under the covers, getting yourself comfortable and ready to accept sleep.

“Will you be here when I wake up.”

“Yes, now stop stalling and close your eyes.”

“Hehe, ok. I love you, Big Brother.”

Malleus broke out in a wide smile as he sits up from his chair and places a gentle kiss upon your forehead. “And I love you too, my sweet Baby Sibling.”

The Fae began to hum a soft tune as he watched over you. Once Malleus knew you were fully sleep, he moved a few strands of hair out of your face and placed two fingers on your forehead. He whispers a few words, blessing you with sweet dreams. Malleus goes back to sit down in the chair and picks up a book from his nightstand.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Big Brother is going to stay right here where you need him.

————————————————————————

This was out of the blue, but I had the WORST Nightmare ever! It was too much of a real scenario too, and I’m not gonna get into it. But I love the idea of Big Brother Malleus kidnapping us to just put us to bed because he said so. Lol