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rafescoke · 3 years

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Brother’s Best Friend ; Rafe Cameron

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Request: heyy I’ve recently found your account and I just felt in love with the way you write and with your works so I was wondering if you could write a fic where the reader is Kelce’s sister, she’s sitting alone at home and suddenly she hears a doorbell ringing, she comes to open the door and that’s Rafe and she says something like “Kelce’s not home” or smth like that and Rafe answers “I actually came to see you” or smth like that. It can be smut or fluff or whatever I don’t really care. Sorry if this is chaotic but I just want the reader to be black and I have bad ideas lmao 😭 sending love ❤️❤️

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Fooling around with your best friend's sister is not a good sign, especially when it involves something more than skinny dipping and drinking alcohol together.

Warnings: Slight smut, mentions of drinking, slight angst, teasing Rafe Cameron

A/N: I'm so close to 700 followers wtf y'all are truly amazing ily! I'm finishing all requests in my inbox for the new few days; thank you to those who put their trust in me to write their ideas <33

(Y/N) could never deny the attraction she felt towards a certain brunette boy with that charming smile.

The feeling evolved for the first time when he came over to her house to see Kelce. He was so polite to her; giving her a turn on passing the ball and scolding Kelce and Topper for not wanting to give her a chance at playing basketball in the swimming pool.

But she was only 8 back then, and she regarded the feeling as nothing more than a silly crush.

Rafe Cameron changed when he entered high school. (Y/N) couldn't explain what was wrong, but he was not her Rafe anymore. He didn't hold the door for her, scold Kelce for making fun of her or do anything that used to make her heart soar.

Her thoughts were disrupted when a fresh blue towel hit her squarely on the face, causing her to yelp in shock.

"Do you wanna come down to the lake with us?"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, pulling the towel to her side, and closed her magazine with a snap. Her eyes fell back to the three guys, lingering on the tallest one a little bit too long.

She cleared her throat, "No, I'm tired."

Kelce shrugged, walking towards the entrance of their home from the swimming pool. He didn't feel like having (Y/N) around anyways, because that would mean he would have to protect her from his friends.

Kelce loved his friends, of course, but he also knew the other side of them that uses girls like Kleenex tissue only to throw them away again.

"On a second thought-" (Y/N) said, stopping the three boys from entering the big house. "I think I'll go."

"You sure?" Kelce asked. God. Now he would have to play the big-brother stimulator for the whole night.

The night sky was dark, and the only light came from the moonlight up above and sometimes from the flashlight of each other's phone. Boozes laid messily on the wooden deck and their clothes were discarded all over the place.

Not one person was sober, and they were all laughing to a joke by Topper.

"Okay, okay, last one-" Topper said excitedly. He shivered, and (Y/N) thought about it as a response towards the cold lake water or the excited nerves of sharing another stupid joke. "Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"Easy. To get to the other side," Rafe answered proudly. A beer drop slid down from his lips to his chin, and (Y/N) felt a strong desire to lick it.

"Wrong."

"Okay, fine, I don't know."

Topper smiled widely, and (Y/N) could see this joke coming from a few miles away. "To get to the loser's house. Knock knock."

Rafe pulled a face, his eyebrows raised. "Who's there?"

"The chicken."

Kelce and Topper's laugh filled the silence around them, and (Y/N) found herself slightly smiling at the joke. Rafe groaned, finally understanding the joke and being angry at himself for willingly taking the bait.

"Okay, okay. The joke's over."

Kelce laughed again before taking a full swig of another beer bottle. He stared at the sky, and let out a loud huff.

"Wish we can go up there."

"Me too, man," Topper agreed. He joined Kelce by staring up at the dark sky, both clearly high out of their minds.

"Do you want to?"

(Y/N) looked to her side, not noticing Rafe who had moved from his previous position near Topper to beside her. She quirked her head to one side, her face questioning.

"Go up to the sky," he explained. He watched as she looked up to the sky, her mouth slightly parting. Her chest heaved peacefully, and her wet body donning the lilac bikini never looked so beautiful and perfect.

"Nah. I'm too scared."

"Even when I'll go with you?" he smiled. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, though her heart was soaring brightly; she would never feel scared anymore if he were to be around her all the time.

"Yeah. Even when you’ll go with me. Besides, it's not possible."

"Let people enjoy things," he said, and he was so close to her now because she could smell the coffee mint from his breath. Her heart was beating wildly, though this would be the ten-thousandth time he did this to her.

It never failed to leave her completely breathless.

"You're drooling," he whispered, and used his thumb to wipe her wet lips from the beer. Her breath hitched, and she couldn't utter any words back. She was too mesmerised with the whole situation.

His fingers stopped at her chin, looking into her eyes, and he was petrified too. He leaned in, but before anything could happen, (Y/N) moved away. He cleared his throat, and swam back to the deck.

‘I’m drunk’ was repeated by him all the way to the the place he threw his clothes off, shaking his head at the thought that he was so close to kissing her. He looked back to her direction in the lake, still staring at him. He focused back on the ties of his shorts, and made his way back to the Kelce’s house.

He ignored his best friends calls.

. . .

(Y/N) never really liked school, but she loved the after-activity that she got herself in.

Like cheerleading.

She used to think of the sport as something quirky, but in truth, once she was accepted into the school’s cheerleading team, she had never been more into a sport than before.

She walked down the field to the other side of the track where the other girls were waiting for her. Her training skirt flew slightly from the wind, and she was trying to hold them down all while carrying the water bottle and a duffle bag.

She exchanged a few greetings with her other friends, putting down her duffle bag and her water bottle. The sun was scorching hot, and all she felt like was eating ice cream inside of their boat whilst streaming down the lake, but the last time she had ditched cheer practice, it hadn’t ended well.

“Uh-oh,” someone exclaimed behind her. “Big bro is coming.”

(Y/N) looked up to the field, and sure enough Kelce was running towards her in his jersey. (Y/N) sighed, not knowing what she did now that could earn her a lecture from Kelce.

“Hey, I’m bringing a girl home after practice,” he said. “Would you mind getting a ride with someone else?”

She groaned, “Fuck, Kelce, no. You can tell your new scandal to fuck off because I am not getting an Uber to walk back to home.”

“Look, please? You can ask your friends to give you a ride, right? It’s important,” he begged. His eyes were scanning her friends now, obviously trying to find someone who could help his sister, and when he found one, his smile quirked upwards. “Yo, Sarah! Can you drive (Y/N) home after practice?”

Sarah walked towards them, her blonde hair up in a ponytail. She slung her arms around (Y/N)’s shoulders, noting the exasperated expression on her face, and gave Kelce a glare.

“You should let her drive a car if you’re going to bring a girl home after school,” she said. Kelce groaned, knowing the amount of shit he will be getting from the people around him, but he was truly trying to make it right for this new girl.

“Look, I’ll buy y’all anything for a week. Food? Sure. Clothes? Sure.”

Sarah clapped her hands, seemingly excited, and forced (Y/N) to say yes. She wouldn’t mind driving (Y/N) home, because she wanted to catch up with her about some gossip too.

“Fine. But I’m driving my own car tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” was all he said before he jogged down to the soccer team.

That evening was hell to (Y/N). She couldn’t get the formation right, the sun was getting hotter and hotter, her hair was sticking out weirdly, and worst of all, she couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday’s event.

He was so, so close to her.

“(Y/N), come on! What’s gotten into you? The top part, again!” The coach yelled, slapping her hands against her lap. There were sweat forming on her forehead, and she was obviously hot and bothered from this whole situation.

But sport was sport. The coach wasn’t going to let today’s training to waste, and she intended for the new number to work.

(Y/N) muttered a soft ‘sorry’ before going back to her position, her heart still thumping at the thought. The cheer started, and her mouth was saying the words, but her brain was somewhere else.

The two guys by her side picked her up by her calf, and she felt the wind gushing out from beside her ears. She was high up in the sky now, throwing one arm upwards and balancing herself on one leg, and it was finally time now, to twirl into the two boys’ arms, but she wasn’t ready. Her mouth didn’t utter any words from the cheer, too focused on the step, and before she could jump back into their arms, she felt herself slipping.

“(Y/N)!” The coach yelled, running towards her by the track. Sarah and the other teammates were surrounding her now, watching as she groaned on the ground painfully, holding onto her arms.

“Okay, I take that as the end of today’s training,” the coach said, sighing. “(Y/N), are you okay? Can you walk?”

(Y/N) held her thumbs up, because she had worse injury than this before. Hell, the boxing fight she used to have with Kelce in their childhood was more painful. She sat up from the track, feeling the heat of the ground burning on her bottoms, and stretched her fingers. The pain coursed through her veins at the feeling, but kinda liked it.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Sarah said, helping her up. She groaned when she finally stood on her two feet, feeling so painful all she wanted to do was lay back on the track, but she knew she had to go home.

She allowed Sarah helping her limp towards a black Mercedes, her eyes closed the whole time.

Okay, scratch the fight with Kelce. This one was more painful than ever.

“Can I stay at your house?” She blurted when Sarah drove out of the school gate. “I don’t feel like listening to my mom’s lecture about my leg.”

Sarah glanced at her from the rearview mirror, watching as she spread her leg out the whole backseat. The ice bag someone had gotten her was pressed against her calf, and she was sweating from the heat and trying to contain the pain.

“Yes, of course, that would be better,” Sarah said. She had other plans that evening, but helping (Y/N) overstepped all of them.

“So what’s up with you and John B?”

Sarah turned to look at her fully on her face, furrowing her eyebrows. “What do you know about John B?”

(Y/N) laughed, “The light’s green.” Just on cue, the car behind them horned at Sarah, and she quickly pushed on the pedal.

“How do you know about John B?” Sarah asked, biting her lips. If (Y/N) could find out, she couldn’t imagine what would Rafe do if he finds out.

“God, don’t be worried. I’m not going to tell anyone about this, okay? Just relax. I think it’s cute.”

Sarah’s worried expression softened, “You think so?”

“Yeah. At least you got to be with whoever you want. Some people can’t have that.”

Like her. Kelce would kill her and dump her body in the ocean for the sharks if he ever finds out how much she likes Rafe.

“You’ll find the one soon. How about that guy in your maths class?” The car turned to the right, nearing the destination.

“No. I’m not looking for anyone.”

There’s only one, but Sarah won’t like the answer.

The time was 8.23p.m. now, and (Y/N) had been in Sarah’s room for a total of 3 hours. After catching up on new gossips, watched a movie, did her English essay, she felt extremely dehydrated.

Sarah was sleeping peacefully beside her, being so tired after the practice and school, and (Y/N) didn’t feel like waking her up. She have been to The Camerons household, but that was only for Sarah’s birthday party a few years back.

She sighed, getting up from the bed to find the kitchen. The house was like a maze, and she wished they had some kind of a map to browse through.

Alas, she found the kitchen, her muscles screaming from all the wrong turns she took before. She knew where the plastic cups and plates were situated, having to help Sarah get them during her birthday party, so she didn’t have any trouble getting some.

She drank the cold water quickly, feeling the liquid sloshing down her throat. The feeling was so, so good that she wished she could go through it again.

“I do not know where your sister is, Kelce,” a voice sighed not far from the kitchen. “I told you you shouldn’t bring that girl home and just drive (Y/N) home yourself.”

The voice, unmistakably Rafe, was getting nearer and nearer. (Y/N)’s eyes widened, trying to find an empty space to hide in, but there were none. She panicked, still looking for a way out that she didn’t notice the tall figure behind her.

“Oh. Found you.”

His hair was dishevelled and wet, his chest heaving and he was shirtless.

What a nice way to bump onto each other.

“Take a picture,” he started, shutting his phone off and placing them in his shorts. “It’ll last longer that way.”

Now we’re talking about the new Rafe.

(Y/N) scoffed, pushing him away and making a disgusted face at his sweat sticking on her arms. “I’m here for Sarah.”

“Why? Did she die or something?”

God. He really is insufferable.

She made to push him away to return to Sarah’s room, only for him to grab her by her waist.

“Move.” Her tone was stern, but her stomach was flipping wildly. She tried to not look so bothered, but failed miserably.

Rafe seemed to notice her behaviour because he didn’t let go of her. “Come on, where’s the fun in that?”

She was on the same level as his neck now, and he could still smell his expensive cologne even after he swam in the swimming pool. She sighed, placing her hands against his chest.

“Move.”

Rafe laughed, putting his hands up in defeat, and went to grab the same glass she was drinking from. He refilled the glass and downed the content, and (Y/N) had to look away from the innocent move.

Maybe he was just saving water by not using a different cup.

“Do you need help to return to Sarah’s room or something?”

“No, I’m fine,” she refused, and made sure he could see her fake annoyed expression before she returned to the hall she came from. But there were 2 halls now, and she completely forgot which one she had been before.

“Really?” Rafe stood beside her, and she looked up to his amused face. “Because you’re in the wrong hall. It’s the other exit of the kitchen, darling.”

. . .

Why couldn’t she not see his face every single day?

It was truly troubling her, to see that boy everyday, because she couldn’t think properly every time.

The lights from the stadium blared widely, and the deafening screaming coming from both teams’ supporters rang throughout the whole field. (Y/N) was sure the whole island could hear them too.

Two things happened earlier than evening. Number one, her skirt wasn’t completely dried after being sent off to the laundry for a week, and her hair wasn’t just cooperating.

So here she was; in a shorter uniform skirt, her hair hung up into a ponytail with lots of hairspray. She wished for nothing but to be all cuddled up with her blanket in her room.

“You’re okay?” Sarah asked. She fixed (Y/N)’s lips gently, getting the lipstick and lipliner even, and gave her a kiss on the cheeks. “Don’t worry about the skirt. It looks normal.”

For a little girl.

(Y/N) sighed and involuntarily pulled down the hem of her skirt. Ten minutes from the game now, and she was nervous she would flash everyone on the school compound.

In the locker room, Rafe was sitting right next to Kelce as his best friend prayed for a win tonight. He was never that religious, and he didn’t feel the need to mutter a prayer to anyone. But tonight, he listened intently to whatever Kelce was saying because he needed to win this cup more than anything in the world.

“You’re okay?” The coach asked, patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah. Just nervous.”

“Don’t be, you’re the Star Player. Right?”

The Star Player.

Rafe gave him a smile, and went back to his praying.

When he first entered the field to meet the rival team, his eyes couldn’t help but scanned the bleachers to find his dad. Ward wasn’t there, but Rose and Wheezie were cheering for him.

Of course.

He sighed, and went straight to the middle of the field. It’s funny how everyone was there to support him, Rafe, the Star Player, the jock, the whatever else people were saying about him.

He just wanted Ward to see him.

“Come on, man, it’s fine,” Topper said, patting his back. “He’ll come later.”

Even his friends could see how miserable he was feeling.

The first match of the game went smoothly; he scored a try goal, everyone was cheering loudly, but it was just then that one of the opponents came knocking Rafe by his side.

Rafe fell to the ground with a loud thud, earning so many gasps from the stand.

“What the fuck?!” Topper pushed whoever responsible for his fall, and the sound of a whistle rang throughout the air. “He pushed him for nothing! You saw it, fuck!”

Rafe groaned on the ground, clutching onto his arms, and he tried to spread his fingers, but couldn’t. His other teammates were surrounding him now, trying to get a good look of him, all while Topper and Kelce and another friend of his went off to the referee.

Rafe put his other hand up, trying to sit up. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Move!”

The other members scattered away, sighing in relief when Rafe came back to his legs. The referee, still getting yelled at by Topper, shook his head at something he said, and before anyone could process what happened, Topper tackled the opponent who had pushed Rafe down to the ground.

Kelce pulled Topper away after a few long seconds, telling him to stop. But one thing about Topper is that he just won’t stop.

“Stupid fuck!” He yelled, throwing another punch.

“Topper, stop, they’re going to throw you off the field!” Kelce yelled. Finally, he separated them away after the opponent’s friend pulled his injured friend away.

The referee, expectedly, pulled a red card to Topper, earning a groan coming from their coach and the stand. Rafe cursed, knowing that Topper’s one of their strongest member. He watched as Topper tried to argue with the referee, but it was no use.

“It’s okay,” Kelce said, patting his back as he made his way back to the bench. “Relax, bro, okay?” Topper calmed down after the coach said something to him, but Rafe could clearly see the distress written on his face.

“You’re okay?” Kelce asked, pointing to his arms.

Rafe could move his muscles now though he could feel the sharp pain from doing so. But he was too content on winning this game.

(Y/N) watched as the second match unfold, her teeth biting into her lips in fear. She didn’t feel like having the next week full of gloomy students and disappointed teachers, so she wanted the cup as much as everyone else.

Rafe was fast, throwing the ball smoothly back and forth with Kelce and his other friends, but it was apparent that the Star Player wasn’t feeling like himself.

It might be the arm, or the fact that Ward Cameron was too busy with his work to see his son playing.

37 minutes had passed, and the other team was leading. They only had 3 minutes left, and with the team being so drained out and their captain with a broken arm, it was clear who was winning.

The whistle blared through the field again, noting the end of the match. As the other team supporters cheered happily the other side of the stands muttered silently to each other about the game.

(Y/N) watched as Rafe yelled something at his teammates angrily before storming off to the locker room. He winced in pain, holding his arm for support, and ignored every calls from his friends as he made his way to the empty room.

Looking around quickly, she muttered a ‘be right back’ to Sarah, and quickly followed Rafe into the locker room. She wanted to see if he was okay, and if he needed help with his arm.

In truth, she just wanted to be there for him.

“Hey,” she slowly said, and Rafe’s head perked up to see her before he looked down to the ground again.

“What do you want?”

She felt a struck of pain across her heart at his tone, but decided against it. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I was just trying to see if you need anything,” she said, and when his eyes finally looked up to her again, she unconsciously pulled her skirt down again.

“Yeah? I don’t need anything. Go!”

“Wow, you’re a dick,” she scoffed, and before Rafe could mutter anything back, she exited the locker room and straight to the cheer team. She felt a mixture of anger and embarrassment all at once, because God, Rafe Cameron did not just yell at her for trying to be nice.

She should’ve known better than to be ‘nice’ to him. He wasn’t the same 8 year old she met 10 years ago.

. . .

A week had passed from the game, and everything went back to normal.

Except for one person.

Rafe didn’t come to school the next Monday, not that (Y/N) wanted to see him after getting yelled at, but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

He didn’t just broke his arm; his father also chose not to attend his game.

It was finally Friday, and (Y/N) was too happy to stay home and continue watching Love Island. Life is better when you are focused on someone else’s relationship other than yours.

She was rolling in her bed, casually smiling at the cheesy joke made by one of the contestant, and before she could hear the reply towards the joke, the doorbell blared throughout the house.

(Y/N) groaned, thinking how Kelce must’ve forgotten his keys again, and waited a few more minutes so that he would just leave her alone and go to that stupid prick, Rafe Cameron’s house.

But the doorbell rang again, and she had no choice but to open the door. She was all alone in the big house, having both her parents still working and her maids having the day off.

But when she opened the door, the boy standing before her was the last person she wanted to see.

“Hi,” Rafe said.

“Kelce’s not here,” she mumbled, and pushed the door close. Rafe’s quickly put his hands to block the door from closing, and (Y/N) pulled away after deciding not to crush his other only working hands.

“What?” She asked, in the same tone that he had given her in the locker room. She felt good when his eyebrows were raised.

“I’m here for you.”

“Why? Did I die or something?” Bingo.

“God, you’re impossible,” Rafe sighed. “Can I talk to you? Just us two?”

(Y/N) sighed, wanting to get this done, and opened the door wider to grant him into her home. (Y/N) closed the door and pressed her back against it, crossing her arms.

“Okay. Talk.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” He said. “I was just so angry with everything. I was pushed and Topper received a red card because of me—”

“You didn’t do anything, Rafe.”

“Yeah, but he was just trying to protect me. And, and I was just so mad at myself because I couldn’t play properly like I usually play. I’m so sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean it.”

(Y/N) sighed, “It’s okay. I’m over it.”

“Really?” He stepped closer, and this time, (Y/N) allowed him. “Thank you so much!”

He pulled her into a crushing hug, and before she could put her mind into it, he lifted her up and spin her around.

“Okay, okay, now you’re just pushing it,” she groaned, hitting him on his chest. “Put me down, Rafe, I swear to god.”

Rafe put her down, his face shining happily. They were close again, like that time in the lake, and (Y/N) didn’t feel like pushing him away again.

Because maybe, that 8 year old him was somewhere in there.

“Uh—” he looked away, scratching the back of his head. “Do you wanna. . . watch Netflix?”

(Y/N) cleared her throat, “I was watching Love Island. Wanna watch with me?”

Rafe nodded, anything to get closer with this girl, and followed her upstairs to her room. The first time he entered her room was 9 years ago, and it was only because Topper and Kelce had pranked him into thinking that her room was the gaming room.

“What are you doing?” The girl before him yelled, and before he could explain how he was lied to, she threw a pink hairbrush at him. He groaned from the pain, rubbing his head.

“I’m sorry, I thought this was the gaming room!”

“Out!” She yelled, and he quickly obliged.

Her room was still pink, but it was now filled with so many books, clothes and makeups instead of the dollhouse and toys he saw a few years ago.

“Is this the pink hairbrush you threw at me?” He laughed, holding the pink tool. (Y/N) snatched the hairbrush, embarrassed, and quickly stuffed them into the drawers.

He placed himself beside her on her bed, watching her as she resumed the video. He focused on the show, trying to find at least something interesting from the show, but there was nothing.

2 episodes later, he was too into the show that he pressed on the stop button before they could continue on the next episode.

“I wish they would just communicate,” he said. “Like the whole show’s pointless. They didn’t try to talk to each other about their problems.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes the show interesting, Rafe,” she said as if that was a fact, “And besides, if they communicate, everyone will win the show.”

“Then that’s just good. A win-win situation.”

“You don’t get it,” she groaned, looking into his face. “There’s no use in fighting with you about this.”

She pressed on the resume button again, and instantly, Rafe pressed on the stop button.

“Rafe, I will—”

“You still haven’t apologised for throwing the hairbrush at me.”

She widened her eyes, “That was 9 years ago.”

“And?”

“Fine,” she placed her laptop aside, and turned to fully look him in the face. “Sorry.”

“Not sincere enough.”

She groaned, “Rafe, I am terribly sorry for throwing my pink hairbrush at you. I am so sorry that it hit your face and be the reason why you’re still holding vengeance at someone.”

“I’m not talking about that kind of sorry.”

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” she said. “I’m not going to bow down to you or anything.”

“Just a kiss.”

She looked at him back, her heart stopping at his words. “No.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re Rafe?”

“Rafe? Okay, fine. I’m not Rafe. I’m Rafael.”

“Okay, it’s still a no. You’re Kelce’s best friend.”

“Didn’t you kiss Topper last year?”

“That was a dare—” she sighed. “And it didn’t mean anything.”

“Exactly. This won’t mean anything. This is just a sorry.”

It would mean everything to her to place her lips against his.

“This is sexual harassment.”

“Not if you want it too,” he said, and leaned closer to her. “And you do want it, right? I can see it in your eyes.”

She didn’t know why God would put her and Rafe in this damn position over and over again, because it wasn’t helping her to get over him.

She looked down to his lips, and how it was so inviting, and she wanted more than anything to kiss him, to finally give herself to him, but she was afraid.

“Rafe—”

“Shut up,” he cut her off, and pressed himself against her. Their kiss was slow and passionate, none like neither (Y/N) or Rafe had experienced before. Her hands found themselves wrapping around Rafe’s neck, pulling him closer.

He pulled away, grinning. “I thought you didn’t want this.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes, and pulled him in for another kiss again.

He pushed her down onto the bed gently, still kissing her, and his hands were roaming down her body. She was so, so perfect and every time he saw her, he would have to look away to stop the unwanted thoughts forming in his head.

During the game last Friday, he had to pinch himself from staring at her legs in that goddamn skirt for too long.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, and she hummed in response before pushing him over so she could take control. She sat on top of him, grinning widely. She was in heaven; seeing him all worked up under her with his chest heaving.

“You would be surprised at the amount of times I imagined myself on top of you like this,” she said, placing her hands flat on top of his chest.

Rafe grinned back, trying to contain his feelings. “Yeah? Wanna show what else you’ve been imagining?”

She leaned closer, making sure to brush her bottom against him and hearing his soft groans. She placed a soft kiss against his cheek, and whispered into his ear.

“Would rather have you show what you’ve been dreaming of me.”

Rafe licked his lips, loving this side of her, and he wanted more than anything to make her his. She looked so innocent sitting there on top of him, smiling and biting her lips.

Before he could touch her in ways he never did to a girl before, a voice rang from outside the room.

“(Y/N)? Have you seen Rafe? I saw his car outside,” the voice said. After a few seconds of silence, he sighed. “You’re okay? I’m coming in, okay?”

“No, no, wait!” (Y/N) shouted, scrambling from her position on top of Rafe as he quickly pulled her up, but it was too late.

Kelce saw them in the midst of trying to get away, with his sister’s leg on one side of his best friend and his best friend’s hands still around his sister’s waist.

“What. The. Fuck.”

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smuts #rafe cameron imaginens #rafe cameron one shot #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagines #outerbanks #outerbanks x reader #outerbanks imagines #outerbanks smut

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achillieus · 3 years

Text

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, angst, too much tension, bucky and reader are stupid and in denial, sexual tension all around the place

tagging: @tonystankschild

(other parts) (masterlist)

part 2/3:

And then it’s the last week of February and you have an assignment together, you and Bucky, the boy with black hair and a mind that you’re certain is not as clever as he insists it is. You know this cannot possibly end well. You feel it when he sits beside you and his knee brushes past your leg. You feel it when you take a breath and smell his aftershave. Sandalwood and vanilla. It makes you want to lick your lips. Please, get a grip. You try to get away, even propose to write the whole thing alone so you wouldn’t have to spend any time around him. In your mind, you call it self defense. But Bucky’s boastful and you can see him pumping the muscles in his neck, trying to intimidate you.

“My dorm, tomorrow at 7,” he says “Don’t be late.”

(your late night instagram search history)

(00:38 AM) #literaturememes

(01:15 AM) @buckybrns

(01:30 AM) #newgirl

(01:50 AM) @buckybrns

(02:10 AM) @buckybrns

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when he’s not around.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that everyone, boys and girls, adore him alike. He’s charming, he’s crafty, he’s brilliant. He’s everything they want him to be and even more. It nearly condones his megalomania.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s aware he has an audience. Always plans his moves, knows how to play his character perfectly. He wears dark designer jeans and plain Henley shirts, buttons open, fabric tight around his biceps. Sometimes even a black leather jacket and a tag necklace. Girls are intrigued by the bad-boy, straight A student contrast, while the boys are envious enough keep him close and invite him to all of their parties. Bucky gives them whatever they need.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s utterly lonely. He has never said so, but it’s the truest thing about him. He has Sam. But for how long? Bucky’s used to people going away. It has been imprinted on him. His best friend, Steve, left with his girlfriend in an exchange program last month and Natasha, the one girl he ever came close to loving, just started dating Clint Barton. Clint fucking Barton. What a downgrade.

And then there’s you, sitting at the end of his bed, playing with the ring in your finger, reading some neatly written lecture notes. Usually, Bucky would think about 129 cheeky comments he could make to a girl in his room. But not to you. Are you sure, Bucky? He has grown accustomed to disliking you. It’s the one constant he has left and he’s not planning on losing it.

He leans down and takes the place next to you, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

He offers and you decline.

“We need to concentrate on the project.”

“You’re the biggest killjoy.” Bucky says with a hint of a smirk.

“I’m studying, Bucky.” He can see your left hand holding that dark green pen in a tight grip and your eyes trying to focus everywhere but on his face. He can see your hair glistening in the warm afternoon light that comes from his window. He can see the soft red blush on your cheeks and the beauty mark on your neck. What a tricky thing it is to see. And to feel. And to want.

Is that what dislike tastes like, Bucky?

He talks a lot, that’s the first thing you notice. He says all sorts of things, most of them having nothing to do with your project. You’re certain it’s because he’s feeling as uncomfortable and agitated as you. But still, it’s annoying as hell.

“Listen,” you say and turn to his side “I’m not going to fail this class just because you have the attention span of a two year old.”

A laugh escapes his lips and you watch, completely in awe, the way little wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. Right now, he looks tender and warm. No, he doesn’t.

“I think we’re both pretty smart,” Bucky says nonchalant and wets his lower lip with his tongue, before he adds, “We’ve got this, so relax doll.”

There are rules, things that are solid, de facto.

Example 1: Bucky never praises you. At least not out loud.

Example 1: Not valid anymore.

Example 2: Bucky uses the word “doll” approximately ten times a day. To other girls. The girls he likes. Not to you.

That’s actually wrong, he called you doll the first time you met. That doesn’t count. He didn’t know you then.

Example 2: Not valid anymore.

It feels foreign. Pleasant and beguiling, but foreign.

“You always call girls “doll”. What is this?” You ask and he looks up. “Is it like your thing, your flirt move?”

Bucky meets your gaze, his forehead creased, and holds it for some seconds before he laughs again. Is this amusing him?

“No, I’m serious.” You bite your lip. “You even did it to me when we first met.”

“I did?”

Of course he doesn’t remember, what did you expect?

“Yeah, when you helped me find the admission office.”

“And you remember that, an entire year later?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entertained and partly interested.

Your mind empties and for some time you feel out of place, embarrassed. But you’re quick to recollect yourself. You can’t let him get you.

“It was my first day as a college student, I remember all of it.”

Liar. You don’t even remember who you sat next to.

Bucky smirks a little too long for your liking and then he leans in, his body bending in a way that makes you forget to breath. He’s so close and you only see blue, a rare kind of blue between the depths of the ocean and the brightest shade of the sky at noon. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t that handsome. Handsome and indomitable. What an awful combination.

“Interesting.” He whispers and lies back, touching the wall.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and clear your throat.

“I should go, it’s obvious we’re not making any progress.” You pick your books and stand up. “Sometimes I wonder how you get all those perfect grades, you clearly-” You merely finish your sentence before he grabs your arm and swiftly, he has you pressed against his wooden bookcase. You don’t have time to blink.

What’s happening? He was sitting down a second ago.

“That day,” he says while his thumb draws circles on your wrist. “You were wearing a denim dress and some Saturn shaped earrings. And you were holding a cherry juice box.”

It’s utterly terrifying how your emotions toss and turn the moment you realize what he’s talking about and the fragile muscles of your heart ache because Bucky cares. Bucky remembers.

“It wasn’t my first day of college, but I remember.”

You want to throw up. Or kiss him. You’re not sure. You know you hate Bucky. Do you? You’ve taught yourself to. And it was never supposed to change. It shouldn’t have to.

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“You should go.”

And you do. And you’ll never tell him, but you’ll always regret not kissing him then. You’re sure now.

your inbox, the next morning

(10:25 AM) from [email protected]

I’m sending you our assignment. You only need to add a few things and it’s done. If anything else comes up, it’s better we work on our own.

For Bucky, it all came crashing down the moment he first saw you. It was all over the moment his eyes met yours. A gourmand perfume lingered in the air around you that day and it stained his pores. And it’s been with him since then. Clinging onto his flesh.

It’s partly obsessive and partly romantic and Bucky tries to keep it locked inside. He thinks he can make it go away easily, the way he flicks a crumb off his expensive cashmere scarf. He thinks if he doesn’t talk about it, it’ll be less true. That’s not how things work, Bucky.

Yeah, he’s starting to notice.

And he’s trying so hard to hate you. The problem is, he doesn’t think he can.

(his late night instagram search history)

(00:45 AM) #tomfordperfumes

(01:30 AM) @y/n

(01:50 AM) #funnycats

(02:15 AM) @y/n

(03:45 AM) @y/n

You make it your mission to avoid him and it’s going well until the fifth of March. You spot him at Sam Wilson’s party. You should have known he’d be here, they’re friends. There’s a thick cloud of cigarette smoke all around, but still, you can perfectly see him. He’s standing alone, his skin changing colors under the neon lights, a plastic cup in his hand, eyes crystal blue and swollen and fixated on you.

The room is small and everything feels known but unfamiliar at the same time; the atmosphere, his gaze, the lump on your throat.

They’re suffocating you, the looks you give each other.

“Buck, what do you want?” Sam asks, holding both vodka and gin and he observes the way Bucky merely turns his head to look at him.

What do you want Bucky?

Not to play a role anymore. For Steve to be back. Maybe, Natasha. No, he hasn’t thought about her in a month. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize. Definitely a new pair of sunglasses. But there is one more answer he has behind his teeth.

Y/N, he almost says. Always.

“Vodka.”

He leaves before midnight and you can’t remember where the urge came from, yet you’re following him. You know he has noticed. But he just keeps walking until he reaches the door of his dorm and presses his back against it. He sees you and you see him and his eyes cut your heart open.

“Your place is on the other side of the building.”

“I know,” you mumble, “I just never got to say good job on the assignment and I wanted to.” You are unable to meet his eyes. You sound pitiful and you want to hit a wall; with your head.

Why the hell did you follow him here?

Because sometimes you do stupid things.

Bucky mockingly opens his mouth, as if shocked. It almost makes you groan.

“Did Miss high and mighty just comment something nice about me?”

“Why do you have to contradict everything I say?”

He shakes his head and you can feel your heart beat loud and irregular and it’s not because you’re mad. It’s because he’s coming closer, almost chest to chest now. And it’s because you can swear, he just glanced at your lips.

“Someone has to, you can’t act like you know everything all the time.”

“I don’t do that, you don’t know a thing about me Bucky.”

“Oh, but I do. You’re Y/N, you like plaid skirts and Homer and dark green pens. You expect everyone to be perfect. You expect yourself to be perfect. And you always want to do the right thing.”

His pupils are dilated. Yours must be too. Bucky Barnes is dangerous and fatal. He makes your blood coil and your mouth dry. And there’s a tension, almost pain, almost agony, deep in your lungs and it burns. And you don’t know who leaned in first, probably you because Bucky isn’t that brave yet, but suddenly your hands are everywhere. Your fingers blending in his hair, his digging in the skin on the back of your neck. He’s bringing you closer and it’s a mess and all you can hear is the beating of your heart; a rapid vibration between your ears. It’s pure and raw and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He tastes like ambrosia and a year-old despair and you think you can go on forever. You eventually break apart because you both need to breath and for a second you worry because he looks like he’s ready to cry, but instead he smiles, softly touching your cheek.

“Did I do the right thing?” You whisper.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #college au #bucky barnes imagine #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #alternate universe #alternate universe bucky #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #fools

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sambvcks · 3 years

Text

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter three // didn’t care much how long i lived

summary: bucky receives a lesson on modern music over cheap beers and freshly baked scones.

warnings: mentions of abuse, food, alcohol consumption, character death (sorry)

word count: 1.6k

author’s note: besties...how we feeling about today’s episode??? using this as a coping mechanism :)

[ read on ao3 | series masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

[ PREVIOUS | NEXT ]

Your record collection was extensive and collecting an unhealthy layer of dust since you had inherited them from your grandmother. It didn’t take long to fish out a Best Of album from the vast shelves, handing over the sleeve to Bucky, who sat patiently on your forest green couch, as you fiddled with the turntable’s needle.

To busy himself, he read over the repertoire of songs listed on the back.

“Let’s Get It On?”

“Usually, a guy buys a girl dinner first, Bucky.” You took a cheeky swig of your beer with an eyebrow raise as he flushed at the insinuation. “We’ll start easy. If I Could Build My Whole World Around You. A criminally under-appreciated love song.”

A bouncy beat crackled through from the speakers as you settled into the couch beside him, tucking your legs beneath you. Today’s choice of pajama bottoms displayed little snowflakes across a navy background, despite the heat outside that still lingered into nighttime.

“I like it.” Bucky decided.

“Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell have so many amazing songs together. She might not sound like it on record, but she had a hard life. Abusive, cheating partners. Brain cancer that killed her young. Hard to know what anyone’s going through behind closed doors.”

I’d put so much love where there is sorrow, I’d put joy where there’s never been before.

“I really like it.”

Your apron still hung from your waist, the gentle tick of the kitchen timer in the shape of a grey cat sat by your side. A reminder of the scones you were whipping up when Bucky unexpectedly appeared on your doorstep. You didn’t question him or bring up the late hour. Simply ushered him in with a smile and a beer shoved into his gloved hand.

Bucky feels comfortable for the first time in a long time. Eyes focused, mind stagnant. Your perfume, woodsy and natural, lingers in the air and he has to take a long gulp of his drink just to occupy himself for just a second.

“I’m glad you like it. Though, I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. It’s like not liking Queen.”

“Queen?”

The timer rattled on the coffee table and the smell of vanilla and blueberries nipped at Bucky’s nose.

“Saved by the bell! I don’t have the time to berate you on not knowing about Queen.”

You bustled your way back into the kitchen, sliding oven mitts onto your hands as you inspected the oven with a professional certainty. The record out and into the next track as Bucky watched on, your shoulders swaying to the slow tempo. You were light on your feet as you plucked one tray from the heat and replaced it with another.

It was so easy for Bucky to imagine this world as his, with the soft swing of Motown as the soundtrack to your shared afternoons. In a different life, he would come home to your baking, ask how studying went as you swayed in the kitchen together. You would wash dishes next to one another, hips pressed close, and giggle when he would press his sudsy hands onto your cheeks. You would smear remnants of cake batter on his and he would let you feed him dessert from your fingers.

It wasn’t possible, he knew. Probably ever. You would be graduating school soon, off to be an important attorney and he would still just be your across the hallway neighbor who you sometimes shared desserts and pleasantries with. You would find out who he was eventually. Everyone did. You would leave. Everyone did.

You would simply be another in a long line of failed attempts by James Buchanan Barnes.

Still, he thought, we can have this one simple night. Where you don’t know who he is, and he can imagine that it lasts long after he retreats back to his apartment.

‘Heaven must have sent you from above.’ Crooned the lovesick singers on your record player.

As you returned to the living room with another beer and the promise of scones as soon as they cooled, Bucky could only think one thing.

He was definitely starting to like Marvin Gaye.

He was starting to like you, too.

When he returned back to his apartment, hours later with a pile of records you insisted he borrow in his arms and a belly full of blueberry scones, he fell into bed without a care in his mind. It was his first full night of sleep in ninety years.

Bucky started appearing on your doorstep more often.

Your number was now saved in his phone and was his most frequently used contact. You were his secret, though, something he didn’t even share with Dr. Raynor. No matter how many times she tried to get him to speak about his troubling lack of acquaintances.

You were the one thing in the world untouched by all the destruction waging a war between his ears, you were easy and simple and God, it had been a long time since anything had been simple. You didn’t mind that he was brooding and a little bit clueless, or his cheesy jokes and complaints about technology these days.

His record collection was quickly growing, though it was still nowhere near yours.

Most of all, he liked sitting in your apartment, at your kitchen counter or on that forest green sofa of yours. Sometimes, you would let him pick a record and tell him everything you could remember about it. Other times, you would read from your heavy law books and he’d pretend to understand the cases and terminology, head resting against the back of your couch, admiring how your brows would furrow in concentration. He’d tell you not to hunch over your book, but you’d insist you were fine, only to be complaining about your neck the next time he saw you.

“I wish I read more actual books, you know? It seems like all I know these days are case studies.”

The next visit he’d have a worn copy of one of his favorite books tucked under his arm. He’d read to you until you’d doze off to the stories of Bilbo Baggins and his team of dwarves, a blanket tucked up to your neck.

Every visit cemented yourself further and further into his identity, until his trips to the used bookstore down the block became weekly and his morning runs became longer as you pushed more and more baked goods his way. You’d kiss his cheek as you said your goodbyes, leaning against your doorframe as he disappeared into his apartment.

He was happy. Positively, unbelievably happy.

Two days before Bucky’s next scheduled visit, Steve died in his sleep.

Pneumonia, or something, Bucky didn’t really comprehend any of the newscast beyond the headline ‘CAPTAIN AMERICA DEAD’ flashing in bold letters across his television screen.

Sam called early that morning and Bucky just knew. He knew what was waiting for him on the other end of that call, so he shut his phone off and laid back on the hardwood floor of his living room, dead to the world.

He didn’t speak to anyone for a few days, not even bothering with his daily runs or grocery store trips. Your knocks at his door went unanswered, with no trace that you had even stood in the hallway waiting for him other than a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies on his doormat. The only appointment he kept was his therapy, where he stared out the window and counted down the minutes until he could leave. Each attempt on Dr. Raynor’s part to bring up Steve was shut down as quickly as it was brought up.

Finally, a week later, a pounding at the door woke him from a restless afternoon nap.

“Buck, I know you’re in there.”

Sam. Of course.

“These boxes are heavy, come on!”

Sam Wilson took up Bucky’s entire doorway with his broad shoulders, the boxes stacked in his arms taking up the rest. Bucky was quick to usher him in the door, eyeing yours across the hall. He knew one look at an Avenger on his stoop would finally connect the dots for you, and you’d never speak to the Winter Soldier again.

“Keep your voice down.” Bucky shoved the final box through the doorway before securing the lock in place.

Sam surveyed his barren living room, eyes flicking to the crumpled bedsheets gathered on the floor next to his sofa but didn’t linger for long.

“I was worried about you, man.”

It used to be ‘we’, but now it’s just Sam.

“Nothing to worry about.” Bucky pushed past him to his kitchen, collecting stray dishes he hadn’t bothered to move to the sink before then. He felt Sam’s careful gaze on him the entire time. He hated that. He hated how much Sam cared.

He mostly hated how much it reminded him of Steve.

“Found these boxes in Steve’s attic. Had your name on them so I thought you might want ‘em.”

Bucky swallowed hard, focused on scrubbing the dishes under water so hot it was turning the skin on his flesh hand a violent red.

“I know this is hard, Buck-”

The glass he had been rinsing shattered between his fingers and Sam took a step back as Bucky heaved in uneven breaths. There was a long silence between the two grieving men, neither able to fully understand the other. Sam would never feel Bucky’s ninety-year heartache, the abandonment and fear of the life ahead of him. Bucky would never understand the weight on Sam’s shoulders or his unease at the shield tucked under his bed at home.

“I just want to be alone.”

Sam could do nothing but respect his wish.

“Call if you need anything.” Were his departing words as he showed himself out.

Bucky got to work cleaning up the broken glass.

taglist: @tisthedamninez @wcndamaxcmoff @freyagallileaevans @bibliophilewednesday @justtoreblogfics @teti-menchon0604 @l-adysansa @heart-eyes-horan @thiswasnevermylifefromtony @rexorangecouny @dilfvision @urafakebetch @comphersjost @am-tired-bois @spid3rgwen @beautyandthebleh @euphoricaaaa @mackycat11 @inadquacy @withyoutilltheendofthismess @motherofallthesmallthings @victoriabaker112213 @macrillez @stvalentiness @nova10711

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #marvel imagine #tfatws imagine #tfatws

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Text

Worth It

~Notes: Oof, I know I have so many prompts in my inbox and I appreciate them so much! But I wanted to write something after dinner in dedication and a gift to the lovely Remus-John-Lupin!!!!!!!<3<3<3 I love you RJ and I appreciate you and your friendship so fucking much, so this is just a strange little gift from me to you in thanks for how kind you’ve always been to me since I joined this crazy fandom, ILY and you’re my favorite slag!!!!

Sirius silently reminds himself that he in fact likes Lily, he thinks she’s a total knock out and is happy that his brother is finally getting to date the girl of his dreams. He likes her damn it,! And one does not commit battery to folks that they like.

Assured that his pure irritation won’t bleed through his words, Sirius tries again in his most charming of inflections. “All I want is his number.”

“No,” she repeats, casually steadfast while poking at her salad— Not even bothering to flick her gaze up at an increasingly irate Sirius.

“Why are you being so fucking difficult!”

“Why are you still bitching about this,” she counters, finally giving him her undivided attention, even if it’s her glaring at him like she’d like to skewer Sirius on a stick.

“Hey guys, let’s chill.” James tries to mediate, laughing awkwardly between the pair of them, hand raised in concession and glasses going a bit skewed.

They promptly ignore him.

“I like him. What is so difficult to understand Evans? Aren’t you like supposed to be some brainiac or some shit?”

“It’s been like two months Black,” she says pointedly, grip on her fork tightening while her mouth curls unpleasantly. “That’s way past your ordinary infatuations, so why the hell do you still even care.”

Sirius bares his teeth, pinning her with a glower that once made an old school yard bully of Regulus’s actually piss his pants. So of course Lily doesn’t even flinch. “He’s cute.”

“You’re a dog.”

“You’re being a total ass.”

“And you’re a bastard.”

“But you love me though.”

“Just barely.”

“So you’ll give me Remus’s number?”

“Dream on.” she says with a lofty sniff and haughty flip of the hair, discarding her barely eaten lunch before swaggering over to where a group of her friends from the STEM club are sat, including Alice Flores and Dorcas Meadowes.

“Guess you’re back to square one Pads.” James says, unhelpful as fuck, so Sirius only flips him off before snatching back his calculus homework from a pitiful looking Peter.

“Fuck this.”

Sirius thinks of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.

He isn’t one for holding grudges or obsessing over perceived slights. He’s brilliant whether he’s playing linebacker on the field or taking a exam in class.

For fuck’s sake, Sirius can be plumped down in any and all social situations without warning, and can have the room eating out the palm of his hand within the first five minutes.

In layman’s terms, he’s decent and driven and downright charismatic. Mix this all together, and well Sirius thinks he’s a pretty fantastic fucking package— if he does say so himself. He can have his pick of the lot, truly. Especially when walking down the halls flocked by his best friend turned second brother on one end and little Petey, who’s a great hype man, on the other. So its only poetic justice that the one person who’s been able to swallow up all his attention is the one person who doesn’t even give him a second glance most days.

And that’s fucking ridiculous.

This is ridiculous! He is fucking ridiculous! No, record scratch. Remus fucking Lupin is the most ridiculous part of this all!

Remus lupin with his delightfully disheveled hair the color of gold and his crooked grin that’s everything darling in the world, and his big doe eyes that sometimes flare with green specs when he’s especially passionate in class or when he’s chatting with Lily in the halls. Remus lupin who’s only just moved here to Murray Hill from a small town in southern Illinois and who toppled Sirius’s world upside-down while he was at it.

The first time they met was completely on accident.

It was the week before classes began, and Sirius had only just come back from his family trip to their villa in Rome, and he was only meant to meet James at the coffee shop that Lily was working at now. They were suppose to head to the city and go out drinking to celebrate the start of their senior year. Sirius was suppose to find a nice, college aged girl to fuck because he’s given up on the boring lot that infests Hogwarts these days. It was suppose to be easy and fun and he was suppose to stay stringless and unattached as ever.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Sirius walked into the Howling Moon and was met by the sight of the most lovely, most gorgeous boy he’s ever met. Hand to God, it felt like one of those slow motion moments in a Romantic Comedy when the disgruntled, wayward lead first sets their eyes on that love interest— the one to out shine all others, the one who turns everything inside out and makes it all glitter gold.

“Hey there,” Remus had grinned like the fucking sun, slipping the pen from his ear and hand poised over the cups lining the counter. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, erm— Yeah. Just a caramel macchiato, iced.”Sirius’s ordinarily smooth baritone almost fucking cracked while ordering, and Remus’s beautiful eyes had glittered.

“Would’ve taken you for a dark roast sort of guy.” He said, and Sirius swears that it was playful and flirtatious and a little mischievous too.

Sirius was in love.

“I’ve been known to partake in sweets, you know, if they catch my eye,” he replied, eyes lingering meaningfully up and down Remus’s slighter frame.

“What a come on,” Remus had laughed, head thrown back to show off his long neck and Sirius was so fucking gobsmacked at how it quite literally sounded like all the most splendid instruments woven together.

He had ducked his head, so unordinary bashful but so beyond pleased. “What can I say beautiful, you bring it out of me.”

“”Cute.” Remus had chuckled, cheeks going a fetching red and scribbling down the order. “Definitely one of the more interesting one liners I’ve gotten today.”

Sirius ignored the flare of jealousy over that, considering that he hasn’t gotten to even kiss him yet, and he should probably take this slow if he doesn’t want to screw it up. “Has anyone of those bastards mentioned how your eyes put the brownies on sale to shame?”

“No one as hot as you if I’m being honest,” Remus retorted, ringing him up and sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. And fuck, Sirius knew he was in trouble from then on.

They had talked for over half an hour about nothing at all in that tiny bistro while Remus was busy exchanging the coffee pots for a fresh batch and rearranging the baked goods, and it was amazing.

Sirius has always been someone who couldn’t sit still, who had to be fluttering all over the place to feel like he was actually headed somewhere, like he was getting something finished. But for the first time in too long, just sitting there, still and silent and besotted while Remus chatted about his hometown and moving half way across the country and his eccentric mother— Well Sirius felt completely balanced, completely calm. He felt like just as long as Remus was their chatting with him and smiling in that beguiling way of his, that Sirius could actually breathe without pressure. Like he knew what it meant to have a center.

So of course, right when he decided that he was going to snatch him up— to ask him out on a date before anyone else from their shitty class filled with degenerates and dick heads could— Lily of all people had swaggered in, and gave him a caustic sort of glower that plainly said, keep the fuck away.

Ordinarily Sirius would’ve completely ignored her warning, would’ve unashamedly and excitedly chased after the cutest fucking boy he’s ever laid his eyes on with an absurd sort of zeal. But he under estimated just how much sway Lily was able to cater with Remus in the few weeks they worked with one another before he had met him. So instead of starting off the year with a brand new, insanely pretty boyfriend wrapped around one arm, Sirius has just spent the past nine weeks pining like a fucking love sick loser. Like he was starring in some cheesy John Hughes movie from the damn 80s!

And this will not do, this is not all right, not okay at all.

Sirius needs to figure out a way to get close to Remus, and outside of Lily’s overbearing claws. Something that only Remus likes, that Sirius can partake in to prove himself worthy.

As he promenades down the hall towards his free period, Sirius creates a mental check list of the things he knows Remus enjoys.

Remus enjoys poetry, and Sirius knows that he’s part of the school’s award winning Forensics team. But they meet during the football practices so Sirius couldn’t even try to impress him in that arena until the spring. He also knows that Remus likes history, that he’s going to end up majoring in classics in University, but Sirius really doubts his ability to memorize the Iliad in the matter of a few hours— He’s good, but not that good.

“Jesus fuck is this hard,” he mutters nastily to himself, tugging at the ends of his dark hair before ramming straight into a display outside the southern wing of their preparatory school’s building.

He winces, not so much for the throbbing in his toes, but because of Marlene’s snappish attitude when he makes it so that the table shakes.

“Keep your head out your ass Black,” she scolds before going back to filing her nails. And Sirius is about to snipe right back at her— That is until he catches on the bright poster adorned with small rainbows and the words, GSA FOOD DRIVE spelt out in large lettering.

And oh!

“Eureka!”

“Pardon?” Marlene asks, nose wrinkled indelicately as she eyes him like he’s about to puke on her brand new Doc Martens again like last weekend. Holy shit, she should really get over it by now.

But Sirius is smart enough and tactful enough not to mention his thoughts on the matter, only smiles down at her with pure elation. “Marls, what if I said I had a brilliant idea to help our lovely GSA.”

“I’d accuse you to only doing it to try and get in Lupin’s pants since he’s our new VP.”

Sirius grapples for his chest, feigning indignant. “You pain me my old friend.”

Marlene snorts. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“So are your chances with Lupin.”

“You’re a sick fuck McKinnon.”

“What do you want from me you gnat.”

“Let me help with the fundraiser.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll tell Lily to get Meadowes to notice you?”

Marlene glares at him now. “We’ve been fucking for like a month you prick.”

“Oh— Erm, then for some of that good old Bi unity?”

Marlene suddenly looks so very shrewd and Sirius hates how every fucking woman in his life could eat him whole for breakfast. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, what the fuck do you want.”

“You cover Fabian’s costs for the goods when we go to that rave for 2KBABY in January.”

“Eh, didn’t you guys use to fuck?”

“Yes. But I don’t see the connection?”

“He won’t even give you a discount on the good shit?”

“Oh he does,” she leers, blue eyes glinting wickedly in the hallway light. “But I’d rather see you pay full price for’m.”

Sirius glares down at her, and repeats himself. “You. Are. A. Sick. Fuck.”

Marlene just lies back in her seat and returns to manicuring her nails. “Well if cheekbones isn’t worth the bother?”

“Fine,” Sirius all but growls out. “But we do this my way.”

“Scout’s honor handsome,” she absolutely beams, and Sirius reminds himself that this is all for Remus and that’s worth it at the end of the day.

It’s a week later, right before Thanksgiving break hits, and Sirius is sat in front of the cafeteria, smirking at the line of mostly pink faced girls and a few others amongst their midst, who have all queued up in front of him. A dollar in each of their hands, though he does see that a few have fives and even tens or more, and he doesn’t know how to subtly tell them that all he’s promising is a quick peck of his lips, and absolutely no other groping— including of his legendary ass or admittedly perfect abs.

“You’re just really enjoying yourself, aren’t you.” James hisses besides him after the latest girl— a blonde sophomore who’s decked out in Lulu Lemon for their only non uniform day of the week— scurries off. “Just a ego trip.”

“Jealous Jamie darling?” Sirius boasts, tipping back on his chair while Marlene collects the cash from the next five in line so that they can clammer closer towards him.

“I can’t believe all of them want to kiss you,” Peter marvels, round eyes completely in aw.

“I can’t believe you think this is how to get Remus’s attention,” Lily interjects huffily, lips set in a moody pout while perched on James’s lap to Sirius’s left.

“I bet you would’ve been in line if you weren’t dating Jamie here.” Sirius counters, smug as all get out, and laughing when all Lily deigns as a adequate response is her middle finger.

Sirius is on cloud nine. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner! Remus loves all this shit, from the club to the charity. This is perfect! This basically guarantees that he’ll finally get a good smooch on him. And once their lips finally touch, Remus will surely feel the swarm of butterflies in his gut just like in those Harleyquin romance novels his cousin Narcissa would always read with a dreamy look on her face during their various Family vacations.

“You’re not gonna get him this way.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit’m Evans,” Sirius retorts, completely self assured.

One should never bet against Lily Marie Evans.

Sirius knows this now. But he still hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

By the end of the lunch hour, Sirius’s earned over sixty bucks to the GSA’s fundraiser fund, and absolutely zero potential boyfriends who look like golden angels and make Sirius’s knees weak.

“I told you,” Lily says in that sing-song sort of voice that is so not appreciated right now. “Remus is not the type to kiss you in front of a huge crowd and after like a bunch of others. That’s not his style.”

Sirius is moody as all get out, and he’s irritated that he’s just wasted five dozen perfectly fine kisses on folks who aren’t Remus, so he doesn’t bother to hide his irritation when he gripes back at her, “Then tell me what the fuck is his style.”

Miraculously, that actually proved enough to get Lily to slow down her stroll, and cock her head curiously at him. “You actually care.”

“What the fuck have I been trying to tell you Evans!” He nearly shouts.

“I just thought— You know. That it was a game.”

Sirius’s face goes stoney, and he juts his chin away from her. “It’s not always a fucking game, all right. It’s not a game with him— I like him. I like Remus.”

“Oh,” Lily says very quietly, her face pulled in a thousand different directions before settling on something akin to solemn. “You should go to the music room for your free period today.”

Sirius quirks a brow at her, frowning while he asks, “Why?”

“Just trust me S,” she says, reaching over her hand to squeeze his forearm.

Sirius watches her walk off, hand in hand with James, and he feels a strange twisting to his heart when he imagines a very similar image— only with him and Remus and punctuated by plenty of kisses to the cheek, and jawline and lips too.

The music room is towards the back of the school, in a separate building along with the theatre and main auditorium.

The early autumnal chill lashes against Sirius’s face while he makes the track to the room, continuously chanting to himself that he actually trusts Lily and this is gonna be worth it if there’s a merciful God up there.

Once Sirius clammers in doors, he rubs his cold hands together, and shakes out his hair.

The first thing he hears is the soft strumming of a guitar, and finds himself in front of the music room after following its melodic toon.

Through the window he can spot the form of Remus bent over the instrument, his thick curls getting in his eyes and his steady hands plucking a few chords as he sits cross legged atop the piano.

Sirius feels his heart lodging in his throat at the sight of him, so beautiful and perfect and warm looking in that scarlet sweater. And he knows in his bones that this is some sort of unspoken blessing that Lily’s given him, so with a deep breath, Sirius opens the door and strolls in.

Remus starts slightly, going flushed once his eyes catch on Sirius’s own.

“Oh Sirius,” he greets, the corners of his mouth tipping into a smile that doesn’t ring true. “You pulled away from the haram?”

“That’s a bit much? Calling them a haram,” Sirius says cooly, hitching up besides him and swinging his long legs. “I just did it to help you.”

“Oh— Yeah,” Remus nods. “The GSA appreciates all the help we can get.” His words are quiet, and he’s rinsing a hand through his curls, so Sirius can tell that he’s a bit nervous. And it’s impossibly cute, but also not on. He doubts that he’ll ever get his kiss if Remus won’t even look at him in the eyes.

Gingerly, Sirius sets the pad of his pointer finger beneath Remus’s chin, lifting his gaze upwards. “Not the GSA— Though I appreciate the club’s work and your part in that.”

“Oh,” Remus says again, lips pursed and his throat pulsing when he swallows down. “Then—“

“I did it for you Remus,” Sirius repeats heatedly. “I did it because I’ve been mad for you since ever meeting you in August, and I can’t get your fucking face or name or lips or ass out of my head. And I thought that if maybe I pulled a dumb stunt like that, you would actually kiss me along with the lot of those idiots who can’t even hold a candle to you.”

“M—My ass?” Remus questions, voice going pitchy and face bright with emotion.

Sirius laughs, booming and bombastic. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen Remus Lupin and it’s really obscene.”

Remus shoulder checks him, looking down and then back up through his lashes at Sirius and it’s a sight Sirius wish he can keep with him for the rest of his days.

“So you thought I’d want our first kiss to happen after you’ve just made out with half the school?”

Sirius grimaces, bending down so that their lips are only inches apart. “Listen, I can be a complete dumb ass on occasion.”

“Don’t forget arrogant.”

“Okay, fair.”

“And brash too.”

“Right.”

“Also you tend—“

Sirius places a soft hand over Remus’s supple lips, glaring teasingly at the other boy, who’s grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary, his eyes teeming with laughter.

Remus Lupin is going to be the death of him, Sirius knows it.

“Listen Lupin, I’d like a shred of self respect here, so I can actually muster up the courage to ask you out on a proper date already.”

Remus perks at that, so Sirius moves his grasp.

“You wanna ask me out?”

“Depends…. You wanna continue that little rant until I’m blue balled and gutless.”

“Hmm,” Remus inches closer, setting his hand over Sirius’s on the piano. “Nah, I think I’d rather do this.”

He leans forwards and Sirius barely has enough time to gather his bearings when he feels Remus’s mouth over his own and it’s literally every starlit promise and sugar burnt secret and sunlit afternoon all rolled into one. And Sirius feels his heart thud an uneven staccato when he grabs for either end of Remus’s waistline and plunges his tongue into his own and he lets himself get lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all.

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #💜rj💜#SPILT INK

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highsviolets · 3 years

Text

May I offer you a meet cute with Frankie?

I am bursting into your inbox with love and adoration for the kindest, smartest soul.

He’d seen you every morning for months, the stylish interior of the bakery slightly at odds with the scruff of his sagging flannels and fraying cap, but it did damn good coffee and Frankie had been unable to resist the lure of a sweet pastry when it first opened.

He’d not lived here long, a job opportunity prompting his move to the area, and he embraced the expectation of a quiet, solitary passing of his time; peace after a long storm. Apparently the now familiar flutter in his stomach had disagreed with the plan, starting with the day you’d met his eye on your way out the door while he queued.

Your smile had been small but genuine, a reusable cup and paper bag clutched in one hand as you made your way to the door with a practiced adjustment of the bag on your opposite shoulder. Eventually things progressed to an exchange of ‘good morning’. Sometimes the husk of sleep would still be in your voice as you juggled a bag bursting with books, other times you were perfectly put together and the sweet sound of your voice was clear; asking him how he was before scurrying out the door to wherever it was you spent your days. Most recently you’d taken to buying each other pastries, the day he’d forgotten his wallet covered for without a word from you triggering a strange unspoken courtship built on sugar. He’d selected something decadent and flaky for you the very next morning, paying for your entire order before leaving the building with a theatrical tip of his baseball cap as he passed you on the way out. To his delight, you’d kept things going. It was why Frankie was in such a hurry this morning, his thin shirt stretching awkwardly across his chest, buttoned incorrectly he realises wryly as he all but jogs to the door. He’d woken up late, a terrible night’s sleep messing with his morning, and he’d been more than a little disappointed by the realisation he would likely miss your little routine this morning. Grumbling to himself as he approaches the door without looking, his mind is occupied with undoing his lopsided top buttons when a sudden gasp pulls him from his task and a warm body collides with his solid form. “Oh!” Your eyes are glassy and wide as his arm reaches around to steady you by the waist, the pair of you ignoring the clatter of your cup lid as it drops to the pavement. “You alright?” He rasps recovering quickly, heart thudding as your pretty dress flutters around his jean clad knees and he wonders if you know exactly how attracted he’d been the last time you wore it to the bakery; his dark eyes had been glued to your form as you waltzed past him licking fresh cream from your finger, from a bun he himself had so foolishly chosen from the menu for you the day before. He’d thought about the look you gave him as your lips closed around your digit for the rest of the week. “I’m so sorry, I’m fine” you breathe out, twisting lightly to avoid spilling hot liquid on him as you readjust your hold on the cup and unconsciously pressing closer. “Are you? I didn’t burn you did I?” The shower-damp curls by his ear tickle as he shakes his head, belatedly realising that his cap had been left in his truck in his haste to get here; he likes the way your eyes freely trail over his face. “I was uh,” Frankie pauses to look down at his shirt, a risque three buttons loose, “distracted.” Your eyes follow his down to the bare skin of his chest, and with a visible fluster that does something funny to his stomach, you step away from his loose hold. “Me too,” you admit, glancing down at your phone before shoving it carelessly into your bag with a scrunch of your nose. Frankie’s mind is quick to link the sudden downturn in your lips, the shine in your eyes, and decides that while it isn’t the romantic gesture he’d been toying with to ask you out properly, he wants to see the smile return to your face. “Frankie,” he offers, trying to keep his hand from raking through his hair in anticipation. He knows that you know his name from the call of the barista, just as he does yours, but it feels more official when he hears it from your own lips. When your hands meet in a handshake that resembles more of a lingering hold, he has to tamp down on the urge to stroke his thumb along your skin. He can feel the eyes of the staff inside watching eagerly, inwardly grouching at the likelihood at there being a betting pool at this point. Gesturing to the door at your back, he takes a deep breath and takes his chance. “Listen, I had a grander plan for doing this, but maybe we could sit in today? Me an’ you?”

All of my love to you, Cris!

[by @jura-moon]

#not jura writing me a personalized meet-cute and dropping it into my inbox without ANY warning #not jura being the most thoughtful person ever #jura i am very delicate soul and i want to wrap you up in blankets and make sure no one hurts you ever again #okay? okay.#glad we're agreed #IM VERY EMOTIONAL RN #jura tag 🍵#fic rec #submission #frankie morales x reader

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blazedgraysons · 3 years

Note

Could we get a part 2 to the virgin concept please... Maybe their first time idk

a/n: holy shit, i’m so sorry that it took me so fucking long to finish out my requests. i’ve just been feeling super disconnected from tumblr, but here’s a little something as i get back into wanting to write and post. i’m gonna be clearing out my inbox over the next few days (not that there’s anything to clear lmaoo, i have like four requests I want to do), but if anyone wants to send me something, i would love to write it for you! many kisses, angels, thank you for reading anything i write. i really appreciate it <333

warnings: loss of virginity, more first times, an overuse of the word fuck and probably the softest smut you’ll ever see on this account.

(this isn’t really a series, but it’s suggested you read this and this first.)

“Stop trying to be sexy.”

Grayson’s outside, doing pull-ups, soft grunts spilling out of his mouth with every rep. He looks up, a bright smile on his face when he sees you standing at the entrance of the backyard.

“I wasn’t doing anything.” He says, dropping down from the bar to move towards you.

“That’s more than enough, sometimes.” It was true; recently, it seemed you could be turned on by nothing more than just Grayson being Grayson. “Are you done, amour?”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you on the lips before walking towards the bathroom. You follow, sitting on his bed to scroll through your phone while he gets ready for a post-workout shower. Since the two of you have been taking your relationship further, everything’s escalated between you two - this unavoidable tension growing whenever you’re near each other. If anything, it was like waiting for the drop on a never-ending rise of a roller-coaster. You both knew what you were leading to, but neither of you brave enough to take the fall.

“Hey, have you seen my towel?”

And there was this part, the relentless teasing between the two of you. It was like the two of you knew about this cat-and-mouse game you two were stuck in, wanting to see who could give in first. Lingering touches whenever Grayson passes by you, warm hands always on your lower back and upper thigh. And, of course, the always semi-nakedness. He stood at the doorway, skin still shining with sweat from his workout and underwear low on his hips, showing off his abs and deep v-line. His constant working out recently has been paying off, appreciation present on your face as your eyes slowly drag down his frame.

“Y/N.” His voice roughly comes out, breaking your concentration of following a bead of sweat through the contours of his muscles. You hadn’t noticed your tongue slowly swiping over your lips, Grayson’s mouth drying at the small movement. You look up at him, trying to act as innocent as you can after getting caught checking out your boyfriend.

“My towel?” You don’t comment on how his voice is a few octaves deeper, instead choosing just to shrug.

“Probably in the wash. Just grab a new one.” He nods, watching you bite your lip as you continue to work yourself up over your own thoughts. You really weren’t joking when you had said that his presence was more than enough to turn you on, and he was starting to find it really attractive. He’s a simple man, and knowing his girlfriend finds him attractive is a healthy ego-boost, enough to make him want to see how far he can push you.

He walks over to you slowly, feeling a little stupid at this whole seduction attempt. The look in your eyes, however, resolves any insecurity he might be feeling.

“What… what are you doing?” You ask, stuttering slightly as you become eye-to-eye with his dick. You move forward to touch him, slip a small hand underneath his underwear, anything, but before you can, he stops you. He leans down to cage you in, arms on both sides of your body, so you’re face-to-face. He’s close, close enough that you can make out every minuscule detail on his face. He glances down at your lips, eyes several shades darker than when this whole interaction started, and you can’t help but moan softly, clenching your thighs as he moves closer. You feel the heat radiating off of him, and it’s like the two of you are feeding off of each other's energy, growing more turned on without having done anything yet.

He traces a palm along your inner thigh, stroking softly. Before he reaches where you want him the most, he reaches past you to grab his phone lying on the bed behind you.

“Forgot my phone.” He waves the iPhone in his hand before turning back to use the shower, laughing at the long slew of curses you’re throwing out at him. He knows that however long his shower is will be more than enough time for you to forgive him, being apart giving the both of you time to calm down. And if it isn’t, he knows just the way to apologize. He palms himself lightly, turning the water down to a colder temperature than he would’ve liked, but wanting to kill his throbbing hard-on. He knows he promised he’d wait for you, giving you however much time you needed to feel comfortable enough to sleep with him. However, he’s still a man in his prime, and he can’t help craving more than sloppy blowjobs and unpolished hand jobs. He craves you in the most intimate way, and it seems harder and harder to resist picturing you underneath him, softly moaning out with sharp nails trailing down his back, his mouth marking up your chest.

He shakes his head, almost as if trying to physically clear the image from his head. He was more than happy to wait weeks, months, even years until you were ready to be with him in that way, and he wasn’t going to let whatever fantasies he had ruin that. What the two of you needed was a hard-reset, something to break this rising tension between the two of you. He hops in the shower, shivering slightly under the cold water while coming up with a plan to romance you in the way you deserve.

When he’s finished, he walks out, surprised to see you with damp hair and a sundress on, seeming to have taken your own shower in the meantime. You smile up at him, already have forgotten the teasing from earlier. Grayson’s stomach somersaults at your soft smile, heart beating out of his chest with unbridled love for you.

“C’mon, I have a surprise for you.”

It takes about 30 minutes for him to get everything together, ordering some food to be delivered to his house before you find yourself in the passenger seat of his Tesla, hair blowing in the wind as you sing along softly to the Kid Cudi song playing in the background. He looks over, smiling at the way your skin seems to shine gold in the setting sun. You hadn’t questioned where he was taking you yet, moreso curious at the changing scenery as you drive further and further out of L.A.

“You’re not kidnapping me, right? This is the part where you finally get sick of me?” You joke, hopefully trying to prod some information out of your uncharacteristically silent boyfriend.

“You can never be romantic, huh?” He laughs, looking at you over a pair of sunglasses. After about 45 minutes, you arrive at the beach, car parked near the sand. Grayson grabs the food out of the backseat, handing you the blanket that stays in the trunk of his car.

“A picnic on the beach?” You tease lightly. “Very cliche, Dolan.” He laughs, grabbing your hand.

“Humor me.”

He leads you along the shore, waves providing a background melody to whatever meaningless conversation the two of you are having. The moment he finds a spot he feels is secluded enough, he sets the blanket and food down, pulling you into his lap.

“You’re never this nice to me.” You raise an eyebrow jokingly, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pepper light kisses along his face and neck, humming appreciatively.

“What do you mean, I’m always nice to you. Besides, can’t I spoil my gorgeous girlfriend?”

“Mhm, but you’re laying it on kinda heavy.”

“You’re so annoying.” He rolls his eyes playfully before taking out the food, handing you your meal before digging into his. You can’t help but admire the adonis of a man in front of you, the sunset giving him the infamous golden hour wash. He’s chewing on one of the sandwiches he ordered, concentrated heavily on the vegan goodness in front of him. He looks up at you, poking your face slightly.

“Quit staring. S’not nice.” He jokes, feeding you one of the chips. You don’t know why, but that simple act of domesticity does it for you, images of the future flashing in your mind. You see every part of your and Grayson’s life together, coming together like pieces of a puzzle. It seems overly apparent that there’s nobody else for you except for him, and you start to feel overwhelmed with love for him. There’s no doubt in your mind about what you want to do next.

“So, there's something I’ve been thinking about recently.” He turns to you, still chewing on his food. He cocks his head, giving you a sign to continue.

“I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” His eyebrows furrow, confused at the lack of explanation.

“Ready to, y’know.” You trail off, tilting your head in hopes he’ll catch on to what you’re insinuating. When he still looks at you with a blank expression, you move your hand towards his dick, palming lightly over his pants.

“Oh.. oh!” He swallows deeply. “Are you sure, angel? I’m not trying to rush you or anything, just did this because I love you.” Your heart melts even further, and you lean forward, capturing his lips in between yours.

“Of course. Not doing this out of a whim or anything; I want it to be you because I love you. You knew that.” He laughs softly, pulling you closer to him for a light kiss. You lean forward, kissing him deeper, running your hands through his hair and shifting in his lap, trying to guide him in the direction you desired without saying anything.

“Now?” He questions. You nod, already leaning back in to keep kissing him. He pulls back.

“Are you sure, angel? I could make this better, get us a nice room, take you out to a nice dinner beforehand?”You shake your head. Whatever Grayson had planned in his mind, this was so much better - more the two of you.

“This is perfect, amour.” You assure, already leaning back into to continue where you left off. He holds your shoulder, stopping you from going in for the third time.

“Are you sure, Y/N? I want this to be perfect for you.” You stop, pouting slightly at his hesitation.

“Yes, amour. It’ll be perfect so long as I’m with you. Now, please. I don’t want to beg.” You whine, and if Grayson was any less of a man, he probably would’ve made you. However, he could feel you already growing warm in his lap, so he moves to kiss you, pulling you closer to him as he does. He feels every fiber of his being light up, electricity following wherever you touch him. You lean back, pulling on his shirt to get him to discard it. He takes it off quickly before leaning forward to kiss marks down your neck. You moan softly, trailing your nails slightly down his chest. You both lean back, breathing heavily as the sun sets completely, enveloping you two in darkness.

You take him in, not knowing what you want to do next. Even though this is your first time, you still want him to feel as good about this as you do, and so you move off his lap, him looking at you questionably. You lean down slightly, hands moving to unzip his pants. Before you could pull him out of his underwear, he stops you.

“Uh-uh, this is about you.” He grips your jaw lightly, bringing you back up so your face-to-face with him.

“What if what I want is for you to cum with your dick in my mouth?” You narrow your eyes teasingly, moving back into his lap while watching as his own eyes widen at your bold statement.

“Fuck, where the fuck did you learn to talk like that?” You smile at his response, feeling his dick jump lightly underneath you. You roll your hips experimentally, swearing breathlessly when he grips your hips harder. He controls your movements, peppering kisses from your neck down to your chest.

“Fuck, Grayson. Please, I need more.” You’re not exactly sure what you’re asking for, but he, knowing you like the back of his hand by now, is already pulling your dress off. He groans slightly when your tits are exposed, nipples hardening due to the cold ocean air. He leans forwards, taking one into his mouth, sucking and nibbling lightly, circling the other nipple lightly. He switches sides once he’s had his fill, giving your other breast the same attention, watching as you arch your back into him. Once done, he kisses down the valley of your chest, stopping at the edge of your underwear.

“Lay back.” He whispers, moving you, so you’re laid out on the blanket. You don’t hesitate, leaning back on your elbows, so you don’t miss a single movement. He slips your underwear off, whispering a ‘fucking perfect’ once you're exposed to him. He glances up at you again, features illuminated by moonlight, and you can’t help thinking how that statement perfectly describes him as well: fucking perfect. He licks a long stripe before sucking on your clit slowly.

“Grayson!” You jolt, slowly growing wetter with every movement. He slips one finger in, moving slowly.

“Grayson, more.” You whine, bucking your hips. He places a palm down, trying to still your movements.

“I know, I know. Gotta stretch you out first.” He curls his finger a few times before adding another, and you moan louder. It’s slow torture, knowing that he’s right about prepping you properly but also just wanting him to fuck you already. He moves his hand to rub your clit, and you’re done, moaning loudly as your orgasm wrecks over your entire body. You knew it wasn’t going to take much, already having worked yourself up the whole day. He leans back, letting you catch your breath while he slips off his pants and boxers.

“You good?” He checks in, watching as you focus on his dick in front of you. He laughs slightly when you just nod wordlessly and reach forward to jerk him off, hand moving up and down his shaft. He moves out of the way to position himself in front of you, sudden nerves appearing in his stomach. He’s not a virgin at all, but he might as well be, any previous experience flying out the door at the thought of wanting to make this memorable for you. He starts to stress, feeling this overwhelming pressure to make everything perfect. You lean up and kiss the crease that’s appeared in between his eyebrows.

“Just relax.” You whisper.

“I should be the one telling you that.” He chuckles. He coats himself in your wetness before slowly moving his hips forward, thrusting into you softly. And you suddenly understand why he wanted to stretch you out first, because fuck, is he big. You knew it already, having spent a lot of time sucking him off, but feeling every inch slide further and further into you makes the statement even more true in your mind. You whimper softly, and he pauses all movements completely, kissing both your cheeks lightly.

“You okay, angel?” He reaches down, rubbing your clit to help with anything you’re feeling. You nod, taking a breath. It’s not unbearable pain, just a dull ache from a foreign feeling, but the longer he remains still inside you, the more you want him to continue. You moan gently when he throbs lightly, wrapping a leg around his hip to pull him closer to you.

“Fuck.” He whispers softly, staring down at where he’s bottomed out. He waits a moment, watching every expression on your face for any pain or discomfort. He starts to kiss along your neck and chest again, every kiss peppered with an unspoken vow of forever - knowing he had an unbreakable grip on your heart. You move your hips slightly, both of you moaning out when you squeeze around him. He rolls his pelvis into you, checking to see your response, and your eyes almost roll back from pleasure.

“Move. Please,” Your voice cracks and Grayson almost loses it at the expression on your face, knowing that this is all him. He’s the only man to ever make you feel this way, and if he had anything to do with it, it’d stay that way. He moves his hips again, watching as your face twists into pleasure, almost losing it at the way your velvet walls are gripping him. He picks up speed a little, still rubbing your clit consistently.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He rasps out, overwhelmed with deciding between to look at your face, breast moving with every thrust, or where his dick is entering and leaving your body. It’s almost like a sensory overload, and he prays he doesn’t cum too quickly to ruin this for you. You moan out loudly, not even having words to describe how you’re feeling, that being the only way to express how good he’s making you feel. Grayson thanks every higher power that the ocean is so loud, because between the wet noises from every thrust and your increasing moaning, he knows the two of you would’ve gotten caught in seconds.

“Fuck, angel. You’re doing so good for me, takin’ me so well.” You whimper loudly, eyes closing from his soft praises. He keeps that in mind, watching your reaction whenever he compliments you. He can tell your close, having spent enough time in between your legs to know when near cumming. Just as he thought, it only takes a few more seconds before you’re spilling on to his dick, back arching slightly. He stops, watching you so he can commit every moment to memory, kissing down your chest.

“Aren’t you going to cum too?” You ask, opening one eye when you still feel him rock hard inside you. He looks down at you, wanting to shake his head at your expression. Here you are, recovering from your second orgasm, and you’re worried about him.

“About to angel, wanted to see you cum first.” He murmurs, kissing your neck once again.

“Cum for me, Grayson. Please, inside of me.” And fuck, he was close, but that does it for him, thrusting once, twice, three times before cumming deep inside of you, both of you moaning at the feeling. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, kissing you lazily until he feels like he can speak again.

“How was it?” was the first question that comes to mind, not wanting for you to feel any regret.

“I think I have sand in my hair.” You respond.

“I meant the sex, you asshole.”

“It was perfect. You were perfect, amour.” He kisses you softly, moving your waist, so you’re closer to him. You pull back, and he takes you in under the moonlight, sandy hair (which he knows you’re going to bitch about later) and swollen lips. You look so dazed and love-stricken, and he’s sure that if he saw himself, he would have that same dopey expression on his face. He leans in to kiss you once more until you open your mouth to ask -

“Can we do that again?” He slips out of you, you shuddering at the emptiness that overtakes you.

“Whenever you want, angel.”

“Now?” It’s at that moment that Grayson notices his cum leaking out of you, dripping down your thigh, and he can feel his dick hardening again.

“Fuck, give me 5, and then I’m all yours.”

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan concept #grayson dolan smut #dolan twins #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins x reader #dolan twins fic #dolan twins concept #dolan twins smut #blazedwritings

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michiieewrites · 4 years

Text

Shigaraki - Grind On Me (fic)

WARNING: SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: So last week had this dream about Shiggy and things got heavy and heated very fast, so this fic is based on that. I hope you will all like this fic. If you want more, don’t be shy to slide into my inbox, I don’t bite :D Anyway, enjoy!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hurried footsteps slip inside. You follow the white haired man into the living roo. Once inside, you both feel the tension leave your bodies. Even if your chances of getting caught are rising with the minute, all you are is curious. You were both supposed to be in class at your college, but today is ditch-day.

You’ve never been in the Shigaraki-home before. Tomura never invited you over and you weren’t one to pry. He was your friend and you knew that he had a hard time letting himself be vulnerable around others. Give him the time he needs and he’ll slowly unravel the mess of strings inside his heart.

Looking around the living room, you could kind of guess why he never invited you. Everything was… big. Not in size, but in stature. From the outside, the house looked decent enough. Clean and obviously for a wealthy family. But nothing too crazy, nothing that stood out. The inside however, showed that the family that resides here is just straight up filthy rich. Dark wood decorated the interior, the walls filled with classic European art, even the chandelier was covered in crystals.

Turning around, you are met with carmine eyes. His eyes are studying you, trying to read your reaction. When his gaze falls away from your face, he walks over to the wine colored couch behind you. He sits down, leaning back and spreading his legs. The expression he wears tells you that he’s waiting for you to say something.

“It’s uh… I bet it fits your father’s taste,” you tentatively say.

A couple of seconds are filled with silence. Tomura nods. “Yeah, he says it’s shows the importance of our family. I think he just likes to ‘look’ at his money.”

You only met the man once, when he was waiting in the car while you and Tomura browse through the game store. He seemed like the type of man who wasn’t easily impressed. The look he shot you was that of someone who thought others should be beneath them. Someone with a goal ahead and the ability to make it happen, no matter the cost. Sometimes your friend would tell you a little about the path his father had laid out for him. At times, he listened to his father and his plans. At times, he would curse him to Hell and beyond. And at times, he just didn’t know what else there was to life, so he just went along with what others expected of him.

You sit down beside him. Your hand lies on his wrist and his eyes are pulled to the action. Because of his quirk, he was very cautious with touching others. But with you, the risk was worth it. It was worth it to feel the tips of your fingers touch his skin.

“Well, I’m very grateful that you invited me to your home, Tomura.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be swayed by the money my father has.”

In time, you had learned to sometimes read between the lines of his words. This time it meant that he trusted you not to suck up his father’s ass. That you would actually want to be around him for the person he really is. It made your heart squeeze in happiness for being allowed to closer each day.

Just as you pull your hand away from his wrist, you notice the tag of his shirt is out. You tuck it back in his shirt, your fingers grazing his neck. A startled gasp leaves his throat. He whips his head to look straight at you. You quickly pull your hand back.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out.

His chest is falling and rising quickly, signaling his panting. “Do it again.”

You aren’t sure you heard that right. “W-what?”

“You heard me,” he said. Leaning over to your side, his arm going behind your back and pulling you closer at the same time. “I told you to do that again, Y/N. Touch my neck.”

Gingerly, your hand reaches out. The pads on your fingers press against his scratched up neck and the action makes him leans his head back, letting a soft groan. A little more daring, you decide to let your fingers travel along his neck. Your fingers press down, a feeling too light to massage any muscle. Only to make their presence known to his body.

You feel movement on the couch and instinctively look down to see Tomura bucking up his hips ever so slightly. His neck exposed, his whole body reacting to your touch. You can feel the fire slowly spreading from your fingertips up your arms, all the way up to your chest. Looking back up, you see lidded eyes watching you closely. Daring you to continue your adventure.

So you do. Crawling into his lap, your legs on both of his sides. With his own legs already spread wide, he has to hold on to you. Pulled as close to his chest as possible, one of his hands travels down your side. His touch is lighter than silk, rougher than an unpolished diamond. With his pinky lifted up, his hand rests just above your ass.

Now both your hands are touching his neck. Making a path down to his collarbones, exploring more unmapped territory. Maintaining the eye contact, you have to ask: “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Pressing his pelvis up against you, he lets out a longer groan this time. “Fuck, yes. Don’t tell me you never thought about it?”

In truth, you have. The pull you felt when you two sit closely next to each other. The comfort each other’s presence gave to the other. The intimacy of just enjoying each other’s company together. Grazes of simple touches lingering a little too long. The body heat that is shared from standing too close to each other. The trust between you two makes it easier to break down every wall. The protectiveness when you’re too far apart.

All these thoughts run wild through your head and it shows on your face. How your eyes fall down from his immodest stare to his lips. Emotions like an open book and all Tomura can focus on right now is how good it feels to touch. To touch you, to be more precise.

His free hand goes holds onto the back of your head and pushes your lips to his own. Cracked lips press against soft ones, not too fast or too slow. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and he tastes the mint chocolate ice cream you had earlier that day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers your hands going back over his shoulder and down his back.

Wanton noises are heard throughout the living room. The temperature of your body is rising and you just know you need to feel something, anything that can restrain this heat. Your body has a mind of it’s own and grinds back down on Tomura. The man beneath pulling back from your kissing to let out a filthy and loud moan.

“Fuck Y/N! Fuck fuck fuck, yes, just keeping doing that.”

His breathing becoming more labored. The hand against your head entangles itself in your hair while the other one presses your body down. Following his movements, you grind yourself against the growing bulge in his pants. You place a kiss on the little mole next to his mouth and slowly make their way down his chin to his neck. You pay a little extra attention to the spots he keeps scratching himself.

Tomura moves his hand to hold on just beneath your ass, his fingers tracing along the swell. Mumbles of ‘good girl’, ‘right there’, while occasionally tugging on your hair. The vibrations of your moans against his skin. He grows more and more impatient with the way your body moves on top of him, but he doesn’t dare stop the heavenly treatment you’re giving him right now.

His pants are getting too tight. Even through the layers of clothing he can feel the heat of your pussy. Practically feeling how wet you’re getting. His own precum now staining his boxers. The plum weight of your ass in his hand, your mouth sucking on his skin. The occasional whimper being voiced. The need for feeling more of him coursing through your body.

As the minutes tick by, your movements becoming more desperate, trying to feel up the other as much as possible. Your hips have set up a pace of their own, your nails clawing at Tomura’s back to hold on. Your mind occupied by thoughts of how good you could really make him feel if this went on any longer. You don’t wanna stop. Only being spurred on by the feeling of your pussy grinding on his stiffening cock.

His lips constantly kissing your hair and whispering filthy things to you. “I finally have you riding yourself in my lap,” he whispers.

Your response muffled by the bite you hold on his neck. Sucking and licking over the new bruise. “I’m not the only one humping like a horny mess, Tomu.”

Pressing down just a little harder to hear that delicious groan of him. “Ah, you’re right, Y/N. But who knew you’d be such a nasty little bitch? Dry humping her best friend on his father’s couch?”

“And who knew his father would come home early today?”

The new voice startles the both of you. Both your heads look to see who it is. You don’t know what’s worse; being interrupted while making out or being interrupted by Mr. Shigaraki. Filled with shame, you try to get up from Tomura’s lap, but are being held back by his arms around your waist.

Sure, he respected his father, but right now Tomura wished he would perish on the spot. How dare he interrupt this moment between Y/N and him? Your face is burying itself against his shoulder, your body curling up in itself in his lap.

How dare his adoptive father make you feel like hiding yourself?

Smirking, a plan is forming in his mind. Still keeping you locked in his arm, he shifts you around a little till the older man has a good view of what’s between his legs. Looking AFO dead in the eyes, he starts palming himself.

“Unless you wanna see my dick out and proudly fucking Y/N here, I suggest you leave the same way you came. You got 5 seconds,” Tomura says.

For a moment nobody moves. Not until Tomura starts unbuttoning his pants, does AFO turn around and walk out the front door. Reveling in his victory, he turns his attention back to you. His eyes filled with primal longing and care. His tongue swiping over his lips, a promise of how the muscle can pleasure you.

“Now where were we, my little vixen?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***Please let me know if you liked this ending, thank you!

Tagged: @mrsreina / @reinawritesbnha @thots4daze / @kzombi3 @league-of-villians-headcanons / @probablydysfunctionalvindication @aizawascumslut @hipster-merchant-of-death @ravenfeet222 @strawbirb

#michiiee writes #bnha #bnha fic #bnha smut #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #all for one #bnha all for one #bnha afo #shigaraki fanfic #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki x reader

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koo-zy · 3 years

Note

hello! do you have any fantasy/historical jungkook x reader fic recs ?

hello lovely!! i’m so sorry i missed this yesterday :( i was actually planning on reorganizing my tumblr because i feel like no fics are ever going to be able to be found my blog LOL so hopefully that’ll be done soon!!

as for the fantasy/historical fics.. i’m honestly not too sure what “fantasy” (do demons count..? soulmates..? werewolves????) typically includes so i’m just going to include a bunch of fics that hopefully fit in :”) here are the first ones that i thought of + summaries included in their main posts!

also.. i’m sure i missed a lot of amazing fics (mainly because i’m dumb as hell and don’t really know what can be included in “fantasy”) and would like to apologize in advance!!

@inktae ’s entire masterlist (they have a lot of fantasy fics!)

while this isn’t just jungkook recs, @ficswithluv had a fantasy category a few weeks ago!

@kpopfanfictrash ‘s jungkook masterlist

@fortunexkookie ‘s jungkook masterlist

one shots!

énouement - @littlemisskookie Mulan!AU

War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook.

midas - @gukyi

jeon jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the power to turn whatever he wants into pure gold. you were born with healing and invisibility powers but without a cent to your name. so when you’re plucked off of the streets for pickpocketing and assigned to be his minder as punishment, you realize you’re going to have to overcome a lot more than class differences if either of you are going to get what you want.

i will not lose! - @jimlingss Magic!AU

A single bet - use every means to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you.

a piece of the moonlight - @/jimlingss Mulan!AU

For your loved ones, the people who are waiting at home, the people who have died - you will fight. And sometimes to fight means to sacrifice: who you really are and the person you really love.

dynasty - @/jimlingss Historical!AU

It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

game of temptation ft. knj, myg, kth - @/jimlingss Succubus!AU

As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it’s still hard to resist Taehyung, and there’s little you can do once you’ve been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don’t know your intentions are far from being angelic.

knot today - @kinktae

(IDK IF WEREWOLVES COUNT BUT JERHFBDSKNZX THIS IS REALLY GOOD!!)

When your first heat approaches and you are left partnerless, who better to turn to than your alpha roommate that you’ve spent the better half of your life hiding your feelings for?

ego - @luxekook Harry Potter!AU

(..i also don’t know if HP counts LOL)

in which jeongguk is a cocky lil shit and the reader has to take him down a few pegs

stumbling - @hayjeon Prince!AU

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: hii! so the royal wedding of prince harry and meghan is today, and since my bias is JK and since i’m such a sucker for royal stuff, can i reuest a fic of bts all being royal of 7 different kingdom, and all of them being invited to jin’s wedding and the girl (oc) is also invited and kookie met her there, and eventually took an interest at her? the girl is also royalty from other kingdom. thanks!

werewolf!jungkook - @/hayjeon

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: Werewolf!jk? (im sorry ik it’s overused and unoriginal) where he and his mate have pups to take care of and they’re quite a mischievous bunch!

there for you - @cupofteaguk Hogwarts!AU

Jungkook is always known for doing things unapologetically, and it makes sense given how almost nothing gets under his skin—almost nothing, but maybe there’s an exception that takes a form of a muggleborn with the shy smile and quirky spells.

say you won’t let go - @/cupofteaguk Soulmates!AU

You’ve been eighteen years old for ten years when Jungkook first moves in

new romantics - @/cupofteaguk Hogwarts!AU

Jeon Jungkook will go down in history as one of the best Quidditch players that ever graced the Hogwarts scene. It seems like he always gets what he wants—his life is very predictable in that sense. What he cannot predict, however, is the newest weekend employee wiping down the tables at the Three Broomsticks.

a cinderella story - @suhdays Modern Cinderella!AU

you are forced to work multiple jobs as you live under your stepmothers roof. unable to move out and strive for complete independence, you do what you can in order save enough. turns out, as a college student that is harder than you thought. so, you distract yourself by joining online chat groups in which you meet a boy that goes to your school. that boy? none other than the rugby star himself, jeon jeongguk. it doesn’t prove to be an issue until he asks to meet you at an upcoming halloween party. he’s never noticed you before so why not hide yourself in order to live your dreams, if only for a moment?

explorer - @1kook Alien!AU

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

rottenfolk - @junqkook Faerie!AU

a look was as hazardous as chemicals, a kiss as perilous as poison; his eyes and lips felt akin to a cure, but he was purely venom.

the young wolf - @/junqkook Game of Thrones!AU

he was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. but when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. but war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

the lighthouse - @rubycoast S2L!AU

(im not too sure if this is considered fantasy but its one of my favs!)

you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled.

black magic - @hansolmates Magic Uni!AU

a witch with an ambition for learning, you stumble across a crushing spell in the middle of the forbidden section. of course you have to try it out! what happens when the crushing spell not only has jeon jungkook crushing on you, but you crushing on him?

the sea & the storm - @jamaisjoons Fantasy!AU

the sea is a powerful mistress. she is calm and beautiful. she is mysterious and alluring. she is a force to be reckoned with. above all, however, she is lonely. until she meets him. fantasy au.

the lionheart’s oath - @sugaxjpg Knight & Princess!AU

There was no happy ending, no dragon slayer to save the kingdom and get the princess — there was only him: Jungkook. A simple orphan that was lucky enough to be invited into the castle, a former homeless thief that had found shelter in the form of an elysian heir. Now, after twelve years by your side, he was about to lose you to the world you sought to explore.

ghosts just wanna have fun - @/sugaxjpg Psychic & MedSchool!AU

When Jungkook discovered that he could communicate with dead people, the last thing he expected was that they would be there to give him romantic advice.

wartime child - @ktheist Wizard!AU

raising a baby in wartime isn’t easy. but when your baby starts showing signs of magical abilities, you’re forced to ring up the only other person you know he takes after: jeon jungkook.

birth of an empress - @/ktheist Dragon Slayer!AU

partners for three years and friends for longer, jungkook thought you’d remain so until he saw you with the knight at the merchant’s trade.

alternatively, the friendly neighborhood wizard trying to propose to the infamous dragon slayer in the middle of slaying a dragon? now, that’s classic.

series/two shots!

fear in your eyes - @/gukyi Werewolf!AU

(again, idk if werewolves count but hifksdjcx !!!!)

there’s a werewolf in that forest behind your house, they told you, and he’ll eat you before you can even beg for mercy.

the worshiper series - @/jimlingss

Long ago, there were gods who resided in Heaven -- existing to watch over and protect the universe. Each of them had their own flaws, trials and tribulations; some which were more sparing than others, but these are their stories...

a promise of freedom - @/jimlingss Wartime!AU

War is cruel and its inhumanity has not spared you. Captured by the enemy, you were brought to the front lines to heal their wounded. But after one night of saving a particular man’s life, he swears to fulfill any wish of yours.

one year, my love - @/hayjeon Historical!AU

You forge a marriage contract with the strangely speaking man who suddenly stumbled into your town with memory loss, but little do you know that he’s actually the lost Crown Prince, and a lot can happen between a married man and woman in one year.

demigod!au drabbles - @/hayjeon

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: i have a supernatural au prompt! how bout daughter of hades/loner!reader and son of zeus/bully! jungkook?

into the woods - @/junqkook Goblin!AU

getting hurt and stumbling upon a goblin in the forest leaves you completely at his mercy, though you aren’t sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing.

lionheart - @/junqkook Magic!AU

as a sorcerer, it is of the utmost importance that you keep your magic a secret from everyone. when you become prince jungkook’s servant, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep your identity hidden; especially when you fall in love with him.

a royal exchange - @/hansolmates

she’s the man!au where the princess impersonates her brother yoongi in order to finish his degree on time while yoongi is thrusted into princely duties. jeongguk is in the mess purely through room arrangement

knight!jungkook x princess!reader - @/ktheist

a series with 27 parts!

that’s all i can think of off the top of my head right now :(( not gonna lie, half of these probably don’t even fit into either of those categories and i know there are so so so many amazing fantasy/historical fics out there!! i wish i knew them all but i hope this helped a little bit! if anyone has any fic they’d like to rec, feel free to send it to meee :)

and finallyyyyy i leave my following page open for viewing as well so you can check out all of the authors i follow!! please show all of these authors (and many more) some love! <3

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nctinthehouse · 3 years

Text

Embarrassment...?

wc: 0.9k

AN: Anyone been having weird dreams lately??? I’ve been having some questionable ones and this is just one of them heh. Maybe not as weird as the other ones I’ve been having though lol... Anyways... I hope you enjoy reading this!

damn it, why couldn’t it be friday today? You think to yourself as you’re sitting on the train going home from work

You’ve had a really long day at work today; so tired that you start to feel yourself dozing off, leaning your head to the pillar next to you.

just one more day y/n. just one more day.

Meanwhile the train is approaching one of the busier stops especially during this time of day where many people like you, are also just waiting for Friday to roll around; waiting for the weekend to come.

Doyoung gets on the train. Like you, he himself had a long day, tired from work. He wanted to rest his legs somewhere and he’s looking around to find an empty seat. No luck. So he walks further down the carriage to find one and spots a seat next to you. Before taking a seat, he glances at you and furrows his brows in confusion.

Turns out you got a bit of drool coming out from your slightly parted lips.

Feeling a presence next to you, you immediately wake up and sit up properly and turn to Doyoung who’s smiling sheepishly at you. He gestures towards your mouth and you realise what he meant.

You stare at him with wide eyes and grimace while Doyoung giggles at you

“hhh sorry...”

You immediately wipe the drool of your face and look down on the floor and think to yourself

wow y/n gosh you’re so embarrassing

You decide to listen to music to try and forget what just happened

Minding your own business, your eyes start wandering around. At your shoes, the adverts on the trains, the now empty seat in front of you, the views outside, the handsome stranger sitting beside you.

At that moment, you realised just how handsome and good looking this guy is, like damn.

His side profile,

those eyes

nose

lips

cheek

jaw...

Doyoung feels a pair of eyes on him and looks to his side to see you staring at him

You look at him with wide eyes again

oh no he caught me quick y/n stop staring look away

You quickly whip your head away from him, immediately feeling embarrassed. Again.

You stare at the floor as you can feel your face heating up. The voice in your head telling you off

wow well done y/n

drooling in front of a handsome stranger and now caught staring at them no wonder you’re single

While you’re being told off by your own voices in your head, Doyoung has been stealing glances at you. Turns out he’s been doing the same too. He thinks to himself

cute

As you’re getting lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realise that the train had stopped at your station and the doors had opened. Luckily, you caught on so you quickly get up and get out of the train.

〰〰〰

【 next day 】

〰〰〰

FINALLY. IT’S FRIDAY.

Work is finished for the day and for the week. You’re in a much better mood compared to yesterday. You can’t wait to go home, change into your pjs, cook some delicious dinner (or order takeout if you’re feeling lazy), draw out a nice warm bath. How relaxing.

Packing up your stuff from the desk, you head to the train station

Train is packed as usual, but you didn’t mind it on Fridays. You’re occupied on your phone until someone takes a seat next to you.

And what are the chances! It’s that handsome stranger from yesterday

Doyoung raises his brows at you

“oh hey! no drool today?”

“oh my god. you didn’t see anything yesterday, okay?” you say as you facepalm yourself

He smiles and says

“ok i didn’t see anything”

“you seem in a much better mood today”

You shrug your shoulders and smile

“it’s Friday, who isn’t?”

Extending his arm out to you, he introduces himself

“i’m Doyoung, nice to meet you”

“i’m Y/N, nice to meet you too”

wow his hand is so soft i wonder what cream he uses

Your hand lingers on his for too long before pulling your hand away quickly

“sorry” you mumble

Doyoung lets out a small laugh and you guys talk about random topics until the train gets to your stop

〰〰〰

Your stop is here, so you and Doyoung say your goodbyes and hope to see each other again soon before getting off the train. The doors are about to close when suddenly, Doyoung sprints up from his seat and manages to get out of the train before the doors shut on him.

He spots you and runs up to you and tugs your arm

“hey wait!”

Startled, you whip your head around and before realising it’s Doyoung. You tilt your head to the side and look at him with furrowed brows

“uhhh is everything ok?”

Letting go of your arm, he starts fidgeting with the buttons of his blazer, letting out a deep breath

“y-yeah um... i-i was wondering whether you would like to grab a drink with me...?”

“what?” as you look at him with wide eyes

wait is he asking me out?

Thinking he offended you or that you didn’t really want to because of your expression, he quickly says

“uhhhhh i-i mean it’s ok if you say no and you probably have pla-”

But you weren’t offended or anything. You were just thrown off by his question, you didn’t expect that to happen, you were getting giddy inside actually.

You cut him off, smiling at him and say

“sure, i’d love to”

Doyoung smiles back at you then you guys head to a nearby cafe to get those drinks

this is much better than what i had planned for the evening

« end »

AN: Thanks for reading until the end! I have something planned for sometime in April (hopefully if all goes well) and I can’t wait to share it with everyone, so be sure to keep an eye on that! As always my inbox/ask is open to any questions, feedback or if you want to drop a message 💚

masterlist

#nct #nct u #nct 127 #doyoung #kim doyoung #nct doyoung #nct scenarios #doyoung scenarios #doyoung imagines #doyoung fluff #doyoung x reader #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fluff #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct x reader #queued post

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decodingellipses · 3 years

Text

Modern Love: He Made Affection Feel Simple

[courtesy of Brian Rea]

"Dating as a transgender woman, in my experience, meant low expectations and casual sex. Then I met Jack."

This piece is part of the Modern Love column at The New York Times

by Denny

My bio on Grindr read: “Be trans friendly. Send face to chat.”

It was difficult to be on a gay hookup app as a trans woman. Most men in my feed desired to only sleep with each other. But I knew there were straight men on Grindr who hungered for a woman like me. I wanted them too.

That’s where I met Jack. At 22, he was a few months older than me, and, other than his age, his entire profile was blank, usually an indicator of a cisgender straight man who was guarded about his attraction to trans women. Typically, the messages I received would start with a vulgar sext, sometimes an unwanted nude photo.

Living in Morningside Heights, I was attending Fordham University for my master’s degree in strategic communication. One night I was up late working when I received a Grindr message from him, a selfie. Amid his light brown hair, two-day scruff and meek gaze, his lacrosse T-shirt stood out to me the most. He looked like a sporty boy I would have crushed on in high school.

He followed up his photo with “Hello.”

Messages in my Grindr inbox tended to cut to the chase: “Down for now?” “Car sesh?” Men who contacted me because they fantasized about trans women made it difficult for me to feel seen as a person in general, let alone a person worthy of respect.

Although my interest was piqued by Jack’s picture, it was his gentleness that drew me in.

Our sporadic small talk was harmless, spanning two months. I brushed him off, but as I commuted to school and spent hours in the library, he was persistent.

“My sex drive is pretty low these days,” I wrote. “Give me a bit and I’ll hit you up.”

“OK.”

When I turned back to my studies, he added, “Just so you know, we can do non-sex things and hang out too. It would be fun.”

This became our pattern: he being distant enough to show interest without pressure, and me appreciating his laxity, given my demanding schoolwork. His ease led me to trust him, so we set up a day to meet.

The first afternoon Jack came over, he admired my bathtub and drank his cup of water with two hands. His poised demeanor in a beige wool peacoat and long scarf reminded me, in a good way, of John Bender in “The Breakfast Club.” In my bedroom, he fixated on my yellow Power Ranger figurines, noticing my framed academic award next to them on the windowsill.

“You went to SUNY Oneonta?” he said. “I went to SUNY Potsdam.”

I pictured my friends who also attended Potsdam eating in the same cafeteria as Jack, getting drunk at the same frat party. Suddenly, the person I’d seen as a stranger now fit into my world.

I imagined what the deer looked like from his dorm room window, roaming the grass at dawn. Or how he spent his day when the school canceled classes because of snow. Or where he would have gone if his parents were able to afford private school.

We sat on my bed, my back leaning against the wall. He slouched his head onto my hip and wrapped his arms around my waist. “This is weird,” I thought. Aside from sexual intimacy, my hookups were typically aromantic, absent of cuddling and expressions of affection.

I kissed him and rolled on top. I took off my shirt and he hugged me tight. His face dug into my chest as he said, “I like you. I think you’re really cool.”

Unsure how I actually felt, I said, “Oh. I think you’re really cool, too.”

The next time I saw Jack, he spent the night at my place. It was then, awake in bed at 4 a.m., that I realized I had never let a guy sleep over before. His heat warmed the bed, so I crept to the bathroom to cool off. I Snapchatted a disoriented selfie to my friends, my hair messy and eyes bloodshot.

“How do you guys do this sleepover thing?” I wrote. “I can’t sleep at all.”

Customarily, my flings with strange men were brief. The men did not take note of my bathtub or my educational history before sex, and they did not linger after.

I came back into bed, disturbed by the rumble of his snoring, but his sleeping face on my pillow struck me. For the first time, the thought of sharing a bed with a man did not come from pure imagination. I now had a real image for this fantasy; I could pretend Jack was my boyfriend, reach for his face and whisper “I love you, good night,” then fall asleep and meet him somewhere in his dream as if we had done this a hundred times before.

The next day, he flew off to see his family for the holidays and the first weeks of the new year.

“merry crimmus,” I texted.

“u too, babygirl,” he replied.

After our sleepover, I didn’t hear from him unless I initiated — an unexpected change. Instead of giving in to my insecurity that the sleepover meant little to him, and therefore I meant little, I imagined other scenarios: him asking me to sleep at his place, for a change, or spontaneously calling me while I’m in line for my morning coffee. But because I had presumed a sex-only expectation from the start, I shamed myself for developing feelings.

“miss u,” he texted one random morning.

“really?”

We stayed in touch and occasionally saw each other, weeks in between. On a hot morning, he snored behind me as I sat on the floor beside my bed, working on my final thesis. He put his hand up to my face, letting me know he was awake. With my eyes on the laptop screen, I took his hand and planted kisses in his palm, wallowing in these ordinary joys — the kind of affection I slowly grew comfortable displaying.

Longing to be more than casual with him, I sought a therapist to guide me through my growing feelings.

Jack’s periodic “miss u” texts progressed with heart emojis, an unprecedented closeness. And I returned the sentiment. It felt thrilling to express my adoration so directly, until the weeks between seeing each other and texting ultimately turned into months of silence I knew to be ghosting.

I relied on Grindr as my safe dock because dating as trans is complicated. Sleeping around was easier for me. I had set the bar low, then met Jack, who saw me as more than a fantasized body, only to have his mysterious exit echo a looming insecurity I avoided for years: Being trans implies I am not real enough to deserve decency.

I broke down in therapy, mustering the courage to say out loud what was undeniably true: “He left me.”

“I don’t mean to put this on you,” my therapist said, “but could him being a cis straight man and you being a trans woman play a part?”

I didn’t want to blame Jack, who showed me a new realm of affection that made desire feel as simple as just a boy and a girl who liked each other. But he made leaving simple, too; all of this could still not be enough.

Deep down, I denied how my mere existence as a trans woman could ever cost him. Jack, in wooing me, nurtured the possibility that my romantic fantasies could come true, that I could be seen as a complex person rather than a fetishized token of someone’s imagination. After being deserted by him, I ruminated on my insecurity that being trans denied me of even a simple goodbye.

And yet I know myself to be real because my transition, as a teenager, required exceptional certainty. Doctors and psychiatrists double-checked my decision constantly.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I repeated, and I became more real each year. With Jack, I felt even realer. Not only had he seen me as a woman, but as a woman worthy of being held.

I could blame my being trans for Jack’s ghosting, but maybe it had nothing to do with that. Maybe he hated his job. Maybe his family fell apart. Maybe the pleasure we felt together contrasted whatever pain remained of our baggage.

On lonely days, I imagine myself at SUNY Potsdam. At a frat party, I drunkenly dance across from Jack, cheap blue lights grazing the curves of our cheekbones, sweat dripping like cyan fireflies. Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” roars through the party. “Good times never seemed so good,” everyone shouts. “I’ve been inclined to believe they never would.”

I put myself in the cafeteria, where Jack and I approach the salad bar at the same time. When he sees me, he steps back and says, “You go first,” with a grin so big I would need both hands to hold it.

———

Denny is a writer, actor and musician living in New York City.

#modern love #ML #NYTimes #New York Times #The New York Times #Amazon Prime #dev patel #anne hathaway #tina fey #NYT #trans #trans dating #trans love #lgbtq #pride #grindr

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skeetlehand · 3 years

Text

ghost!tommy au masterpost #2

ghost tommy au masterpost part one

I made another one. w hhh

au summary: tommy loses his final canon life during the explosion right after the pogtopia vs. manberg war

Nobody really knew where he’d gone either - Tommy had allegedly gone “missing” after the festival. In L’manberg, everyone figured that while it was odd, since tommy would usually be running down the Prime path shouting, or just being generally loud and annoying... he was just... missing. Nobody had seen him all week, but everyone had thought they were the singular individual who hadn’t seen him lately. Eventually when one of them asked where he’d been, everyone came to the consensus that they weren’t the only ones who hadn’t seen him. At first, they thought he was just grieving, since he spent the most time with wilbur. But then ghostbur shows up, which, while was a pretty sad/happy moment, it raised some sort of unease....

.... and then, ghost tommy shows up.

I put more details under the cut!!! enjoy pain yall

feel free to send asks about... well, anything! if you found something interesting here, share it! if you’ve got a completely unrelated idea, share it! i like to read your asks. I promise i’ll answer... eventually... (the five asks in my inbox @ me: 👀)

courtesy of @gheysnakelady and their great ideas 👀❤️(you have so many good ones!!!)

current table of contents:

ghost tommy’s appearance

relationships with the rest of the sbi

ghost tommy’s memories

other ghost tommy stuff (misc i guess)

a) presence

b) connections

c) blue/yellow

d) body found

”””pranks”””

dreamon hunters...? (become basically bootleg ghostbusters. but just only one of them.)

TBC: to be touched upon in the next masterpost/page set

relationships with the rest of the smp

a) SAM SAM SAM BIG BROTHER SAM AAA; b) the cabinet + lmanberg... hhh tubbo n big q,,, fundy and niki,,, dream,, the badlands... i need ideAS

reactions to the reveal (at some point... big oof)

.... a revival? phil no -

1. Ghost!Tommy’s Appearance

(should... should I be calling him ghostinnit now? yall use that term a whole lot...)

before he meets anyone (excluding ghostbur and maybe philza. some others might’ve seen him lingering around certain places, faintly), he looked simultaneously exactly as he did before he died, overlaid by his prior deaths (an sword/axe(?) to the back when trying to escape dream during eret’s betrayal, an arrow wound that goes in deep, and currently, visible blast marks and the wither effect). He hadn’t figured out what he looked like yet, other than the noticeable vision problems, but when he did, he did his best to change his form (it’s my current theory that ghosts look like what they want to look like - ie. ghostbur’s nice yellow sweater being a choice on his end). It’s an effort, to look “okay”, and when he goes off the rails, there are hints to what he looks like.

it’s mostly because... Tommy remembers his death vicariously. All of them. This is not a good thing.

when he does meet people, his form is slightly transparent, but he looks almost normal. there’s that new hairstyle, which really isn’t a stylistic choice on my end ;’] ... there is a lot of sooty(?) grey patches on his sleeves, and a large black mark smack dab in the middle his shirt. The wither markings on his hands aren’t clear, but that they are there is visible. He hates the wither effects the most - no matter what he does, how hard he concentrates, they. don’t. go. away.

He’s got hair over his eye, like wilbur. Gets uncomfortable when it’s joked about, because that’s a part of his face that’s.... yknow.... and he can’t hide it otherwise

Since ghost!tommy is more emotionally gripped than ghostbur is, unable to let go of the past and all the memories + emotions from it (while ghostbur lets go of it Very Easily), his form shifts a lot. Not only to his “death form” (all of his canon deaths on one ‘current’ form), but to that of the different arcs - dirty long sleeves for pogtopia (it’s cold in the ravines, and he don’t got a coat), ripped revolutionary outfit (eret’s betrayal and the arrow both happened here)... and during his more mellower moments, a green bandana that goes around the neck. He’s constantly changing in clarity, too. It’s hard to focus on him at times.

2. Relationships with the SBI found family gang: pain

did you really think we could have nice things in this au? if so... ouch

Phil

tommy did see him sort of as a dad/some sort of older figure to come to for help. but phil has a history of not exactly being a Dad. sure, he basically adopted techno, and wilbur definitely saw him as a dad, but for tommy, it’s an unspoken relationship that they should be like that, that phil should have his back, that tommy can ask phil for help. yet, they don’t. Phil showed up way too late in the game to make an effort on all of the impacts the wars and pogtopia and wilbur have created, and maybe tommy resents him a little, for leaving him and his brothers alone on the server. maybe tommy saw wilbur die by philza’s hands, moments before he did the same point is, tommy was never a “difficult child” persay, he made all of his complaints loud and clear. philza didn’t expect to do any “underneath the underneath” with him... and didn’t feel like tommy needed the attention all that much, since he could basically occupy himself.

Think of it like this, at least in my au, that phil was never meant to be a dad. He just chose to be some sort of strong figure in the boys’ lives (found family!!!!) - but he was a survivor first and foremost, and sometimes it shows. His habits rubbed off on his boys, and that shows too - him avoiding talking about Big Things with ghost tommy is reminiscent of how ghostbur dances around questions, and being pressured into doing things is reminiscent of techno.

Tommy, on the other hand, felt as if phil always favored techno, and if not techno, then wilbur, over him. it’s okay though! he doesn’t need phil, he’s a Big Man™! Look at him... dealing with... a war... exile... funky brother problems... more war... okay maybe if phil showed up sooner things would’ve been better but he didn’t so tommy had to be the bigger man! that’s... that’s okay...? hmm. okay maybe he’s mad at phil a little bit,,,,

techno

ahh, complicated relationships *rubs hands*.

tommy was proud of his brother, at first, the way only little brothers can be, bragging about their cooler bigger bro - that, and tommy lowkey thought there’d be someone to help him with wilbur’s decline. haha NOPE. techno don’t do emotional. thanks,,,,,

on the other hand, all ghost tommy can remember is techno being the unspoken favorite, the favorite child, the favorite brother, teasing and feelings of inadequacy (techno wasn’t a bad brother, though... just... better). And then…he remembers techno showing up well into wilbur’s long decline, techno’s silence when he could’ve used someone to speak up for him, techno’s passiveness towards the paranoia, techno’s stoicism when all tommy wanted was someone to be strong, someone else to be the better man. instead, the job was left to him. why was it always left to him? he wasn’t supposed to do all of this, right?

Techno doesn’t feel all too bad about it, before tommy’s death is discovered. He thinks that the impact of the statement was made through humiliation and violence enough (tommy being pinned down, the hero speech, the ruined victory, etc). What did tommy expect, using the Blade like that? honestly, techno’s a little offended, that tommy thought he could use his brother that easily, like some weapon made of more skill than any of them know what to do with. Techno had made his opinions very clear on government, and then they go on to appoint another one? (even though, it was sort of clear that the goal was to “go back” to the old lmanberg, government and all) so tommy kinda had it coming. besides, he’d respawn and they’d go back to normal.

but then wilbur dies, permanently, and techno has to watch his brother come undone into something else barely reminiscent of what he was momnents ago... ghostbur barely even resembles the wilbur techno used to remember. death matters, on this server, which is two blows in themselves that techno will have to deal with. and then... tommy doesn’t respawn.

techno was sure he’d seen tommy around lmanberg. albeit, like, kinda quiet, but maybe the kid was going through rough times since wilbur died. it wasn’t like techno was going to talk to him about it or anything, since his presence probably wouldn’t be welcomed anyway. tommy was kind of immature, in that regard - he’d be really annoying and yell, like he always did when something didn’t go his way. that, and he wasn’t exactly welcome in lmanberg anymore...

besides, if tommy had a problem, he’d make it clear himself, right?

wilbur/ghostbur

There’s a lot tommy isn’t willing to talk, about wilbur. What could he even say? more than half of the things he did, challenges he stepped up to, were to make Wilbur proud (as he remembered him). He hated losing, because he liked winning more, sure, but also because he wanted to make wilbur proud of him. See: the bow duel, giving up his disc for freedom.

but pogtopia wilbur, well... things only got worse. sometimes, things looked a little better, but over time, tommy learned to expect what came after. even with techno there, tommy was always left to be the “bigger man” - in the aftermath of the festival, the pit, the final pet war - no matter how much he lost, it was always him having to move forward from that point. nobody really helped. it was just tommy and wilbur, and the sound of silence in the ravine.

tommy saw the final explosion of lmanberg as both the ultimate betrayal (the worst thing wilbur could’ve done, couldn’t he have waited, phil was here, surely phil couldve done what tommy spent months trying to do, what techno wouldn’t do, why couldn’t wilbur have this?) but at the same time, he... figured wilbur would pull sometime like this. at this point, the victory might’ve lightened his spirits a whole lot, but he spent months with wilbur alone and in the course of the preparatory week, wilbur didn’t miraculously get better. tommy wishes he did, and he can wish all he wants, but deep down, he knows that he didn’t. the others might’ve not noticed, since they weren’t there for that long.

as for ghostbur, it’s... awkward.

With ghostbur, he’s stuck between wanting to reach out to his big brother and stay away due to alivebur’s memory living in constant loop in his head. Sad as it is to say, he was sort of… relieved, when ghostbur revealed the extent of his memory loss. after that point.. if ghostbur remembers all the happy bits of their time on the server, surely he could help fill in the gaps?

Ghostbur was kind of the first person he saw when he resurfaced, and ghostbur then couldn’t really understand the gravity of the situation, nor who tommy was because of how he acted and looked before. tommy didn’t approach him either, mostly out of fear and anticipation. (he couldn’t imagine this of all things, being stuck with wilbur for all of his undying days, hadn’t he had enough?)

At first, it’s awkward. He doesn’t know what to say, or when to say things, and he’s a lot quieter than in life, so it’s noticeable. He meets Ghostbur, who greets him with joy, until he realizes that Tommy is dead. Memories of the manberg v pogtopia war arise, and he flees. He does not come back, because looking at Tommy hurts. tommy doesn’t get it, really... but.....

and every moment after that, the way ghostbur looks at him, with the guilt in his eyes, the way that he looks away, unable to bear looking anymore… well, tommy is starting to think ghostbur remembers a lot more than what he’s willing to let on (he’s afraid he is). If wilbur doesn’t like him, that’s not… that’s nothing new, anyway. it’s probably one of the few things that didn’t change.

3. Ghost Tommy’s Memories

Going by the HC that they’re caused by how you feel when you die. ie. Wilbur dies happy because he is relieved by Phil stabbing him. That he can rest, while Tommy gets the opposite. Wanting to live but having it so cruelly taken by a loved one that you trusted, only feeling pain and betrayal and the feelings when they had while dying is the reason why they only hold certain memories.

Basically: like Wilbur, only remembers memories associated with a type of feeling. However, unlike Wilbur, Tommy only remembers the bad things.

Ghostbur suggested to phil, who in turn, suggested to tommy that he recorded his memories in a book, like he did! thus, tommy’s “What I remember” book: which is full of stuff he just wants to remember

Dream Good Times (this is just a lie, haha... but refers to the time (read: blank space) before the first disk war)

jokes! (when you make fun of someone, even in good jest, it’s possible they won’t take it that way themselves.)

My home (because it’s been griefed and destroyed so many times at this point)

The disks (not what they sound like though, just that they were apparently important, that he fought for them. he can’t remember what they sound like)

My pets (pet wars. can’t remember whose pet was whose. he remembers mars, though. he talked to mars a lot, on days that pogtopia was quiet... empty...)

the duel

Winning the war (trading the disks for freedom)

L’manberg (manberg)

… Tubbo (? ...dying at the festival.)

Techno & Wilbur (and phil, and what they did to him, and what they didn’t do.)

pogtopia hanging out with friends (there was nothing good about pogtopia, so he crossed it off and wrote the most blandest happy thing he could replace it with. he wishes pogtopia was just that)

the pit

winning the war (the victory, the explosion his death. if you ask why he wrote it twice, he just.. hesitates. “we won, right?” you might nod along, assuming his memory was just being faulty, that all he could remember were the two victories, that like wilbur, nothing beyond the election/exile registered... but you could also note that neither of those “victories” really felt like winning, in the end. consider the cost...)

i have a secret second list for his “actual memories”. i call it “the list of grievances”. i am so clever haha

4. other ghost tommy stuff

since ghostbur had to go and add some stuff to ghost Lore™, i guess ghost tommy now melts in the rain and snow. not that he really... cares...

other things! these are ideas, idk...

1. presence

maybe whenever he gets near someone, the temperature drops and people feel overwhelmingly negative emotions (ie. sadness, pain, anger, guilt, etc). the intensity of the sadness effect depends on the person or if the person is near - the more that person had done, the more they felt.

Wilbur just feels like melancholy. nobody really notices, since it’s .... well.

2. connections to things?

maybe he’ll be found at certain locations, like his house/jukebox, the election podium, pogtopia, etc, etc... just, ghosting...

4. maybe he’s not actually dead

3. have some blue .... or yellow

either:

a) ghostbur gives tommy some blue to hand out, trying to be nicer to him anyway, like “give people this, it makes people happier if you give them something to drain the sadness”!! but when tommy tries to hand it out, it’s already fully blue. If asked if it was supposed to be transparent, or why it’s already blue, or etc, he responds with “no it's always been blue for me!” because when he’s given it, it turns blue instantly. maybe he seems little sad it doesn’t work on him, but it must be because he’s a ghost, right?

b) maybe he makes yellow that gives people happiness (it turns transparent as it’s used), but when he holds it it stays yellow.... because really all it does is draw up previous feelings of contentment, but... can't feel happy if you've never felt it before :’]

4. his body discovery

his body can be found where it was last... left. since he didn’t respawn.

They find him while cleaning up the rest of the rubble. and it's evident how he died, because there are wither marks, explosion burns, and... a final injury that must’ve been the killing blow, since there’s no way he would’ve survived that. it's evident he suffered, but not from the killing blow. his face has that... expression. he looks as miserable as his ghost does, at times (contrary to wilbur's exact opposite). maybe techno is there. they're not sure if tommy just got caught in the crossfire. they think he did, because he was buried under all of this. who would have ... intentionally done this to him...? while he was trapped?

maybe techno approaches to see what everyone looks so wicked out by. and he sees his brother or more like, what was left of his brother. oof.

5. Pranks: completely out of chronological order i guess... BUT I WANTED TO INCLUDE IT AAA

tommy isn’t... peaceful. he’s not at peace. he’s surrounded by the people who he can remember taunting him, hurting him, betraying him, all he can remember feeling is anger, grief and resentment - how long do you think he’ll play nice for? even though he wants things to go back to normal, either he feels like he’s much too dead for anything to ever be the same, and/or everyone ... moved on pretty quick, huh.

tommy begins to prank the server, like he used to. but there’s a pattern to it, and it quickly devolves from seemingly light-hearted to borderline malicious and definitely inconveniencing/annoying.

ghost tommy filling dream's current base/go-to-residency (since this man canonically homeless) with clay... and then, later, other blocks, like tnt, obsidian...

he sets up multiple jukeboxes when dream goes to sleep and have them all play cat/melohi at different intervals at once, kind of like. "you wanted this so bad, now eat it”.

misplace sapnap's current pets (if he has any). fill sapnap's house with horses, cows all named "h" names, and eventually turn it into an elaborate aquarium filled with tropical fish.

George’s house gets scrambled: like the blocks all get swapped and stuff, or replaced with lime wool/clay. maybe fill his house with alarm clocks or something? idk

He's hesitant about techno... so one of his earlier steps is: collaborate with sam with the horse maze (who sees it as a bonding activity! fun for the whole family!), but in the books, on the last page of all the books, he writes notes like "you know what you did" and stuff idk, i gotta come up with 8 of those. at the end, skeppy brings back the books and the hornse and techno's like haha i didn't write those books! and skeppy says, that makes sense! why would your write this... (he assumes the first few are threats, but then they reference techno in diff ways, so he gets confused), and then techno's like: wait what

maybe he probably releases all the horses n cows and other things techno’s got. or relocates them (cause he still cares about animals, he doesn't want to hurt them... he's not sapnap after all)

at first it's funny, normal. then it's annoying. and then it becomes worrying. it elevates in destructive tendencies, and also escalates in amount so people start going "tommy this is so annoying"-> exactly the reaction he wants, so he continues -> "this isn't funny anymore, tommy!" well, it never was supposed to be :)

....and they realize suddenly that none of it was meant to be a "prank" or a joke, tommy genuinely was trying to make their lives as hard as they did him.

ALSO EDIT: i bring you: dreamon hunters! part two! tubbo n fundy fight over what to do with ghost tommy, as tubbo doesn't think there's anything wrong with tommy (it’s his best friend, of course nothing’s wrong!), while fundy thinks he's a malicious poltergeist (with all the pranks.... that’s... that’s not tommy. tommy isn’t that spiteful... is he? )

#dream smp #dream smp au #ghost!tommy au #ghost!tommy au masterpost #2/?#warning: this is a LOOOOONG post #h #tw death #tw death mention

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alonelysimp · 3 years

Text

@hqrbinger bc I'm not sending this to ur inbox <3

1.6k || i got lazy hehe

The paper in his hand crinkles in his grip and his nails nearly puncture it. His teardrops blot the ink letters, making them bleed into each other slightly.

How long has it been since he last saw you? Since he last saw the way your eyes sparkled in the early morning sun? Since he last heard your voice calling out to him?

You broke him, leaving only shards of what was once the man you loved.

He has gone through many things, many of which a normal human would never dream of enduring. But alas, it’s the only thing he’s ever known. From being abandoned by his own family, his creator, to undergoing the torturous path of becoming a harbinger. After hundreds of years without so much as a single person that cared for him, truly showing him any warmth at all, it’s no surprise he became the man he is. Ruthless, cold, a man who could topple entire countries to the ground. Hated by all, or disliked at the very least. It’s just how things are though, right?

So why were you any different?

Why did you love someone like him so earnestly? Accepting every part of him, even though he felt like he didn’t deserve it? He loved that about you, Curse. The ice-cold walls he put up would melt around you. Why did you show a man like him your warmth?

He sat by the window as he read the numerous reports he received while awaiting your return. You were just going out to the market, as you do every week, to see if there was anything you liked that was recently imported from Inazuma, right? Maybe you could bake something with him later. Everything you made always reminded him of his home, in a sense. But, the hours slowly passed. Ticking from eleven to noon, to three, to seven, and soon the sun had completely set over the freezing snowscape.

He glanced outside, noticing the time, and watched as the streetlights flickered on. The foot traffic of people returning home from work increased. He huffed, standing out of his chair. You had probably gotten distracted and lost track of time again. But this late? He headed outside after throwing on a coat, carrying one for you as well.

The name “Curse” was well known throughout the city. You were Balladeer’s beloved, after all. He made sure everyone in Snezhnaya knew it.

The square was full of people buying groceries on their way home. The merchants’ shops often sold quick, convenient food for them. Were you buying food for dinner?

He grew tired as the night went on, and the temperature quickly decreased. He called some agents to help look, anxiety began to gnaw at the back of his mind. It’s only been half a day, you couldn’t’ve gotten very far, right?

Right?

How long has it been since he last saw you? Since he last saw the way you asked him to go make a pot of coffee so you could sleep in a little longer? Since he last felt your hand in his as you strolled along the shore?

It’s been days since you left. Gone, without a trace. No one has seen you. His voice was still sore from calling your name for hours on end, and the lingering effects of frostbite still nipped at the tips of his fingers.

His subordinates in neighbouring nations haven’t caught wind of you wither. It’s like you’ve disappeared into thin air. Nothing but a faint fragment in his memory.

His condition hadn’t kept him from performing his duties though. After all, he was a harbinger. Some say he’s gotten more… aggressive lately, but then again, he’s Balladeer. The cold, ruthless man you once knew.

When he opens a report from one of his higher-ranking subordinates in Mond, he honestly thinks it’s a joke. You? Curse? His girlfriend? Moments of silence pass.

“Curse is in Mondstadt... and she...?” He tosses the paper onto his desk, now littered with reports both addressed to him and to the other harbingers. You were perfectly fine, seeming to enjoy yourself in the new country. He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair.

His office seems quiet, now that your voice no longer fills the room. The couch that sits beside him is cold now. Were you really in Mondstadt? He stands up abruptly, making the chair screech against the wood floor, and takes his coat off the coat rack. If you weren’t there, he could just fry the agent.

His hand hovers over the doorknob. Why had you left in the first place? If you were in Monstadt already, then you hadn’t stopped travelling since you left. Did you even stop at the square?

He pauses, glancing back at the report. Would you even want to come back to him? You were happy in Mondstadt. But you were happy with him too, right? He sighs, snatching the paper and shoving it in his pocket.

How long has it been since he last saw you? Since he last saw the way your smile seemed to brighten the room? Since he last felt your hand run through his hair?

He arrived in Mondstadt sometime during the next night or the early morning after. Either way, it was late, already pitch black outside.

“Curse wouldn’t be out at this hour,” he reasoned, leaving his horse with his subordinates and making his way to the Goth Grand Hotel. “Her sleep schedule can’t be that bad.”

A part of him hoped you would be staying there, using your privileges as his lover to find a place to stay.

The bed underneath him isn’t the most comfortable. If you really are staying here, he would demand a more suitable bed be imported. He huffed, not taking his eyes off the ceiling. That’s ridiculous, you’d be coming back with him that afternoon.

The next morning he was looking… worse for wear, to say the least. Dark circles line the porcelain skin under his eyes. His voice is strained and hoarse from the nights he spent sobbing into his pillow until he couldn't breathe.

He felt so weak.

He hated it.

He hated the way you could make him smile. The way you could make his heart beat so wildly in his chest. The way you could make him weep into his pillow, worrying for you.

He was finally going to see you again, though. After many painstaking days of wondering where you were, or even if you were still alive. He has a list of areas with often a high crowd, but he first decides to stroll the streets. There was a locally famous restaurant not too far from the hotel. Perhaps you’d be there.

He brushes off the stares from the people that pass, ordering only a drink and waiting for you to show up.

His fingers drum impatiently on the table. You were here, right? A heavy sigh escapes his lips as a heavy pit settles in his stomach. He would travel to the ends of Teyvat to find you.

The chairs behind him crash, dragging across the cobblestone ground. The agent is leaning on the back of the chair, panting heavily before standing rigidly the moment Scaramouche turns around.

"Sir, she's at Windrise."

... She's what.

His heart jumps at the words; at the thought of seeing you again. You. The person he loves with everything in him, the person who changed his life, the person who showed him love for the first time in the hundreds of years he's been roaming Teyvat. He roughly pushes past the agent, running out the gates of Mond.

He can feel his hands shake, even with him running like this.

You, it's you, it's always you. The one he could love.

The one he could trust.

The one where he didn’t have to worry you would leave him.

At last, he would be able to feel you in his arms again. He would give up everything for you. He could be home again, with you.

“Curse…” He can’t bring himself to say another word.

There was no way you would.

You sat beside a tall man, dressed in black. What looked to be his cape draped over your shoulders.

It’s just one of your dumb jokes, right?

There’s no way you’d actually.

He approaches you slowly, a frown spreading across his face. Why were you here? And with someone else?

“C’mon, let’s go home.” He stands in front of you, glaring down the man to your side. Please, Curse. I’ve missed you.

“I’m sorry, who are you? I think you have the wrong person.”

...You were joking, right?

“Curse, I’ve been looking for you for the past five days, let’s go home.”

“Please don’t interrupt me on my date, if you don’t need anything then go.”

This can’t be happening. He stands there in silence for no more than a few moments before turning away abruptly.

He hated how you made him feel emotions so vividly.

Please, don’t do this to me.

He felt his heart shatter each time your words replayed in his head. Did you really not love him? Was all of that just a lie? Everything?

No, this was just a joke. A dream. He would wake up the next morning next to you again, as if nothing ever happened.

Did you really hate him enough to pretend not to know him? All those dumb smiles you gave him? The quick pecks on his cheek before he left for work. Did they all mean nothing to you?

Did he mean nothing to you?

#❧— malediction #dango's singular braincell #no its not getting a fic tag #dango struggling through an ebg

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sylvies-chen · 3 years

Note

Brettsey please “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au

Ok anon I REALLY have to apologize because this request has been sitting in my inbox for probably a month or two now but I didn’t get the inspo to finish this until last night. That being said, I got this into a short little oneshot so I hope you enjoy!!

Tags: alternate universe, grief, mourning, light emotional hurt/comfort, meet cute

Word count: 2922

183 days.

It’s been 183 days since Sylvie last visited Julie. 183 days thinking about how things should have been different. How Julie was supposed to survive, how her and Scott and Amelia were supposed to be a family. How Sylvie was supposed to reconnect with her, to finally know the woman who had given Sylvie her own life’s blood.

She was supposed to have more time.

Instead, Sylvie ends up feeling like more of a stranger to Julie than ever. The last time she visited was the funeral, and that hadn’t done much for her in terms of closure. If anything, it made her feel more out of place. Random strangers came up to her, asking how she knew Julie. Sylvie can still remember the confused looks on their face as she’d told them Julie was her birth mother who had given her up at sixteen years old, and the awkward condolences that came stuttering out of their mouths afterwards. She’d felt too guilty eventually, and left early. Who the hell was she anyway, to be tainting everyone’s view of her birth mother at her own funeral?

She hasn’t been to visit Julie’s grave ever since. All Sylvie had done was stay with parents for a few days to clear her head. A few days turned into a few weeks, and then a few months. Today marks month six of her stay there. Her parents had told her they’d be happy to have her. They hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Sylvie meeting Julie in the first place, so they were more than willing to help her through the loss. The only condition was that she had to go to therapy and work through her grief, which Sylvie happily agreed to. But last week, her therapist suggested she visit Julie’s grave to get ‘true closure’, whatever that means. It’s a strange idea to Sylvie but nothing else seems to be working. Her boss had assured her that Fowlerton was much too peaceful (the polite way of calling the town boring, and rightfully so) and it would do just fine without its favourite paramedic for a few days. So, reluctantly, she accepted.

That’s why Sylvie’s now halfway through an hour-long drive to Chicago, all the way back to the cemetery. She buys hydrangeas at a tiny flower shop she passes by when she first enters Chicago territory. They’re Julie’s favourite. They were Julie’s favourite

Her fingers anxiously tap at the wheel when she finally pulls into the cemetery. It’s a dreary Sunday, grey clouds hovering in the sky bringing the prominent threat of rain. The graveyard is empty when she gets there, from the looks of it, except for one single person. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a man around her age sitting on a bench near a grave, his eyes observing her curiously from over his shoulder. He’s not someone she knows-- she doesn’t really know many people here in Chicago after all-- but she ignores his lingering eyes. Shades of grey stick out against the field of green and wilted flowers are scattered across other tombstones. It feels like a ghost town, for lack of a better term. It’s gloomy and it looks like no one’s visited this place in a while. Even for a cemetery, the sight is a depressing one.

Sylvie slams her car door shut and takes a deep breath. Relax, she thinks. Just a quick drop by to see her, place the flowers, and then leave. You can get through this.

She makes a beeline towards Julie’s grave, less than 100 feet away, and stops dead in her tracks when she gets there. Her feet feel heavy in her pink rain boots, sticking out like a sore thumb against her black coat as she observes the tombstone.

Julie Walters

Loving wife and daughter

1973 - 2019

Sylvie doesn’t know how to feel reading those words. A whole life, one she only scratched the surface of, reduced to a mere four words and eight numbers. It’s underwhelming, and she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Julie’s entire being wasn’t etched onto stone or insulted that they could summarize her in so few words.

Maybe it’s for the best. What else would they put on there anyway: that she was a flawed human who left behind a child who she wasn’t ready to have, only to die before she could see her second daughter years later when she was finally ready for one? When she was finally ready to reconcile with her first born? Yeah, it was definitely for the best.

She places the bouquet of hydrangeas on the wet grass next to the tombstone and stands back. Man, this is harder than she thought. The words are there, racing in her head, but they don’t come out. Every time she wants to say something, it gets caught in the back of her throat.

Sylvie’s trying to pick from a list of infinite questions and countless ways to begin when she feels a chill on the back of her neck. At that moment, a voice comes from behind her. “Hi, are y--”

“Ah!” Sylvie shrieks, the voice startling her. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around in shock, only to see a guy standing in front of her. It’s the same guy, she realizes, that had been staring at her earlier. Now, up close, she guesses that he can’t be all that much older that she is. He has blonde hair that’s short at the back and longer at the front, his eyes a soft shade of blue-green. His jacket and boots are a little worn but other than that, he looks completely normal. Except for the fact that he’s the only other person in this whole cemetery, and he just came up to her from behind without making a sound.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures her, his hands up in surrender.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” Sylvie lets out a big breath, shaking off the nerves from the jumpscare.

“Not to be rude or anything, but I just-- I’m usually the only one here,” he explains awkwardly.

“Are you a groundskeeper or something? I can leave if you guys need me to.”

“No no,” he laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I work in construction, actually. But I’ve uh.. I’ve been coming here the same time, every Sunday for years now to visit my dad. Nobody’s ever here when I am, so I figured you must be new.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers. So okay, he’s not such a creep after all. Actually, he’s kind of sweet. “He must have been a really great dad, for you to be visiting him every week after all these years.”

“He… had his moments,” the man explains delicately. “Honestly, he wasn’t the most affectionate guy. I guess I just don’t want to end up like him. Jaded and cruel.”

Sylvie nods understandingly, because she gets it. Her parents are loving and supportive, but she’s had some exes that have put her through the ringer. Her first real love, Harrison, had been manipulative and heartless. She’s always hoped that these awful guys wouldn’t change her for the worse either.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I’ll get out of your hair,” he offers. “But uh, here. Take this.” The guy holds out a single rose, which Sylvie accepts.

Her eyebrows narrow in confusion at the gesture. “A rose?”

“Yeah, well, my dad has been getting a dozen roses a week from my family since I was 17, he won’t turn over in his grave if he gets 11 just this one time. I’m sure whoever you’re grieving could use it a lot more than he could.”

Sylvie’s confused expression softens into gratitude, a faint smile pulling at her lips. This guy, whoever he is, didn’t have to do this for her. It’s a sweet gesture. He really does seem nice. No catches, no mind games, just simple and kind. She hasn’t met a guy like that in a while, at least not one her age. “That’s actually really sweet, thank you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Sylvie, by the way,” she introduces herself awkwardly. Everything about this situation is awkward, frankly. But she extends her free hand anyway. “Sylvie Brett.”

“Matt Casey. I wish it were under nicer circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is wide as he takes her hand and shakes it. It’s confusing, but it makes Sylvie smile all the same.

“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s in a graveyard,” she observes.

“Like I said: I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m sort of all talked out now,” Matt explains with a shrug.

“Right,” she nods. “I wish I could relate. Normally I’m the one who’s cheerful and talkative, but it’s hard with this sort of thing. Everything I want to say just doesn’t seem to come out. Sometimes, I think if I start talking…”

“You’ll never stop?” He guesses.

“Yeah.” How did he know?

“Well I can tell you from experience that you definitely do stop talking at one point. I got all talked out two years ago. I looked around one day and realized I was talking about types of screwdrivers to my dad’s grave with no one else around. Eventually, you’ll run out of topics like I did. And then new ones will come, and you’ll talk some more, and then you get quiet again and then you just… stop talking.”

“I hope so. I’m a big talker-- I mean seriously, I never shut up-- but I just… I don’t know where to start with this one,” she explains.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?”

“Julie Walters.” She points to the tombstone in front of them. “My birth mother.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Sylvie’s heard those six little words before. She had to stomach every single insincere, fake utterance of sympathy when she was at the funeral. But for some reason, the way Matt says it to her makes her think he really means it. She’s not used to people meaning it when they offer their condolences. It’s strange. Then again, this whole interaction is strange. “It’s okay,” she brushes it off.

“It’s not. At least, it doesn’t have to be,” he soothes. Something about his voice is so horrifyingly comforting. It’s calm and low, and it feels like warm tea and honey in her ears. It’s enough to make her want to burst into tears right then and there .

Sylvie takes a deep breath and then, before she can stop herself, breaks the silence to ramble. “I love my parents, you know? They raised me, they fed me, they’re responsible for the person I’ve become. But I’d always wondered where I came from, why my birth parents gave me up for adoption. And when Julie sought me out, I panicked at first. I wasn’t ready to give up that fantasy in my head of who she was, to have all my questions answered. But now I’m standing here, visiting her grave for the first time in the six months since her funeral by recommendation of my stupid grief counselor, and I… I just can’t stop thinking of all the questions I was too scared to ask. And man, it sucks.”

Matt stands there and nods understandingly, his gaze unwavering even as she turns her eyes towards Julie’s tombstone.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, wiping tears from her cheek. “We just met, and I’m rambling, and--”

“No no, it’s good for you,” he assures her. “ And I don’t mind it, I-- I like hearing you talk.”

“Oh.” Sylvie looks around, unsure of what to say. This Matt Casey guy, whoever he is, hasn’t run for the hills by now which is strange to say the least. But weirdly, it’s comforting.

“You’re right, you know,” he continues, switching the subject. “It sucks. Life… life sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, letting out a small laugh. This makes Matt laugh a little, which makes Sylvie laugh even more, until they’re both smiling and giggling in a cemetery like a bunch of blushing lunatics. It’s quite possibly the weirdest thing Sylvie’s ever experienced and yet somehow, it’s exactly what she needed. A bright light in the vast sea of darkness.

“You’re smiling again, that’s a good sign.”

“It is,” she agrees. “Am I crazy for that? I mean, I’m smiling and laughing in a graveyard with somebody I just met. Isn’t that weird?”

“A little,” he admits with a shy laugh. “But you’re not crazy. Sometimes people need a little bit of weirdness in their lives.”

“I guess stranger things have happened,” Sylvie shrugs playfully.

“Yeah.” He flashes her another smile before turning his attention towards Julie’s grave and facing it with her. Sylvie stares at the marked stone. She fondly remembers the few memories she had with Julie, and the countless ones they never got around to. It’s unfortunate, really, but it feels more manageable with someone there. Even if it’s someone she barely knows. Matt stands with her for a moment, the peace and quiet taking over. It’s nice. Sylvie’s never had silence be so comforting; it’s always made her anxious and uncomfortable up until now. Matt sure is a puzzling guy in that sense. She sneaks a peek at him through the corner of her eye, this guy who’s supporting her even though they just met. He’s lost someone too, he could be going back to his father’s tombstone. Instead, he’s staying there with her. Sylvie decides at that moment that Matt Casey is an unfailingly kind, weirdly solid guy. And, admittedly, a little attractive. Ok, a lot attractive.

“Hey, and don’t worry,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, “about being like your father. We aren’t our parents. And you seem… good. That’s all you can ask for I guess, is to be one of the good ones.”

“Thanks,” he nods, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion and a bit of something else Sylvie can’t quite place. Wonder, almost.

Sylvie turns back to Julie’s grave, tracing over the words with her eyes. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so scary. Sylvie’s still sad, and wounds take time to scar over, but it doesn’t feel like she’s bleeding out anymore. She sighs, and she can sense the weight on her shoulders blowing away into the wind.

Unfortunately, when the sorrow blows away with the wind, it brings in the rain.

“Oh god,” Matt groans, wincing while looking up just on time to catch a raindrop in his eye. He squints and turns to Sylvie, who’s standing there laughing. “I didn’t see this in the weather forecast for today.”

“Me neither,” she giggles. “Today’s full of unexpected things, I guess.”

“It is.” He gives her a shy smile, nodding in agreement.

“Do you mind the rain?” She asks, looking up at the gloomy sky with a smile on her face.

“No,” he replies gently.

“Me neither.”

They stand there, hoods pulled away from their heads, letting the rain wash over them. There’s no shelter in sight anyway. They talk for a while about Chicago, about their lives, their friends, things that make them happy. But then they fall into a comfortable silence, smiling peacefully in the rain. Sylvie only moves a few times to brush raindrops off of the bouquet of flowers she’d placed at Julie’s grave. She looks at it, the name and the date etched in stone, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. No questions unanswered, no bitterness. Her loss feels manageable.

She’s okay. More than okay.

“Hey, this might sound a little crazy, and I know we just met,” Matt starts after a while, “but would you want to… go get dinner or something?”

“What, like a date?” She snorts at her own joke, the idea being very nice in theory but impossible. It’s seriously impossible that this guy is actually asking her out, right?

“Er, yeah,” he nods. “Like a date.”

Oh. Okay, so he was asking her out. This is unfamiliar territory for Sylvie. She’s been asked out before, of course, by the small-town idiots in Fowlerton. But by an admittedly very good-looking stranger, under these circumstances no less? It’s a bit of a bizarre situation. That’s the crux of it, though. Matt Casey, whoever he is under all these sweet, charming layers, doesn’t feel like a stranger. Somehow, through one chance encounter, it feels like catching up with an old friend.

When she considers the facts, she’s had fun today. Every interaction they’ve had has come with such ease, and from a place of goodness and light. Yeah, maybe it’ll go absolutely nowhere. But one date in a public place won’t hurt her. She’s in Chicago for the rest of the weekend anyway. If anything, going out with someone like Matt Casey would do her a lot of good. And she hadn’t realized it until now but god, she really really wants to. So she does.

“I’d like that,” she finally replies while brushing rain off of her coat.

“Yeah?” He asks to make sure, his face lighting up with hope and slight excitement. Sylvie finds it adorable.

“Yeah,” she assures him.

He nods and grins excitedly as he leans in closer, and Sylvie feels the happiest she’s felt in a long time when he finally replies. “Me too.”

#this is a little rushed lol #also ik if i met anyone at a cemetary i would be weirded out but i tried to make this cute???#i just hope i was successful lol #brettsey #au prompt request #alternate universe #meet cute #light emotional hurt/comfort #mourning

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