#goviral

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part { 1 }

꣑ৎ { user x dominic fike} ꣑ৎ

{ ! } contains: contains: celebrity love island au, second person pov, slow burn, tension-heavy moments, jealousy, subtle attraction, dom fike already coupled up, reader catching his eye, not cheesy, lowercase style, emotional undercurrent, light angst, groundwork for future drama & steam

they told you this season was going to be different. you thought it was just marketing — “new twists,” “bigger stakes,” “hotter singles” — all buzzwords to make another round of hot strangers in bikinis seem fresh. but then you got flown out a week early. they made you sign extra NDAs, kept repeating how intimate this version would be. curated. exclusive. watched. that’s when it started to feel real. you weren’t even supposed to be here. your friend filled out the application as a joke, said they needed someone who didn’t live for the camera — someone with a resting bitch face, a dry sense of humor, and no desire to promote a fast-fashion code. the producers agreed. and now here you were, freshly mic’d up, lips chapped from the desert heat, locked in a villa in the middle of nowhere spain. you’d almost said no. you hated attention. hated playing games. and love island was a game, even if they never called it that. edited moments. producer-led chaos. strangers trying to out-charm each other for likes, alliances, clout. you weren’t fake enough for that — but something in you said yes anyway. maybe boredom. maybe heartbreak. maybe just… curiosity.

you landed two days before the others. they took your phone, walked you through the rules, stuck you in a villa with blackout curtains and a minibar full of overpriced snacks. you were restless. homesick for a place you didn’t even miss. and then came the first night. five boys stood on the platform, waiting like mannequins. tall, tan, identical in the way gym guys always are. white smiles. scripted charm. one winked at you like he’d already forgotten your name. you were tuning out when the host appeared, glowing with rehearsed excitement. “this year, we’re doing something we’ve never done before,” she beamed. “a limited celebrity edition. one surprise guest. a wildcard. a challenge.” and then he walked out. dominic fike. the air shifted.

he wasn’t trying. he didn’t have to. white t-shirt, cargo pants, curls hanging in his face, tattoos licking up his arms and collarbones. gold chain glinting under the lights. sunglasses still on even though the sun was setting. no smile. no words. just presence. the girls next to you gasped. one whispered, “no fucking way,” and another immediately reapplied her lip gloss. but you just looked. and then you looked away. he didn’t. his eyes stayed on you. not flirtatious. not smug. just… interested. like he saw something he didn’t expect. you didn’t hold the gaze for long — you were too used to pretending not to care. but something about that moment stuck.

he didn’t pick you. he picked alyssa — tall, blonde, the one in a hot pink bikini with 300k on instagram and a rehearsed giggle. she laughed too loudly at his name and curled herself into his side like she was claiming territory. he smiled for the cameras, played along, but his eyes didn’t smile with him. you told yourself it didn’t matter. he wasn’t your type anyway. you liked privacy. liked people who didn’t belong to the world. and dominic… he didn’t belong to anyone, but the world kept trying. and somehow, he kept letting them. you found out later that alyssa’s management begged her to do the show — said it’d boost her following and soften her image. she didn’t want love. she wanted screenshots and storylines.

you were the opposite. you didn’t even tell anyone you were coming here. your ex had gutted you, left you with a lease in your name and an inbox full of unanswered apologies. you weren’t healed, not even close. but you were here, in this strange bubble, trying to find a version of yourself that didn’t ache anymore. dominic wasn’t supposed to factor in. but he didn’t act like the others. he wasn’t loud. didn’t perform. when the cameras weren’t on, he’d sit by the edge of the villa, roll cigarettes, and stare out at the mountains like he was somewhere else entirely. he only spoke when he had something to say — dry jokes, muttered comments, sometimes just a look. and more than once, that look was at you. you weren’t friends. not really. but you weren’t strangers, either. once, when a producer was re-clipping your mic, you found yourself next to him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in silence. he didn’t look at you right away. just said, quiet, “you hate it here.” you blinked. “…what gave it away?”

“your eyes,” he said, lighting a match instead of a lighter. “what about them?”

“you don’t look around like you’re trying to be seen. just trying to get through it.” you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to. you understood what he meant. alyssa noticed the shift before anyone else. she started clinging harder, laughing louder, asking where he was every time he drifted more than six feet away. she pulled you aside one afternoon and said, dead serious, “he’s mine, okay?” you shrugged. “wasn’t aware we were twelve.”

still, you backed off. you weren’t here to start drama. but every time your eyes found his — across the fire pit, at breakfast, brushing past him near the pool — you felt it. a slow hum. like static under your skin. it came to a head during a party challenge — someone dared him to kiss the girl who “keeps you up at night.” everyone assumed alyssa. even she stepped forward. but he walked past her and kissed you instead. slow. certain. his hand on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. it wasn’t for show. and you kissed him back.when it ended, no one spoke. alyssa looked gutted. your heart was pounding. and all you could think was: this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Now imagine Jonathan and Nancy actually dying in this scene.

They're confessing everything they love and hate about each other. They're shaking and crying; they don't want to die. And Nancy is scared, so scared. Jonathan can see it in her eyes, he's never seen her this scared.

"I love you, Nancy Wheeler."

"I love you, Jonathan Byers."

And they start half crying half laughing in despair as they touch their foreheads, sobbing.

Jonathan caresses Nancy's hair and kisses her forehead, noticing how much she's shaking and throws the ring away. It sinks in the melted matter.

There's no way he's letting her die. He won't watch her die. So he starts desperately cradling her face with his hands, making her look at him and he starts babbling how he won't let her die, how he won't have it.

They're covered in melted matter by the waist by now and it won't stop rising, more and more every second that goes by.

Jonathan forces her to get up despite her not wanting to, he's serious, she's crying and confused and refusing.

He wants to buy her some time. He knows they'll both eventually die, but he'd rather die first than having to watch the girl he loves die in front of his eyes. He tells her that very seriously, shaking her shoulders to make her understand him.

And as the matter rises faster and faster, she climbs onto his shoulders because she knows that what he wants and she loves him and respects his wishes.

They intertwine their hands, the ones with matching scars, and they look at it one last time before they start squeezing each other with as much force as they got.

And as Jonathan can't move, covered by his neck, they utter their last words to each other.

"I'll keep choosing you in every lifetime." Nancy sobs, grabbing his hand harder than she ever has.

"I thought you didn't believe in that stuff." He half laughs, squeezing her hand back, tipping his chin up trying to get some more seconds.

"I didn't. Not until you. Now I want to believe so I can love you again. I don't want this to be the only time I get you." She uses her other hand to push his chin higher and caresses his skin.

"It won't be." he strangles a sob. "I'm yours in every lifetime, Nancy. I love you. I'll love you."

And as Jonathan can't escape anymore, he's finally submerged, unable to move, and Nancy stays on his shoulders, sobbing like she never had in her life, feeling his hand stop squeezing hers.