#& so i end up feeling that it just looks wrong :/

[salem-s]

FINAL ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, flufffffffff, angst if you squint, smmmmmuuuutt (unprotected...everything so don't take after them please). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 13k. legit do not say anything. this was originally 4k words but i obviously couldn't let that happen for the last chapter. so. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. please see the note at the end of the chapter!! ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER the only exception by paramore

Rafe swears he hears pounding on his door.

He takes an ear bud out, trying to discern if the noise was real or a part of the song he’s currently listening to. After a moment’s silence, he moves to put the bud back in but one, two beats later, the knocks sound again, confirming someone is at his door so late into the night.

Irritation bubbles in his chest.

Rafe’s been at these stupid memorization cards for what feels like hours, getting nowhere close to being ready for his eight a.m. exam. His mind has – obviously – been elsewhere for the betterment of a week, and he'd be lying if he said the attempt in drowning himself in work has properly distracted him from the events of last week.

Spoiler alert: it hasn't, and it's only getting worse.

Especially now, as the handwriting on the paper started giving him a headache hours ago, so he begrudgingly put on his glasses that he refuses to let see the light of day. The specks, unfortunately, do assist in not making the letters blur together, especially when he’s so tired that his gaze falls in and out of focus.

However, he hates them so goddamn much that it only worsens his already sour mood.

But now they aren’t the only annoyance of his night.

The fact that someone is ferociously pounding on his door only augments his headache, his frustration, and his precariously bubbling temper. He glances at the time, nearing two in the morning, angry that someone has the audacity to not only interrupt his studying, but probably everyone’s sleep on his floor, careless to rhyme or reason or simple ethics. 

He wastes no time standing so quick his chair nearly falls over, stomping over, a long list of curses and horrific things to say are on the tip of his tongue, ready to viscerally berate this person until next Tuesday.

Rafe whips the door open. “The fuck is the–”

His words die in his throat when he sees you.

The air is momentarily knocked from his lungs.

Your hair and makeup are done, as if you've just come from somewhere, adorned in one of his favorite tank tops on you and jeans that hug you too tight to be anything holy. You peer up at him with wide eyes at his harsh words, hugging your basically bare frame in a feeble attempt to warm yourself from wherever you just came from.

God, you look beautiful.

He knows he’s supposed to be mad at you and giving you space and all that, but all of that fades in an instant when he notices your arms coated in goosebumps and your teeth slightly chattering.

Something ugly brews in his chest, discomforted by the thought of you bracing the cold all by yourself. Where is your jacket?

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he grumbles, ushering you into his room without a second thought.

In an attempt to regain his cool, he frowns to keep up with his indifferent demeanor since he's supposed to be cordial and all, even though the mere thought of attempting small talk with you settles a kettlebell in the pit of his stomach. His heart aches looking at you, because you're simply a walking reminder of how he fucked it all up, said the wrong things and came on too strong with poor timing, a reminder of what he could've had if he was a little more patient, more calculated, less stupid in his endeavors.

Because the past week has been absolute torture for him.

He learned very quickly that almost everything around him reminds him of you: books with an aged spine and annotations adorning the wrinkled pages, simple parts of nature that resemble the color of your eyes, strangers hugging, the mere smell of eucalyptus, everything all at once. The day he got back, he went to the liquor store with Elliot in an attempt to distract himself, but it proved fruitless when he found himself wandering idly in the wine aisle, frozen in place when he found the same bottle that you snagged two of after that grueling dinner with your family.

From that point on, Rafe really only stayed in his room unless it was absolutely necessary to leave.

But it seems as though even the confinements of his room don't provide the solace he's been desperately seeking, as the knowledge of how your room shares a wall with his has been plaguing his conscience. There have been countless times where he's debated saying fuck it, knocking on your door, and begging on his knees to have you in his life again, but he knows he can't do that.

He needs to let you come to him, to not bombard you as he has before. That was what scared you off, his forwardness, so he's vowed to keep cool, keep a distance, and keep quiet as much as he can to give you the space you need.

So, he knows he needs to remain stoic, indifferent, guarded.

Reminding himself of this, Rafe hands you a hoodie off the back of his chair. “Did you lose your key again?”

The sound of his voice is so nice to hear, so refreshing, and you nearly sigh as you hug the hoodie close to your body before pulling it over your head, relishing in the way it smells like him, in its warmth as if he was just wearing it moments ago. Pathetically, you nearly sigh at how it feels adorning your body.

“I left my purse at Elliot’s,” you whisper, hugging your body. “Since when have you had glasses?”

Rafe freezes, forgetting he had them on. 

Ignoring his pink cheeks and ignoring your question, he moves on, putting his guard back up.

Quickly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, so he reels it in. “Uh, it’s late. I have an exam.”

You frown at the considerable distance he’s put between you, but part of you really can't blame him since you were the one who orchestrated the falling out.

“I won’t…I won’t take too long. I just need to know if…” You trail off.

How on earth are you going to go about this? Especially when his stare is so piercing, as if he's looking right through your body and into your soul, brows pinched in what you assume is irritation at your stammering.

“Know what?” he drawls out.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, gaping to try and find the words. You shiver as you recover from the chilly walk, but also at his stare that you can’t quite make out the meaning behind. Is he mad? Irritated? Relieved to see you? You hate how you can’t tell.

But you take a deep breath.

You know how he feels about you, you know all of it, despite this front he’s wearing right now. If Elliot can confirm it, it must be true. 

And as if you needed the extra push, your gaze drifts slightly beyond him, fixated on his desk and noticing the sprawl of papers, his computer open to an online textbook, and notecards that have almost perfect handwriting etched onto them. What gets you, though, are the five almost professional looking photo prints laid out side by side across the top of his desk.

All of you.

You in the distance teetering your balance on a particularly precarious rock in your private cove. You walking up the dirt path to your nonna's cottage with the mountains behind you. You holding a hand up in an attempt to block the lens as your body adorns a hideous dress you only showed him for shits and giggles. You leaning forward to do your mascara in a tiny mirror hanging on the wall, wearing the perfect beaded dress. And, finally, you sitting alone in the garden chair in your nonna's yard, the moonlight hue behind you as you read your book, unknowing to his presence from the kitchen.

Just above his desk, just hovering over the photos, is his ceramic fish hanging on the wall, one of his only pieces of decor in his entire room.

Rafe follows your gaze with confusion, and his posture stiffens when he realizes what you're looking at, what you discovered. Instantly, he frowns as he side steps just enough to block your view of the photos, of the fish. But the damage has already been done, and your breath hitches as you immediately get the confirmation you need to open your heart up.

All of a sudden, you're blurting it out. 

“Elliot told me what you said to him.” The lack of clarification has Rafe raising a brow, to which you add, “About what happened with Yara.”

Rafe’s breath hitches. 

“Is it true?” Your voice is so small that it doesn’t sound like you. 

“Which part?”

“All of it.” You take a cautious step closer, the tequila running through your bloodstream giving you the confidence. 

Rafe doesn’t answer, instead he cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes trail down your body in calculation, gears working overtime in his head as he soaks in your words, the sliver of desperation coating your tone, the way you're playing with the hem of his hoodie, your brows etched in slight worry as you anticipate his response.

Then, it clicks with him, eyes slightly widening at the realization. The reasoning behind your acute coldness towards him wasn’t out of unrequited feelings, but rather the latter.

You cared too much, felt too much. 

The thought gives him whiplash. You must've seen him and Yara in that godforsaken closet and gotten the complete wrong impression on the matter. His heart fucking lurches at your wordless confession, and no wonder you were so apprehensive about his words, about his intentions, and pushed him away at every single opportunity that presented itself because of a stupid miscommunication, because of her stupid actions.

“Is that why you were upset?” He takes it further and steps closer. “At your nonna’s, you said you were upset about something that made you tell your mom about us. You saw us? In the closet?”

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Is that why?”

You can’t speak, not while he’s practically caging you in, standing so broad and tall in front of you that it renders you speechless. He faintly smells of shampoo, an intoxicating scent, and you can almost see yourself in the reflection of his thinly wired glasses, only shielding his bright blue eyes through shiny glass. His hoodie swallows you whole, and you're grateful for the extra layer that feels like it’s warding off the vulnerability you're reeking of.

All you can manage is a small nod. 

Rafe clenches his jaw, and a part of you fears you've said the wrong thing. 

But then his eyes immediately soften as he brings a hand up to hover over your jaw, almost in muscle memory, as if he's been paining him to not do so, to not touch you.

For fuck's sake, he almost looks relieved.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You nearly snort at the simplicity. For a number of reasons, really, but the biggest one comes first.

“I was embarrassed. I thought you didn’t mean what you said in the ballroom.”

Your voice is so quiet that you almost think he doesn’t hear it, especially when he gives no reaction for a few seconds.

Then his palm is pressing harder, fully allowing himself to touch you. And, god, you can't help but lean into the embrace with a long sigh through your nose, not breaking eye contact with him as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, over the wound that’s practically all healed with little to no remnants of the disaster that occurred in that bathroom all that time ago. 

A flicker of pain etches over his face at the reminder of the cut, of what your own mother did, but then his eyes trail back up to meet yours, now glossing with certainty.

“Nothing happened with Yara,” he reassures firmly. 

You nod, sure of yourself now. “I know.”

“All I could think about was you.”

You can’t breathe. 

Cautiously, Rafe leans down to test the waters, and once you make no move to pull away from his touch, he indulges in his endeavors to brush his lips against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“About your pretty smile.” He pulls back to move to your other cheek. “Your pretty laugh.” To your forehead. “About how being with someone else made me sick.”

The air escapes your lungs. 

“I meant what I said.” Rafe pulls back so he can meet your eye, a flicker of worry glossing over his pretty eyes, but nonetheless filled with determination. “Every word.”

You can’t help your second nature and let a sliver of panic let up. 

“I thought you didn’t want to date in college.”

The excuse is meek, you know that, he knows that. It’s a last ditch effort for him to truly understand what he’s getting himself into. 

But he's serious. Not a fraction of uncertainty glosses over his pretty features, or give you any shroud of doubt that he didn't mean what he said on that ballroom floor. With the firmness of his palm against your burning skin, the narrowed yet softness gaze in his blue eyes, and the way his other fingers on his other hand twitch in your direction tell you all that you need to know: that he's fucking missed you as much as you've missed him.

And – normally – that thought would scare you and send you running for the hills with a heartbeat too erratic and a mind too gone, but now it only solidifies you, grounds you, keeps you tethered to the boy standing in front of you. He's handing you a proverbial knife and hoping you don't stab him with it, and you have once before, but now you don't dream of letting it happen again.

“I didn’t,” he confirms cautiously. “Not until you showed me what it could be like.”

If it’s possible, you lean further into his touch, frowning in your overwhelming blossom of emotions. The thought of being wanted by someone settles a foreign feeling in your gut, wavering between pride and uncertainty. 

“I want you, too,” you whisper, nearly sighing at how he visibly relaxes at your words, but your voice remains shy. “But I’m scared.”

Rafe pinches his brows in the slightest at your tone. “Of what, baby?”

The words die in your throat.

The list is endless, really, piling with a million excuses that only grow by the second. Where can you begin? How the idea of someone wanting more than just your body is evidently unheard of? How the concept of more implies putting up with the ugly parts of life, the parts you push deep down and never let see the light of day?

Your hands find his unoccupied one, holding onto your lifeline as if it'll fucking kill you if you let go. 

“I don’t know how to be more than just…a body.”

That makes him frown. Immediately. 

Despite it, you continue.

"All my life, I've just been..." You try and find the right words, avoiding his eyes and looking down at your connected hands instead at the weight of your upcoming words. "I've never been wanted, or yearned for, or anyone's first choice. It's really hard for me to believe that someone...that you...would want me..."

Rafe reels.

Have you really thought this entire time that he’s only here for the sex? That that’s all you're good for? All you're worthy of being loved for? 

How can you not see how much more you are? How much you mean to him? Don't you know that you occupy his mind at every waking moment? That you're the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up in the morning to the last thing he sees at night, and how he shuts his eyes when he’s alone and pretends you're right there beside him, holding his hand or scratching his back or playing with his hair.

Don't you know how much he loves you?

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmurs gently before leaning forward, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug that makes you oof against his chest, getting pulled taut against him. “How can you say that? How can you even think–? When I can’t even–” He grips you tighter. “Fuck.”

Your confusion is through the roof at his desperation. “Rafe, are you–”

“Do you even know how much you mean to me?”

That silences you. 

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he says in a wrangled breath. “Ever. I don’t know how to trust people. I don’t like to and I don’t know how. But with you, it’s never felt easier.”

A large hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and your heart lurches when you can feel a slight tremble. 

Especially when he murmurs your name so quietly, so ardently, that you can't help but just listen.

“You’re so much more than a body.” Rafe’s voice is quiet yet firm and it makes you fumble at the sincerity. “You’re smart. You remember things better than anyone I’ve ever met. You wouldn’t admit it, but you’re actually sweet. You take care of things and people you deeply appreciate. I’ve never seen someone so delicately handle a ceramic fish before.”

You shakily chuckle against his chest. 

“And the thought of not being around you anymore really scared me. And even if you...didn't feel the same," he says low, "I wouldn't have minded, as long as I could be in the same room or exist in the same friend group, it wouldn't...matter. As long as I could still see you.” 

Rafe finally relents on his grip, pulling back a fraction and taking his hand to gently grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him and face the ferocity of his words, as if they didn't just fucking crush you in a way you've never felt before. 

“I liked being with you.” His stare is piercing. “Existing together. Doing all of it.”

You hum. On instinct, you reach up to brush some hair out of his eyes.

Rafe’s heart pounds. “Tell me,” he says, voice dripping in desperation. “Tell me it was real to you.”

You nod instantly. “It was real. All of it.”

He sucks in a breath at the verity, and goes to say something else but you don't let him, instead pulling him down to kiss him. 

And, god, it’s exhilarating. 

All of your fears, all of your doubts, all of your uncertainties that plagues yours and his heart, mind, soul all fly out of the window. You can finally lean into one another without the steel weights cursing your shoulders or the cage locking in your hearts. The kiss is a wordless promise, an oath, a safety net. 

His hands are everywhere instantly: arms, waist, face. Not an inch goes unnoticed as he finally, finally can touch you again, feel you again, hear you again. Your hands trail up to the nape of his neck, holding yourself here in his arms as if to remind yourself this is real and happening. He’s here, right here, and he’s not going anywhere, nor is he letting you go anywhere. 

As much as it scares you, the tension in your shoulders slowly release. 

You slowly back him up until his knees hit his desk chair, Rafe taking the hint and sitting down and wasting no time to pull you into his lap. It's muscle memory at this point, molding yourself onto his body. You both sigh at the sensation of the familiarity.

Straddling him, you place your hands on his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt as his hands trail up and down your side, settling under your – his – hoodie and skimpy tank top to feel the ridges of your ribcage, a connection he's been yearning to make ever since his hands left your body last. His palms are hot against your icy skin, sending a plethora of goosebumps up your spine.

Rafe simply stares at you, watching you admire the planes and grooves of his shoulder muscles, his biceps, anything you can get your hands on to make up for lost time spent pining in silence.

When you finally meet his eye, you shyly smile when you notice him already shamelessly looking right back at you. 

One of your hands cradles his jaw, fingers gently skimming over the lenses of his glasses. “I like these.”

Rafe groans, rolling his eyes and darting his gaze away. “I hate them.” 

“Why?” You nudge his cheek to force him to look at you. “I think they make you look handsome.”

“They make me look stupid.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. They're glasses."

"Still stupid."

"You should wear them more often,” you demand lightly.

Rafe frowns. “No.”

“Well, don’t they help you see?”

“Obviously, but–”

You smile, and he’s having trouble focusing. “Then case closed.”

His lips twitch. “Sweet girl,” Rafe warns.

There’s no backbone to it. 

“Don’t sweet girl me,” you warn right back at him. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you bring them?”

Instead he cocks his head to the side with a teasing smile.

“Are you really that interested in my optical choices or is this your sweet little way of getting in my pants?”

You snort. “We both know I don’t have to be sweet to get into your pants.”

Rafe laughs boyishly and you love the sound. But he’s still avoiding your question. 

“Answer.”

“Bossy.”

“Rafe.”

“Okay,” he huffs playfully, “I didn't really have to bring them. I only need them when I’m reading or writing a lot. My eyes get tired.”

You pout endearingly. “That’s, like, the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard–”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” You lean forward and press a slow chaste kiss on his lips. 

Of course, he can’t even fathom pulling away and mmrphs low into your mouth, leaning up to chase your lips again for another kiss when you lean back. You hum at his neediness, but giving in anyway and slightly parting your lips to give him all the access he wants.

Rafe wastes no time in doing so, a hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck to guide your movements as he lazily makes out with you as if he has all the time in the world to do so. The warmth of his mouth, his body, his palm nearly make you melt in your very spot, a wave of relief washing over you.

You decide that you love this spot right here on his lap. Your favorite seat. Your throne. 

When you happily hum again, Rafe kisses you harder, squeezes a little harder. 

“God,” he mumbles against your lips, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

The possessiveness makes your stomach pool with pride. All his. All yours. No one else's but each other's.

You can’t help but tease him. “I don’t remember you asking me officially.”

“You’re still mine.”

And Rafe kisses you again. Harder. A mark of his words. 

“Say it,” he demands quietly against your lips. 

And you just fucking beam. “I’m yours.” Your fingers splay through his hair. “All yours, Rafey.”

Scoffing, he turns his head away as you chuckle at his reddening cheeks, peppering kisses on his cheek, jaw, lips, anywhere available for you to coat in markings of you, you, you.

“Stop calling me that,” Rafe murmurs, but loses all the edge in his tone because the feeling of you pressing your lips all over him sends his mind for a loop.

You simply hum. “No. You have so many names for me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you like those.” 

“Who says I do?”

“Be so fucking for real.”

The laugh that escapes your mouth is loud and boisterous, probably waking up someone on your floor. But Rafe can care less because the sound is music to his ears, despite you jesting at his expense. Shit, you can make fun of him all you want if this is how you're gonna react, smiling and sitting pretty in his lap whilst drowning in his clothes, kissing him like he hung the stars himself. 

You playfully slap his shoulder. “Whatever. But I’m still going to call you–”

“No.”

“Yes. When you’re least expecting it.”

Rafe hums low, a warning.

Shrugging, you suppress a smile. “What? I gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

“Shut up.” Then, softer. “C’mere.”

You laugh incredulously. “I’m already here.”

You nearly have the gall to laugh again when he ever-so-slightly pouts, but it all dies in your throat when he’s tugging you impossibly closer, resting your face in the crook of his neck as his hands splay wide and broad on your back. It takes you one, two seconds to register his actions, and you find yourself melting at the notion of Rafe Cameron hugging you.

It feels so achingly familiar that you can’t help but sigh in contentment, letting your eyes shut for a few moments as you feel his chest heave in and out with his low syncopated breaths. 

Your heart lurches at the action, pressing yourself impossibly tight against him in fear he's going to disappear if you inch back even in the slightest. He takes a particularly deep breath, one of relief almost, your chests brushing together even closer than before. It makes you hum, pressing another kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

You speak before you register it. "Thank you."

His hands gently rub up and down your back. "For what, baby?"

"For..." You swallow the lump in your throat. "For not running."

Your words make him frown, and he eases you back so he can look you in the eye, confusion glosses over his features as one of his hands reaches up to cradle your face, forcing you to look at him when you turn your head away in embarrassment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. "Gonna take a cavalry to get rid of me."

A smile twitches at the end of your lips.

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, letting it linger there for a moment before moving back up to meet your eyes, but before he can do anything else, you're already leaning in and severing the distance.

Rafe's large hand holds you in place, reciprocating your kiss with more fervor than before that makes his breath hitch. Your hips barely – just barely – move in tandem with his that has his hand gripping your waist, stopping your moments immediately.

You lean back at his sudden apprehension, almost shy. "What?"

"Don't- Don't do that," he answers meekly.

Of course, you've never been one to listen.

You roll your hips again.

His other hand leaves your face to grab your waist, both of his palms and all of his fingers digging deep into your flesh to cease your movements. His face is uncharacteristically scrunched in pain at the reluctancy of initiating what he's been dreaming about since the last time you had him.

You notice immediately. "What's wrong?"

Rafe's eyes dart between yours, sucking in a breath as he looks at you. "I don't want to hurt you again."

The words confuse you. Tilting your head to the side, you try and rack your brain on where this sudden approach is coming from, where the sudden apprehension stems from. The expression on his face tells you that he's holding back, he's pained, haunted by something you can't conjecture.

"You haven't hurt me," you tell him earnestly, a little confused, but one-hundred percent honest.

He furrows his brows. "...The day of the wedding?"

What?

You only look at him in befuddlement, mind trailing off when you replay the course of events of the day in your head. The only thing that would pertain to his words was when he fucked you deep and rough that morning because you asked him to. It had felt good. Too good. It was when you realized you were in too deep and it scared the shit out of you.

"Rafe," you say slowly, "what are you talking about?"

He looks pained even repeating it. "You cried. After we..." He shakes the thought away. "There were teardrops on your pillow."

The confession makes your heart skip.

That's why he was so weird with you for the entire day? Why he kept himself at an arm's length and could barely look you in the eye when you lounged together on the beach? Because he thought he'd hurt you? Made you cry? When you were upset for the complete opposite reason?

You frown at his anecdote, hurt that he's had to carry this miscommunicated guilt with him for a week, unknowing to the real reason, and under the complete wrong impression of your feelings.

Before you know it, your hands are reaching up to cradle each side of his face tenderly.

"That wasn't because of you," you whisper ardently, almost pained that he's been thinking that the whole time. "Not at all."

But Rafe doesn't seem to believe that. "I was too hard."

"No," you say immediately, shaking your head to emphasize your point. "No, you were too gentle."

That makes him furrow his brows.

At his silence, you continue with a deep breath.

"I thought that if I asked for it rough, it would let me get over my feelings for you, to remind me that it had to just be sex." Your voice is impossibly quiet yet firm. "But you didn't treat me like another fuck, you made sure I had what I needed, said all of these beautiful things, treated me impossibly gentle afterward."

The pad of your thumb brushes over his cheekbone.

"I cried because I was scared," you admit gently. "Not of you. Never of you. But of my feelings. You didn't make it easy for me to try and stop liking you."

A smile twitches at the end of his lips.

"So," he says quietly after a moment, "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head earnestly to confirm. "No. I'm sorry that I let you believe that you did."

His eyes blink, soaking in the weight of your words with a slow nod, the gears in his head turning as he gradually lets himself understand that it wasn't his hands that orchestrated your tears. He didn't hurt you. You are fine.

"You're okay," Rafe drawls out cautiously. "Right?"

Your nod is immediate. "Yes. Always with you."

That seems to make the tension in his shoulders release bit by bit, relaxing under your touch and allowing himself to believe you, believe that it wasn't what he thought it was, believe that he didn't hurt you.

"Okay?" You ask gently, confirming that he understands what you're saying.

Now he does, nodding against your touch and letting his hands experimentally skim your waist, easing up on his grip, and letting them venture over the smoothness of your skin. He waits a beat for you to pull back, to tell him to stop, but you don't.

Instead, you press yourself down onto him, making his breath catch.

It's out of clarity, certainty, especially when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss on his lips, a confirmation of your truth. He leans up to chase your mouth, and he's successful when you close the distance, allowing his tongue access to your mouth as teeth clashes against teeth, a wave of passion emerging like a tidal wave at the notion that he didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you.

"Fuck," Rafe mutters against your lips when you roll your hips once more. "You're going to fucking kill me. I swear."

Experimentally, he grips your waist and moves you back and forth against his already hardening dick, and when you don't pull back or voice your discomfort, he allows himself a deep exhale, allows himself to soak into the moment, allows himself to enjoy the feel of you, you, you.

"I missed you," you nearly whisper before you can stop it, the vulnerability feeling foreign on your tongue. "Missed this."

Rafe groans against your lips. "Me too, baby." He kisses you again as you moan quietly into his mouth as he continues guiding your movements against him. "Let me show you, mhm?"

Anticipation pools in your stomach, blossoming in your gut and sending warmth down to where your body touches his.

You're barely nodding before his hands venture down to your ass, holding you taut against him as he stands, your grip tightening around his neck like a koala and wrapping your legs around his middle. In seconds, your back hits the mattress, his knee is slotting between your thighs, and his lips are on yours again.

It's so familiar, so achingly familiar that you cannot believe you went so long without it, without him.

You arch into his chest, bodies molding together as puzzle pieces connect. A hand flies to his hair, tugging the strands gently that makes him omit a low groan into your mouth, one hand shamelessly groping one of your breasts under his hoodie and the other bracing himself over your body, barely hovering.

Rafe pulls back just slightly, a flicker of irritation coating his pretty face as he leans up to take his glasses off, ones that have slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to annoy him.

But you react before you realize it.

"Wait," you say, leaning up a tad for emphasis, a hand coming up to cradle his face and gingerly skim the metal as he freezes. "Keep them on."

A teasing smile twitches at his lips. "Seriously?"

You sheepishly nod, biting your lip.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, amused gaze darting between your eyes at the request.

"Please?" You add sweetly.

The scoff that leaves his mouth makes you suppress a grin, knowing how that one word makes him feel and using it to your advantage. He shakes his head in disbelief at you, but his faux irritation proves to be fruitless as a smirk can't help but grow on his lips.

"Can't say no to that, hm, sweet girl?" He murmurs, half in playfulness and the other half in adoration.

You shake your head slowly at him, your grin fading into something shy, as if asking for what you want proved to be difficult.

But he wouldn't dream of denying you that. Ever. Especially when you asked so nicely, so sweetly, just for him. Who is he to say no? Hell, you could've asked him for a car in that same tone and he wouldn't hesitate to ask what color, make, and model.

So Rafe indulges your request, pushing the glasses up further on the bridge of his nose and leaning down to connect your lips for the umpteenth time, nearly grinning when you let out a satisfied mmrph at him letting you get what you want. His hands are everywhere they can reach, groping and mapping out the curves of your body and nearly moaning at the softness of your skin.

"Can't believe you're mine," he murmurs against your lips, sending a shockwave down your spine as his thumb brushes over your nipple. "All mine."

"Yours," you whisper sultry, needy, desperately, nearly bucking up into him.

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sound of it, pushing the hem of your – his – hoodie to reveal your chest, and you sit up to aide him in taking it off. The act is deliberately thorough, as his calloused palms smooth over your skin, gingerly pushing it up over your head. Your tank top is next. Then, your bra. Then your jeans. Before you know it, you're almost completely nude, simply left in your light blue underwear and exposed in the cool air of his room.

All he can do is stare at your bareness, letting out an appreciative hum as one hand grabs a breast, his cool ring ghosting over your nipple that causes you to sigh deeply, eyes raking from your stomach, to your chest, and eventually back up to your face, where you peer up at him in anticipation. His hand gropes you meaningfully, as if he's studying the feel of the swell in his palm, relishing in your warmth.

"You're so beautiful," Rafe admires gently, almost to himself, before leaning down and taking the other breast in his mouth.

The words make your heart skip a beat, but you shove down the feeling as you arch into his mouth that licks and bites and sucks against the soft skin, a hand in his hair to keep yourself grounded, keep yourself tethered to him. No inch of your chest goes unnoticed, untouched, ignored.

Rafe is thorough in his appreciation, and as lovely as it is, you're growing impatient with need as you writhe underneath him.

"Want you," you whine under your breath, not like he can hear you anyway as it comes out as an incoherent babble, but figuring it's better than saying his name over and over like a mantra, but it proves fruitless when he albeit hums. "Rafe?"

"Yes, baby?" He asks lazily in between kisses as if he has all the time in the world.

"I want... I..."

He etches lower and lower on your body until his mouth is ghosting over your clothed cunt, a low hum emitted from his mouth as he presses a kiss against the wet patch on your underwear, greedily inhaling and exhaling hot breath that makes you squirm. By the looks of it, he's pleased at the sight of you eager for him, ready for him, squirming for him.

Instead of responding, he licks and sucks against the cotton of your panties, against the spot he knows makes you crumble all the same. You moan raggedly, almost embarrassed at the volume given the fact that you've just started, given that he's doing this over your clothes.

"Words," Rafe mumbles teasingly, the baritone of his voice vibrating your core with such fervor that it makes your back arch and your fingers grip a little harder in his hair. "What d'ya want, hm?"

"You," you manage to say, breathless and writhing. "Need you."

His nimble fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down achingly slow until they're fully off, discarded somewhere carelessly as he resumes his position between your legs, taking in the sight of you: so pretty looking down at him, cunt glistening with need, face flush with anticipation.

One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as his mouth ghosts over your core.

"You have me," is all he says before closing the distance.

You moan at the contact, as his tongue plunges deep where you need him and his nose brushes against your clit. The taste of you has him groaning into your heat, the rumble causing your eyes to roll back at the sensation. The sound is obscene, especially when he eats like a starved man, like he's been depraved of his favorite meal, like he's ravenous.

"Taste so good, princess," he practically moans into your heat.

It's almost unbearable. You've been so worked up this past week at the thought of him, the thought of never being able to make things right, the thought of losing something you can't help but love. The wave of relief that washes over you only augments your pleasure, because your worries dissipate and you allow yourself to enjoy this, enjoy him, enjoy what he can give you.

One of his hands venture up your body to grab a breast, as if he can't allow his hands to be unoccupied, to not feel and dote on you with every fiber of his being. The added pleasure makes your eyes roll back involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you whisper so quietly that it's barely audible.

Your other hand covers his, gripping the back of his hand and squeezing tight to wordlessly reciprocate your want, your need, your appreciation.

His other hand comes to aide his mouth, maneuvering his body so he can both use his fingers as they glide in with ease, and his tongue that can't bear to separate just yet. It makes you whine so beautifully that his hips stutter forward against the mattress, groaning low into your cunt at the sudden sensation.

As Rafe sucks and laps and fingers you so brazenly, you let out a ragged breath at the plethora of pleasantries, suddenly hit with how nice everything feels, how the combination of his mouth, plunging fingers, and the hand fondling your breast start the familiar coil bubbling in your core.

"Fuck," you curse at the intensity, and how quickly it builds. "Please, I-I-"

Your hips writhe under his touch as you let out a particularly broken whine, chest heaving as you get closer and closer to your release.

"I know, baby," he murmurs low, almost strained.

Gasping, you momentarily lose breath at the speed of it, gripping his hand that's on your breast tighter, affirming how quickly you're approaching your high with your body language, one that he seems to understand quite well, something he's come to know better than a lot of other things in life. He's well versed in your tendencies, a pride he wears with his chest.

"Rafe," you whine as your orgasm comes closer, and closer, and closer. "I'm-"

You don't finish the sentence, and you don't even hear if he responds, because your orgasm hits you so quickly, so blindly, that your back arches off the mattress, a tidal wave of ecstasy flooding your veins and searing hot in your core. Your heartbeat is up to your ears, and he could be saying the secrets to the universe and you'd simply have no idea. It's pulsating, inebriating, because you don't hide behind a curtain of shame of how much you need him, not anymore, and that makes the release tenfold.

Despite your writhing hips, Rafe is able to lap up every drop, groaning deep into your cunt at the taste of you, of how nice you feel against his fingers, against his tongue, how pretty you sound as you let him hear you louder than ever.

Lazily, he licks and sucks you through the aftershock, nearly grinning at how your thighs tremble against his head and your ragged breaths ease from the intensity. Your thumb rubs absentminded circles on his hand, a gesture so fucking sweet that he reciprocates by placing a chaste kiss against your cunt, eyeing it for a moment as a brief goodbye before he sighs a hot breath against it.

"You did so well, sweet girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your body while turning his palm in your hand to gingerly lace his fingers through yours, squeezing once, twice, three times until his mouth is against your neck, sucking that sweet spot that makes you shiver.

You practically shake underneath him, still attempting to return to planet earth.

Rafe's nose nudges your jaw. "You okay?"

You exhale a noise that you think is affirmation, but frankly you're still trying to screw your head on straight after hearing your heartbeat in your ears, shuddering under his grounding touch that sends electricity through your already amplified veins.

"Yes," you start breathlessly, "I-I've just been– my brain– I couldn't... I need to..."

Rafe's face is suddenly inches from yours, practically beaming down at your incoherent babbling with a knowing glance, one that affirms just how nice he fucks you (your words, not his, as you've so graciously told him once). It's proving true now, as he takes in the sight of your gazed expression and bleary eyes, chest swelling with pride.

Watching you attempt to figure out your words all breathless and pouty, he can't help but let his gloating simmer into something more affectionate, something softer that he seems to only reserve for you. It's fascinating to see you like this, completely unguarded and fucked out and beautiful, nonetheless.

"Couldn't what?" He eggs on, heart blooming at the state of you.

"It doesn't matter," you mutter absentmindedly as you slip your hand out of his to paw at his chest, still recovering from the dizziness of your brain, movements sluggish as you reach down for the tent in his sweatpants while your eyesight slowly returns to normal. "C'mere, I–"

"Easy," he drawls out amusingly, taking the trembling hand that reaches for his dick and lacing his fingers through yours instead. "You're shaking."

You blink through your frustration, your vision returning (almost). "I'm not– I– You're being withholding."

His grin is impossibly wide. "I'm sorry, sweet girl." He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I'll give you another, just catch your breath, yeah?"

Your struggle is obvious, and your desperation even more, because you've missed him so fucking bad and all you want to do is feel him irrevocably, completely, ardently. The realization is pathetic, you know, but you figure that you're past the point of being shy, especially with him, who has seen you at your all.

You frown, spluttering, utterly flustered at his nonchalance, especially when his unoccupied hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, running the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth. "Wh– No, I don't want another, I want–"

"You don't want another?"

Groaning, you flush under his piercing stare. "No, I– Ugh, Rafe. I want you."

"Me?" Rafe repeats in faux surprise, brows raised playfully. "Could've just asked."

You roll your eyes so hard it only makes you a little more dizzy, trying really hard to appear angry but it goes nowhere when a hint of a smile ghosts your lips. And it only grows when he leans in, placing a long, chaste kiss on you, and you melt into it when you taste yourself, lungs wound tight. You figure you can breathe later.

He notices immediately, pulling back with a boyish chuckle that makes your chest feel funny. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"Do it again," you mumble shyly, eyelids heavy with desire. "Please."

And he does. Immediately.

You albeit whine into his mouth as he reciprocates the noise at the sound of it, squeezing your hand once more and the gesture nearly kills you as you practically pout into his mouth at the sweetness of it. With your mind airy and lungs breathless, all you can think about is Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, how he kisses you, how he touches you, how his voice sounds reverberated against your body.

It's incriminatingly intoxicating to be surrounded by him in all of your senses: his hand laced in your own, his breathy whimpers against your lips when your hand trails to the hem of his shirt to brush against his bare abdomen, teasing the waistline of his sweats. You're caught in a whirlwind of him, drowning in his scent and caged in by his arms.

You realize quickly, as you've noted before, that Rafe Cameron should come with a warning.

He pulls back, and you're about to protest until you see he's moving to take his shirt off in one swift motion, sick of the cotton barrier between your chests. As he begins to take his sweats and boxers off, you sit up, idly waiting for him as you tuck your legs underneath you. The sight of his cock hard and aching, dripping pre-cum off the tip, has you shamelessly staring, as you let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Rafe notices your change in position, patiently waiting all pretty and breathless and brazenly looking at his dick, and he can't help but tilt his head and stare at you with an amused gleam in his eye.

When he makes no effort to move, your eyes travel back up to meet his to see that they're already staring at you, a piercing gaze that has you biting your lip at the notion of being caught.

"What?" He asks teasingly, searching your face for any indicator of what you want.

But you're apparently good with your words now, or at least better than before.

"Wanna ride you."

The sentence makes Rafe scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head at you as he runs a hand through his hair, practically in awe of you, of your words, of how good you're being for him tonight, how you're starting to ask for things. It makes his chest swell with pride, proud that you feel comfortable enough around him to start voicing your needs, your wants, things that he'll give to you in less than a heartbeat.

Nonetheless, once he's learned how to use his brain again, he leans forward, turning his body so he's sitting up against the headboard and extending an arm for you almost immediately.

Which you graciously take, gripping his forearm as you crawl onto his lap, sucking in a breath when his dick is the only thing in between your two stomachs. You can't help but stare down at it, bringing a hand to grip his length like you've been dreaming about for days, letting out a deep sigh that makes your hot breath fan over his tip.

Rafe lets out a low moan, gripping your hips impossibly tight as he watches you spread the pre-cum off his tip with your thumb, spreading it down his length and jerking him off at a painfully slow pace that nearly has his hips bucking at the sensation of it. The sight of your hand wrapped around him nearly makes his brain shut off, dumbifying him to the point where all he can do is pathetically whine as you hold his dignity in the palm of your hand.

A particular tight squeeze makes him tense underneath you, eyes screwing shut for a moment to compose himself as one of his hands leaves your hips to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movements altogether.

Your head whips up, pouting. "What?"

Rafe just shakes his head, almost pained as he can't even get the words out.

But you understand him, and you pout. "But I want to."

"Sweet girl."

You hum, looking back down as you feel his hand push your wrist down, down, down until, with some adjusting, his cock is sliding in between your folds.

The sensation makes you both moan shamelessly, your lashes fluttering as your eyes roll shut. Your stomach pools in warmth for the anticipation, especially when your hips rock back and forth against him to coat his cock with the remnants of your previous orgasm, mixing it with the pre-cum that you graciously spread on him. The feeling, almost on command, makes him practically shudder underneath you.

Rafe whines out a curse, and if you weren't so light-headed you'd think he's begging. "Feel so nice already, making me go crazy."

Frankly, the stubborn part of you wants to elongate this as much as possible, but as you feel your prior orgasm practically dripping onto his length, it's clear that you're in no position to withhold him from experiencing the same euphoria. All you want to do is give back what he did for you, how he made you feel, to wordlessly tell him how much you appreciate him, yearn for him, want him to be taken care of.

With shaky hands, you guide his cock to your entrance, not wasting another second before you're slowly sinking down onto his length.

"Shit," he murmurs shakily against your lips, his grip iron tight on your hips – borderline, your ass – as he feels you lower inch by inch. "Oh my fucking god, holy fuck. Taking me so goddamn well."

It isn't until you feel him fully bottom out when you're letting out a ragged breath, one that you were unaware you were holding at the intensity of the feeling, of the stretch, of how much more you can feel him in this position, his cock hitting places unknown as you still on his lap, soaking in the moment of simply being full of him, relishing in the notion of how nice it is to be in your favorite spot.

Your arms sling around his neck, draped over his shoulders to impossibly taut yourself to his chest as you place a chaste kiss on his lips, one that he can't even reciprocate because he's still sharply breathing, still not over how well you're taking him and how perfect you feel around him. It's, understandably, making his brain all fuzzy, and all he can try and concentrate on is not coming in this given moment.

So, no, he doesn't kiss you back. He can't.

Instead, he shakily exhales against your lips, gently shaking his head when you cheshire-cat grin at him, attempting to roll your hips in retaliation but his grip on your hips is iron. Part of you relishes in the marks you're going to wake up to, imprinted by him, and greedily want to and move again to get him to dig deeper, to be able to feel the reminders of him in the morning.

You try. He holds you still even harder.

"Just- Fuck," Rafe groans. "Gimme a minute, wanna feel you."

You pout, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the simplicity of his words, yet find yourself obeying. Leaning back a fraction, you take a moment to take a selfish peek at him: blue eyes blown black with lust, hair falling onto his forehead in messy waves that you brush back gingerly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose that you fix silently, lips parted and swollen from all the activity he's been engaging in with them.

He looks unequivocally fucked out. You assume you look equally as such.

Without thinking, your arms retract from their position around his neck, slithering up the sides of his neck and letting your hands cradle each side of his jaw, holding his face in place as your thumbs absentmindedly trace circles, squares, triangles on the soft skin. You simply stare at him, admire him, wait for him to give you the green light to continue moving.

And Rafe doesn't think he's ever been held like this before.

It does something irreversible in his chest, a pang of an unknown emotion jolting through his skin like electricity as he simply sits under your touch, teetering between wanting to explode with admiration and shutting down altogether to sulk in the feeling. He's sure you have no idea what you're doing to him, and whether you mean to or not, he's sure there's nothing better on the planet than this, than the feel of you wrapped around him, holding him, grounding him.

His hands move up and down your spine, tracing vertebrae bone by bone in a delicacy he never knew he possessed. As his heart pounds in his chest, his mind morphs to mush, and the only thing he can conjecture is that he is, irrevocably, yours for the rest of his life. There's frankly no doubt about it, and the thought makes his lashes flutter shut to truly soak in the physicality of it all.

He feels you place a feather-light kiss on his lips, and before you can pull back to continue to give him the moment to gather himself, he's chasing the kiss and closing the distance again.

This time, Rafe's the one moaning into your mouth, especially as you accidentally shift your hips when kissing him back. At the slight movement, his impatience is suddenly through the roof as his hands venture down to your ass, slowly starting to guide your motions up and down, back and forth, taking him in ways that has his eyes rolling back.

Your thighs aide his movements for about a minute, but soon begin to tremble as your bounces get needier, kisses become breathless, sighs turn into whimpers. Calloused palms roam the entirety of your body, groping and rolling the flesh of your ass in tandem with your movements, slithering up your ribcage to squeeze and suck on your bouncing tits, down to where your bodies connect to press a firm thumb on your clit.

That right there makes you whine so gutturally deep where his hips unexpectedly jerk into you, his cock – somehow – burying deeper inside you to a spot unreached before.

Rafe moans your name like a mantra, like it's the only word he knows.

It makes your brain fuzzy, as your neediness takes over and your conscience is on autopilot. You say something, but it comes out like an incoherent babble, something insignificant and probably pertaining to how good he feels, as you continue to shift your hips up and down to take his full length, lift up to where his tip barely pokes out, only to sink back down onto him again. Over, and over, and over.

Your arms sling back over his shoulders, lazily linking behind his neck as one of his hands snakes around your back to pull you impossibly closer while the other works your clit, thumb pressing on it so firmly that you momentarily see stars at the ferocity of it all. Nails scratching the smooth skin of his back, you almost break skin at the attempt to pull him closer, as the need for more, more, more stems from the coil beginning to rumble in your stomach.

"Rafe," you gasp, sucking in a breath as you feel the familiar sensation bubbling. "Feel so full, feels so good."

"You feel like a dream," he mumbles shakily against your lips, hips jerking up into you as you recognize that he must be close. "Never gonna– fuck. Can't believe you were– and I was– oh my god, oh m– You feel so fucking nice– I'm gonna–"

Your chest is light, core on fire. "Something's– I feel– I–"

For a second, your eyes roll back as a searing hot sensation floods your lower half, and you momentarily only see white as you feel your body practically give out and lean forward onto his, gasping into the crevice of his neck as his hips slam into you from underneath. Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulder blades as firmly as you can muster with your little-to-no strength in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Your whines are loud and straight pornographic at the branding fire feeling in your cunt.

Did you just come?

Given the heat overwhelming your core and the bundle of nerves shooting electricity through your veins, you think you just did. With your heartbeat in your ears, the sound of Rafe's shameless moans feel like they're underwater as you're practically putty in his grasp, both of his arms bear-wrapped around you as he thruuuuusts up into you with such intensity, such fervor, that you think he just came, too.

Spots blur your vision as you moan into the hot skin of his neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, only now feeling the hot spurts of his cum gushing into you with every upwards thrust of his, and you can't deny how fucking good it feels to be full of him – to be really full of him – as the sensation is burning hot and tempestuous and everything you've needed.

Your chest heaves at the intensity, clawing at his upper back for some sort of leverage that you're not sure will do anything to aide your limp body. His hips grind up into your core, and once you gain some sort of semblance back from practically passing out from the orgasm he just gave you, you realize he's been speaking the entire time.

You happen to catch the tail end of his words.

"–ve you, I fucking– I– fuck-" Rafe whines, and the sound vibrates your lips that are pressed against his vocal cord. "It's like you're made for me, feel so fucking nice, so pretty on top of me, I– fuck. How could I– When you–? With the–? Oh my god, oh my fucking god."

All you can respond with is a low moan, overstimulated as you come down from your earth-shattering orgasm as he fucks himself using you through his, his cum leaking out of you and spilling down your thighs and onto his lower stomach. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, breathless at how much you both came at the same time.

His bucking gradually ceases, becoming less and less grandiose and eventually settling in stillness as his chest heaves against yours. You register his hands trailing up and down your back soothingly, lips pressed to your hairline and placing chaste kisses with sweet nothings riddled between them. Your eyes flutter shut, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck that makes goosebumps adorn his arms.

The two of you sit like this for a minute, mentally coming down from the daze your simultaneous orgasms put you through. Once your vision returns to normal (i.e. you're no longer seeing stars every time you open your eyes to try and look at him), you gently press the palm of your hands to his shoulders, pushing yourself up off his chest to sit up and find some semblance of independence.

Your brain is foggy, no doubt, as you hazardously sway as you blink at him, heart racing as you discover he's already looking at you.

"Holy shit," you murmur, dazed and fighting exhaustion.

He exhales shakily. "I know."

You manage a wry smile. "That was-"

"I know," he repeats bashfully, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to push his glasses further up his nose, letting your fingers dwell on the metal sides before bringing it down to cup his jaw. It's as if you're a ghost in your own body, feeling airy and light yet wrecked all the same, shaking as if you've been left in the freezing cold with no amenities, shaking as if he just gave you the best orgasm you've ever had.

Noticing your frailness, you laugh in a self deprecating way. "I think I passed out."

Rafe exhales a shaky chuckle, one of disbelief, as a hand travels up to the side of your neck, keeping your head in place from all the swaying. Though a flicker of concern coats over his eyes at the hazy smile you're flashing him, eyes blinking ferociously as if they're regaining sight.

It makes him frown. "Did you? Are you okay?"

You nod, lazy yet immediate. "Uhm, did you hear me? I think our neighbors are gonna kill us."

A boyish laugh escapes his lips, and he lets himself ease into the fact that you're fine, you're smiling, you're gazing at him like he hung the goddamn stars himself.

His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of your eye, one that you didn't know you had, humming low and sure as his eyes rake over the features of your pretty face. Now, you're left in the stilled silence of your own doing, basking in the aftermath of your actions, of the words that led you to this point. Your heart skips a beat at the vulnerability, knowing it's more than sex, knowing that what you're feeling right now – the gravitational pull towards him – is reciprocated, especially as his gaze softens. It's replaced by something deeper, more raw, cut open for you to do what you please.

The intensity of his stare makes your breath hitch, and, despite literally what just occurred, a wave of shyness overcomes you, averting your gaze down to his chest.

But in your bottom peripheral, you catch a glimpse of the fucking mess.

Your eyes widen, looking down to where your bodies connect. "Oh my god."

His gaze follows lazily, glancing at the sight with nonchalance for his soaked bedsheets, suppressing a shit eating grin as he continues to see small amounts of cum still dripping out of you, as if there's an endless supply of it inside you, continuously adding to the plethora of a mess on his (freshly washed, by the way) bedsheets.

You blink stupidly, attempting to fathom the sheer amount of mere sex all over your lower bodies, all over the sheets, some of it even grazing his abdomen. How did that even get there? How could the two of you produce that much? And – oh, god – is it ever going to come out of his sheets? Fuck, is it leaking through?

But he has no qualm with the matter, and instead beams at the fact.

"That was all you, sweet girl," he teases with a hand skimming the faint bruises starting to form on your hip. "You came so hard. You squir-"

Your hand comes up to cover his mouth.

Your face scrunches up in embarrassment at the word, because you fucking hate the term, and frankly assumed it was a myth for the longest time since you've never done it before, nor have any of your friends. Yet your heart thumps at the possibility that – most of – this mess is from you.

No, it couldn't be. It can't be.

Because if it is, he is never, ever going to let you live it down, and you can count on that for a fact.

Eyeing him quickly and feeling your face flush as he stares right at you, eyes twinkling with amusement, you remove your hand from his mouth and ring your fingers together, looking back down to the sheets with a dismissive scoff.

"I did not," you argue meekly because, frankly, you have no idea if you did or not. You don't even know what that was. "This is all yours."

Rafe's grin is blinding, teasing, fucking proud. "You totally did. Went everywhere, baby."

Face flushing, you groan and throw your hands up to cover your face, hating how hot your skin feels at his laugh and complete nonchalance over the matter.

"Fuck," you murmur as you take in the sight of it. "Are you serious? But I didn't– I don't even– How could I–?"

Instead of answering, he whistles low. "Holy shit, you really did pass out, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as guilt riddles your chest for ruining his sheets. Expensive ones, at that. You're assuming it has a crazy thread-count imported from god-knows-where, as he's the person to get the best of the best of material things as long as he has the means to obtain them. You've always liked sleeping in his room on the random occurrence it would happen, partly because his bed is always so damn comfortable, the sheets definitely having something to do with it.

"I'll wash them" you offer quietly, slight panic settling in now that you're – somewhat – back to normal and coherent enough to register that this is a problem. "I'll buy you new ones-"

But, of course, Rafe simply shakes his head, pressing his palms against your spine to lure you closer, letting the words die in your throat as he tugs you against his lips. He kisses you slow yet meaningful, a wordless promise that he's not mad about something like this, he's not even concerned, barely letting his beaming smile falter at the thought of having to clean it up. He's only thinking about you, you, you.

"No need," he murmurs against your mouth, still fucking grinning. "I'm framing and putting this shit on my wall."

You groan at his words, cheeks unabashedly hot.

"Gonna time-stamp it and everything," he adds just to be a prick. "Wave it around like a flag, and shit."

You want the ground to swallow you whole. "Stop."

"Wear it like armor."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're hot. I mean it, baby. I'm gonna get you to do that every time."

"Rafe."

"What?" He says incredulously as if it isn't the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. "You can't expect me not to go crazy over that, hm?"

You only shake your head at him, but you suppose if the roles were reversed, you'd definitely feel an inclination to drawl out the teasing to a T. After all, riling him up is one of your favorite past-times, as riling you up actually might be his number one.

Eventually, you secede. Especially when he threatens you with another orgasm.

After he cleans you up and delicately dresses you in his own clothes, with wobbly legs you attempt to help him strip the sheets (even though all he told you to do is sit at his desk and look pretty, which you wholeheartedly refused to do) and replace them with his spare set. In an effort to get your shit together, you use the communal restroom to wash up, taking one of his spare toothbrushes – because of course he has one – and using it. He goes into the restroom across the hall, stating he was bored of being alone, to freshen himself up.

When you return to his room with him hot on your tail, you slither back onto the clean sheets and settle under them as if you were made to lay there.

Getting comfortable, you quietly watch him resume his tasks of the night: organizing his notes, taking off his glasses and leaving them askew – to your utter dismay – as his shirt and sweatpants follow, leaving him in boxers, and finally turning off his desk lamp as he navigates through the dark and and climbs into bed beside you. 

It’s muscle memory the way you puzzle-piece your way into each other’s arms. Rafe tugs you impossibly close, placing a chaste kiss on your hairline as your hands splay across his bare chest, nearly sighing in relief at the familiarity. It's unfathomably inviting, it's cloud nine, it's home.

When he starts to twirl your hair with his nimble fingers, you sigh again.

“Tired?” Rafe murmurs gently. 

All you do is nod against his neck, placing a ginger kiss on his vocal cord.

He hums at your sweet gesture, nearly melting at the implication. “Okay, sweet girl. Go to sleep. I'll be up early tomorrow but you can sleep in, m'kay?”

Tomorrow. Early morning. Notes. Glasses.

Fuck. Exam.

Your eyes flutter open as you remember his night before you arrived, all the papers scattered on his desk, the reason he was wearing those godforsaken glasses in the first place, the open textbook on his computer, the entire reason he was up so late in the first place.

A kettlebell settles in your gut.

“Wait.” Rafe hums lazily in response. “What about your exam?”

With a chuckle, he nuzzles into your hair, unbothered.

“Baby, if I don’t know it by now, there’s no use.”

Part of you feels guilty. Guilty about plaguing his conscience for the betterment of a week and – no doubt – pulling his focus from his studies and all of the important shit going on in his life. Guilty about arriving at his door in the middle of the night and – again – pulling his concentration from what he needs to pay attention to in order to get the marks he needs to pass.

Guilty about everything you've put him through, him, Rafe, your Rafe, who's been so patient with you in your journey of self discovery or whatever bullshit.

“I can help,” you offer weakly, as he rubs soothing up and down your back. “I’m a good teacher.”

Rafe chuckles quietly and you nearly frown, unsure of his nonchalance. 

“Best teacher I know,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and baritone and it practically lulls you to sleep. 

Your eyes are already closed. “Let me help. Please.”

“Very sweet of you. Go to sleep.”

“‘M really smart. You said so.”

“I did.”

You yawn. “What’s the class?”

Rafe doesn’t answer for a minute, and you soon believe he falls asleep. But then, quietly, “Art history.”

Your heart flutters. “I know about that.”

A warm hand rubs up and down your back. “I’m sure you do, baby.” Then, it cradles the back of your head in brazen laziness. “Sleep.”

His voice emulates a lullaby, low and alluring and smooth. Impossibly, you nuzzle closer to him with a stupid smile on your face. Grinning against his neck, you press the lightest kiss you can muster as your hands gently skim over the hills and divots of his chest, grounding yourself, a reminder that this is real. He’s here, right here, holding you, reciprocating your love, your want, your need. 

“Stop smiling,” he says above you, but his tone is far from authoritative. Instead it’s softer, as if he’s suppressing a smile as well. “I can feel it.”

You squirm when he pinches your side, reciprocating the act and attempting to tickle him, but he doesn’t budge in the slightest.

Suddenly, Rafe grabs your wrists lightning fast and pins them high over your head, the motion forcing you on your back as he hovers over you. Despite the darkness, you can feel his face inches from yours, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I thought you wanted me to go to sleep,” you challenge. 

Rafe snorts. “You’re being a brat.”

Ah, that word. That sort of behavior has gotten you in trouble before, and the thought of annoying him makes you grin even harder. 

“Rafey, that’s hardly nice.”

The guttural groan he lets out makes you laugh quite unattractively, letting out an oof when he collapses against your body and therefore crushing you. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent against your soft skin that feels like a million pin pricks to each nerve.

His hand leaves your wrists and slowly drags down your arm, settling on the top of your ribcage just under the swell of your breast, lazily rubbing his thumb over the grooves and curves of the bone with little to no shame whatsoever. 

The act gives you goosebumps. “What? Nothing to say?”

“Go to bed.”

You hum, kneading your fingers through his hair and smiling when he lets out a content sigh. “Okay, fine.”

Rafe practically clings to you, breathing in your scent and unabashedly nestling into your embrace. Your fingers through his hair feel so achingly familiar, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it until now. He feels your lips gently press on the crown of his head, his heart skipping a beat as he involuntarily lets out another sigh, a wordless thank you for trusting him, believing in him, and – most importantly – letting yourself have this. Trusting him. Trusting yourself.

Exhaustion seeps through his pores, eyelids heavily shutting as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, deeper against your body. Your nails lightly scraping his scalp and back quickly lure him to sleep, so gentle and adorning that he’s so close to–

"Hey."

"Sweet girl, I said go to bed."

You pause for a moment, elongated the silence in the darkness as he can practically hear you thinking. After a second, he frowns as he just now analyzed your tone, which was far from teasing.

He's about to prompt you to continue when you shift slightly above him, and his heart fucking melts when he feels your lips press a kiss against his hairline.

"Those photographs are beautiful."

Despite the complete darkness, and despite the fact that even if the light was on, you wouldn't be able to see his face anyway given his position, his face flushes hot.

Because you weren't really supposed to see those. They'd been the final prints he submitted for his photography class, tasked to photograph the pleasantries of life that may emulate beauty in everyday life. And, to him, he wanted you as his everyday muse since you already occupy almost every waking thought of his.

Rafe sat on the prompt for the entire semester, never once finding a muse meaningful enough to him to make him feel like he could complete the assignment. However, once Lorenza had given him the camera, the task seemed like the easiest thing he's ever done. Plus, you made it pretty simple. You emulated effortless beauty. All day. Everyday.

"I had a pretty model," is all he responds with.

And your thanks is translated enough when you press another kiss to his forehead, ticking his soft skin with your gentle breaths, and all he can think is sweet, sweet, sweet girl. It's concerning, really, how he really only thinks of you. He thinks of you when he wakes up, when he sees something funny, when he's scribbling down notes, when he goes to sleep.

So. Yeah. You are his everyday beauty. By a longshot.

He continues to think of your pretty, of how warm you feel pressed against him, how sweet you smell. He remembers how you looked in the moonlight, the candlelight, under the Sicilian sun with a glisten he could swoon over. It lulls him to sleep. Simply the image of you, you, y–

“Rafe?”

Rafe’s pulled from his slumber, barely lifting a finger and humming in response. He can’t even open his eyes, bloodshot and tired from all the studying. 

“Do you want me to come home with you for Christmas?”

Out of all the things he expected you to say, that has to be the last topic on the list. 

All exhaustion comes to a halt as his eyes blearily blink open, unsure if he’s heard you right, as the question is so out of left field that he doubts you actually said what he thinks you said. Despite his head feeling like a million pounds, he manages to lift it so he’s looking at you in the darkness.

Rafe can just make out the outline of your face. “What?”

He hates how small his voice is. 

But your fingers continue to massage his scalp and he feels you shrug underneath him.

“I dunno, I was thinking I could do for you what you did for me." Your voice is impossibly shy, almost as if you didn't mean to bring it up but now there's no going back. "Provide some moral support, I don’t know. Just a thought.”

Yes, he wants to scream. Of course he wants you to. 

It would make life incredibly easier, not to mention he’d get to spend more time with your undivided attention and shower you in a ridiculous amount of appreciation now that you're officially his. He can show you off to his friends and family and flaunt you around, shamelessly hold you and kiss you and not have to feel the slightest bit guilty about it. 

He'd tell you to bring that beaded dress he bought you, take you out to dinner on the mainland and fuck you for the whole island to hear. There's no doubt he's going to buy you anything under the sun that you express interest in, shower you with the kind of love you've been aching for for so long. He'd have to be assertive, though, because you're exactly the girl his sisters will immediately love, and there's no way he's going to be able to share you.

Rafe needs to relax.

Instead of saying all of that, he takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to Lorenza’s?”

“No,” you respond quietly. “I was supposed to go home so she’s already going on a trip with her girlfriends. But now I'm just...” You take a breath. "No, I'm not."

He frowns at the idea of you spending winter break alone, because there’s absolutely no way you're going to go home and face your family again, and the long haul across the Atlantic feels like a chore after just recovering from doing so. 

“You can say no,” you murmur playfully. “I have a sublet lined up for December, and I’ll come back to the dorm when they open on the new year.”

That makes Rafe scoff. “You’re not doing that.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” he commands. “You’ll spend it with me.”

Suddenly you clear your throat, almost shyly. “I didn’t mean to, like, invite myself. You seriously can say no–”

Rafe is sitting up before he knows it, leaning on an elbow and finding your jaw with his other hand to navigate through the darkness, and kissing you firmly enough to let it do all the talking for him. 

You mmrph in surprise into his mouth, effectively shutting you up and assumingely shutting down any doubts you have about the entire idea. Rafe kisses you certainly yet deliberately slow, as if to reassure you of his answer, that you don't have to stress about being too much, especially around him. In fact, he wants you to be too much, yourself, unapologetically you. He craves it, utterly deprived every second you're acting shy as if he wouldn't give you anything you asked for.

Pulling away, Rafe resumes his previous position and lowers onto your body, his original position. His lips find the soft skin of your neck and place a kiss there, sucking ever so slightly to emphasize his point, to stake his claim, to wash away your doubts. 

“I want you to stay with me,” he murmurs quietly. “Okay?”

You hum shyly. “Okay.”

Rafe runs his hands over your ribcage. “I need you to know something, though."

"Yeah?"

Your tone is so fucking sweet that it makes his upcoming words difficult, understanding you can completely hold your own against a family full of narcissists yet wanting to shield you from it all anyway. He wants to hide you away from it all, but he knows you're tough, you're strong, you're too kind for your own good.

"My dad probably won’t be the friendliest.” Rafe figures that's the nicer term for Ward. "He'll be charming and inviting when you first meet him, but behind closed doors..."

He trails off, not necessarily wanting to get into the specifics of his father's tendencies right now with you, laying pretty beside him and body exhausted with earlier passion. To subject you to this all over again, it makes his chest pull, knowing that his father will probably say or do something to remind you of the obscenities of your own family, to remind you of the darkness that shrouded you a week ago.

Before he can continue, you gently massage his scalp. "I understand. I'll be alright."

It makes him nearly swoon. "You're too sweet for your own good, hm? You can be mean to him if you want."

You laugh and he swears he's never heard a prettier sound.

"I'm not doing that."

"If I asked you nicely?"

Chuckling again, your nails rake down to the nape of his neck and back up to his scalp, making him sigh low into the confinements of your hold. But it's much more than physicality, it's almost a promise, reaffirming your stance and wordlessly convincing him that you have his back. Now and always.

"Still no," you murmur, and by the tone of it he swears you're smiling. "You're the one who said I'm incapable of being evil."

Rafe snorts. "I did."

You hum happily, content with 'winning' the conversation as you continue to massage absentmindedly. "Besides, I’m great with parents.”

This conversation feels all too familiar, full circle, echoing his words that he spoke to you all the time ago when your mother stormed into your dorm room, the catalyst for all of this, the start of the spiral to where you lay now with limbs entangled and hearts out in the open.

Shaking his head slightly and allowing himself to shut his eyes, Rafe murmurs in agreement, almost tauntingly.

“I’m sure you are, sweet girl.” Then, quieter, “Sleep.”

The words are like a command, and despite every effort to not do so, you find yourself babbling something incoherently, words soon dying in your throat as you fall asleep, but not without being lulled by the sound of his syncopated breaths, and that, somehow, his hand has found yours in the darkness, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gentle enough for it to be a long lasting reminder: he's here, and he's not going anywhere.

You let yourself succumb to that. You let yourself deserve it.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni

notes holy shit???????? i have a few (more like a hundred) things to say. legit where do I begin.

thank you for 900 followers FIRST OF ALL i only started posting laaaaaate march (practically april) so this is absolutely incredible, thank you for all the support it's been so overwhelming in the best way. half of the comments genuinely make me lol and the other half make me legit spiral bc huh???? you like my stuff??? anyway.

for those who have sent me inbox messages: I SEE YOU!!! I APPRECIATE YOU!! I HAVE NOT IGNORED YOU!!! i'm gonna try to get around to answering them but trust i see y'all!!!!

on the topic of inbox messages, a few of you have been asking about if i'm open to blurbs, and i 100% am. i cannot guarantee i will be able to answer all of them (i started a full-time job??? crazy) but i would love to try and provide that.

okay i think that's it from me. again. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT i'm legit sad this is ending but, again, im open to blurbs about them so TRUST this def won't be the last time we read about them. GODSPEED!

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . YOU DON’T HATE ME

WARNINGS : STEP SIBLING TROPE. SMUT. DRY HUMPING. SPITTING KINK. BITING. LIGHT SLAPPING. TITTY SUCKING. KINDA MEAN!MATT. (pls tell me if i forgot anything).

god you hated him—hated the way he was so charming and perfect and so fucking hot.

your mom thought that this family trip would bring everyone together, but it really didn’t. you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to pick a fight with matt every chance you got, your arguing and bickering beginning to get on your moms nerves.

“can’t you two get along for one day?” she asked you mid argument, stopping whatever insult you were going to throw at him next. your head whipped in her direction, and you just crossed your arms. “well i would if he wasn’t such an ass all the time.” you snapped.

your mom glared at you, “language.” you quickly mumbled an apology. “you two go find something to do, and i want you guys to get along by the end of it.” both you and matt gave her matching glares of your own at her words.

“fine.” you grumbled, turning your back to matt as you walked off toward your shared room—which was the cherry on top of it all. you had to sleep in the same bed as his every night this trip. having to stop yourself from tracing lines along his chest while he slept—he was too tempting.

the air between you had always been…tense. ever since your parents got married, matt had made it his full-time job to pick on you—cold looks, snide comments, backhanded compliments. but he never left you alone. and no matter how much you claimed to hate him, part of you waited for the attention. craved it even. especially late at night, when the house was quiet and the only thing separating your bodies was the thinnest sheet imaginable.

matt didn’t follow you as you made your way to the room, deciding to peel off and go do his own thing, ignoring your mothers request to spend some time together. you didn’t see him again until later that night after everyone was already in bed—your pajamas were on and the blankets were pulled high over your body.

you weren’t asleep yet, you couldn’t be—not with matt’s body radiating with heat as he climbed under the blankets with you. you couldn’t help the way your body shuttered with how close he was to you.

“you’re taking up the whole damn bed.” matt muttered from behind you as if he knew you weren’t actually asleep, his voice irritated. you rolled your eyes, back still turned to him. “then sleep on the floor, tough guy.”

he laughed, and you could feel it down your spine. “right. like I’d let your bratty little ass win that easy.” and you shifted under the covers, accidentally moving to brush your bare leg against his. “watch it,” he snapped. you rolled your eyes, “you’re so dramatic,” you whispered under your breath.

he moved suddenly—rolling over, pressing his chest against your back, one heavy arm wrapping around your waist. your breath caught at the contact, your body wiggling slightly in his grasp.

“i swear to God.” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “you just love to piss me off, don’t you? always doin’ shit to rile me up on purpose.” your thighs clenched at his words—he wasn’t wrong.

“and yet you love pretending you don’t like it.” you snipped back.

he hummed, his hand moving to slowly slip under your shirt without hesitation, fingers splaying across your stomach. your brain started to short circuit, whatever snarky words you had disappearing. his touch already having you go limp for him—he’s never touched you like this before. “you walk around in those tiny shorts all week,” he growled. “picking fights with me. you knew what you were doing.”

you gasped when he pulled your hips back against him—his hard cock grinding slowly into your ass. his hand moved up to your throat under your shirt, gently gripping, just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back—your body tingling. you could feel the way your panties became soaked, the fabric sticking to your wet folds.

“you’re not gonna say a word.” he whispered, biting your earlobe. “not unless you want mom to hear her perfect little girl fucking in the guest room.” you whimpered, his words making the heat between your legs more prominent as he began rocking into you, dry humping through the thin layers of clothes. his mouth came down to meet your shoulder—teeth scraping before he bit down—leaving a mark behind on your skin when he pulled away.

“matt.” you breathed heavily, your find already fogging. a sharp sudden slap to your thigh made you cry out softly, your body jerking.

“did I say you could talk?” he spat against your ear, letting his tongue run along the lobe before nipping it. you couldn’t help but to moan into the pillow, writhing as his hand slid to your chest and cupped one of your tits, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened. slowly he shifted himself, grabbing you and moving you onto your back before slotting himself over you and between your legs.

his mouth followed soon after—tugging your shirt up, lips closing over your tit, tongue licking lazily at your nipple before he sucked hard. letting his teeth nip at your now sensitive bud—the pain making you moan. it was messy and obscene, and you never wanted it to stop.

when he pulled back, spit dripped from his mouth as he stared down at you. his hips began to grind down, rubbing against your clit through the fabric of your panties. you sucked in a sharp breath, your hands coming up to grip at his shirt.

matt smirked, letting a hand come up to grab your face. “c’mon, open up for me sweetheart. you can do that yeah?” he muttered. you obeyed, dazed, your lips parting.

slowly he spat into your mouth, letting the saliva drop into your mouth before he came down and connected his lips to yours. it was heated and desperate, your mouth opening wider to let him in as his teeth nipped your lips, making you bleed slightly.

when he pulled away, his eyes were dark—lust pooled in his orbs. “be a good girl and swallow it.” he demanded.

you did—your eyes locked on his the whole time. you were both breathing heavy now, his hand now tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he could kiss you again, roughly.

“i hate you,” you breathed.

“yeah?” he mocked, rocking against you faster now, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. “let’s see how true that really is, cause i think this pussy says otherwise.”

a/n : ik this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but i had to (never written something like this before either). creds to whoever has created stepbrother!matt <3

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Soap was out for the weekend — something about visiting family, though you suspected it had more to do with getting away from the shared apartment before one of you killed the other over dishes or laundry. Which left you and Ghost.

You’d fully planned to spend the entire weekend bed rotting: snacks, shitty TV, no pants. And for most of Saturday, that dream lived.

Until Ghost texted.

Need a favor. Bringing a bird back. Keep her entertained while I sort my room? Won’t be long.

You stared at the message, squinting (you groaned out loud) but you knew you were not about to leave him hanging. You hit him with a reluctant “fine.” Simon Riley asking you for help with his latest one-night stand? That was new. He usually kept his personal business separate.

But whatever. You owed him for covering your ass on last week’s op. And you were bored. So you sighed, peeled yourself off the couch, and tried to make yourself look slightly less feral before they arrived.

Door opens and in comes Ghost with his date. She’s cute. Really cute, actually. A little overdressed for your disaster of a living room but she doesn't seem fazed. Ghost gives you both an awkward nod before disappearing down the hall, leaving you two sitting there with the tv quietly playing some nonsense reality show you left on.

Bubbly, a little flirty — the total opposite of Ghost’s usual cold, dead-eyed energy. And when you offered her a drink while Ghost disappeared down the hall, she plopped down next to you on the couch, all easy smiles and sparkling eyes.

It started with harmless small talk. Then she complimented your shirt. Then your hair. Then her hand was on your thigh, and she’s laughing at something stupid you said, leaning in a little too close, and then—it just happens. You’re kissing her, your brain going oh shit oh shit oh shit the whole time.

So now here you were. Making out with Ghost’s date on the couch. In your shared apartment. While wearing pajamas. On a random Saturday.

Cue Ghost walking back in mid-moment, stopping dead in the doorway. His eyes narrow behind the mask, you can feel the betrayal radiating off him. Like you just snatched his last protein bar. His date pulls back, breathless and giggly, and Ghost just grumbles something like, "Right. Brilliant." before motioning for her to follow him to his room.

You don’t say anything. You just sink deeper into the couch, cheeks burning, cursing whatever magnetic chaos field you must emit.

An hour later, you’re finally knocked out in your room when there’s a soft knock at your door. You crack it open, and there she is. Disheveled, mischievous smirk on her lips.

“Thought I’d come spend more time with you…” she purrs.

You just stare at her, sleep-addled and brain-buffering like a dial-up connection. Because now you’ve officially entered roommate hell.

You wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck. Mostly because you barely slept. The girl—Ghost's girl—ended up staying way longer than you meant for her to. Things got...a bit intense. Now it’s morning, your head’s pounding, and you can already feel the awkward tension waiting for you out there like a landmine.

You shuffle out of your room in a hoodie and joggers, trying to pretend you’re just going to get a glass of water and not about to face the consequences of your crimes. But the second you step into the kitchen, he’s there.

Ghost. Sitting at the table, arms crossed, mask still on, staring at you like you personally set fire to his car.

You both just stand there in silence for a beat.

Then he speaks, voice flat as a goddamn pancake: "Sleep well? Or...too busy for that?"

You blink. Your brain offers no defense. None. "Si—" "Nah," he cuts you off, shaking his head, scoffing under his breath. "Pied off. In my own fuckin’ flat."

You wince. Because, yeah, he’s not wrong.

You go for the fridge just to do something and he keeps going, muttering like he’s talking more to himself than to you: "Bring a bird back, and she’s in your room by midnight. Unreal. Soap leaves for one weekend and the place turns into Love Island."

You choke on your sip of water, trying not to laugh because that’ll only make it worse.

"Don’t know why I even bother," Ghost grumbles, getting up from the table with heavy steps. "Tell you what—next time, you pull, I’ll keep her entertained for you, yeah? See how you like it."

You try to apologize, but he’s already halfway down the hall, muttering: "Never trusting you with a favor again. Bloody traitor."

Meanwhile, Soap texts the group chat from Scotland, oblivious: "Morning, lads! Miss me yet? 👊😂"

Ghost leaves him on read. You don’t even dare reply.

[ttjisung]

IS THIS LOVE l. haechan

→ in which haechan wants nothing more than to be with you and have you in every way, even if you're too shy to admit it too

bestfriend!haechan x inexperienced bestfriend!fem!reader (wc: 4.7k)

cw: smut! mdni pls :3 unprotected sex, oral + masturbation (f! receiving), happy ending yayayayayay :D

It was getting harder and harder for Donghyuck to act like he wasn’t affected by you. At first, it was the times where he’d have to bite his lip to stop himself from saying anything weird when you wore a revealing bikini to the beach. Then, it was at his apartment when you’d innocently eat your ice cream, licking the melted treat that dripped onto your hand. You simply shrugged in confusion when he stood up in panic, rushing to the bathroom with no explanation. 

Donghyuck was getting tired of it, truthfully. Having to hide his emotions when you were so clueless to every hint he’d drop.

Showering you in compliments, “You look so good in that shirt, baby.” To which you’d smile shyly and let out a small thank you Hyuck. He knew you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it still continued to bother him more and more. 

What was worse was that he wasn’t the only one infatuated with you. He could tell by the hunger in Jaemin’s eye when the male would hug you for longer than he should’ve. The way Jeno would try his hardest to avert his eyes when your small skirt would ride up your thigh slightly, which he’d always fail. Donghyuck knew he had no control over any of these things because you were all best friends, and that’s all you were. It didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes and sulking for the rest of the hangout though. 

Little by little, he stopped inviting the others around, insisting he wanted to spend time with you the most because you were his closest friend. You’d simply smile at the affection and nod your head eagerly, making a twinge of pride pulse in his chest knowing you hung out with him the most. 

– “Hi Hyuck.” You greeted the male, hugging his side before slipping into his familiar apartment. It was a Saturday night and with nothing better to do, he had invited you to stay over. “Hi baby, how are you?” He greeted you back, placing his hand on the small of your back as he guided you to his room. You didn’t even flinch at the contact, so used to his touchy behavior. “I’m good… A little stressed though actually.” He could tell by the furrow in your eyebrow that something was frustrating you. Fighting off every urge to tell you he could find a way to help you destress, he frowned at your words. 

You fell back onto his bed, huffing and closing your eyes. “What’s wrong?” Donghyuck inquired as he sat next to you, hoping it was something minimal. God forbid you’re ever truly upset, he’d turn the world around trying to make you happier. “I got a D on my Psych test… I’m so confused because I studied so hard for it.” He fought off the small smile on his face at your pouty face, you were just so cute it was hard to resist pinching your cheeks. “Don’t stress about it, doll. If it happens again I’ll help you study-” “But Hyuck… You got an F last time.” He rolled his eyes, scoffing and looking away playfully which pulled a small laugh from you. He grinned, happy to know you were feeling at least somewhat better because of his antics. 

“Let me take your mind off of it baby.” His words had a certain tone surrounding them, somewhat sultry and with a clear hidden meaning, and you sat up happily, nodding your head. Somewhat shocked by your reaction, Donghyuck wondered if it was finally time to do what he had always dreamt of, yet his hopes were crushed when you jumped off the bed and rushed onto his gaming chair. “Let’s play Minecraft!” He groaned internally at your obliviousness, sighing before following after you and agreeing.

After hours of mining while you built the cutest house for the both of you – and ignored his countless jokes about putting your beds together – you both got tired of the game, settling back onto his bed in favor of talking about random things.

“I’m not sure why but it was kind of awkward between Chenle and Jeno last time we hung out.” Donghyuck snorted at your words, “Well duh, Jeno fucked Chenle’s little fling without knowing.” Your eyebrows furrowed deeply at his words in shock, not expecting that reason. “That’s so mean though, why would he?” You asked, not believing that Jeno would do something like that. “It’s just how guys are sometimes, controlled by their dicks y’know?” Donghyuck didn’t miss the way your eyes looked down timidly at his words. 

He never held back from being vulgar around you, yet your reactions to his words never changed. You always seemed to be a bit pure, to put it lightly. Flinching when he’d talk about sex in general, as if you knew nothing about it when he knew you did. You had to, he was so sure of it seeing as you’d had a few boyfriends here and there.

“Do you… Would you ever… You know…” “What? Fuck a friend’s girlfriend?” You nodded at his interruption, feeling too awkward to say it out loud which made him chuckle lightly. 

He swore up and down that it was frustrating talking to you when you’d act so reserved, but a part of it was endearing to him. It’s not like he wasn’t into women who knew what they wanted, in fact that’s normally what he went for, but something about the way you’d turn bright red and refuse to even say the word fuck made him more attracted. It wasn’t the challenging aspect that had him going crazy, simply the contrast between the cute way you’d act and the filthy way he wanted to have his way with you. 

“Nah, recently I’ve not really been into that stuff anyway.” Lies. “Oh… That’s good cause me neither honestly.” Your eyes lit up as you related to his dishonest words. If only you knew how perverted his thoughts were, plagued with the vision of you. 

The conversation strayed to another topic quickly, thanks to your insistence on moving on, when you yawned lightly. He could tell you were tired, your eyelids heavy and your voice a little muffled. Donghyuck had to fight back a smile as you tried your best to converse with him when it was clear that you were minutes away from passing out. “Let’s get ready and go to sleep, baby.” You blushed, being caught red-handed in your attempt to hide your fatigue, yet you had to fight off butterflies fluttering in your stomach at his observant behavior. He always knew how you felt, and always did his best to make you happy.

You nodded at his words, putting all your energy into standing up and stumbling into his bathroom to brush your teeth. He stood up behind you, placing a hand on your waist nonchalantly to help you carry yourself out of his room. 

Once you both stood in the bathroom, you felt a bit more awake. Maybe it was the strong minty scent of the toothpaste, or maybe it was the way Donghyuck still hadn’t let go of your waist, holding you from behind and placing his head on your shoulder to watch you through the mirror. The scene was a bit domestic, a little fantasy that he’d play every time you’d stay over, wanting to believe one day you’d be so close that this would become a nightly routine. 

You blushed at his intense gaze, not once leaving you, even as you insisted he had to brush his teeth and do skincare too. He obliged, nodding his head yet continuing to stand behind you. “C’mon Hyuck,” you passed him his toothbrush, yet he simply nudged his head into your neck further. You didn’t notice the way he lightly inhaled your scent before moving his head back, opening his mouth to bare you his teeth. “You do it.” He responded mumbly, holding eye contact with you through the mirror. 

Huffing yet obliging, you turned around, now met face to face with him a little bit too close for comfort. You tried to step back, yet he followed you until your back was pressed against the bathroom counter. Rolling your eyes at his antics, you brought the toothbrush up to his teeth, slowly brushing them until he moved away for a split second, spitting the toothpaste into the sink. 

You thought you both were finally done, getting ready to put the brush down yet he shook his head, opening his mouth once more when he returned to his position in front of you, sticking his tongue out. “Ewww Hyuck, you do that part yourself.” You giggled, and he giggled too, running after you with his mouth still open as you ran away into his bedroom. 

When Donghyuck finally caught up to you, you were close enough to his bed that he simply rushed at you, pushing you onto the mattress and falling on top of you. You laughed a bit more, the smile on your face making him do the same, yet the atmosphere began to change the longer he hovered over you on the bed. His teasing smile shifted into something different, more desperate and longing, and for the first time in a while, you actually caught it. 

He chose to lean into you slightly, pushing his body onto yours yet you squirmed away at the contact, suddenly awkward with the tension that had arisen. “Let’s watch something!” You interrupted, moving under him until you were at his side. You chose to ignore the annoyed huff that he released as he begrudgingly moved until he was laying on his back next to you. 

Nodding, Donghyuck picked up the remote on his nightstand, turning his TV on and putting a random movie on. You became immersed in the film, watching with wide eyes yet his were locked on you – your face, your cute pajamas, the way your chest rose lightly every time you’d breathe. He was getting tired of waiting.

He knew you could feel it too, the way you looked at him when he was on top of you was enough of an indicator that you needed him too. Maybe not to the same extent as he did, but there had to be a shared feeling. If not, then you wouldn’t be laying next to him looking so pretty in your tiny sleep dress.

After the movie ended, you were tired again. He still wasn’t, being able to spend hours looking at you. 

You turned over, your eyes dazed and your mouth open as you yawned. “Hyuck, are you sleepy?” Your drowsy voice was so sweet, pulling him out of any frustration he was feeling earlier on when you rejected his advances. “Mmm, kinda. Not really though.” You frowned at his response, not wanting to sleep if it meant he’d have to stay up alone. “I’ll stay up with you.” You announced, sitting up as if that would make the fatigue go away. 

He laughed at your antics, sitting up too. “Don’t worry baby, you can sleep.” “Not if you won’t though.” He hummed, deep in thought before looking back at you. The bright screen of the television was the only thing lighting the room up, glowing on you. You looked so pretty and he couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Actually… There’s something we could do that would make us both sleepy.” Donghyuck’s words were hesitant, fearing you’d sense what he was hinting at and immediately decline, yet you didn’t, lighting up instead and urging him to go on. 

“I… Well you know how earlier I said I haven’t really been into those… things lately?” You appeared to be in thought, reminiscing your old conversation and what he was referring to. The blush that overtook your face was enough to indicate that you finally remembered. You nodded slightly, looking anywhere but him. 

“Umm, well sometimes, when I want to sleep, it helps to… Y’know,” he gauged your reaction, seeing you nod with the same look on your face, “Just like… touch myself a little bit.” The way your breath hitched in your throat didn’t go unnoticed, and he squinted his eyes in fear that he had finally crossed a boundary he didn’t know existed and you would leave, yet you simply nodded again. “It-it makes sense. I mean, I don’t really do that but like… I could understand why-” You began to ramble, easing his worries and replacing them with a small chuckle as he listened to you try to defend him.

“You don’t think I’m perverted?” “Hyuck, I never would. Well maybe if you were like really creepy but you’re a normal amount…” He laughed again at your choice of words, and when you finally realized you had unconsciously called him a bit creepy, you began to spew out apologies, insisting it’s not what you meant. “I just- I mean like, like I see worse and like-” Your words were cut off when Donghyuck finally found the courage to lean in, pressing his lips to yours. 

Your eyes were wide open in shock, contrasting his that were shut closed, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer into him. It took you a while to react, not expecting him to actually kiss you, yet once the initial surprise surpassed you, you shyly kissed him back. 

You could feel his lips curl into a smile at your reciprocation, his hands now fully digging into your hips. His actions were much more passionate than yours, licking your lips and biting them sore while you tried your best to keep up with his pace. Finally he pulled away for a second to breathe, “Baby, have you…” He tried to find a way to ask his question without embarrassing you, “have you ever kissed someone before?” His caution was no use as you curled into yourself, your lips trembling slightly at the painfully accurate accusation. “No… I’m sorry, I- my ex always wanted to but it didn’t feel right and-” He cut you off once more, continuing to smile into the kiss. This time he moved one of his hands to the back of your head, pushing you into him while the other went under your chin, pressing your cheeks lightly to encourage you to move more comfortably against his mouth.

It was safe to say Donghyuck was overjoyed when he found out you hadn’t kissed anyone, meaning you probably hadn’t gone further either. It wasn’t an issue of your virginity, the male being progressive enough to not ever care about something like that. The appeal was more so in the fact that you were trying your best to match his actions although you were inexperienced yourself. It was cute to see you as desperate as him, after years of doubting you felt even close to the same as he did. 

Your eagerness shined through the way you hesitantly bit his lip too, causing him to moan into your mouth, a noise you hadn’t heard before yet really liked for some reason. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered harder, an ache further below forming as he whined when you finally opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to slip past and tangle with your own.

Although you had never done this with anyone else, you found out quickly that you really enjoyed the feeling of kissing someone. Maybe it was the safety you felt in his arms, or maybe it was the way his hand behind your head grazed down until he was holding onto your thigh tenderly.

Donghyuck’s grip on your thigh grew as his tongue moved around yours, lapping at the shared saliva that dripped down your lip. Before either of you knew, not letting your mouths disconnect, both his hands wrapped around your legs, pulling you until you were straddling him. The new position made you whine, feeling his erection growing harder through the flimsy fabric of his sweatpants. His hands pushed you against him, mouth abusing yours as he thrusted up into you messily. 

Having not been on someone’s lap before in a sexual context, the unfamiliar feeling was worsening the ache you felt in your core. You pulled away, biting your lip to shield your frustration as you looked below to where you were hovering over him. He gripped your hips, pulling you down until you were fully planted on him, your embarrassment taking over and making you look away. Donghyuck chased after you, not wanting to end the kiss, yet he was interrupted by one of your hands that shyly inched towards the front of your panties. You weren’t sure why, but the pain was getting worse the more you kissed and the only relief you felt was when your fingers would graze your covered slit.

Convinced he was in a wet dream or a weird fantasy of his, he groaned at your actions. “Fuck, baby. Does it hurt there?” You nodded, small tears catching on your cheeks as the feeling continued to intensify. One of his hands slipped from your hips, enveloping yours and moving it back to your position as you tried to flinch away from the contact.

He leaned back on his headboard, allowing for a better view as his hand guided your own against your clothed cunt. “You ever touch yourself like this?” You shook your head, “Answer with words, baby.” “Umm… No… I tried but, it never feels good.” You were clearly embarrassed, yet not enough to pull your hand away as he pushed three of your fingers down, holding onto your ring and middle finger and pressing down against your clit. 

You jolted when he began to move your fingers, circling them against the fabric. The feeling was a lot better when he guided you, pulling out whines and noises you never knew you could make. “‘Gonna feel so much better without,” his hand let go of yours, slipping under the band of your panties and pulling them up until they snapped back onto your skin, “these in the way.” His breath was ragged, his length now almost fully hard as you nodded at his words. 

Noting how you agreed yet did nothing to follow his advice, he chose to do so himself, one arm on your waist holding you up as the other pulled them off agonizingly slowly until you were bare under your nightgown. He whined loudly at the view of your bare cunt sitting on top of his pants, your wet arousal leaking and leaving a small stain. He’s sure he’d be unable to wash it off after, probably framing the clothing on his wall instead.

Your eyes were shut closed, your head falling onto his shoulder as he got ahold of your fingers again, moving them against your clit. The feeling was more intense now with no barrier, and you’d shiver and cry out occasionally when the cold ring he wore would graze against your cunt as he’d move your digits to relieve your pain. 

Donghyuck couldn’t hold back anymore, a particularly loud moan from you forcing him to let go of your hand and carry your body until you were under him instead. He moved back after placing your lying body on his bed, his lower body now hovering off of his bed as he watched you through his messy bangs. “Baby, I… I know it might be embarrassing but… Can I watch you touch yourself?” The question made you squint your eyes – he was right, it was embarrassing. 

“But I don’t know how-” “It’s okay, just do what I taught you, okay? Start here,” he lightly grazed your clit with his hand, “and circle it a bit.” You sat up slightly so you were on your knees, hesitantly inching your hand under your dress. Your other hand hooked onto the edge of it, pulling the fabric up and displaying your bare self to him, making him muffle a moan.

“Fuck, your little pussy is so cute, baby. Please… Touch it. Just how Hyuck taught you.” You nodded, flinching when your fingers finally found the bundle of nerves, moving back and forth. His gaze was so intense, barely even blinking out of fear that he’d miss any second of this. 

Without realizing, he began to grind against the mattress as your actions grew more confident. Both your moans echoed through the room as your hand moved over your dress to squeeze your chest. The way your nipples hardened made Donghyuck wish he was the one touching you instead, yet the sight of you falling apart as you groped yourself, your fingers on your clit moving down until they were caressing your slit, was more than enough for him to get off. 

You let out a loud whine when your finger finally fit itself into your hole, clenching harshly at the feeling of the intrusion. You had never done this before, yet for some reason it felt so good. Donghyuck was getting closer by the second, crying out when he saw you finger yourself. He shook his head, deciding he had to be inside of you soon or he’d cum in his pants like a frustrated teenager. 

You gasped in shock when you felt two hands grabbing your waist, pushing you down onto the mattress before he dived in, tongue covering your slit and lapping up the arousal you had let out. Two of his long fingers replaced yours, thrusting in and out at a more calculated rhythm than yourself. Your fingers, still coated in your own fluids, gripped onto his hair, “Hyuck… ‘So good, it’s so good…” You were babbling random praises at this point, too lost on the feeling of him sucking your clit into his mouth. He nodded in response, whimpering into you, the vibration of the noise adding to your pleasure.

His tongue strayed down to your slit, almost close enough to meet his fingers sloppily pistoning into you, his nose now rubbing your clit. “Your pussy tastes so good, fuck, could eat it forever.” His vulgar words made you blush, biting your lip harder as your hands pulled on the strands of his dark hair. 

A particular thrust of his fingers, matched with the coldness of the ring inside of you and the grinding of his nose on your cunt was enough to make you reach your high, letting out a whine at the unfamiliar feeling of your own orgasm. Your body felt hot, your vision white and your core pulsing as Donghyuck continued his actions. He only stopped when you began to cry out from the overstimulation, licking all of your arousal before finally letting you go. 

You were exhausted, your chest rising up slowly as you breathed in heavily, coming down from the feeling. Donghyuck gave you no time to rest though, as he quickly moved up until he was over you again, catching your lips with his, slipping his tongue in again.

You could taste yourself on him as he pushed himself eagerly on top of you, one of his elbows holding himself up as his other arm reached down to push off his pants. His bare cock sprung out as he kicked the pants off completely, straining against his stomach as he desperately pushed your dress off your head. You complied as much as you could, holding your arms up so he could take the fabric off in one go. His shirt was next, leaving you both bare. 

You looked down at his length, suddenly feeling anxious. He was heavy, the tip red and leaking precum. If his two fingers were enough to stretch you out almost painfully, you wondered how he’d be able to fit his large size inside of you. 

Sensing your anxiety, he drew comforting circles onto your hips. “I’ll go slow, baby. I promise.” You nodded, closing your eyes and letting him kiss you again to distract you from the pain as he eased himself in. He groaned into your mouth at the feeling of your tight walls clenching on him, slowly pushing in inch by inch until he bottomed out. The feeling of his pelvis rubbing against your clit made you clench harder, the friction helping with the pain of the unfamiliar intrusion. 

His beginning thrusts were shallow, helping you get used to his size. His free hand moved up until it met your chest, gripping one of your boobs eagerly. Pulling away from the kiss, he sighed in pleasure as the steady rhythm grew stronger. “Need to feel your pretty tits in my mouth, please…” Your shyness was long gone as you were eager to agree, if the way your cunt tightened around his cock said anything. He smiled widely before placing kisses all the way down your collarbone, matching the pace with the jolts of his hips. 

Once Donghyuck’s mouth found your boobs, he enveloped the one left alone by his hand, running his tongue over your nipple and humming at the feeling. He grew more desperate by the second, moving his hips faster as he became dazed by everything happening. 

Your small moans matching his thrusts encouraged him to continue, making him alternate between slow and shallow ones, and long and deeper ones. As he moved in and out of you, the pain died out, still there but barely noticeable as you became engulfed in a desire to cum again.

Donghyuck mirrored your desperation, moaning against your sweaty skin, finding himself getting closer and closer. Your hand reached down to play with your clit, just how he taught you, adding more and more satisfaction. He felt pride swell in his chest when he noticed what you were doing. It took one particular thrust, matched with your own fingers rubbing against you and his tongue biting down on your nipple to make you cum. 

The feeling was more extreme this time, added with the force of his cock filling you so deep, as you finally let go. Your toes curled, your hands letting go of his hair to find his back, scratching along his skin as you tried to flee from the overwhelming feeling. He didn’t let you get away so easily though, releasing your nipple he was playing with to hold onto your hips, grounding you against the bed as he continued to push into you, searching for his own release.

You could feel every vein running up his length as your eyes shut closed, digging your nails deeper into his back. The pain he felt mixed with the pleasure of your tight cunt finally made him reach his high too, cumming inside of you with a loud whimper of your name. 

He continued to rut his dick into you, not wanting to stop feeling the intense thrill of your body. Overstimulating both himself and you at the same time, he only stopped once he began to cry from the mixed pain. 

You both stayed in the same position for a minute, catching your breath before he finally pulled out, his cum spilling out from you and staining his sheets. It was then that the insecurities began to plague Donghyuck’s mind. Sure, you were obviously into everything that had played out, but what if you decided you didn’t want to be close with him anymore? What if things become awkward after, and you wouldn’t spend the night anymore? 

Looking at you with worry in his eyes, he felt at peace when your hands moved from his back to cup his cheeks endearingly, pulling him down into another more gentle kiss. He hummed happily, holding you close. The position was intimate, hugging each other, your naked bodies shifting against each other. 

You broke the silence after, sighing contently before looking directly into his eyes, “I… I’m still tired, Hyuck.” He laughed, rolling off onto his side and moving his arm so it’d tuck itself under your waist. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll clean you up.” 

You smiled, nodding your head before closing your eyes. True to his words, Donghyuck stood up, going to grab a small wet towel and rid you of any sticky fluid left. Once he finally finished, he moved your body onto the side of the bed that didn’t have ruined sheets, slotting himself right next to you and falling asleep too.

a/n: inspired because i saw haechan live again and he looked so good ^_^ i hope u all enjoy

[cherie-doll]

LADS: When You Don't Give Them A Kiss

༻ Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb ༺

₊˚✧ Xavier loves his goodnight kisses. Won't be able to sleep right if you don't give them to him. Which is why he immediately frowned the moment you turned away from him after only saying good night. He had already leaned in closer for you to kiss him when you had cut him off. He's frozen in place, surprised at seeing you laying your head on your pillow without a care in the world; ready to drift off to sleep. But how can you do that to him? Surely you aren't forgetting something? I mean, it's custom by now, you do it every night. It's embedded in his brain to do this, so why are you suddenly being so forgetful. He hesitates but eventually moves in closer, nuzzling into your neck as his arms come around your waist. You complain that it's too hot for him to be doing this, but his response is something along the lines of "too bad". You forgot something important to him so now deal with the consequences; he'll be all up on you throughout the entire night.

₊ ೀ Zayne has a strict routine as a doctor. He wakes up early despite having prepared everything the night before, and as organized as he is, he cannot leave without first feeling your lips on his. It's literally his number one priority every morning before he leaves. He can go the day with forgetting his lunch, or even combing his hair properly, but can no longer wait until he gets to you later that night. Sometimes you'll sleep in and not wake up to give him a kiss and he'll try hanging back hoping you awaken before he has to walk out the door. He's sat at the edge of the bed, his work clothes on and everything ready but just clinging to the hope you remember. And no he won't wake you up, he isn't careless and he'll feel bad if he does. As a hunter, you need that rest and he prioritizes that before his selfish desires.

༄༢ུ࿓ Rafayel will actually do his job for once and go to an art exhibition that Thomas has arranged for him if you give him a kiss. Sort of like a good luck type of thing that makes him feel like things will be tolerable if he remembers the warmth of your lips on his. But this time he's stuck waiting by the front door, tapping his foot against the floor as he impatiently waits for you to return. He brings out his phone to reread the message you had sent, you had gone out and were expected to come back in time to accompany him to art exhibition. But it seems you're running late and Rafayel isn't in the mood to meet up with you there. You call him and are immediately greeted by his attitude. You can hear the slight whine in his voice when he asks why you're not there yet. Truthfully, you feel a little bad to hear him be so distressed. Perhaps you'll make it up to him later.

ᨳ᭬ Sylus isn't letting you off the hook so easily. You came up to him while he was relaxed to tell him you would be going out. As usual, you come up to his spot on the couch and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You tell him you'll be back later and he hums, acknowledging what you've said. But he furrows his brows, his smile disappearing when you just leave to grab your bag. He looks up from his phone to see you ready to take off when you catch his gaze. Oh, if he were more gullible he'd believe that "what's wrong?" face of yours. But he knows you better than that. You can sense the amusement in his voice when he asks "Aren't you forgetting something?". You cock your head trying to keep up the act a little longer before you give in. He had a smug look on his face, knew you wouldn't actually dare to leave his place before properly saying goodbye to him. Plus you would never hear the end of it if Luke and Kieran found out.

❦ Caleb would probably believe your act for a minute max before realizing you're teasing him. After not seeing each other for a couple of days due to your busy schedules, surely a hug isn't all he's getting... right? Your bright smile won't distract him from what he's really after. You feign confusion when you realize his grip on you isn't loosening as you try to pull away from his embrace. You call out his name, annoyed as you make more of an effort to push him away. You're secretly fighting a smile from forming when he only pulls you closer. You huff, telling him to stop teasing you, but he swears it's you who's doing the teasing. He sways side to side with you in his arms, you think about how ridiculous you must look and catch some people staring and hear them exclaim about what a cute couple you two are. Finally, when you no longer want to deprive him you stand as straight as you can to reach his face and give him a kiss. He lets you go after and looks at you, "was that really so hard to do?"

[leechqnsgirl]

ᓚᘏᗢ your lips, my lips, apocalypse

notes: based off of this ask | can be read as a part 2 to this

-- niki comes home drunk one night. drunk and desperately horny. or in other words, your first time making him cry out for you.

18+ | niki x fem!reader | wc: 1.7k | smut, mini fluff/crack at the end | masterlist

warnings: language, jake makes a small appearance, niki's drunk and kinda subby??, kissing/making out, use of good boy, piv, overstimulation

****

your boyfriend was out with his friends the whole day.

he had let you know a few days earlier about the planned celebration that they would be having. so when the day came, you didn't mind his absence.

but you couldn't help but get a bit worried. it was nearly eleven pm and he still wasn't home.

you shot him a text.

no response.

was his phone dead? did he not have it on him? you had no idea.

you had just finished your night routine, sitting down on the couch with some snacks to watch a movie as you waited for niki.

twenty minutes into the movie you heard harsh knocks at your door.

"what the hell?" you muttered, standing up to peek through your peephole.

it was niki. and he was...hanging off of jake's shoulders?

you opened the door and jake was just about ready to throw niki at you.

"god, take him." he huffed out.

you giggled as you pulled niki into your apartment by his jacket.

"good luck, he's a mess. all fucking night we've had to hear about how much he misses you and shit." jake rolled his eyes, "never allow him to drink freely again. please." jake pleaded with the most tired expression and tone one could have.

you nodded, "okay...let me get him inside."

after you locked the door, and niki was practically falling over trying to get his shoes off, you took him over to the bathroom.

"okay, honey, take a shower and i'll be right outside waiting for you."

he was sitting on the toilet seat, staring at you as you placed his clean clothes on the sink for him to wear after his shower. he groaned and shook his head.

"c'mere." he said in a quiet voice.

you made your way over until you were standing right in front of him.

he pulled you into him for a hug, his hands wrapped tightly around your back as his face was resting right in your chest.

he breathed out contently. you brought a hand over to rest on his head.

you felt flustered, a bit shy even. your boyfriend wasn't usually this clingy or affectionate. he preferred to show his love for you in other ways.

you felt him press a kiss against you through your thin sleep shirt, "mm...I missed you." you smiled to yourself, one hand still in his hair and the other rubbed circles on his back.

"I missed how you care for me.." he turned his head, so now his cheek was resting on your chest instead of his forehead.

when you looked down at him, you could see his eyes were glossed over. he seemed like he was silently pleading for something.

"what's wrong?" you asked, the hand that was in his hair traveled down to his jaw, pulling his face away from you.

his eyes were everywhere but looking at yours.

"riki..." you urged gently. soon enough his eyes met yours. he sighed through his nose softly.

"I..." you knew he was drunk, so you gave him his time to speak. "ineedyoureallybad." he hastily whispered in one breath.

you chuckled, "niki, what?"

he dropped his head, rubbing his face with his hands. "I didn't just, like, miss you. okay? i-i missed you."

you hummed, understanding what he meant now.

"so..you're horny is what you're trying to say..?" he nodded his head.

"can we go to your room?"

--

he gave you no chance to breathe once you made it to the room, he pushed you down onto the bed and went straight for your lips.

he took one of your hands, still kissing you, and brought it down to the front of his jeans.

he wanted you to feel what you do to him.

he broke away for just a second, eyes darting all across your face, "fuck, I can't wait." he gave you one more kiss before pushing back to take off his clothes.

fully naked, he moves to your body now, taking off your clothes. starting with your shirt, slowly at first before getting impatient and eventually tugging down your pants and panties.

he ducks his head down to your tits, sucking on one while his hand gropes and tweaks the other.

you moaned out, arching your back. he switched his mouth to the other side, you put one hand into his hair, tugging at it.

soon enough he pulls away, dragging a hand down to your cunt.

he rubs your clit gently at first, his hand shaking a bit.

he puts that hand on your thigh now, muttering something under his breath.

"w-what?" you asked breathlessly.

"said I needa taste you, sweetie." he brought his head between your legs, both arms hooked around your thighs.

he wastes no time, sucking your clit harshly. your hand, yet again, finds its way to his hair. moaning when you would occasionally pull his hair.

"f-fuck, niki, hold on-" he cut you off by sticking two fingers into your pussy.

"mm, no." he said quickly, going back to making out with your cunt.

you could feel your orgasm building up, but you didn't want to cum. not yet, at least.

"fuck! niki, baby, please," he finally lifted his head, meeting your heavy eyes.

wordlessly, he stood on his knees, lining himself up with your hole.

he had one hand beside your head, and one on his cock, leaning down to whisper into your ear, "all day..." he pushed his tip into you.

"the whole time i'm out with the boys, I couldn't stop thinking about your sweet fucking pussy, baby." he was halfway in now.

"popped a fucking boner in the middle of the bar 'cause of you." he groaned when he bottomed out, "y-you know how I am, don't you? you know I can't last a few fucking hours without my girl." your nails dug into his back.

he trailed rough kisses on your neck when he started thrusting into you.

"t-tried to rub one out in the bathroom...but it didn't work. I felt like a fucking horny virgin, getting hard at the thought of my pretty girlfriend."

his words only egged you on, feeling yourself get closer. he started moaning, knowing he wouldn't last too long either.

he pulled out of you for a second, rubbing his tip against your clit. "w-why'd you stop?" he didn't answer you right away, catching his breath.

"can you ride me? fuck baby, please, i-i can't stop thinking about last time."

as soon as he said that, all the pieces connected in your head.

every time the two of you have had sex from that moment on, it always seemed like he wanted to ask something of you. like he was holding something back.

now you know what it is. and now you know that your boyfriend only has the confidence, or willingness, to tell you when he's drunk out of his mind.

you quickly switched position, sliding back down onto him now.

niki threw his head back, moaning loudly. it was like he didn't care anymore. and god, did you love that.

his hands were gripping your waist as you fell down and came back up on him.

continuing, you never let up, it wasn't until you felt a twitch in his legs that you knew he was getting close.

"I'm so close, so close." he whined out. "yeah? come on, baby, I'm c-close, too.” you moaned, pressing your lips against his.

even in the kiss he was whimpering and moaning.

who knew that niki, who's always so composed, would only need alcohol and your tight cunt around him to be so loose.

you did your best to move your hips faster, feeling like you're seconds away from your climax.

he gave your ass a light spank, groping the area of it afterwards. felt yourself cum, relief washing over your whole body as your hips came to a slow stop.

niki came at the same time you did, his orgasm hitting him hard.

you were about to move off of him when he suddenly held you down by your hips.

"j-just a little more, o-okay?" he sounded like he was convincing himself more than you.

you furrowed your brows, "baby, you don't wanna at least take a break?" he shook his head, "p-please?" he stuttered out, "you just feel too good baby," he raises your hips up a bit now, thrusting upwards.

you gasp, you didn't actually think he would start again.

he's moaning the whole time, loudly too.

you still couldn't believe that this was your boyfriend, your niki. he never showed himself to you like this.

barely a few minutes passed when he dug his face into your neck, spewing out nonsense into your ears. half of it you're hearing and the other half you can't hear over the pleasurable pain of your own overstimulation.

"fuck, you're so warm baby. I can't," he nearly sobbed out. "I love you, s-so much, f-fuck!" he groaned, his hands having a bruising and unmoving grip on your hips.

your heart warmed, "oh, baby, I love you too." your nails were running up and down his back, "are you gonna cum now? hm? you wanna be my good boy and cum?"

and that's what made him shoot his sticky load right inside you, both of you moaning and whimpering at the feeling of your second climax.

he dropped on his back, pulling you down to lay atop him.

--

it was niki's alarm that woke him up.

he reached for his phone to turn it off and put his head back on the pillow, he threw an arm at the opposite side of the bed, seemingly searching for the warmth of your body.

but, you weren't there?

he opened his eyes a bit, scratching his head as he sat up.

"y/n?" he called out, voice still deep with sleep.

you walked back into the room, a glass of water in your hand.

"morning, ki." you said quietly, unsure how bad his hangover headache is. "come on, be a good boy and drink up, okay?" you said, biting back a smile.

he looked at you confused at first, before he widened his eyes. "shut up." he grumbled, covering his face. but that did nothing for him as you could see the tips of his ears turn a shade of red.

"come on! take a joke." you laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly before placing a kiss to the crown of his head. 

[casssmalefantasy]

only one me for you - paige bueckers x reader!

s: all you wanted was to vibe with your girl at a sza concert. instead, you got fans, a pretty girl getting too close to your drunk girlfriend, and a whole lot of feelings.

w: language, alcohol consumption, jealousy, emotional tension, heated makeout, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, implied sexual content

word count: 5.7k

“okay, i’m not even joking, if one more person uses my mascara—”

“—kk it’s literally waterproof, what do you expect?”

“and y’all said i’m the dramatic one—”

you’re in paige’s room, music blasting from someone’s speaker in the living room, hair tools overheating on the bathroom counter, makeup palettes open across the desk. it’s chaos, loud and familiar, azzi yelling for her lip liner, aubrey facetiming jana so they match outfits, ice and yana filming a tiktok in the hallway.

you adjust the black pants sitting perfectly on your hips and lace up your jordans, glancing at your reflection. the vintage sza jersey you thrifted hangs loose in all the right ways. it’s casual, but still screams effortlessly hot. you’re fixing the hem when the door creaks open and a voice whistles low.

“damn.”

you look up to find paige leaning in the doorway, already dressed in baggy jeans and a cropped white tank. her hair more straightened, gold hoops shining, and the look she’s giving you—yeah, you’re in trouble.

“you tryin’ to kill me before we even get to the concert?”

you raise an eyebrow. “it’s just a jersey.”

she walks over, crowding you against the dresser with that smug grin. “not just a jersey. it’s your jersey. on you. with those pants? and those shoes? baby…”

her voice dips lower and you feel her hands slip around your waist.

“…you tryna get jumped at this concert? ‘cause i will fight someone.”

you laugh, cheeks warm, trying to play it cool even as her lips brush your neck. “you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m deadass.” she kisses you again, lower this time, dragging it out just enough to make your knees a little weak. “you look so fuckin’ good right now.”

before you can answer, the door swings open again.

“ewww.” ice groans, standing in the doorway with a hand over her eyes. “i knew y’all were being weird in here. i could feel it.”

“hi, ice,” you mumble, trying to untangle from paige’s arms.

“y’all are disgusting. i’m gagging. i need holy water.”

paige just smirks. “close the door on your way out.”

ice doesn’t. and now you’re blushing, shoving paige’s shoulder and muttering, “you’re literally shameless.”

“you’re the one kicking me out my own room,” she teases.

“go wait in the living room, horndog.”

—

“shots!” paige yells ten minutes later, holding up a little pink bottle. “pregame, let’s fucking go!”

not everyone drinks—aubrey is driving half the crew, azzi wants to save her buzz for later, but you paige, and kk pass the bottle between each other with wild cheers. you’re all packed into the living room now, makeup done, fits on point, energy electric.

aubrey snaps a mirror selfie with all of you in the background. “look how hot we are.”

“sza better be scared,” kk grins.

“alright let’s go!” paige says excitedly.

you, paige, azzi, kk, and yana pile into paige’s car. azzi driving you guys. aubrey drives the rest in her car, sarah riding shotgun and ice in the backseat yelling at jana for picking the wrong playlist.

your group is bumping sza already, the windows down and the wind blowing. “love language” starts playing and paige immediately gasps.

“turn it up!”

her hand finds your thigh as she sings along, loud and dramatic and so off-key it’s actually adorable. she turns to you mid-verse, eyes shining, voice softening.

“in your love language…”

you smile, leaning into her touch. “you are so annoying.”

“and what about it.” she winks.

—

the venue is packed. vip wristbands flashing, people everywhere, phones out. your group snakes through the crowd, finally landing in the roped-off section near the front.

paige turns to you. “you want a drink?”

“something light,” you say. “not too strong.”

she kisses your cheek. “say less. be right back.”

you watch her go, blonde hair moving quickly, azzi already trying to take selfies with everyone. a couple fans nearby whisper and gesture toward the team. it starts with one photo, then two, then a whole group realizing who’s here.

when paige returns with your drink—a pineapple vodka soda, you barely get a sip before three more people ask for photos.

“sorry,” she mouths to you, then smiles at the fans, never saying no.

you don’t blame her. it’s part of being paige, but the longer it drags out, the more you’re just… waiting. and watching.

and then you notice her.

the girl standing too close to paige. curly hair. tattoos. flirty eyes. and the way she touches paige’s arm when she laughs? it sets something deep and sharp off inside you.

“uhh…” azzi leans over. “is that girl flirting with paige?”

“i don’t know,” you mutter.

“you should go get her.”

“i don’t wanna make a scene.”

“you’re literally her girlfriend.”

you clench your jaw, but then the girl touches paige again. and that’s it.

you weave through the crowd and slide a hand around paige’s waist, letting her know you’re there. she stiffens, then relaxes when she sees it’s you.

“hey, babe,” she smiles, tipsy and glowing.

“you should come back,” you say quietly.

the girl doesn’t move. doesn’t even look at you until she does and then she dares to say..

“can you give paige a second?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“i was just—” you start to say.

“it’s fine,” paige cuts in quickly, turning to you. “just gimme a sec, i’ll be right back, i swear.”

you stare at her. she’s smiling like nothing’s wrong. like she doesn’t see how mad you are.

you walk away without saying anything.

—

“sooo…” ice starts in aubrey’s car. “what happened?”

you sigh, slumping into the back seat. “some girl was being all over paige. like, touching her. and paige stayed even after i told her to come back.”

aubrey frowns. “seriously?”

“she said she’d be back in a sec. and then the girl tried to get her snapchat.”

jana whistles low.

“but you know paige,” ice says. “she’s literally obsessed with you. she wouldn’t disrespect you like that.”

“i know,” you say. “i just… hated how it felt.”

—

back at the apartment, the silence is loud.

you’re sitting on the bed, taking off your jewelry. paige is leaning against the dresser, watching you like she wants to say something, but doesn’t know how.

“you mad at me?”

you don’t answer.

“baby.”

you sigh. “i’m just tired.”

“no, you’re not.” she walks over, soft but firm. “you’re pissed. and i wanna talk about it.”

you pause. then finally look at her. “she was all over you.”

paige blinks. “i didn’t even notice.”

“she touched you. she was rude to me. and you still stayed.”

paige shakes her head. “i didn’t stay because of her. i stayed because—fuck, i don’t even know. i was tipsy. i didn’t wanna be rude.”

“she gave you her phone, paige.”

“i didn’t put anything in it. i told her i didn’t have snap. i lied. and when she asked for my number, i told her i had a girlfriend. you. and then i walked away.”

you stare at her. “really?”

she nods, eyes soft. “i would never disrespect you. ever. i’m sorry i made you feel like i did.”

you breathe out. the tension in your chest finally loosens.

“you could’ve just said that earlier.”

“i know.” she takes your hands. “i got caught up. but there’s only one me for you. and only one you for me.”

you smile, barely. “that was kinda cheesy.”

“you’re cheesy.” she leans in, kisses your cheek. “but seriously… i’m yours.”

you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“you’re mine.”

“and no random girl with tattoos is gonna change that,” she grins.

you laugh into her neck, finally feeling like you can breathe again.

[apple-crunch]

what if... caleb got into an "accident"

warnings: none, just fluff .𖥔 ݁ ˖ : inspired by this :)

An emergency landing. Or at least that was what Caleb said to you over the phone.

You were confident in him, that's for sure. But sometimes you just can't shake the worry of something going wrong during a mission. So when you got a call from Caleb himself informing you of his emergency landing, your heart rate immediately picked up— mind racing to the possibilities.

Was he hurt? Where is he? What happened? Will he get home? Is he okay? Is it bad?

Caleb tried to calm you down, you wanted him to turn his camera on to see him but he insisted no due to confidentiality of the mission— when in reality, he just wanted to hide his bloody state from you to keep you from being hysterical.

Coincidentally, you were in the middle of watching a TV show when he called, it was on commercial now but when screen flashed breaking news reporting a crash site of one of the Farspace Fleets crafts holding the current colonel you immediately started crying and sobbing over the phone.

"YOU SAID IT WAS AN EMERGENCY LANDING! CALEB THAT'S CALLED A CRASH!" You sobbed at him, raising your voice so loud that you could barely hear what the TV was saying.

"Hey- look, it's not that bad I promise, just a cras-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUST A CRASH!? CALEB GO HOME NOW. I DON'T WANT YOU THERE, PLEASE!" Your voice was cracking both from your crying and screaming but you didn't care, eyes drifting to the screen— you cried even harder seeing how bad the wreck was. "Pips-"

"NO. HOME. NOW."

» »

To say that the wait was torture would be an understatement. After your scream at him to go home, Caleb only sighed and whispered a small okay before ending the call— only for you to ring him again urging to stay on the phone in case anything happens.

Caleb smiled at himself seeing how worried you are. You really do care about him a lot, and today just magnified that. It was cute hearing your voice despite it cracking and raspy, however, it did break his heart just a little bit; hearing your sniffles while he drives and your ting voice asking him where he was.

The two of you barely talked during the drive, just quick questions and even quicker answers. You wanted to rest your voice and Caleb knew that, thus, he stayed relatively quiet. Just small hums to let you know he was still there.

He didn't had the time to make himself look presentable, just poorly wrapped a badge around his cut right arm to prevent infection and stop bleeding— other than that, he looked like a mess. Torn, bloody, dirty uniform and just an overall unkept apperance. Thank the heavens for his handsome face to save the look.

You were waiting at the very doorstep of his front door. Phone sat on the granite floor, red teary eyes, puffy face, and a very evident pout on your lips. So cute; Caleb thought. You weren't even sitting, you were standing while waiting for him. Under watchful eyes, Caleb got out of the car— a gasp left your mouth and you immediately ran to him.

You wanted to hug him but stopped just a foot away from him even though he already had his arms open. For the probably nth time today, you started crying again.

"Oh, pips.. It's okay, I'm okay." Caleb cooed, patting your head twice before pressing it to his chest to embrace you in a hug. Your hands immediately wrapped around his torso, nuzzling your face deeper into him as you cried. Looking up at him and cradling his face in your hands. "Don't you ever! Do that again!" You scold him, lines burrowing between your eyebrows.

Caleb chuckles, nodding his head and leaning in to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. He bends his body to math your height before saying "I promise, never again. Especially now that I know how sad my boss baby gets."

Your lips wobble as more tears build up in your eyes. Your hands explore his body, feeling every bit of dust, blood, and torn fabric on his uniform. His tough left hand, and then finally his right hand where a porrly wrapped gash wrapped around it. Eyes widening, you look at him and he cocks his head sideways at you.

"Y- you're hurt.. Caleb! Why didn't you tend to it! Do you want both your arms to be metal now or something!" You scold him once more, now glaring at him. "Awe, my pips is so worried about me!"

"Caleb!" You softly hit his chest.

"It's only a small cut squeak, I'll be fine."

"Don't care! Get inside, you're wounded and it needs to be healed." You tug on his metal arm as you drag him inside the house. Once in, you assist him in taking his coat and boots off before guiding him to the bathroom and getting the very used and handy first aid kit.

Caleb's already took of the second layer of his uniform leaving him only in a white long sleeve button up. Slowly, he unbottons it with his left hand as you carefully take of the gash on his right. You pout even more when you see how deep the cut was on his skin.

You begin to do your work in silence, focus completely on sanitizing and treating his wound. He watches in adoration as you move on him, long gone the brave tough colonel Caleb of the Farspace Fleet as a crippling fear builds within him. He can't lose you, he can't lose this.

"Be more careful nextime, please Caleb. I don't want to lose you anymore." You look at him directly in the eye after finishing your work. Caleb's eyes soften when you embrace him in a hug, resting your face on his exposed skin while he rests his head on top of yours.

You hear his heartbeat, pressing yourself even more. Never letting go of your touch on him.

While the two of you clean yourself in the bathtub, your touch on him lingers as you wash his hair, massaging his scalp in the process.

While he cooks for dinner in the kitchen, you cling on him like a koala, wrapping your legs around his waist while you piggy back him.

While you lay in bed telling each other recaps of what happened while each other was away as you always do, your hand lays on his chest feelings his heartbeat. Legs intertwined so as your arms, and ultimately— your soul.

An unspoken promise of forever.

[bcksbarnes]

established relationship prompt #31: getting flustered from extended eye contact

if there was one thing that bucky barnes was, it was competitive. he was silent, but deadly. ready to take down anyone that got in his way.

that's how you and him ended up in a staring contest, sitting across from each other, legs slotted between one another as you sat in a heated battle to not blink first. he'd go all night if it meant winning, even if he really didn't want to.

though he would deny it, it was also an excuse to just stare into your eyes for a while. living in the tower offered little to no privacy most days, so any moments he could steal alone with you were welcomed. even if it was like this.

you were a few minutes into it when your eyes were started to water and bucky could see his opportunity to get you to forfeit. he had to take it

"you really should blink," he egged you on. "i bet it'd feel so good."

"over my dead body, barnes."

"if that's what it takes."

you lips curl up at his joke, though you've been trying to keep a straight face as much as possible. you quickly redeem yourself, the smile dropping as you leaned in a bit closer towards him.

this is when you noticed a reaction from bucky; his eyebrows raise and his gaze seems to move from your eyes down to your lips, still not blinking. you notice the way his adams apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

he was flustered.

"what's wrong?" you ask, leaning even closer to him as you did so.

"cheater," bucky mumbles, licking his lips softly as his eyes snap back up to yours.

"i'm not doing anything."

you shrug your shoulders innocently, pretending to not know what he's talking about. you watch his face carefully as you lift your hand up. he's trying not to watch your movements out of the corner of his eye, trying to keep his composure

the feeling of your hand on his thigh breaks him immediately, blinking a few times as if his brain was resetting. bucky opens his mouth to speak but the words are a jumbled mess that he can't decode.

with a look and a touch, you had broken bucky barnes.

[topherwrites]

𝘈 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘐𝘙𝘌

jack abbot x fem!reader — you have a shared understanding of each other, it's the worst sort of relation. warnings: mutual pining, angst, burn out, grief, terminal illness of parent, attending x resident, hr hates to see them coming. a/n: wrote this while sick and sleep deprived, so it's in third person for some reason. let me know if ya'll like this!

Jack has seen burnout, the way this job chips away at even the soundest of doctors. He’s used to tired eyes and cracked hands and sore backs. But this is different. It’s like watching a ghost move through the hospital.

She's crumbling under the weight of grief. She’s always clocked in; there’s no escape from it. No air to come up for. There’s just a void, deep and dark, that she pulls with her through every day.

And she doesn't sleep well anymore—or at all—terrified every time she closes her eyes that she won't be there when it—the horrible thing rapidly approaching—finally happens, that her mother will be alone. That she’ll have failed in the simplest of tasks.

She doesn’t feel human now, not really. She’s a candle burning at both ends—wick nearly gone. 

He sees it, the barely hidden exhaustion, the forced smiles, the vacant stare when she doesn't know anyone’s looking. But he is—always, watching her for a reason he can’t face, knows is wrong.

And so he’s there to witness her collapse, a full breakaway. They lose a patient—young. Stupid young. One of those ones who should’ve made it. Who would’ve made it, if the universe cared for things like fairness.

His eyes stay on her as he calls it, as she slowly stops compressions, discards her gloves silently, and slips from the room like if she’s quiet enough, she can just disappear. He knows that look. He follows her at a distance, checking in with Dana, the other residents, keeps his eye on her the entire time. A ticking time bomb. He sees the tremble in her hands, the measured way she’s taking in every breath. 

And then she bolts—not truly, but in her professional way, she does. Sets the chart in her hand down and goes straight for the stairwell.

Dana catches him watching her and tells him to go.

He pushes the door open, stands in the doorway as he watches her fold into herself on the cold, concrete stairway floor—knees pulled to her chest, shoulders shaking in that awful, silent way. The dam has broken. 

She sees him then, her breath hitching, and a sob, uncontrollable, leaves her throat—because now there’s a witness to her failure. She’s failing her patients and her mother and him. The door shuts behind him with a click, the sound of her breaking echoing around them. 

He moves, kneeling in front of her, as well as he can, every old part of him protesting all the while. He tries not to crowd, just be there. 

“Hey,” he says, voice firm, “Look at me.”

He knows what she needs, her Type-A constitution: someone to tell her what to do, give her permission to stop brute forcing her way through this.

She tries to swallow her emotions back down, regulate her breathing, get back to it. Her eyes raise from the ground, but she doesn't quite look at him. That's fine.

“You’re off.” She opens her mouth. “Don’t argue.”

“I can’t, I just,” her throat clogs, she imagines going home, to that house that shouldn't be as quiet as it is, just dead air and the sounds of machines. 

He sighs a long breath out of his nose, thumbing it as he offers something up to her. A piece of his own grief. 

Death, the great equalizer. 

He husks out, “If you stop for even a second, it’ll all go to shit, right?” 

He waits to see her eyes. 

He knows some of how she’s feeling, not the same, but close. She was there one day, gone the next. No in between, dead in everything but name. He imagines her version is worse. The long goodbye. The drawn-out cruelty of it.

His hand, large and calloused, cups her knee, thumb rubbing gently at the tendon there, grounding. She swallows down hard. Finally, her focus returns to him, and the look in his eye—understanding—draws her out of her spiral, if only for a moment.

“It won’t," he takes a breath, waits to see if she's really listening, “Not unless you don’t take a moment for yourself.”

She wants to believe him. But the thought of having to go back—to that house, to the hospice nurse, to her mother’s living death—makes her stomach churn. She feels ungrateful, selfish. 

Her mother’s dying, and her daughter’s trying to figure out a way not to go home. 

She finds she keeps having a particular thought, more and more these days, I want to go home. And yet she never seems to find herself there in the quiet of her childhood home. There’s no relief or sense of safety. Just quiet dread. I want to go home. And it’s the cool skin of her mother, paper thin. The occasional brittle sound that works its way out of her throat. 

She thinks, I want to go home. 

But there’s no home anymore. Just a ticking clock.

And she’s trying to let go of something that isn’t even gone yet. 

He keeps his eye on her. He’s sure that his words won’t sink in until later, the truth of them hard to swallow for people like them.

“My shift ends in an hour.” He leans back. Reaches into his pocket. His knuckles prod her closed fist, and something cold is placed into her grasp. Keys. He says, “Wait for me.”

She nods. 

What else is she going to do?

Then he leaves her in the stairwell. 

Eventually, she gathers herself together, eases back up onto her feet, and ambles her way out of the sliding doors. In a haze, she clicks the lock button and locates his car by the responding beep. It’s nice, smells like leather and pine—attending salary, she supposes.

She sinks into the passenger seat, numb; it’s the first time she’s sat still in weeks.

The car is quiet when he slides in beside her.

She doesn't open her eyes, just hears the soft click of the door, the sound of his bag hitting the backseat, the sigh he lets out like he’s been holding it in for hours.

He doesn’t start the engine right away. Just sits with her.

“You hungry?” he asks, like any of this is normal routine. Like this could be a date. 

Her tired mind pauses. Like she isn’t very obviously in the midst of a clinical breakdown.

So, she shrugs halfheartedly. Can’t quite remember the last time she ate, especially the last time she ate without her mom’s nurse forcing her to just sit and chew. She feels reduced to a child, unable to care for herself. 

His fingers tap against the steering wheel.

“Okay.” 

The engine turns over. She sits there with her head against the window, watches the city lights blur past in the dawn. He doesn’t talk, doesn't force conversation onto her. But she can feel his eye occasionally drift over; she can’t think about the beat of her heart when it does.

His place is clean in a lived-in way. Coffee cups in the sink. A stack of foreign medical journals on the kitchen counter. Throw slung over the back of the couch. 

She doesn’t say anything, just stands in the doorway. A tad uncertain and eyeing. 

He toes his shoes off onto a rack. Shrugs his jacket off and hangs it on a hook next to her.

He motions for her to turn around, helps her out of the stiff shell of her scrub top with gentle hands. Careful. Like she might break.

She shivers against the cool air of his apartment, sweat clinging to her skin and tank top. 

His hands purposefully don’t linger. He steps away, through the large sliding barn doors at the back, where she assumes his bedroom is. A moment later, he comes back with a sweatshirt and blankets in hand. 

He presents the sweatshirt to her silently. Their fingers brush as she takes it, slipping it on over her head. Worn cotton. Faded logo. It smells like detergent and him.

Already, she feels a little more alive.

“You can take the bed,” he offers, already walking toward the kitchen, giving her space. “I’ll be on the couch.”

It takes a moment. And then, “What?”

She pads quickly after him, floorboards creaking under her foot. 

He doesn’t answer right away—just opens the fridge, peers down, and makes a vague sound of confirmation—nothing particularly edible left.

“I can’t cook for shit, so…” 

She glances past him, can't help the comment, “And your fridge is sad.”

His eyes narrow and slowly, he straightens up, but there’s the giveaway, a little twitch of his lips. “I invite you in and you go in on my-”

“It’s, like, mostly condiments.” 

And beer, but she doesn’t mention that. She’s pretty sure Harrison, McKay's kid, would call it divorced dad core. He pulls two out, silently tips one toward her in offering. Why not, she figures, reaching out and taking the bottle from him. She cracks it open, takes a sip, and leans on the counter—the taste reminds her of college, probably the last time she can remember relaxing. 

Then, she sighs, returning to the topic, despite his attempt at a detour, “I’m not kicking you out of your bed.” Voice scratchy with fatigue, she adds lamely, “Don’t be stupid.”

He exhales through his nose, sentiment he doesn't know how to word staying firmly in his throat. 

Arms tucked into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, she watches him over the counter. 

There’s something buzzing in her chest. Inappropriately tender. 

“Not a big deal,” he says finally, then drinks, his eyes on her. Not in a waiting-for-her-to-fall-apart way. Just… on her. He’s watching her like she’s a person and not a patient, not a problem to be solved. 

She’s not quite sure what to do with it. At work, at home, she has to keep it together, pretend in equal measure that nothing is wrong, that she has it all together. So now, with the space to just breathe, she falters. She doesn't know how to be anymore. 

“You let strange, frazzled women crash your place often?” she says, trying for levity, settling into a stool across the island.

He seems to ignore her self-deprecation entirely. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t flinch. Not even a pity laugh thrown her way. The quiet that’s left sobers her. Again, he sees her. 

She shifts, realizing how near he is—how inconsequential the island is between them.

“No,” he swallows, looking down at the counter, then up at her, “just you.”

It lands with weight. She wonders what it means, if he even knows. 

She tries to take it casually. But as it rests in the quiet, she’s forced to swallow down her clashing confusion of feelings. 

She wants to say something, anything, to fill the void. Make a joke about him agreeing with her—she is frazzled. More so now. And there’s something dangerous crackling in the quiet. Instead, she sits there, eyes tracing the lines of his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens slightly when he notices her watching him. 

She’s so fucking tired, and her brain is a mess—fogged by grief, adrenaline, the echo of chest compressions, the tremor still in her hands. She could be imagining it all. Probably is.

Just you.

“You need sleep,” he says, firm. “Real sleep. Not just half-hour naps when your body gives out on you.” 

“Look that bad, huh?”

“Little worse for wear,” he starts, a familiar tilt to his mouth, “Still better than most on their best.”

Again, he throws her a fraction off-kilter. 

She takes it better this time. A quick study—as he’s told her before. She’s usually better at volleying, but today she’s an exposed nerve. In the ED, the banter feels harmless, a way to pass the time. Here, in the confines of his place, it feels charged, intentional. Dangerous. 

Jack sighs, more at himself than anything else, and pushes off the counter. Releases himself from looking at her. His fingers flex at his sides, a twitch like muscle memory, like he’s already imagined what it’d be like to touch her. Pull her close. Lay his palm against the back of her neck and give in to the worst of his urges, the ones that have built up in him since he very first saw her.

But he doesn’t.

He won’t.

Because she’s grief-struck and unraveling, and he knows this would be a sort of theft.

He wouldn't be able to take it back. And she rightfully may not forgive him. He might shatter this bit of comfort he’s been able to extend to her. Or perhaps worse, she’ll want him, this, now, but not when the fog dissipates, when a clearer head prevails. 

“I’ll order in,” he says as he turns from her, flicks open a drawer overflowing with takeout menus. Mindlessly, he rifles through them as he takes a breath. He feels her eyes on his back, that prickling awareness at the base of his neck.

She knocks her knuckles on the counter, “Kay. I'm forewarning you, I’m gonna snoop.”

His eyes meet hers over his shoulder, and he nods to the low shelves in the corner, “Records over there.”

He watches her turn, the corners of her lips lifting in response. She unwinds, that last little bit of tension leaving her as she falls back into a familiar rhythm. 

“You're such a hipster piece of shit.”

“No, just old,” he states dryly just to get a smile out of her. He’s rewarded with it, accompanied by a short exhale out of her nose. 

She wanders over to the corner, squatting down as her fingers run over his collection. Taking her time gently sorting through them, she occasionally pulls one from the shelf, eyes scanning the tracklist. He can’t help the interest that’s settled into him: Which ones are to her taste? Which are bands she’s never heard of?

He’s curious about her, always—the briefest glimpses of her leading to more questions.

“You,” she starts, declaring as she pushes to stand, “are a fleetwood mac stan.”

“Of course I am, I'm a self-respecting child of the seventies.”

Her eyes stay on him for a moment before she hums, approving.

It’s that bit of curiosity that’s going to do him in. 

He hasn’t told his therapist about her. Not exactly. Not in a way that counts. The predicament that’s not a predicament. Because he’s kept his head, kept things mostly professional. 

His voice rings in his head, saying what he knows the man would, placid to promote some amount of self-reflection: 'Are you sure that’s a good idea, Jack? '

No. He’s not.

But he’s already in it. Not much farther to fall from here.

She watches as Jack pulls out a diner menu, asks her, “You like pancakes?”

“I'm partial to them.”

They remind her of weekends and summer and her mom. Of giggles and the smell of burnt batter. So yes, she supposed she likes pancakes.

Jack pulls out his phone. Presses it between his ear and shoulder like it’s muscle memory. Always multitasking.

“You a chocolate chip or blueberry kind of gal?”

An hour later, they’re sitting side by side, quietly eating. Forks clink against ceramic. Her elbow brushes his every now and then. Neither moves away. 

He’s taken his leg off. She’s let her hair loose from its bun. Something about it feels telling. 

Too comfortable for what their relationship should be. 

Beer and pancakes. Two things that shouldn't mix.

“Thank you for,” she sighs, “you know.”

The air is still around them. 

He looks over at her, and his eyes are as soft as she’s ever seen them, kind and unguarded in a way that’s a punch to the gut. They quietly roam her face—pinning her. It sits between them—this vast unnamable thing. She wonders what he’s looking for in her face. Perhaps the same thing she’s looking for in his. 

When his gaze lands on her lips—momentary, maybe accidental—it zips down her spine, lands hotly in her stomach.

He doesn’t know how to formulate the devotion on his tongue, say, I’d do anything for you or I’m sorry or Maybe if circumstances were different.

So instead he says, “You’re not a machine. You can’t run on two hours of sleep and caffeine forever.”

She hums in return.

He knows she’ll show up to the next shift the same way—dark circles, thermos in hand, too much tension in her shoulders. Tonight, his words, will probably change very little in the grand scheme of things. Change is difficult at any scale. Especially for people like them. He’s learned that much.

But if she sleeps soundly, lets some of that tension in her shoulders release, even if only for a few hours, then maybe that’s enough.

The rest of their meal is finished over hushed conversation—him digging up the remnants of his past for a good story. A few close calls, some risky maneuvers, the periodic breaking of protocol all teased out to keep her eyes on him. But eventually, time runs out, she stifles a yawn into her fist and her lids grow heavy. 

Quietly, he takes her empty plate and slides it into the dishwasher, urges her up with a hand between her shoulder blades. A gentle push to bed. His grip slides down to her waist as she reaches up onto her toes and thanks him with a press of her lips to his cheek. 

And then she’s gone, the sound of her feet padding down the hallway. She doesn’t say goodnight.

She thinks, in another version of this night, he might have followed her.

But in this version—the only they have—he just stands in the kitchen, eyes on the hallway long after she’s disappeared. He rinses the cups. Wipes down the counter like it matters. Like it keeps him from thinking too hard.

He turns the record player on. Starts an album. Keeps the volume low.

Jack sinks into the couch like it’s an old friend—his hip cracks, his back protests. This isn’t his first stint sleeping in his living room. On certain nights—bad ones—his bed is too big, too empty, too quiet, too full of memory. He’ll grab a blanket and crash out here, maybe catch an hour or two of actual rest before his next shift.

Now, he stares at the ceiling as if it might offer him clarity, like it’s penance.

It doesn’t. It never does.

He remembers how she looked—backlit by his kitchen light, sipping beer like this was any normal Tuesday, like this morning wasn’t a death sentence for his already fragile grip on propriety. It’s not even the presence of her that wrecks him—it’s the ease of it. Like she belongs here. Like it’s natural. Like the universe didn’t put a giant red do not fucking cross this line between their lives and laugh every time he toed it.

She’s asleep in the other room.

And nothing happened.

Nothing will happen.

But still, there’s that buzz in his fingertips. He wanted something to happen. It burns behind his eyelids.

Somewhere, faint through the speakers still murmuring in the background—

Billy Joel starts to hum again.

She steals like a thief, but she's always a woman to me.

Jack sighs, closing his eyes. 

Sun starts to fill the room.

Oh, she takes care of herself; she can wait if she wants. She's ahead of her time.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

[ce1estiall]

already over

summary paige x teammate!reader you got drafted to the dallas wings in the 2026 wnba draft. you and paige got off the wrong foot the year before. now it was time to face her

warnings mentions of suicide, mental health, , cheating, fighting, angst, slight fluff at the end (happy ending ;))

celestial notes based off of this request. the long awaited fic, i stayed up late for this. enjoy! masterlist.

"i know in the end it wont be us, it can never be the same as before.

already over, i erased you, then that day." already - gidle

you felt like you were in a dream, waiting for someone to pinch you. the moment you have been dreaming for, since you were a kid. that orange carpet that made its way to new york for the 2026 wnba draft.

you had one word for what you wanted to wear: cunt. your stylist, claire, blinged you out in a semi-oversized rhinestoned grey blazer with bronze buttons and a matching grey jumper with very thin white stripes, also a handmade belt of the same material. she paired you with silver channel logo earrings and knee high black boots. you hair was curled, but eventually became wavy due to them falling out. you had very natural makeup, barely blush. you had a hint of sparkle eyeshadow on your eyes, that would shine in photos. eyeliner so sharp it could've cut someone, and a peachy pink lipgloss.

photographers were in awe when they saw you walk down the orange carper, all calling out your name to take pictures of you in every single angle imaginable. you walked down with two feelings. confidence on how you looked and anxiety for when your name would be called.

as you entered the arena, you sat down next to your parents. gold-and white basketball engraved with your name. "CONNECTICUT" under it.

not only were you at the draft, but so was your teammate azzi. your teammates came out to support both of you and cheer you on.

you've seen azzi go through so much, but the media was putting you as rivals as who was going to be the #1 pick. mock drafts were changing, switching between you and azzi. but no matter the outcome, you would both be proud of each other.

you've seen azzi go through so much. knee injuries, physical therapy, azzi was the one who really deserved it all. she was also a wonderful teammate and friend to you, always offering to pay for your things or go clubbing together on days you had off.

the draft was about to start any moment now. you were hearing the espn commentators talk about how dallas was on the clock for their pick and you and azzi’s journey to get here. you felt a mix of emotions all forming in your gut. excitement, nervousness, fear, freedom. your future was in the hands of any wnba team. you didn’t care where you got drafted to, you would just be happy to hear your name called.

cathy engelbert entered the stage, signaling dallas had made their decision.

“with the first pick in the 2026 wnba draft, the dallas wings select (y/n), university of connecticut.”

you smile grew as big as the arena. you could almost cry. you got up and hugged your mom, then your dad, then coach auriemma. “i’m so proud of you kid. you deserve this.” he whispered to your ear. you wiped a tear from your face, hoping to not ruin your makeup so early.

you walked up the steps to the stage. the same steps you watch wnba legends walk on. you shook cathy’s hand, as she handed you the wings jersey with #1 on the back. you smiled for the camera. a true, natural smile.

you walked back down to the steps as holly rowe greeted you, wanting to interview you.

“congratulations for going as the #1 pick tonight. i'm sure the fans have seen you work so hard. what are you feeling in this moment?” she asked.

“i’m feeling a lot of everything.” you started to choke up. “i’m trying to not ruin my makeup.” you said with laughter as you wiped a tear away. “but in all seriousness i’m so thankful for the opportunity i got at uconn. it was a once in a lifetime experience for me and i wouldn’t trade it for the world.” you turned around to your table, facing your family. “i just really want to thank my parents for all the sacrifices they’ve made for me to be here in this moment. my coaches, my teammates, the best teammates i could ever ask for.” the audience clapped as they heard your response.

holly continued. “we know that you’ve been going through a lot mentally during your basketball career. how does it feel like that you’ve overcame any challenges you’ve had?”

you smiled, knowing that this would be asked. “uhh it feels pretty rewarding. there was a point in my life where i wanted to quit, not just the sport i loved, but my life as well. i was in a really dark place and i thought i would never get out of it. i questioned my capabilities and my ability in life. i trusted god however and he’s helped me a lot. but credits to my support system who helped me push through and thank god that i’m standing here right now. all glory to him.”

“thank you so much. congratulations again.”

“thank you for your time.” you walked and sat down to your parents again. your worry of not getting called was at ease. you felt accomplished. all you blood, sweat, and tears had paid off. now, it was azzi’s time to shine.

cathy came out again. “with the second pick in the 2026 wnba draft, the los angeles sparks select azzi fudd, university of connecticut.”

you jumped up immediately, cheering her. your uconn teammates all screamed and recorded their moment as if it was a concert. azzi was in a white dress with her hair down, curled. she looked absolutely stunning. jaw-dropping even. thank god she chose basketball, because the modeling industry was not ready for her. azzi then spoke to holly about her feelings. you were smiling, maybe even crying a bit. the camera then panned to a familiar blonde, holding a phone with a smile lit across her face.

your face dropped. “fuck me.” you whispered under your breath, as you turned around to find her. it was her. it was paige. it was so obvious she came to support azzi. she could give two shits about you.

you and paige dated for two and a half years during college, when you were a freshman, sophomore, and junior since she was a grade older than you.

it was just a normal day in december. waking up to paige’s stupid singing in the bathroom as she brushed her teeth, eating breakfast before your 10am class, practice later that day, the normal.

you walked to your class, as the cold wind brushed your face, leaving your nose cold. you wore clothes that would keep you warm throughout the day such as a white scarf with a matching beanie and a warm winter coat.

after class, you got ready for practice. getting taped, laced up, and arriving early for some shooting.

practice was the same like always. running till you felt like oxygen wasn’t in your body anymore, defensive slides and drills, offensive plays, and scrimmaging, and slight flirting back and forth with paige. she loved to annoy you during water breaks. however, you were thankful enough to have an amazing bond with your teammates, which is what makes you look forward to in practice.

after practice you returned to your dorm and showered. you didn’t like to feel the sweat after practice. you took an everything shower—shaving, exfoliating, double cleansing. it made you feel refreshed.

you left you hair down to air dry, when you heard knocking on your door so late. puzzled, but you opened the door.

when the door opened, paige stomped in, furious. you can tell she was mad. and when she’s mad, it’s not very pretty.

“you okay?” you asked her looking confused. both of you standing in the kitchen as you put dishes away. emotions were thick, both of you feeling them in the air.

paige started speaking. "are you fucking kidding me?" she said as she shoved you. she was furious, practically seeing the smoke exit her ears, slowly turning red.

"what the fuck are you talking about?" you slowly walked back to the place before. she stood up to you, getting in your face. you could feel her breath as she was breathing angerly.

"sleeping with some fucking guy from the men's basketball team? what the fuck? after all the shit i did for you and you're fucking cheating on me? you're fucking pathetic!"

"paige, wha-" is all you could say before she interrupted you.

"i don't wanna hear your bullshit and pathetic excuses. you and me? it's over. you didn't think twice about us when you got in bed with that fucker. don't fucking call me, text me, look at me, or even breathe near me." you saw her face. it was a heartbroken girl who cared so much just to be stabbed in the back.

she walked out in a blink of an eye before you could say anything to her. she slammed the door, walls slowly shaking from the aftershock.

where did this rumor come from? the girl you've loved since 20 years old, dropped you from a rumor that wasn't true. you couldn't even explained your side of the story--which you didn't have one because this was all a bullshit lie. tears of anger flowed down your cheeks, a drop towards your lips which allowed you to get a taste of salt, which was how you were feeling.

someone wanted to sabotage you and paige's relationship. you didn't care who, but why. you went to the couch, and immediately cried. you were expressing so much emotion that you though you were gonna become from how much cried. the last thing you remembered was sobbing, then laying down on the couch.

you woke up the next day, heading to practice since it was the weekend. when you entered the locker room, you saw paige in the corner of your eye. she saw you. she left immediately and rolled her eyes. you ignored her and you did your routine--lacing up, getting tapped, and arrived early.

practice was about to start in 10 minutes, then you saw azzi walking in, looking confused. "hey girl! how are you?" she asked, excited to see you. you took a deep sigh. "i could be better."

she sat down on the bench of her locker. "is it about paige?" you nodded, as she immediately knew what was going on.

the evening she confronted you, she told the team about what was going on between you two. she knew it wasn't any of their business, but she wanted them to become your enemy. when azzi heard paige's part of the story, she knew you too well. she knew you wouldn't do something like that, especially with a guy, and even me with the girl you loved and always talked to people about.

azzi continued, watching your face and body emotion change. "she told us what happened last night, but i know you wouldn't do shit like that. so i wanna hear your side of what happened."

you took a breath. "last night, paige went to my room, screaming and yelling at me. she was accusing me of cheating on her with a guy from the basketball team. i would not do that. i'm so in love with paige, i wouldn't be with anyone else in my life but her. i have no evidence of talking to this guy on the phone or in real life. you can go through my phone too. shit, i don't even know him!" the water works were starting to form, slowly causing your eyes to become red. "i didn't even get a chance to speak to her. she just said her shit, saying to not call or text or look at her, slammed the door, and left."

azzi patted your back as comfort. "do you want me to sit down the team your side of the story. everyone except paige?" you nodded, cleaning the tears off your face with your hands. you knew paige wouldn't budge, so you and azzi decided to give her time to cool off.

----

post-draft, you had photoshoots the rest of the evening for magazines, social media, and partnerships promoting you in your dallas jersey and how you were also a #1 pick. your grey outfit shimmered from the flashes of the cameras. you were used to the attention being on you in the media, so it didn't bother you when you had 40 flashes going on at one time just for a single photo. coach chris called you, saying how they were so excited to see you in dallas and see how your hard work has paid off. dallas was excited to see your talent, as home-opener tickets sold out within an hour after seeing you being drafted. before you and azzi left for dallas and la, you took a group photo with your team, as they all received dallas wings and la sparks hats to support you and azzi. you hugged them all goodbye "i love you all and will miss you. get a natty for me. ill visit in the offseason." as you broke down. you held azzi a little longer. "good luck in la, az. can't wait to beat your ass." you both cracked up in laughter as streams of tears were all over your face. paige went to hug azzi, and you knew that was your queue to leave.

you headed back to your hotel room, feeling happy and exhausted from this evening. you had to pack all your items and buy flight and hotel tickets to dallas, as you had to be a training camp right away. the shower and bedroom never looked so nice before. you took a shower to remove the leftover makeup from your face and sweat from excitement that evening, tucked yourself into bed while falling asleep to love island playing in the background.

you woke up bright and early at 2 am, as your flight was at 6am. you woke up, and washed your face, feeling the ice cold water on your skin. you packed any other items you may have missed the previous evening, such as toiletries and your outfit from the previous night before. and now, you were off your way to start history, to finally achieve your dream.

you arrived at the chilly airport. since it was still very early, there wasn't as much security and bag checking as you thought, and thankfully you weren't chosen for a tsa check, so you had 2 hours to kill.

you decided to head over to peet's coffee - your favorite cafe. you got an iced vanilla latte with a cheese danish, which was one of your comfort foods. you deserved it, especially after last night. which you were sitting down, eating your "meal", all you could think about was paige. it was like she was haunting you. you thought about how you would have to face her again, now that you were both professional athletes on the same team. you had hope that she would put the pettiness aside and act professional with you. unfortunately that was not the case.

the flight to dallas was amazing. you loved planes and flights. it always gave you a boost of serotonin. you watched the sunset as all the colors blended together. reds, oranges, yellows, pinks and purple, all eventually met each other to become a beautiful view. that is that hope you had with your future teammates. you were now a little fish in a big pond. you took a long awaited nap the rest of your flight, as jetlag was slowly starting to catch up.

you landed and headed straight to the hotel to unpack everything, get ready for training camp, then head to training camp. all in less than an hour. the pressure and anxiety was clearly on you, you were trying to not have a panic attack from now until arriving the practice facility. at one point, you said "fuck it." and left you clothes in a mess all over the bed. you were starting to run late, and that was not a good first impression on you're part. you brought a practice shirt, shorts, and basketball shoes from storrs. you ubered your way to the facility, in awe on how huge and fancy it was in person.

the moment you approached the doors, you took a deep breath. everything is going to be okay you told yourself. you opened the doors, as a new chapter in your life was about to be written. you headed to the gym, eyeing coach chris. he gave you a big, warm and welcoming hug. you felt the excitement transport between you and him. "we are so excited to have you as a part of our program. the rest of the team is in the locker room. we're about to start training camp in about 30 minutes, so you can go introduce yourself and get to know everyone. let me know if you need anything." you gave a soft smile. "got it. thanks once again coach." he sent you off with a wave.

you walked shyly into the locker room as if it were you first day of kindergarden. dijonai smiled and jumped when she saw you walk in. she ran up to you, giving you a hug. "hi rookie!! we are so excited to have you with us! we know you're gonna fit right in here in dallas." you then saw arike, finding her socks. "oh hey! happy to see you. you're gonna enjoy dallas, i already know it." you smiled from all the attention being on you. "thanks guys for the warm welcome! this definitely put me at ease." you saw the rest of the team, sending you waves and smiles. "well for those of you that don't know me, even though i'm pretty sure you do. my name is y/n and i played at uconn. i'm really excited to start my wnba journey here in dallas not just the coaches, but you guys and the fans."

jj started cheering for you, you gave a bright smile in return to show thanks. then you saw paige, giving you a death glare as she sat under her locker. you rolled her off your back. you were not gonna let her ruin your day - or even this new beginning for you. you just let her roll of your back. you headed out of the locker room and went to the gym after you changed into your dallas wings practice gear. the green and blue wasn't necessarily your favorite, but it was starting to grow on you.

then it was now one of the bumps in the road, training camp. even though there was a high possibility of you making the roster, you still wanted to work your ass off to show that you deserve it. it started off with running drills. you ran like there was no tomorrow, you had so much fuel in your tank. there were suicides, 17s, up and backs, the normal when it comes to basketball. you noticed paige as she was trying to take this as a race. you could see her ego boosting on her face if she made it first before you. nalyssa slowly started noticing, but didn't really take much note. you ignored paige, you had more important things to worry about in your life. it moved on to defensive drills. that was where you really started setting the tone for yourself. you loved defense - because that was your specialty as a player. press, blocks and steals always gave you dopamine, because it was exciting. you felt like an absolute beast. the team was very impressed by your defense, as you read the offender, not falling most of the time for the tricks they were attempting to try on you.

shooting drills were next on the list. were you good at them? sorta. can you put points on the boards however? absolutely. midrange was your cup of tea. occasionally hitting a 3 once in a while. however, this is now the w. they want to make you uncomfortable, set you outside your comfort zone. your stats for this set wasn't the best. 3 makes out of 10 attempts. you could do better. paige was making shots like crazy. 9 makes out of 10 attempts. you didn't want to get in your head at such an early stage in camp, so once again you calmed yourself down and ignore it. the second set had improvement for you. 6 makes out of 10, but something inside of you still was not satisfied. you wanted to make all 10. paige, showing off, made all 10. she shoulder checked you, and thats when it started, the determination to make all 10. but when you were good, paige wanted to be great. when you were great, paige wanted to be better. she always wanted to be one step ahead of you. third and final set, you pushed through. making sure your shots were clean, and not rushed. making sure your form was correct and your jumping was as high as you could be. when you heard all 10 swishes, you were finally satisfied. paige noticed you as she waited in line, rolling her eyes and pretending not to care. coach called a water break.

you went to the lobby to grab a sip of water. maddy was behind you, waiting for you to finish. she looked curious. "hey! you doing all right today?" she caught you off guard, almost choking on your water. "hey maddy! yes i'm good, thanks for asking." she looked outside the lobby, like she was anticipating someone. "i noticed paige is just, i don't know, off. it's like she has something against you, don't you think?"

you shrugged your arms. "it's a long story for another day, maddy. i'm just gonna let her have her moment and let it roll off my back, because i really do not need this this week." she started to head back to the gym, "we'll if you need anything i'm here." she left with a smile.

a scrimmage than happened, then the first day of camp had ended, giving you some relief. your tank was finally empty from today, and you couldn't wait to rest and recharge at home for tomorrow.

---

training camp was what seemed like an endless cycle. it felt like the same drills everyday, with minimal switch ups. paige was still in this competition with you, which started to get on your nerves. she would whisper things under her breath. occasionally, you heard what she was saying, like "unworthly" or "overrated". you were not falling for her childish games. the team started to notice more, whispering to each other about what was being observed between you and paige. dijonai was the one who was paying attention to you both the most out of everyone on the team.

training camp day 4 had wrapped up after your team formed a circle to call it the end of the day. you sat down and slid on a wall while chugging from your gaterade water bottle as if it was your last drops on earth. you were minding your business, closing your eyes trying to catch your breath, when you feel a figure suddenly in front of you. you quickly opened your eyes, when you saw paige.

"you can never seem to leave me alone, huh?" you spoke, getting up from the wall. she shrugged. "funny. looks like you need some practice. 1v1?" the light switched. your confidence was now through the roof, because of wanting the satisfactory to watch her lose. "first to 5. i'll shoot for it."

she chuckled. "not like you're gonna ma-" swish. you smiled. "what were you saying?" she ignored you, checking up the ball. you started, feeling the leather all over your hands as you dribbled the ball. you used one of your favorite tricks. crossover, between the legs, behind the back, step back, and shoot. paige tried to block. swish.

2-0. she grabbed the rebound. "so you wanna be like that?"

"i'm not being anything, bueckers. just trying to beat you at your own game." she handed you a bullet pass, purposely aiming for your chest, but you caught it right as it was about to hit you. "since i'm so kind, its losers ball." just as you were about to hand her the ball, you through it over you, not far, but just behind you. that really pissed paige off. "you just an asshole every day or just today?"

she had the ball, jabbed right then dribble left, hitting a pull up floater. you grabbed the rebound, shoulder checking her as you walked to the top of the key, waiting for her to check up. 2-2. "are you just a bitch when i get drafted here or for anyone?" she looked you up and down in anger as she checked up. you shot the 3, but missed. she whispered under her breath, but you managed to hear her. "shot's broken. as expected." she smirked as she ran to get the ball. she went up to the 3 to clear it. "wasn't broken when i did that step back though, huh?" she shot the 3, but you blocked it.

she really started the trash talk after that block. "all bark, but no fucking bite in you. pussy." you gave her a nod as she was underestimating you. you were about to shoot the 3 when she moved out the way. "decided to give you a free lane. accept it while you can. can't fucking making a 3 to save your life." challenge on, bueckers. you looked at her, shooting a no-look 3, smiling from ear to ear when you heard the shot go in. "keep talkin' paige." you stepped up close to her face. "reflecting your insecurities on me because you're fucking pissed i'm here. get fucking used to it, baby. or it ain't gonna look pretty."

dijonai saw from the corner entrance of the locker room. "both of you. locker room, now." her voice was stern, which meant she was not playing around.

you followed paige to the locker room, as you saw the whole team standing in front of you both as you sat down on the bench to your lockers.

arike began. "alright, imma say this shit once and that's it. whatever bullshit y'all have going on between each other needs to be fixed asap because this some bullshit."

dijonai continued. "this is really immature, figure out the battles between both of you. we're gonna head out and leave you two alone and speak your peace. i want this rivalry gone tomorrow morning." both of you nodded as the team headed out.

it was dead silent. none of you wanted to speak first. emotions and tension were thick in the air, you could taste it. you decided to be the bigger person and talk first. "why do you always have to have some sort of competition with me, paige?"

she placed her elbows on her thighs. "because i want to be better than you. i always want to be and always will be."

anger rose throughout your body. "look if you just don't fucking want me here don't be such a pussy and try to sabotage me to leave. be upfront and honest with me."

she got up from her bench. "alright fine, i don't want you here. i was happier without you. i don't like seeing your face here. i want you gone. it will be one less problem for me."

"i'll do you one better paige. give me a good enough fucking reason and i'll be out by tomorrow morning."

silence. paige couldn't think of one. she was still stuck on college, how you hurt and broke her trust. when in reality you did nothing at all. she was brainwashed and fed with lies by someone else to make her hate you. and it worked.

"you look like you wanna kill me half the fuckin' time. like you seeing me happy makes you physically ill." you said, about to surrender and leave with the tone in your voice. "you're not the person i used to know."

she said very unconcerned. "hate to break it to you sweetheart but people change. get used to it."

"see this is why i don't like fucking talking to you! all you do is make shit about yourself paige! have sympathy for once in your goddamn life. or is it just that hard of a concept to grasp for you?" you got up from your bench, slowly approaching her. paige look visibly stunned and offended from what you said. she wasn't upset or sad, she was furious.

"i saw you on draft night paige. i knew you weren't there for me. you could give two fucks about what happens to me. i can fucking die tomorrow god forbid, and you'd show no remorse. no emotion, not one tear shed from your goddamn face. what the actual fuck have i ever done to you to make you act like such a fucking bitch towards me. i've questioned myself day and night for this past week because of how you've been acting towards me. i know you fucking hate me, but that's the only thing i want to know." you were sobbing, crying from the anger that was spilling out of your mouth. paige was angry and numb at the same time. like she wanted to speak, but something was stopping her. finally, she bit the bullet.

"the day i confronted you that you cheated on me. i never saw you the same again. from that day on, you were my enemy. i hated you with every bone in my body that you could do such a thing to me. after everything i've done for you. i was there for you, through it all. i helped you during your injuries, or during the days where you wanted to kill yourself. and that's what you did to me? you stabbed me in the fucking back saying 'i don't want you'. you hurt me deeply, and i wanted you to feel the pain but worse." paige's body now reacted. she stood up and encountered you face to face, while her and eyes turned red from the anger that she was feeling.

"i'm stopping you right there. that day you confronted me, i was gonna say my shit. but you left paige. didn't even give me one fucking chance to explain." you yelled, as your voice increasingly became louder.

paige yelled back. "there was nothing for you to explain."

"can you let me fucking finish?" you gripped your practice jersey, attempting to cool off. "i never, ever, cheated on you paige. someone started that rumor to break us up and it worked. the next day after you confronted me, azzi asked me my side of the story. i didn't even know the fucking guy. paige you could've went through my phone. there was no proof of me ever talking to this guy. plus i'm a lesbian. guys disgust me. why would i cheat on you with a guy?" you took a deep breath. "azzi told me that you told the team what had happened. azzi told the team my side of the story about what happened."

paige intervened. "why didn't azzi tell me? why did she tell everyone except me?"

"because you needed time to cool off and i knew you wouldn't have believed me." you placed your hands on your hips.

paige licked her lips. "i could've understood if you told me what happened." you wanted this conversation to end.

"well i now feel like a dumbass for not telling you earlier paige." you sat back down, legs shaking from anxiety about the venting you just did.

paige sat back down also and turned to look at you. "so if you apparently 'cheated on me' but you in reality didn't, who started that rumor."

you spoke more calmly now. "i don't know. but it was an attempt to break us up. and it worked." you started picking at your nails from anxiety. paige got up and sat next to you. she was the next one about to cry.

"now that you told me this, i'm so sorry for how i treated you. and i know from how i acted earlier that a simple apology is not changing my behavior. when we broke up, i won't lie, i still loved you. i was going insane from not seeing you so often. i've been such a dick towards you, and if i could go back in time to prevent those things to hurt you, i would. i still love you and i care about you so much. i always think about you. on draft night, i mostly went for you. i wanted to see your face again. your smile, your fashion, your dream come true that you told me about." she grabbed your hand and interlocked fingers. "restart our journey with me. a new team, and new beginnings. only if you want to. i understand if you don't." she looked at you, tears escaping her eyelids as she poured her heart out to you. she gripped your hand tighter, making you feel her squeeze. "i've missed you so much paige. more than words can ever imagine."

you both got up from the bench and gave each other a long, warm and meaningful hug that you could've melt into. she placed a kiss on your cheek. "i've missed your touch, your warmth, your scent. i've missed this. all of you."

[moyazaika]

sharing is caring

yandere! childe (genshin impact) x fem! reader

cw; (1.9k wc) darling wears glasses, obsessive + possessive themes, allusions to violence, implied non-con, nsfw themes, mdni 18+

genie's notes; commissioned piece by @lucienbarkbark who was an angel to work with! it's always fun to dive into fanfic so thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so; have fun reading! ♡

the snezhnayan winters are deathly cold, but even then, they are not nearly as chilling as your husband’s ire. 

rarely are you ever the object of his interrogation, but there are those inevitable few moments you’re reminded of how old habits really do die hard—you slip up, in spite of all your best efforts—and hell freezes over.

take, for instance, right now. 

because although his lips curl into something akin to a smile, you know childe far too well to believe this is anything but a deception, returned in favour of your own omissions.

the heat of the nearby fireplace’s flames lick at your feet and are, you recognise, the last remnants of warmth in the room. even the heavy fur coat draped over your shaking shoulders does little to protect you against childe’s blue eyes, cutting into you like shards of dark ice. 

“ajax,” you plead. “i’m—”

“a liar.” childe finishes for you; his voice is deceptively gentle, soft as a lull. it devastates you when he laughs. “you’re a liar, my love.”

he’s got all of your letters in his hands. already, you know you’ve lost. the envelopes have been ripped open and the codes deciphered. how stupid of you to believe you could make a fool of the eleventh harbinger.

the silence that follows; settles down into the space between the two of you, is long and languid. your husband is in no rush to speak, seemingly content in merely taking in the way you’re squirming before him. he is eager, yet impassive, in his appraisal. it’s not the reverent sort you’ve gotten so used to, for there are no sweet nothings whispered against your skin as he lets his eyes linger on the softest parts of you. 

tonight, his observation is more akin to an examination. an analysis, perhaps. like he’s looking for something—finds it, you realise with a sinking feeling, as his gaze snags on your hands, curled up by your sides, and marred by deep, black, ink.

damning markers of your disloyalty. 

instinctively, you let the sleeves of your coat fall past your wrists. it’s a futile attempt at delaying the inevitable, and it makes you feel like nothing more than a guilty little girl having been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. you can’t stand the silence anymore. you really need to just—

archons—

the hair on your skin stands on end when he finally deigns to meet your eyes. beneath the weight of his cold gaze, you think anything would be better than this. it’s difficult not to walk right into the fireplace; lie down amidst the welcoming warmth of the flames that burn so brightly.

“i tried to trust you, y’know? i let you send your family little letters, and i never opened any of them even when all i wanted,” he confesses, “was to tear those pretty envelopes apart. i’ll admit, i even thought about breaking a finger or two a couple of times, did you know that? nothing to post if you can’t write.”

he looks to you for an answer, and it’s all you can do to stare back. he shakes his head, then. “no, no. of course you don’t know. how could you? you thought you had me all figured out.”

you have to force yourself to speak, because the words don’t come easy when you’re on the verge of a meltdown. you don’t even recognise the strangled sound of your own voice. “i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry. please don’t hate me.”

“sweetheart,” he chides, fingers pulling the corners of his lips down into a melodramatic frown. “i could never hate you. i’m just, y’know, curious.” he lets his hand fall back to his side, pale mouth splitting into a sharp grin as he takes a step closer. “only wondering where i went wrong with you, that’s all.”

“nowhere. you didn’t.” your eyes are burning, though his are still crystal clear. lucid. sharp. he is immovable. you feel like the yielding force of weightless waters that split apart before a glacier’s path. “it’s all my fault.”

“i thought we put all this behind us. that you’d finally gotten it through your head.” he stalks closer, even steps far too measured to be casual. “imagine my surprise when i read these letters my wife begged me to let her send to her family and, ohh! would you look at that?”

“my little wife,” childe's voice falls completely flat, “thinks she can leave me.”

you cast a quick glance around your bedroom, scanning the space in your immediate vicinity for anything to hold onto. the vacant eyes of porcelain dolls and ornately carved figurines from your favourite novels all stare back at you emptily. a typewriter gathering dust by the windowsill. how it used to delight you at first, filling your monotonous days holed up within the walls of your husband’s prison by decorating it with pretty things.

they’re all useless to you now.

you wonder why childe chose not to cut off your fingers. he should have, you think. then you would never have ended up here. then maybe you would never have had any hope.

but you know the answer to your own question. after all, you’ve known him long enough to understand that childe finds great amusement in the way you still manage to carry that quiet hope within you.

oftentimes, he’ll catch you roaming the halls of this maze-like palace, attempting to mentally chart your way out. and every time he catches up to you, he’ll laugh, and press a kiss to your cheek, as if he knows exactly what you’re up to. as if it’s some sweet, private jest the two of you share.

“please, ajax.” you try again, “tsaritsa’s soul, i never meant to—”

“yeah, yeah. save it, love. there’ll be plenty of opportunities to beg for forgiveness later on.” you know it’s all for show when he pretends to think something over; nothing more than a performance when he suddenly snaps his fingers with an eager grin. “oh, that reminds me! i actually have something i needed to tell you.”

you watch as he thumbs through the stack of opened letters in his hands. you catch glimpses of your familiar scrawl; the desperation painfully obvious in your every etching onto the papers, begging your family to send a saviour, to reach out to the adventurer’s guild or the archons and send a cavalry to come knocking down the doors of the tsaritsa’s palace.

“you’ll love this one, sunshine.“i mean, well, you kinda have to. don’t have much of a choice, huh?”

all of it is a performance. from the ease with which he tosses the envelopes into the fire down to the very cadence of his voice as it takes on a familiar, sickeningly sweet lilt. you know this because you remain acutely aware of the fact that childe knew exactly what he was going to do with you the moment he finished reading those letters.

that doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

“we’re going to liyue, lovely. i’m going to let you see your family again. i mean, isn’t that so much nicer than sending a letter? we’ll even catch the lantern rite whilst we’re there.” you sink deeper into your furs, stumbling away from him for every step he takes closer. “figured it’d be good for you.”

childe’s voice dips an octave lower, and the curl to his lips is a mockery of the usual smile that sits there just for you. “good for the baby, too.”

“tartaglia.” it’s impossible to see his face through the tears; everything in the room takes on the haze of a distant memory, and you wish, so desperately, that this moment would be over sooner. you could tuck it away within the recesses of your mind and never visit it again. let it be another lesson. “what baby?”

“your mother was overjoyed at the news.” he hums absently, “she said something about your haircut? mentioned already working extra hours to commission new baby clothes.”

your back hits a wall. and finally, with nowhere left to go and no saviour here to help you, childe takes his sweet time in catching up to you; and when he finally does, it’s all you can do to keep your neck painfully craned and looking up at him without falling to your knees.

“aren’t you excited, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, lifts a palm to cup your face. he’s smiling so earnestly, but his eyes are completely dull. you try searching for a sliver of the sunny man childe can sometimes be, and find, in place of the sunshine, the cold rays of light that hit shimmering snow and dissipate into nothing, instead. “finally, a family of our own making. it’ll be nice to go back to liyue, too.”

“i don’t understand.”

“it's simple, my love,” childe’s lithe fingers creep beneath the heavy fur coat you’re wearing. with deft hands, he slides it off your shoulders in one fluid motion. it falls onto the floor, dangerously close to the fireplace. a shiver rolls down your spine as you instinctively inch closer to your husband, seeking any semblance of warmth within the freezing halls of the palace. “it’s only tradition. it takes a village to raise a baby.” he laughs. “trust me, i know. my sisters were the sweetest little girls, but the boys have been a handful since birth. we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“…ajax? i never—”

“i’m trying, y’know?” he takes off your glasses and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. sighs against your skin as he folds up the frames and tucks them aside. “i’m trying very hard to be a good man for you, sweetheart.”

"listen to me, i—"

"you missed your family, sunlight. i get it, i’m a busy guy. i clearly wasn’t giving you as much attention as you needed. you obviously had too much free time on your hands. i figured if we had a family to tend to, that’d keep you busy. plus,” he grins. “i wouldn’t need to take your fingers! you’d never turn to anyone outside of zapolyarny. maybe, finally, you would also have something to love.”

you can barely breathe. “no, no i don't want—”

“you’ll learn to,” childe smiles. this time, finally, it reaches his eyes. “you’re going to adore our little one. trust me, sunlight; we’re going to be the only family you’ll ever need.”

you search his face for something, anything—and your heart breaks at the sight. you turn to the side, can’t even bear to face the man before you for a second longer, when all you find is a terrifying absence of anything but the deepest depths of conviction.

in the distance, as childe works to shed your body of all these elaborate furs between flittering kisses, you can already hear the sound of fireworks. when he sinks into you; a baby’s wailing cry.

the fire crackles cruelly, as your letters of desperation turn to ash, going unanswered for eternity right before your eyes.

[madebycloud]

not a lot, just forever

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: the love between parent and child is truly not just a lot… but it's forever. (requested by anon). warnings/themes: fluff & slight angst, found family, domestic, parents au, vulnerability, wife!jinx words: 1.6k notes: happy mother's day :)

The day hasn't been going great.

Apparently Isha got into a bit of trouble today at school while she was playing with the other kids.

You're both sitting on the couch, Jinx on one end, and you on the opposite.

“Should we give her a lecture?” you suggest. “Let her know what she did was wrong?”

Jinx scoffs at your suggestion. “A lecture from both of us? you're really gonna make her feel guilty just for being a kid and screwing up?”

“I don't know!” you retort. “What do you suggest we do, then? just let it slide? it wasn't a minor thing she did. She could have seriously injured one of those kids.”

“It's... not that bad.”

“Not that...not that bad?” you repeat and stare at your wife in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind? she got suspended for two weeks! I don't understand why you're being so...so...lenient.”

“I'm lenient?” she says. “I just don't think a lecture is going to be of any use, especially if she doesn't think she did anything wrong.”

“She doesn't think she did anything wrong,” you say slowly. “Because you have been spoiling her rotten.”

“So she has a few special privileges.”

“A few? you're literally spoiling her, Jinx. She's turning more and more disobedient each day! You're just allowing her to do whatever she wants!”

Jinx glares at you. “So what? I'm letting her have her fun, unlike those uptight school teachers that get mad because a ten-year-old girl got a little too rough on the playground.”

You groan. “You need to stop feeding this behavior. This kind of thing would never have happened if-”

“-Oh, here we go,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes.

“I was going to say, ‘if we had just talked to her like normal parents’” you continue. “No one is calling you a bad mother. But you do realize that you need to set boundaries and actually tell her no once in a while.”

“Boundaries?” she repeats, scoffing. “You don't think I know how to set boundaries?”

“I just don't think you know the difference between being a parent and being a glorified-”

“I swear, if you continue with that sentence-”

“-Can you just stop?” you ask. “Can you, for one moment, just quit arguing and really listen? you realize that we're talking about Isha, right?”

She doesn't reply and simply averts her gaze, sulking.

You soften your tone, hoping that maybe this time, she'll actually listen and understand. “I'm not attacking you, Jinx. Isha was suspended. Suspended. Because instead of just playing a normal game, she decided that roughhousing was the way to go. And now that she's here, it hasn't fazed her at all-”

“I know that.“

“Then why do you still act like she did nothing wrong? if you act like it's not a big deal to her, then she's going to do it again.”

“...I know.”

You see her body slumping into the couch cushion. “You know, you're a good mother. I really think you are. But sometimes.... you let her get away with a lot.”

Jinx avoids eye contact but nods, her hand reaches to her shoulder and she picks at a loose thread on her shirt.

“I'm not talking about the times when she's staying up too late or she doesn't want to finish her vegetables. I'm talking about the fact that she's acting out in school,” you see her glance at you before looking away again, “she's doing things that kids her age really shouldn't be doing.”

“I'm...” she mumbles before burying her face in her hands. “I have no idea how to do this.”

That statement stuns you silent.

She admitted it.

Not as a joke. No sarcasm, no snark, just her...actually realizing how out of control things have gotten.

With all the courage you can muster, you stand up and kneel in front of her. You slowly reach out, take her hands into yours, gently pull them away from her face, and then kiss both her hands.

You feel her body tense at your first touch, and it's a good thing that she's refusing to look at you too because you can't look at her either. 

You're scared of looking into her eyes and seeing hatred or disgust... because what if this is the last straw, and she's just done?

But at the same time, you want to know, you need to know.

You take a risk, slowly letting your gaze travel from her knuckles to her wrist, to her arms, to her shoulders, to her collar, and then finally you look up.

And instead of the rage that you were expecting, you immediately get a jolt in your chest.

She's crying.

A few lone tears are making their way down her cheeks, but her eyes are red, and there's an undeniable quiver to that bottom lip.

She... she's looking at you with those eyes, and you can tell, you can just tell, that Jinx is holding herself back from looking away. She's holding that little thread of composure together as fiercely as that fraying thread on her shirt.

And all of your words, every thought, and all of the frustration you may have had, it's all gone.

You can't feel angry at her, seeing those tears in her eyes. If anything, you feel angry at yourself. For making her cry, for making her upset.

“Jinx-” you start, but any other words you had are swallowed down when you realize that saying her name is enough to make her eyes leak even more.

“...I'm... I'm sorry, I... I just-” she mumbles, choking back a sob, “I just.... I was scared. I still am. I...I don't know what I'm doing... I....I really.... really don't.”

“Don't apologize. That's not what I want,” you say. “This... parenting thing...it's confusing. For both of us. It's not like we can ask anyone for advice...”

“I just.. I wanted to be better than him,” she whispers. “I just want to do the right thing. I...I want to be a good mother.”

You sigh and let go of her hands, turning to sit next to her on the couch and pulling her into a hug. She drops all of her walls, and she clings to you, burying her face in the crook of your neck.

“... I'm.... I'm trying. I'm really, really f-f-fucking trying...”

“We're trying,” you repeat, your hands rubbing circles gently along her back. “We are. We're trying our best, we really are… we're both trying to do the best thing for her. We're both scared of making mistakes.”

She doesn't respond vocally, but you do feel her nodding.

“We just... we just need to be honest,” you continue. “We need to be honest with each other, and... and we need to be honest with Isha.”

“I'm sorry…” 

“Please stop that. Stop saying sorry. I know you just want to spoil her, to give her the world. You... you just have trouble saying no... and setting boundaries. We both do.”

“We suck at being adults and we suck at being parents.”

“We're both a little childish ourselves,” you say and you feel her nodding again, “and our poor kid is growing up with us, what a terrifying thought.”

She pouts. “... yeah,” she mumbles.

“Yeah,” you echo. “We both need to work on that,” you say, bringing a hand up to wipe the last tears away from her cheek. “You give her the whole moon, and I… I hold her hand and remind her that her feet are still on the ground.”

She snorts at that and even lets out a small laugh through her tears.

“We're not perfect,” you go on. “We're far from it. We've both got things to work on. There's no... there's no rulebook. No manual to follow. No way to... no way to do this whole ‘parenting’ thing except for trial and error. We're going to mess up. It's inevitable. We need to mess up, because this is new.”

Jinx's grip on you tightens even more.

“We will mess up. We will fight. We will argue, but... but we will never give up. We will never stop trying to do what is best for her. For Isha.”

“For our daughter,” she adds.

Your heart almost melts after hearing those words.

“For our daughter.”

Just then, you hear the sound of a door opening to your side. Both your heads turn, and you see Isha standing in the doorway, holding her blue stuffed bunny.

“Oh, hey sweetie,” you say, as soon as you see Isha come into view “come.”

She slowly walks towards you, never letting go of her beloved bunny. She climbs into your lap along with Jinx, sandwiching herself between you two.

Jinx reaches out to hold her, while you pull up her bunny to brush a few loose strands of hair out of her face. She leans into Jinx, and you can see Jinx's expression soften considerably.

“Hey...” Jinx says, and in spite of her watery eyes, she offers a smile to the little girl.

“We'll talk to her later,” you tell Jinx. “But for now…” let this moment remain unbroken.

She nods and ruffles Isha's hair, drawing a giggle from her.

Isha then cuddles up in your combined arms. 

Jinx gives you a look. A look that you can't quite understand the meaning of at first. But then you see the corners of her lips turn up, just enough for you to catch a ghost of a smile.

She looks... content. Like this is how it's supposed to be.

A family.

You're a family.

You're a family, and you're going to stay that way, come hell or high water.

You don't need a mansion. You don't need riches or jewels. You don't need fame or glory.

You're happy with just being here, with them.

You will never, ever, ask for anything more. Because this is enough.

All you want is for this to last.

Not a lot, just forever.

[occamstfs]

Frat Founding

Wanting a simple group on campus for Indian students on campus, Kiran goes to Chad who has other plans for the academic and university at large. In short order Kiran becomes the first link in that chain and soon neither he nor his friends will be able to resist the allure of horny, dumb Greek Life

The corruption of Kiran into a Desi frat bro he would hate to be! Found too many refs so I tossed on some briefer TFs of his friends at the end. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

He was treating it like meeting an advisor, or a professor. Countless times over the last few years Kiran had gone out of his way to ask for advice on personal projects or visited office hours just to gain further insights. The CS Honors student was always looking for ways to get ahead academically.

Never has one of these meetings involved a person quite like Chad Becker however. The President of the University’s Greek Council was only known to Kiran by reputation. Kiran’s never been much of a people person, part of this whole proposal to the frat president. He wants to make a space for other Indian and South East Asians on campus to have something of a Spirit Org on campus, and given the funding provided by the council to fledgling orgs, he figured it was at least worth a shot.

Worst Chad can say was no, right?

Kiran feels the weight of Chad's stare as he awaits an answer after his opening spiel. There are a few beats before the president speaks up, giving Kiran more than enough time to go over a good number of scenarios where he’s promptly laughed out of the room. Instead though, the intimidating ideal of a frat bro smiles and responds. 

Despite the performatively laid back tone, it’s clear that there are cold calculations behind the man’s words, “For sure lil bro. Trust, there’s no one who wants to see Greek Life be more, hm, multicultural yeah? I absolutely hear you.” Listening intently, Kiran struggles to find any sincerity in the Cali bro’s tone as he waits for the ‘but’ that must be incoming.

It doesn’t. Still staring at him with eyes as sharp as a shark’s despite their icy blue irises, Chad continues, “I’m sure you know frat life gets a bad rap regarding biases and having a group like yours on campus would help everyone see that there’s a place for them in Greek Life. So Kiran, bro, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’d be president of the frat starting out yeah?”

Chad is clearly sizing him up as he says this, like a prize steer to go to show or a weed to be pulled so something superior may be planted. Kiran doesn’t notice as he bristles at realizing there’s been a misunderstanding, “Oh! Sorry Mr. Becker, I think- I, sorry- I wasn’t really thinking about a frat so much as uhm? In my mind I was imagining something more along the lines of a support organization for-”

He’s cut off without a word as Chad sucks on his teeth. Kiran swears he feels the temperature drop in the room, nerves. It’s just nerves. Forcing himself with all he’s got to look at the man sitting opposite him, somehow above him, Kiran almost shivers as he sees him only stare more intently, almost glaring. His perfect wide smile only gleams brighter as he continues to look into and through the meeker student like a predator. 

For a moment his surfer-vocal fry fades away, “I see I see, so you want to use our funds for your little hackathons and holi formals but keep us at arms length yeah?” His eyes narrow and his lips twitch slightly, but then he takes a deep breath and resets. That cold tone moving like the ebb of the tide as he reminds Kiran who holds the power here, “Let’s start over. Would you like a drink Kiran?” 

Seeing Chad wander over to a minifridge hiding in the corner and grab a beer, Kiran prepares to turn the offer down. But then the president stands over him, one meaty hand on his shoulder while the other offers him an opened bottle dripping with condensation, “Please, Kiran. I insist.” 

Before he even has an inclination to respond, the bottle already rests in his shaky hand. Only then does he notice the creeping thirst. Suddenly, his mouth and throat are so dry he wonders if he’d even be able to even speak. 

Chad’s smile is too emotionless to be read as cruel and calculating, though there’s sure to be no affection in his words as he seeks to compel Kiran, “Go on, Prez to be, take a sip.”

He’s never been much of a drinker, let alone a beer guy. But as he’s commanded, like a dutiful soldier he has no choice but to obey. As soon as the first sip graces his tongue, the bookish student’s senses are dulled.

In the back of his mind he hears the echo of a memory he doesn’t remember living. Voices shout, ‘Chug, chug, chug!’ Kiran’s eyes go blank as he can’t help but obey. Each heaving gulp is deeper and more labored than the one that comes before. Kiran’s vision swims slightly as he watches Chad’s unreadable expression tinge with contentment.

Patting his guest on the back and laughing, Chad makes his way over to grab a couple more beers, “Hah! Easy now bro, this is a meeting now after all! Didn’t think you were that much of a party animal Kiran.” Popping open two more bottles, he sets one in front of Kiran and watches as the smaller man slowly shakes his head.

He isn’t a party animal, he detests crowds and drunken fraternity bros. Opening his mouth to deny Chad’s asinine assessment, his stomach grumbles. One of his hands goes to put pressure on it and physically  feels it rumble. Still woozy from one drink, the lightweight suddenly begins to feel bloated.

Mouth still agog, his hand quickly flies to his face as he struggles to stop himself from burping. Clamping his lips shut just in time, each second pushing down the urge, each second refusing to let loose, it only grows more intense. He feels pressure rising in his stomach as his jaw burns from the effort of staying decent. 

Beyond simple pressure, Kiran realizes that it’s not just internal, he feels his thin stomach pushing into his hand. In between clutching fingers begins to grow a layer of fat he simply would never eat enough to maintain. This distracts him enough for everything to give. Eyes watering, Kiran turns to look at the Frat president, as soon as he sees the smug look on Chad’s once guarded face, he loses control.

Buurrp- It lasts more than a few seconds. The soothing relief of giving in is firmly repressed by the embarrassment that fills his chest. Deep enough that Kiran can scarcely notice though, some part of him thinks it’s funny. Nothing wrong with burping bro, chill out- And while the thought is buried for now, it only continues to grow. 

“Nice one brah!” Chad reaches out his drink to cheers with the new beer bottle in front of Kiran, lacking willpower to do anything but obey, so he does. Cold bottle in his hand once more he can’t ignore how right it feels in his hand. Clink- Seeing Chad take a swig he once more mimics his, er the president.

Still bloated, Kiran notices another strange sensation begin to rise. Just below where he clutched his stomach earlier, an itch begins to rise. With a frown, his free hand goes to do what one does and scratch it, clumsily continuing to drink his free beer as he does so.

Each pass of his fingers only makes it worse, spreads the burning itch further. Figuring he’s already embarrassed himself enough in front of Chad, he shoves his hand under his shirt. Gasping in shock, he realizes that his lower stomach is covered in a treasure trail growing wider by the second. 

Feeling the strands pushing out into his sweaty fingers he can’t help but steal a look. Waiting for Chad to inspect papers in front of him Kiran quickly yanks up his shirt and bites his tongue to prevent from gasping again as he sees, on top of clearly having more weight, that his stomach that has always been gratefully hairless has been overrun with body hair. 

Too dense and thick to even be dubbed a treasure trail, Kiran struggles to remember how he let it get this bad. Eyes drifting lower, Kiran finds another new problem. Slightly peeking out above his waistband and creating a definite bulge above his cock, his pubes have grown even more rampant than his belly hair. Seeing this and taking another swig of his beer, Kiran burps once more before doing the unimaginable.

He shoves his hands in his pants and scratches at his pubes. Almost moaning from delight he bites his lip as his fingers are immediately tangled in the thick new jungle. Creaking under his squirming form, reminding him that he has somehow put on more than a few pounds, Kiran absolutely forgets where he is as his hand drifts lower to cup his balls. His less-than-graceful fingers find them unmistakably heavier than they’ve ever been, almost filling his small hand. 

Never truly distracted, at this point Chad sees fit it’s time to break Kiran from his reverie, lest he go too far too fast. Clearing his throat he calls Kiran back to his right mind, more or less. The slightly heftier student’s hand tears from his pants and forcefully bumps into the underside of Chad’s desk, producing a deep grunt of pain. 

Now realizing that he was cupping his balls during the most important meeting of the semester, Kiran tries to hide that from the man who sees right through him. Though, without him being aware of it the very same hand races to his nose wherein he takes a deep sniff of the ball sweat soaked fingers. Watching his eyes roll back from the odor, Chad has to stop from bursting out laughing.

Going on something of a victory lap, Chad sees fit to taunt the changing man, “Yo bro, you just adjust your dick didja?” Hand still under his nose, Kiran stammers quickly denying the idea, there’s no way he did that? He’d not do so in private, how could he? And yet, even as he forces his hand back to his papers, the whiff of his sweaty dick remains, “No! Of course not- I mean-”

Smirking, Chad interrupts, “No, no, don’t worry ‘bout it bro. Guys like us don’t gotta worry about stuff like that. You get an itch, it’s the most human thing in the world to scratch it.” Kiran slowly shakes his head, guys like us. He’s not like Chad, he’ll never be like Chad

Seeing the man meagrely fighting back Chad stuffs his hand down his pants and performatively scratches an itch that wasn’t even there, dropping a stray pube on the table. The whole time, Kiran’s eyes never left the man’s hands, staring at the bulge in his pants shifting to the single curly strand that now sits between them. Ready to move on and content that the man’s changes are accelerating, Chad directs his attention back to himself.

“Got something on your cheek there bruh?” There’s the sound of Kiran sucking spit back into his mouth, not even aware that he had apparently been drooling. Quickly taking another swig, emptying his second beer, Kiran’s free hand flies to his face. Still slightly sticky from sweat, his fingers find something so shocking that he almost spits up the amber beer still in his mouth. 

Swallowing the beer and tossing the bottle onto the table he scratches at his face fervently, beyond shocked that without his notice his paltry stubble has exploded to cover his face. No it’s not even stubble, as his suddenly less than pristine fingernails trail across his once hairless cheeks, peach fuzz thickens and spreads further across his face.

In no time at all a mustache pushes out of his upper lip and his jawline is coated with a thick beard. His mind tries to tell him this is normal, he’s got a hairy stomach and bushy pubes, surely he’s had this beard forever. Feeling bloated once more, his shirt begins to strain his chest as two meaty pecs begin to rise above his meatier stomach. 

Focus returns to his eyes, he knows something is horribly wrong. Thicker brows furrowing at Chad he grunts out, finding his voice crackling deeper and slightly tinged with the vocal fry that infects every word out of Chad’s mouth, “What are you grh- doing to me you- urgh Asshole!” The president feigns concern and tilts his head ignoring the question that may well be Kiran’s last show of strength. Chad then simply pushes his half drunk beer closer to Kiran.

Eyes flickering between the man returning to the minifridge and the stale bottle set before him like bait, Kiran’s willpower begins to wane once more. Before the frat bro even makes it across the room, the sound of Kiran’s shirt straining against his heavier arms as he reaches for the drink fills the air. Chad grabs three more and returns to the desk.

When the mousy student entered the room Chad wondered if he’d even be able to sustain the transformation. Sitting here now, watching him drink that backwash laden swill without question, seeing nipples poking through the shirt beginning to tear, it’s clear that no dweeb out there will be able to resist his siren call. Kiran burps loudly, stopping just short of guffawing he tugs at his increasingly uncomfortable shirt. 

Time to finish the dance, “So, Kiran, you were saying you wanted an Indian frat on campus right?” The top button bursts off his button up as he dumbly produces a plodding, “uuuuhhh?” His mind alights with his shifting memories. The fluorescent lights from studying overnight in a library suddenly strobing, changing colors as bookshelves press inward and deep base begins to pump from speakers pushing out from behind tables now littered with red solo cups and spilled cans. 

Automatically drinking from the new bottle sat in front of him, Kiran sloppily wipes the beer spilling onto his beard with his hairier arm. Struggling a bit as his muscular biceps now compete with his heavy pecs for space. His vision swims, rapidly switching between the blowout party and the meeting with Chad. Competing with blaring speakers and crowd uproar that only he can hear, Kiran shouts in his new bullish voice, “Well uhhh, bro kinda just wanted a place for guys like me to hang y’know? Place for all the lil Desi guys on campus yuh?”

“Shirt’s lookin a little tight there bruh, you sure you’re just a ‘lil guy’ anymore?” Turning to take in his thick form, Kiran certainly can’t disagree. Chest hair encroaching on his neck, thighs thicker than his waist used to be. The chair creaks once more, threatening to totally give way under the still growing man. Yeah he’s no twerp, him and his bros are always at the gym.

In fact, Kiran doesn’t remember the last time he was even in a lecture. Attending office hours is absolutely out of the questions, the only interactions he’s had with professors and T.A’s were arm wringing for class credit. Clear as day he remembers meeting with a dude he would’ve sworn he was close with for intro to python, but as he plays it through he remembers burping in the man’s face and throwing a sweaty, heavy arm around him. 

God that nerd was so uncomfortable. His expression turns to a sneer as he sits in front of Chad, and the president knows his work is just about done. Kiran paws at his crotch as he recalls dominating that man, some weak academic who thought himself a superior. Biting his lip, his bulge makes itself more than clear in his tight dress pants as the fabric rapidly e into the same sweats he wears every day, stained as they may be. 

When pre suddenly begins to leave a stain that makes it clear the Desi frat bro is free balling, Chad knows Kiran is far past the point of no return. “Bro, do you ever not think with your cock?” Tearing off whatever remains of his shirt and fondling his bulky pecs Kiran shrugs, “Dunno bro, you ever think about somethin’ other than my cock either?” There’s a charge in the air as the two men stare at each other with something dark in their expressions before both break out into uproarious laughter.

Then, addressing it like it’s something they had discussed a number of times, Kiran takes the floor, “So, big bro, council good if I start recruiting for my new chapter?” Chad raises his glass and takes a long swig, with a content sigh he acquiesces, “Course brobro, we know you more than got what it takes. Been wanting to diversify frat row’s portfolio for a while, you know that.”

Scratching his exposed stomach as he stands, his fingers treading dangerously close to inching under his waistband once more, Kiran nods without a thought, “Yuhhhh!” Finishing another drink he belches yet again and finally there is no shred of decency left to fight back “Burrrrp, Huhuh!” Tossing the bottle onto the ground apathetic whether it breaks or not, the newly dubbed frat president stretches.

Flexing to himself as he stands there, feeling the strength and weight of his new form, Kiran feels his blood rush to his thicker cock as he realizes what a specimen he is. Chad similarly imagines how easy it’ll be for him to finally take over the rest of the school. No one’ll be shit talking Greek life anymore once men like Kiran are bumbling across campus. No need for little brownnosing losers in lectures when everyone finally remembers what it’s all about. 

Eager to get a move on, and sure that if Kiran stays any longer both will have to write off the day for obvious reasons, he prods the man, “You were saying you were gonna go play your old friends a visit right? Go get your first members?” Kiran nods, that darker look returning and temporarily displacing his lust for himself and Chad. Rolling his shoulders he imagines his study group, doesn’t even remember how he knows them or why.

Grabbing a beer for the road, he nods at Chad and heads out the door. The incongruence at those dweebs even knowing his name begins to prickle at his mind, he needs to fix it. His frat must grow and so must they. Losers have spent too long playing MtG and Dota 2, he’s gotta remind them what men should be. That drinking, fucking, and partying are more important than their shitty assignments. 

Wandering around campus he flexes his bicep and delights in his heady musk. Soon every beta male around will be just like him, just as Chad planned. He can’t wait until Chad runs this school. Approaching his old apartment he hears a few shrill men arguing about some lines of code inside. Cracking his neck and pawing at the growing bulge in his sweats, he’s never been more excited for anything. Time for the first inductions into the school’s newest fraternity.

In no time at all, his four best friends are all converted into perfect specimens for Kiran’s frat. Forewarned by his musk creeping in as he stands at the door, as soon as he barges in all four are instantly overwhelmed by his muscular, masculine visage. Under his touch their thin forms bulge. On the couch, Amir’s body immediately thickens into one that never shies away from his keg stand. His nose twitches as a powerful mustache pushes out of his upper lip as he becomes Kiran’s right hand.

Boyfriends Dev and Mo follow shortly after, their suddenly sculpted muscles bulging larger as if they were in competition with each other. Mo’s back cracks as he finally stands taller than his boyfriend, his potable goatee thickening into a beard that would put a lumberjack to shame. Dev’s twinkish face reshapes into something more masculine and handsome despite remaining smooth. While Kiran continues his work, focusing on the other two, the boyfriend’s waste no time rushing to their suddenly messier room.

Finally, quite Ajit who had been doing his best to not give in breaks. Hands that had been gripping the edge of the table trying to avoid the gaze of the man who cannot be Kiran, white knuckles cramp and burst larger as forearms and biceps surge larger in quick succession. His racing anxious breaths allow his chest to rapidly expand. Pecs quickly tatter his shirt as criss crossing veins decorate arms thicker than his legs once were. 

Under the table his legs push larger and his bulge demands his attention. Lips suddenly surrounded by a thick beard, biting his lip he quickly snaps a picture of himself before following in the path of his five best friends as his hands quickly find his newly massive cock. The air of their apartment swiftly smells more of sex than one can imagine. Each man a perfect test case for Chad’s grand plans, perfect frat bros whose dicks will lead their frat to expand. Kiran and Amir hosting parties that no Desi man could resist, no one’s eyes will be able to avoid Dev and Mo as they’re all over each other at the gym, and Ajit’s new online presence and perfect form will send tendrils of change well beyond their university. One unreached community handled, Chad continues his grand plan of ensuring that Greek Life is the only group left standing.

[pandacherryblossoms]

𐙚 Putting Enhypen on a Sex Ban 𐙚

Request

Genre: Fluff. A bit Suggestive MDNI 18+

Warnings: Suggestive content, Heavy innuendos, Light dominance/power play, Possessive behavior, Teasing/competitive dynamics, Implied intimacy

Heeseung

You’re parked on a quiet side street after your date, the kind of spot he always finds—private enough that he can lean over the console and kiss you like he means it. The kind of quiet that makes your heart race when his hand slides up your thigh and he gives you that smug, lazy grin like he already knows how the night’s gonna end.

“Missed me, huh?” he teases, voice low as he noses at your jaw, already working his way down your neck. “You’ve been looking at me like you’re about to climb into my lap.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong—and that’s exactly the problem. You let his hand drift a little higher before you catch it, lacing your fingers with his and resting them firmly in your lap. He blinks, confused but intrigued.

“I’m putting you on a sex ban.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That smile falters. “Wait. What?”

You turn toward him, totally calm, acting like this is just a casual little update to your relationship. “You’ve been way too cocky lately. Always teasing me like you know I’ll fold the second you touch me. So…” You shrug, nonchalant. “Let’s see how smug you are after a week without anything.”

His jaw drops. “A week?”

“You heard me.”

“Heavy petting? Kissing?” he asks hopefully.

“Kissing’s fine. But if your hands start wandering…” You give him a look. “That’s game over.”

Heeseung stares at you like you’ve just declared war. You watch the panic settle in behind his eyes, subtle but telling—because this isn’t just about sex. It’s about control. And for once, you’ve got it.

“Don’t act like this is punishment,” you add sweetly, patting his thigh. “Think of it as a challenge.”

His voice is dry. “Oh, I’m challenged alright.”

Jay

You’re halfway through browsing throw pillows when he says it, so casual you almost miss it.

“I swear, you can’t ever resist me. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing—five minutes alone and you’re done for.”

You glance at him over the rim of your iced coffee, blinking slow. He’s not even looking at you—just flipping through a stack of overpriced blankets like he didn’t just run his mouth in the middle of West Elm. Smug as hell. And clearly feeling himself a little too much today.

“Is that so?” you ask, like you’re just making conversation.

Jay hums, smiling to himself. “It’s fine. I like it. You’re cute when you’re desperate.”

You wait a beat, then: “Cool. You’re on a sex ban.”

His head snaps up. “What?”

You pretend to keep shopping, eyes drifting over the candles. “A sex ban. Starting now.”

Jay blinks. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

He stares at you like you’ve just told him the world’s gone colorblind. “What did I do?”

“You just said I can’t resist you,” you say, grabbing a candle and popping the lid like this is just another normal Sunday errand. “So I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

“You’re serious?”

“As serious as those ‘desperate’ eyes you mentioned.”

He doesn’t respond, just follows you to the next aisle, a little quieter than usual. His hand brushes yours. You don’t take it. He adjusts his jacket. Fiddles with his phone. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

And when you glance over, he’s already watching you, expression unreadable—but you can tell. He’s plotting.

This isn’t over.

Jake

You don’t even bring it up right away. Not when he wraps his arms around you from behind, not when he starts pressing kisses along your neck, and definitely not when he guides you onto the couch like he’s already got the rest of the night planned in his head. Jake’s warm, all charm and wandering hands, but you can’t stop thinking about what you saw earlier — the group chat open on his laptop, his name lighting up with that cocky little message:

“I could get her to fold in two minutes if I wanted. Watch.”

You let him kiss you a little longer, even kiss back just enough to get his hopes up. Then, right when his hand starts sliding under your shirt, you catch his wrist with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Actually… I think you’re cut off.”

He blinks. “Cut off from what?”

You tilt your head. “Sex.”

Jake freezes like you’ve just spoken another language. “Wait, wait, hold on. What?”

“You heard me,” you say sweetly, pulling away and getting comfortable on the couch like nothing just happened. “Since you’re so confident you can make me fold whenever you want, I figured we should test that theory.”

“You saw that?” he says immediately, eyes going wide.

“Oh, I saw it.” You glance at him sideways. “Don’t worry, I’m just letting you prove your point. No sex. Let’s see how long you last.”

Jake’s already following after you, whining like it’s life or death. “Babe, come on. I didn’t mean it like that—okay, I kind of did, but it was just a joke! You’re seriously doing this right now?”

You just laugh, tossing a blanket over your lap. “Clock’s ticking, Jakey.”

And from the way he slumps next to you with the most dramatic groan, you can already tell — he’s doomed.

Sunghoon

You’re stretched out across the bed on your stomach, scrolling aimlessly while Sunghoon gets ready in front of the mirror. He’s already changed outfits twice and fixed his hair more times than you’ve blinked in the last ten minutes.

“You know,” he says, adjusting his collar, “it must be hard dating someone hotter than you.”

You lift your head just enough to look at him. “You mean me?”

He scoffs, eyes still locked on his reflection. “Be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re lucky I even like you this much.”

He turns, arching a brow. “Oh, is that right?”

“Absolutely.” You sit up, tossing your phone to the side. “You think I walk around looking this good for free?”

Sunghoon laughs, stepping closer with that cocky little smirk you know way too well. “You walk around looking good for me.”

“You wish.”

“I know.”

You blink at him, matching his grin. “You’re actually unbearable.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

You hum. “That’s crazy. Because I was just thinking the exact same thing about you.”

He leans down, hands on either side of you on the bed. “Sure you were.”

You stare at him for a second, smile widening. “Sex ban.”

His face freezes. “Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“Wait—why?”

“For being cocky.”

“I was joking.”

Sunoo

You’re on FaceTime with Sunoo while he’s away, just a quick call before bed to catch up. The conversation’s lighthearted, full of laughter as you both banter about random things. But then, Sunoo being Sunoo, can’t resist throwing a little playful jab your way.

“You know,” he says with a grin you can practically hear through the phone, “you’re always the one who folds first. It’s kind of cute, but predictable.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile forming on your lips. His teasing gets to you, but you’re not about to let it slide without a little retaliation. You casually throw out, “Well, I think it’s time for a sex ban, then.”

There’s a dramatic pause on the other end of the call, followed by an exaggerated gasp from Sunoo. “Wait, what?! You can’t be serious.”

You stay silent for a moment, letting the tension build just a bit before you grin and shrug. “I am. You’re just too easy to tease.”

The next few seconds are filled with exaggerated, over-the-top reactions. Sunoo’s face lights up, and you can practically see him pouting through the phone. “No way! You can’t do this to me, baby. I was just kidding!”

He falls back dramatically onto his bed, completely throwing himself into the situation. “How could you hurt me like this? You know I’m too cute for a ban!”

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. There’s no doubt he’s putting on a show, but you love how much he’s leaning into it. He might have thought he could tease you, but now it’s your turn to turn the tables. And you’re enjoying every second of it.

Jungwon

You trail behind him as he unlocks the door, slipping off your shoes a little slower than usual. The night’s been easy — dinner, a walk, that quiet kind of comfort that only really happens with him. And now you’re tucked up behind him on the couch, knees pressed to his side, your arms lazily wrapped around his middle.

He’s half-scrolling on his phone, half-watching whatever’s playing on the TV, but you’re not really paying attention to either. You’re just pressed up against him, chin hooked over his shoulder, nose brushing the side of his neck. He smells good. Warm. Familiar. Like home.

“You’re being really clingy tonight,” he says eventually, not unkind — just a little amused.

You blink. “Am I?”

He shrugs, still scrolling. “Not that I mind. Just… extra cuddly all of a sudden.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not hurt, exactly, but something about the way he said it sticks. You pull back just slightly, arms still around him, but your face no longer pressed against his shoulder.

“Maybe I won’t be anymore,” you say lightly.

Jungwon glances at you, confused. “What? No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way—”

You lean back fully now, reaching for the remote to turn down the volume. “Actually…” you stretch a little, like the idea just came to you. “Since I’m apparently too clingy, maybe we should cool it. You know, physically.”

He pauses. “Wait—what?”

You smile sweetly. “Sex ban. Effective immediately.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious,” you say, folding your arms. “Since I’m overwhelming you and all.”

He sets his phone down, finally giving you his full attention. “You’re not overwhelming me,” he insists, brows pulling together. “Just… affectionate.”

You tilt your head. “I think it’s time to cool off then. I mean, no kissing. No touching. No nothing.”

Jungwon groans, running a hand through his hair like he’s mentally preparing himself. “You can’t be serious.”

You watch him carefully, studying his expression. The amusement is fading, replaced with a slight hint of frustration, and something else. “Oh, I am,” you say, voice low. “This is what you wanted, right?”

He mutters under his breath but doesn’t move toward you, instead leaning back against the couch in defeat. “Fine, whatever. You’ve made your point.”

You grin, feeling victorious. “We’ll see how long you last.”

Ni-ki

You’re on the floor of his apartment, caught up in a little game of back-and-forth teasing, a playful wrestle that started as one thing and quickly escalated into something else entirely. Niki’s laughing, squirming beneath you, his hands pressed against your sides in a half-hearted attempt to pin you down.

“You think you can take me down, huh?” he taunts, clearly having a blast. “This’ll be over in five seconds.”

You smile, feeling that spark of competitive energy flare up. You shove him off with a little more force than necessary, and he stumbles back, surprised. But he recovers quickly, his grin widening. “Okay, okay. You wanna play dirty? Fine. I’m game.”

With a quick shift, he’s on top of you now, his hands circling your wrists, pinning them to the floor. “You’re not gonna win this time,” he says, voice low, almost a dare.

“Is that so?” you challenge, wriggling beneath him, but it’s no use. He’s got you. You’re not getting out.

“I’ll prove it,” he says, leaning down to press his lips lightly against your neck. “You’re not going anywhere.”

It’s all playful and teasing — at least, that’s what it starts as. But there’s something in his eyes, something that shifts the moment he feels you tense up underneath him.

“Is that a challenge?” you ask, breath catching slightly. You give him a pointed look. “If you think you can keep me like this, then fine. You’re on a sex ban.”

Niki freezes, eyes widening. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“You heard me. No sex. No nothing,” you say, giving him a daring look. “Let’s see how long you last.”

Niki’s jaw slackens. “But I—”

“I’m not kidding, Niki. I think you need to prove you can keep your hands to yourself.”

The mischievous spark never leaves his eyes, but now there’s something more—determination. “Alright,” he says slowly, smirking. “Challenge accepted.”

You lean back, grinning. “I’m gonna win this one. You won’t last a week.”

And just like that, he’s ready for whatever this little game turns into. You’re not sure who’s winning yet, but you both know it’s only just begun.

[lady-pug]

Lipstick Stamps

Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Word count: 3,4k

Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*

Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.

Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all. 

No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.

The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room. 

During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.

But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.

“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.

“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone. 

Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously. 

“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.

“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”

Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights. 

“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”

Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.

“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”

Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.

“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay. 

At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food. 

Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.

“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own. 

“You never get in the way, Bob.” 

His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor. 

“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic. 

“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”

He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.

“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”

He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-

Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.

But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute. 

By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…

You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.

“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.

He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal. 

“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.

“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous. 

And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”

He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.

At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor. 

After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you. 

He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together. 

“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.

“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”

It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.

“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”

He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.

“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”

Your face fell in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.

“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”

He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.

Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.

“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.

And that’s how he ended up here.

Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.

As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.

“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.

Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-”

You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.

His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then… 

He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he  removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…

Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.

“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”

Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.

“B-But it’s true.” 

A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.

“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”

Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.

Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”

His entire body was trembling with restraint. 

“I don’t deserve it.” he rasped out, scared “I don’t deserve you.”

Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek. 

“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.

He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.

“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.

Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.

“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”

His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me.” 

Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.

“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.

All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.

He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.

Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring. 

“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.

“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?

“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.

He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end. 

“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.  

The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.

“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment. 

Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.

“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”

“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips. 

“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”

Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.

“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.

“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.

You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely. 

“You deserve it, Bob.”

It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.

“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”