#// me: huh most of his things come from summer...

[bumblebeeonthistle]

Could you write Suo, Kiryu, Sakura, Kaji, and whoever else you want with a significant other (us) who is filthy rich like billionaire level rich. And because of our wealth were always spoiling them completely rotten

WBK BOYS X (FILTHY) RICH FEM!READER

✰ Tags: Fem!reader, rich!reader, Reader x Sakura, Reader x Suo, Reader x Kiryu, Reader x Kaji, romance, fluff. ✰ Warnings for Suo’s part: Yandere, strong language, canon-typical violence, injury.

🌸Sakura Haruka🌸

Sakura isn’t used to someone taking care of him. Heck, he isn’t even used to basic human decency. That is, before he joined Bofurin. Before he came to Makochi and met you. 

He doesn’t know why you want to spend so much on him – so much time, so much energy, so much money, so much everything. It still baffles him, even if you’ve been officially…together, for a good part of a year by now.

He never tells you what he needs or wants. But somehow, you just know.

Maybe, it’s because you notice the way his gaze lingers for just a split second longer on a pair of sneakers or a specific dish on the menu card. Or the way he’ll actively avoid looking at the posters for a new movie that just came out. Or maybe, it’s the way he’ll huff at his phone, which might as well have been from the ice-age, whenever it takes forever to load or blacks out if he tries to type in a message over 100 characters.

Either way, you notice. You always do. And, before Sakura knows it, you’re gifting him a new pair of high-tech sneakers. Or you order him that ridiculously expensive Kobe steak he’d taken one glance at but then immediately dismissed because, who has the money to spend one month’s worth of rent on a single meal? Or you take him to the movies, ordering those VIP tickets where you get to sit in plush red seats so comfortable that he would’ve fallen asleep if he hadn’t been so transfixed by the screen, eyes never wavering from the moving characters on the giant canvas in front of him. Or you buy him a new phone, handing it to him with a small smile, saying,

“I already added my contact, so you don’t need to bother with that! Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll help you with transferring all the others from your old phone too – only if you want me to, of course.”

That’s also what Sakura likes about you. You never make a great deal out of it because you know he’s embarrassed that he can’t do the same thing for you. 

That is, except for that first time when he let it slip that he felt…guilty. Inadequate. Undeserving.

“But you already give me the whole world, Sakura,” you'd argued.

"Huh?"

“I mean, why would I want you to buy me a new phone when I can just do that myself? You don't need to do that for me to love you – no, I just love you for being you!” you'd beamed, slinging your arms across his neck and peppering his face with kisses.

“Huh?!” Sakura just knows his face must've rivalled the colour of Umemiya’s tomatoes in late summer. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Love doesn’t have to make sense, silly!”

And then, you’d laughed, and Sakura remembers thinking that it might just be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

🫖Suo Hayato🫖

Suo immediately knows you’re from a well-off family the first time he lays his eye on you.

It’s the way you move, your spine always straight and your chin held high, your steps small and graceful, making it look like you’re almost floating over the ground. It’s the clothes you wear, made from the finest silk and decorated with embroideries so small and delicate that he thinks he could spend hours just tracing the thin, golden lines. It’s the way you speak, words woven with such politeness and elegance that most people wouldn’t know if you were praising them or offending them.

Still, it’s not your posture, or your clothes, or the way you speak which makes Suo fall for you so hard that there’s no coming back from it.

No, it’s your smile.

Yes, he knows it sounds ridiculous – like something taken out of a bad romance novel. But it’s the truth. And anyone’s who’s been on the receiving end of one of your smiles will understand.

Your lips curl in the most beautiful way. Your eyes light up, making the entire room seem brighter, the colours less dull and the shadows less ominous.

And once he gets to know you better, it’s all the little things that make his love for you grow even more. Steadily, but powerfully, like the tides following the call of the moon. 

So, as soon as someone just as much as insinuates that he’s only together with you because of your wealth…well, Suo doesn’t take kindly to that.

His eye will harden, his jaw set, and his fists clench until his knuckles turn white and by then, only your voice or your fingers tracing invisible lines over his curled fists will bring him back from the burning rage clouding his vision.

It’s another thing entirely when someone insults you. His rage isn't burning then, but cold, so cold that it makes his surroundings drop several degrees in temperature. At that point, he doesn't think anything can bring him back from that calm, dangerous place his mind wanders.

It doesn’t matter if it’s to your face, or his face, or behind your backs – but if anyone so much as whispers one bad word about you…well, then they’ve brought their misfortune upon themselves.

It starts out as the typical gang fight during him and Sakura’s afternoon patrol around Makochi.

But then, he hears it.

“Tch. It’s that rich-ass bitch’s boyfriend. You think he’ll bring in a nice ransom if we capture him? Or maybe, if he's out of the picture, do you think she’d go out with me instead? I bet she’ll just--”

But he doesn’t get to say any more than that. Because just then, Suo lands a kick right to his face, knocking out several teeth and breaking his nose with a loud, wet, squelch.

There’s something dark swirling in his eye as he grabs the gang member by the collar of his jacket and then brings down his fist. Again and again and again and again.

“…”

“…Suo…”

“…cut it out!”

“Suo!”

“SUO!!!”

Sakura’s roar brings him back to his senses. He pauses, glancing down at the long since passed out gang member. Then, he looks up at Sakura.

Sakura looks angry, but not surprised. No, this isn’t the first time Suo has lost it when someone has offended you.

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell her the last time,” Sakura begins, “but this can’t keep happening. I know you’re pissed and I am too, but dammit, can’t we just focus on beating the rest of these guys and then leave it at that?”

Suo is silent for a moment. A dangerous form of silence that makes the small hairs on the back of Sakura's neck rise and sends shivers down his spine.

And then, Suo throws back his head, tassel earrings swishing around his shoulders as he lets out a short-breathed laugh. “Of course, Sakura-kun. You’re right.”

He unceremoniously lets go of the gang member who falls limply onto the paved street. Then, he turns on his heels, proceeding to calmly make his way over to the rest of the stunned gang members.

He smiles at them, teeth glinting in the harsh afternoon sun. “You're right, Sakura-kun," he repeats, voice soft like the silk of his jacket. "This isn’t the time to just punish one of them.”

🩷Kiryu Mitsuki🩷

Kiryu always imagined that when he someday got a partner, it’d be him spoiling them rotten. Like, what else is he supposed to use his ridiculous amount of continuously growing pile of pocket money on, gifted to him by his father as some sort of compensation for being so pathetically lacking in every other aspect of parenting?

Yes, Kiryu had always imagined it’d be him taking his partner on extravagant dates and pay for every meal. To take them to the amusement park maybe, or to the arcade so that he could use a thousand attempts on getting that one specific plushie they so wanted without thinking twice of the expense.

Never in his life had he imagined that he’d end up with someone even more well off than he is, as hard to believe as that is.

In the beginning, it had felt wrong. He wanted to be the one to spoil you. He wanted to pay for your fancy matcha lattes and strawberry cream crepes, for your dresses and jewellery and make-up when you went shopping together. 

He doesn’t want to pay for you just because you’re a girl – God no, he hates antiquated gender roles. No, he guesses it’s because, growing up, it was the only form of affection he was ever subjected to himself and thus, the only way he knows of.

But as he’s slowly growing comfortable in your relationship – with every afternoon spent playing gacha games and using either his or your father’s credit card to pay for pulls and rolls, with every evening stroll through the traditional gardens surrounding either yours or his family’s estate (he prefers yours, only because then, he doesn’t have to deal with his obnoxious father), with every trip to the arcade where you see who can get each other the biggest, cutest, fluffiest plushie first – he learns that it’s not about spending money.

It's about doing all the fun and silly and beautiful things together. With you. Whether it be playing gatcha games or tag, strolling through private extravagant gardens or public parks, going to the arcade to spend money or just to run around and look at all the sparkly prizes behind thick, impenetrable plexiglass.

As long as you’re with him, it doesn’t matter who’s supposed to do what and who’s supposed to pay for whom.

So, when you many years later fall to one knee, presenting him with two matching rings he just knows cost more than the yearly income of a normal household, he doesn’t think it’s strange or weird or improper that it’s not him kneeling in front of you.

Because gender roles be damned, and Kiryu’s never been more happy in his life than he is when he answers,

“Yes.”

🍑Kaji Ren🍑

Kaji thinks the hoodies you buy him look exactly like the ones he used to wear before he met you.

He'd told you it was ridiculous – that he didn’t need another grey hoodie to who knows how many tens of thousands of yen from some designer boutique he���s been too intimidated to even step foot into before. But you’d insisted, with those large, pleading eyes of yours, and of course he couldn’t deny you anything.

And after wearing his new hoodie for some time, he notices it. The way the sleeves don’t start fraying at the edges, how the colour never seems to fade even after many many washes, and how soft the inside is, making it feel like it’s almost lined with cotton candy.

So, he can accept the hoodies.

Fine. 

But then, all the other things start piling up.

The carefully packaged peaches delivered in boxes so pretty that he doesn’t dare throw them out. They’re just piling up in his room, neatly stacked in a corner. The expensive hair products you buy him, claiming that if he insists on dying his hair so often, then he should at least make sure it’s kept in the best shape possible.

And then of course, there’re the trips.

You know he loves amusement parks, so you’ve made it a habit to bring him with you around the country. To Disneyland. Universal Studios Japan. Fuji Q Highland.

You even bring him to Ghibli Park one weekend. It’s first later that he finds out you’d stayed up late every night for a whole month just to get those limited, first-come first-serve tickets – something not even money could buy.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” he grumbles once he finds out – from one of your friends who’d told Anzai who’d told Sakura who’d told him.

“But I wanted to!” you beam unapologetically. You’re looking at your phone, legs swinging back and forth as they tend to do whenever you’re excited about something.

“I think we’ve tried just about every amusement park within a day’s travel from here,” you hum after some time, scrolling through your phone with a thoughtful expression. “So, I thought next time, we could maybe do an entire weekend trip?”

Kaji shakes his head. “No really, it’s fine, we don’t have to--”

“Or, since the holidays are coming up, we could go to South Korea maybe! Or overseas – then, we can test if Universal Studios Hollywood is just as fun as Universal Studios Japan!”

You glance up at him, smiling so brightly that Kaji’s heart melts at the sight.

He lets out a huff.

He just can’t deny you anything, can he?

AN: This is literally my first time answering a request...I hope it lived up to your expectations, even if I took some liberties with the prompt! And I'm sorry about yandere Suo sneaking his way in here and if that's not for you, then I hope you enjoyed the other three pairings<3

[sweetdarlingfic2]

Late nights

Cw: fat shaming

The party only seemed to grow louder as the night went on, the music thumping like a second heartbeat and voices slurring together into chaos. Most of the people around you were, for lack of a better term, absolutely sloshed.

That night you made the mistake a small, dumb, hope fuled mistake of trying to talk to a random guy. He seemed interested at first, or at least enough to make you believe he was. That illusion didn’t last long.

“Hey, girl! Come here,” a sleazy voice barked out from across the room. Something about it made your skin crawl, but you went over anyway.

“Hey, pretty,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. He reeked of alcohol. “What’s your name?”

You hesitated for a second. “Uh it’s Y/N What’s yours?”

He waved off the question, eyes already drifting elsewhere. “Doesn’t matter. Hey, that girl over there what’s her name? You two friends?”

The pit in your stomach began to grow. Still, some naive part of you clung to hope. “Oh… her? That’s Jackie. Yeah, we’re friends. Why?”

His eyes returned to you, slow and assessing, like he was reading a menu. Then, with the cruelty only drunken confidence can conjure, he dropped the words like a hammer.

“Well, you two look kinda similar and all… but you’re fat, you know? I don’t hook up with fat chicks. Appreciate the help, though. Good on you for not being a fridge.”

And just like that, he was gone already halfway across the room, laughing and flirting with Jackie like you never existed.

You blinked rapidly, fighting back the sting in your eyes. Your chest felt tight, your skin too warm, the music too loud. You weaved through the party, finally spotting the back door. You slipped outside, closing it behind you with a soft click, the summer air cool against your flushed face.

You sat on the steps, and the sobs came quietly shoulders shaking, breath shallow. Five minutes passed. Maybe ten. You didn’t count. Then you heard the door creak open behind you.

Panic fluttered in your chest. You wiped at your eyes quickly, praying it wasn’t one of your friends. You didn’t want to ruin their night. But it wasn’t one of them. well not one of the ones you were worried about…

“Hey, toots.” The voice was low and warm, carrying just enough hesitation to feel genuine. Footsteps approached, heavy but careful, he sat beside you. You didn’t look at him right away, your heart was pounding. He took your hand gently, like he was afraid you’d pull away.

“I… I saw you come out here earlier,” he said, voice soft but nervous. “And… uh, sorry, I’m really bad at this kind of thing, haha. But, you looked like you were about to cry, and, uh… turns out I was right, huh?” He gave a sheepish laugh, eyes fixed ahead.

“Anyway, I just wanted to check if you’re okay. And if you’re not… I mean, if you wanna talk or just… get out of here or whatever, I’m down. Whatever helps.”

There was no pressure in his voice. Just an offering. A sliver of kindness after a night that had stripped you raw.

You let out a soft laugh through your sniffles. “Haha… thanks, Schlatt. I appreciate it. I’ve just… I’ve had a really bad week, and then this guy started talking to me earlier and…” You shook your head, looking down at your lap. “I guess I just couldn’t handle it.”

You tried to wave it off, your voice tight. “I’ll be fine though. Really.”

But Schlatt wasn’t convinced. He leaned in slightly, concern etched deep in his features, his voice low but urgent. “Wait what happened? Who talked to you? What did they say?” There was a fire behind his words, but it didn’t scare you. If anything, it made you feel safer.

You let out a shaky breath and rubbed at your face. “I… I didn’t get his name. He was just some random guy inside. He walked up to me like he was interested. And I believed him.” Your eyes dropped to the ground as the memory clawed its way back up. “Then he asked me Jackie’s name. I told him. And then…” Your voice cracked, and the tears welled again, burning hot. You felt Schlatt squeeze your hand, his thumb moved in slow circles across your skin, grounding you. You paused, swallowing around the lump in your throat.

“If you don’t wanna finish,” he said gently, “that’s okay. You don’t have to.” He reached up with his free hand and wiped away one of the tears that slipped down your cheek.

You closed your eyes for a moment, then shook your head. “No… no, it’s okay. There’s not much left to say.” You sniffled again, and this time, the words came out flat, like you were recounting something distant something you wished was distant.

“I told him her name. And he just… looked at me and said something like, ‘yeah, thanks for that. You guys look alike, but you’re too fat to get with.’” A tear rolled slowly down your cheek as silence settled between you.

Schlatt didn’t move right away. But you felt the shift in the air his jaw clenched, his grip on your hand tightening just a little, like he was holding himself back from storming back into the house. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady “You’re not…”

You blinked up at him.

“That probably didn’t come out right” he said, finally turning to face you fully. “Anyone with half a brain can see how beautiful you are… listen you deserve to be treated so much better than how you were tonight, you uh… you deserve a guy who worships you.” He paused, watching you for a beat longer, like he was making sure you believed him.

you let out a small shaky giggle.

He smiled back, softer now. “Y/N I’m serious please believe me.”

You giggled again “yeah okay…”

You two sat in a quiet kind of peace, the hum of the night filling in the silence, words weren’t needed. For a long moment, neither of you said anything just stealing glances at each other, then back up at the sky like it held some kind of answer. The cicadas buzzed softly in the background.

Eventually, Schlatt stood stretching out his long limbs with a quiet groan. He looked down at you again, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize it in the dim light. “Hey, Y/N” he said, voice lighter now, almost playful. “Wanna go somewhere? Like… on a drive or something?”

You looked up at him and, for the first time that whole night, you smiled really smiled. “Yeah” you said, voice soft but sure. “I’d like that a lot.”

He held out a hand, you took it without hesitation. His fingers were warm, a little clammy, but steady comforting. He helped you to your feet, but didn’t let go. As he led you toward the side gate, he fumbled with the latch a bit, muttering something under his breath that made you giggle. He finally swung it open, gesturing for you to go first. You stepped through but not before reaching back and grabbing his again, not ready to let the moment slip away. He gave a gentle tug, smiling as he followed you out to the car.

Once you reached his car he opened the passenger door like a gentleman, giving you a mock bow that made you roll your eyes and laugh again. The door clicked shut, and within seconds, he was in the driver’s seat beside you, key turning, engine rumbling to life.

“So,” you asked with a teasing smirk, turning toward him as he pulled out of the driveway, “where exactly are you taking me?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, flashing you a grin, “I’ve got somewhere nice in mind. you’ll like it.”

The further you drove, the more the world slipped away. The roads stretched out like ribbons under the headlights, winding through quiet backstreets and then into the hills. Trees lined the road thickening the higher you went, their leaves rustling in the warm breeze. The stars above grew clearer, brighter, like they’d been waiting for you to notice them, you did because for the first time all night, you weren’t spiraling. You were just… present.

At some point, his hand drifted to your thigh. But it wasn’t suggestive it was grounding. The kind of touch that said, I’m here if you need me, rather than I want something from you. His thumb moved slowly, almost absently, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was just who he was with you and you just leaned into the warmth of it, letting it soothe the ache still lingering in your chest.

You turned to glance at him, The reflection on the dashboard cast a soft, golden glow across his features, catching the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft downturn of his mouth. Something about him looked so painfully handsome in that moment.

Eventually, the car slowed to a stop. You blinked, glancing around as the view opened up around you. A lookout. The city stretched below, distant and quiet. He killed the engine, and the sudden silence felt sacred.

Schlatt got out and, to your surprise, ran around to your side. He opened your door like it was something he did every day like you deserved that kind of care without question. You stepped out, breathing in the night air, cooler now, crisp in your lungs. He led you to the front of the car, the metal still warm beneath you as you leaned back against it, shoulder to shoulder.

“So,” he asked, glancing sideways at you, “you like it?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, eyes locked on the view. “It’s beautiful.”without warning, that old, familiar pang of insecurity twisted in your gut. You didn’t want to ruin the moment but the question spilled out before you could catch it. “you bring girls up here often?”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t brush it off. Instead, he turned toward you slowly, his hand sliding around your waist, grounding you again. His brows knit slightly, like he was surprised you even had to ask.

“No,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “Y/N… there aren’t any other girls. Just you. Only you.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

His grip tightened just a little not possessive, just steady. “I mean it. I know maybe I’m not the easiest guy to read, But I need you to hear me when I say this.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounded loud in your ears.

“I love you.”

The words hit like a soft blow unexpected but strangely fitting. There wasn’t any dramatic pause or sweeping gesture. Just a confession, raw and unpolished. The kind of truth that doesn’t need to be pretty to mean something.

“You might not believe it right now,” he added, voice gentler now, “but I really do. All of it. The laughs, the quiet nights, even this standing here with you when you’re hurting. I don’t want just some version of you. I want all of it.”

The tears that gathered in your eyes weren’t from pain this time. They were from the weight of being seen. Held. Loved not in spite of your scars, but with them.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, then leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his chest. “I believe you,” you whispered.

And this time, you really did.

Hope you enjoyed \(^ヮ^)/

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[tokkiwrites]

game show host!joel miller x contestant f! reader ▪︎summary: it's the late 1970s, and you're fresh out of college. for your graduation gift, your parents got you a special ticket to be part of your favorite game show, 'Love Jive'. They didn't know you didn't like the show itselfㅡ but it's smooth talking MC, Joel Miller. ▪︎tags: pwp, age gap (pretty hefty one), super flirty joel, shy/lovestruck reader, afab!reader, pet names galore!!, p in v (unprotected), mirror sex kind of, slight breeding kink, creampie, joel kind of has an innocence kink idk.

▪︎this has been sitting in my drafts for two months now. Hopefully, you enjoy this short and silly 2.45k words one. There is no plot for it honestly, just thought it would be a cute concept. maybe a series might come from it. Who knows? anyway!!! love ya!!

It was the summer of 1979, and the air felt heavy with possibility. You were fresh out of college, diploma in hand, and ready to take on the world—or at least that’s what you told yourself when your parents asked what came next.

Their graduation gift to you? A surprise ticket to Love Jive, the hottest game show on TV. You’d tried to hide your awkward smile when they handed it over, the envelope sparkling with glitter that matched the show’s logo. What they didn’t know was that it wasn’t the show’s ridiculous premise that had you tuning in every week.

It was him.

Joel Miller.

The man was a legend, smooth as honey and twice as sweet. The way his Texan drawl slid over those ridiculous love-related catchphrases? You swore it had ruined you for men your own age. He had to be at least twenty years older than you, but that salt-and-pepper hair, that sly smile, those broad shoulders stretching under his velvet blazer? They didn’t make men like Joel Miller anymore.

So here you were, standing nervously behind the curtain in the Love Jive studio.

“Contestants, ready?” a stagehand called.

Your stomach did a flip as the warm-up announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. The audience clapped and cheered, the excitement infectious. Before you could second-guess yourself, the curtain lifted, and the stage lights bathed you in gold.

And there he was.

Joel Miller stood center stage, microphone in hand, looking like he owned the room— and maybe he did. That million-watt smile lit up his face, his dark eyes sweeping the contestants before landing on you. He did a double take so subtle you almost missed it, but when his smile softened just a fraction, your heart skipped a beat.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” His voice rolled through the air like warm molasses, drawing chuckles from the crowd. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some fine contestants tonight. Y’all ready to find love and maybe a little bit of fun?”

The audience erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to join them. Not when Joel Miller was staring at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“And what’s your name, darlin’?” Joel asked, pointing the microphone toward you.

You blinked, mouth suddenly dry. “Uh—uh, it’s—” You blurted out your name, voice cracking slightly. Joel chuckled, low and smooth, his dimples deepening as he grinned. “Well now, ain’t you just the sweetest thing. Y’all hear that? Even her name’s cute as a button.”

The crowd ooh’d and ahh’d, but Joel’s gaze stayed locked on you.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning ever so slightly closer, “what brings a lovely little thing like you to Love Jive? Lookin’ for romance? Or just here for the spectacle?” Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you prayed the lights were too bright for anyone to notice. “Um, I—I guess you could say both?”

Joel’s eyebrows lifted, and his grin turned downright wicked. “Both, huh? Well, darlin’, I can promise you this much—you’re in for one hell of a show.” The crowd roared their approval as Joel winked at you, leaving your heart thundering in your chest. You’d come to Love Jive expecting to admire Joel Miller from afar. You hadn’t counted on becoming the center of his attention.

And as the game began, one thing became crystal clear: Joel wasn’t just hosting tonight. He was playing a game of his own— and you were the prize he had his sights set on.

Fast forward to the 15-minute commercial break.

The knock on the door came firmly, pulling you out of your flustered thoughts. You glanced at the mirror, smoothing down your blouse and trying to will away the redness on your cheeks. “Come in,” you called out, voice trembling slightly.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Joel Miller, the man of all your desires.

The sight of him so close took your breath away. He leaned casually against the doorframe for a moment, his dark eyes settling on you. His smile, warm and teasing, was the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “Well, there you are,” he drawled, his voice like velvet. “Thought I’d come check on you, see how my favorite contestant’s holdin’ up.” You blinked, trying to find your voice. “Oh, uh—fine! I’m fine,” you stammered, your hands twisting nervously.

Joel stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The dressing room wasn’t large to begin with, and his presence filled it completely, making the space feel even smaller.

“Fine, huh?” he said, leaning against the vanity, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Can’t blame you for bein’ a little flustered. All those lights, all those people… and me.” His grin turned teasing, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment. You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “It’s not—I mean, you’re not—”

“Sweetheart, relax,” Joel interrupted, his voice a low chuckle. “I’m just messin’ with you.” His eyes softened, and he tilted his head. “But if I’m bein’ honest, you’ve got somethin’ about you. That’s got me wonderin’ if maybe I’m the one a little flustered tonight.”

Your heart skipped at his words. “Me?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. Joel’s grin deepened, his dimples on full display. “Yeah, you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. He stepped closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Pretty little thing like you walkin’ in here, lookin’ all sweet and innocent, got every man in the audience wishin’ he was sittin' in my shoes tonight.” You felt like your face might catch fire. “I don’t think that’s true,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel reached out, gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him. His hand was warm and firm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Well, I do,” he said softly, his dark eyes holding yours. “And I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweet girl."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “I was thinkin’... maybe once this show wraps up, you and I could get outta here. Go somewhere quiet. Just you and me.” Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you felt dizzy under his gaze. “You mean… like a date?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Exactly like a date,” he murmured. “What do you say, sweetheart?” You nodded before you could overthink it, your shy smile breaking free. “I’d really like that.” Joel’s grin turned downright wicked. “Good,” he drawled, his hand sliding to cradle your cheek. “’Cause I’ve been dyin’ to do this all night.”

Before you could say another word, Joel leaned in and kissed you. His lips were warm and sure, moving against yours with a perfect mix of confidence and tenderness. You felt your hands instinctively grip the vanity behind you, your knees going weak as his other hand settled lightly on your waist.

The kiss lingered, soft and sweet, but with just enough heat to leave your head all dizzy. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Damn,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, “even better than I imagined.” You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you, shy and giddy all at once. “You imagined kissing me?”

Joel grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Oh, I imagined far more than kissing you, darlin’. Hard not to when you look at me the way you do.” Your heart felt like it might burst, but before you could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Miller, we’re back in two!”

Joel sighed dramatically, giving you a wink as he stepped back. “Guess I better get back to work,” he said, his tone light but his eyes still lingering on you. “Don’t go runnin’ off after the show, y’hear? I’m not done with you yet.” You nodded, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence. With one last smirk, Joel turned and strolled out the door, leaving you breathless.

The show had ended in a blur of applause, flashing lights, and the announcer’s booming voice thanking everyone for watching. Contestants and crew mingled briefly as everyone prepared to leave. You’d just stepped to the side of the stage when one of the other contestants, a bubbly blonde in a bright orange jumpsuit, sidled up to you with a knowing smile.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like you really got Mister Smooth swooning all over ya.”

You blinked, startled. “What? No, I don’t think—”

“Oh, honey,” she interrupted with a laugh, crossing her arms. “Everyone could see the way he was devouring you with his eyes. I swear, I was worried he might forget the rest of us were even there.” Your face went hot, and you shook your head quickly. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” she said with a wink, already walking away. “If by ‘imagining things,’ you mean watching him look at you like you hung the moon. Enjoy it, sweetie. A man like Joel Miller doesn’t come around every day.”

Her words echoed in your head as you made your way back to your dressing room. Closing the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, desperate for a moment to collect yourself. The quiet was a relief after the chaos of the show. You slipped out of your stage outfit and into the dress you’d brought for afterward. A soft yellow dress with bell sleeves, a cinched waist, and a flowing A-line skirt covered in a delicate floral print. It felt like something out of a sunny dream, and you hoped it might give you a touch of the confidence you sorely lacked.

You were smoothing the fabric over your hips when the door opened without warning.

“Oh, wow.” The single word made you whirl around. There he was. Joel Miller, standing in the doorway. His tie was loosened, his shirt collar slightly unbuttoned, and his dark eyes were locked on you. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, the words leaving his lips like a breath. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you managed a shy smile. “Oh, it’s just… just a dress,” you murmured, brushing your hands nervously over the skirt.

Joel stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he approached. His gaze was unwavering, taking you in like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Just a dress, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you could be wearin’ a paper bag, and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in the room.” You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Joel stopped in front of you, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, his touch warm and steady.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, before closing the space between you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. Where the earlier kiss had been soft and tentative, this one was sure, filled with hunger and intent. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a passion that made your knees weak.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only feel. His touch, his warmth, the way he held you like you were something rare. “Been thinkin’ about doin’ that since the first time I saw you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

You let out a breathless laugh, your hands clutching the lapels of his jacket for balance. “You’ve kissed me twice tonight, Joel,” you teased, your voice trembling slightly. Joel grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “Yeah, I have a soft spot for sweet girls like yourself. ” he said before pausing shortly. “And if you’ll let me, darlin’, I’d be doin' a lot more than kissing you.”

Stopping him was the furthest thing from your mind.

"I'll let you.."

Without thinking, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of submission and maybe a little defiance. His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he's won some battle. " You're a good girl," he breathes, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. The contact sends sparks through you, and your skin burns where he touches. Without any hesitation, he spins both of you so that you are facing the large golden mirror above the counter. Joel groans, rolling his shoulders back as he bends you over the vanity, your hips snug in his grip. "God, you're so fuckin' gorgeous, angel."

you look down. "Please.." The man shakes his head and lands a hard smack on one of your asscheeks, making you yelp in the process. He takes his time pulling up your flowy dress, finally taking a look at your soaking panties, white with laced blue details. "Fuck, look at her." His calloused thumb makes contact with your clothed folds, dragging it up and down, in painfully slow circles. In mere seconds, you hear the material rip and then feel the flimsy undergarments fall on the cold tiled floor.

"What a pretty pussy." he mutters under his breath, undoing his trousers. he pulls them a bit down, enough for his manhood to spring free and slap against his covered bellybutton. you can see it all in the mirrorㅡ it's huge, to say the least. you gasp softly as you feel him drag the wet tip of it against your swollen bud, and you hide your gaze, head hanging low in embarrassment. this doesn't last long, as his rough palm grabs at your face pulling it up again. you're making eye contact with him through the lit up mirror and you see him shake his head. "No, baby. You watch while I wreck this pussy, understand?" you shake your head, agreeing, but that isn't good enough so he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, lightly.

"Speak, sweetheart." you breathe out. "Yes, Joel." he drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down as if he didn't make you wait long enough. truthfully you never wanted it to end, so maybe him teasing was his way of making sure this lasts. after he thinks its sufficient, Joel starts to push inside, and godㅡ your breath gets stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thorns. every prick of discomfort is soon replaced by an unexpected surge of delight.

Your tears fall down onto the surface under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're alright..." he assures you, asking you to surrender.

"Take it all. Atta girl, just like that..." he praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. Joel moves gently at first, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements. His hips dive down with force, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat, assuring you see how good he's destroying you.

Your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, little girl, look how tight she's suckin' me in." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each time. your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around him.

"Oh, god, please.." You manage. pulling at your hair, he starts chuckling. "Am I your god, baby? Ya like beggin'?" While thrusting relentlessly into you, jelly like legs barely holding you up anymore, your knees buckle. Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, this allowed you to take in a big gulp of air before you feel him deeper in your guts.

"Want me to breed this young pussy, huh? Fill you up with my babies? let people inside this roomㅡ let them film it for the whole world to see?" the room spins around you, vision blurry with tears and brain all fuzzy. you try your best to reply. "yes, oh, p-lease, please! "

"Go ahead." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much, Joel!" you cry out, praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into your pulsing cunt. The man buries himself into you as you come down from your high, body almost too limp to register your surroundings. then he slaps your ass, and watches you writhe under him. You looked perfect, like a carved our porcelain doll. With a few more snaps of his hips you feel he's close, his nails digging roughly into your skin as he finally paints your velvet walls with white ropes of come. "God fuckin'ㅡ!" you know that will leave bruises.

the dressing room feels sticky, and the mirror in front of you is all fogged up, but you can just barely make out your face, all tearstained and messy. You moan as he pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you shivering. Joel watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him like the most beautiful piece of art.

You're both quiet for a bit, before he breaks the silence. "You're still up for that date, little lady?"

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (02)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content sexual jokes, rafe being a tease !

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 01 ¡ 02 ¡ 03

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yourusername me and gf on a mermaids date  🧜‍♀️ 

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sarahcameron GF 🙈🙈🙈 most beautiful girl ive ever seen ↳ yourusername BABYYY ily

sarahcameron do you want to be my wife ↳ johnroutledge Uhm ↳ yourusername leave little boy she doesnt want you 🧏‍♀️

sarahcameron cant believe we met its been SO long ↳ yourusername still in shock could you kiss me to make sure this is real?  ↳ sarahcameron come to mama 💋 

ryanontop God your ugly ↳ yourusername you’re*… spell right you illiterate fuck ↳ ryanontop Fuck off it was a typo ↳ yourusername you know damn well!!!!

cleoanderson WAIT WHAT

kiecarrera ??? HUH

kiecarrera IM SO CONFUSED ↳ cleoanderson ME TOO ☹️ ↳ sarahcameron hey 👋  ↳ cleoanderson girl you both got some explaining to do ↳ yourusername trust me i was as shocked as you are 😓

popeheyward Insane ↳ yourusername PIPE down fella (get it ahahaha) ↳ popeheyward That wasn't funny ↳ cleoanderson be nice to my girl >:( ↳ popeheyward Baby you're supposed to defend me ↳ yourusername YEAHHH CLOCK THAT HO

jjmaybanks whats for supper  ↳ yourusername saltwater

user1 PRETTY!!!! 

user2 so lovely 🥹

user3 DRESS ATE DOWN ↳ yourusername YEAHH tryna impress the hoes ↳ ryanontop Crickets ↳ sarahcameron not cool Ryan. ↳ ryanontop Sorry Sarah Cameron.

rafecameron Hey 👋🏼👋🏼👋🏼 ↳ yourusername uhhh uhmm  ↳ rafecameron ??? What ↳ sarahcameron what are you doing here ↳ yourusername yeah get out of my comment section ↳ rafecameron I’m not even doing anything 

rafecameron Sarah looks like a duck  ↳ yourusername shes my little duckling 🐥  ↳ rafecameron Oh I didn't mean that in a cute way ↳ sarahcameron hey >:( ↳ yourusername insult my gf one more time and ill fuck you UP ↳ rafecameron Oh?  ↳ ryanontop Uhh  ↳ rafecameron Yo wsg baby ↳ yourusername flirt somewhere else please dont start sexting in my comment section ↳ rafecameron Awe man :( but it's way more fun in public ↳ yourusername pardon me! there's children in my comments, please refrain from having sex here ↳ rafecameron You're the one talking about sexting, not me...

Involving yourself with Rafe Cameron, whom you later found out was good friends with your brother, was definitely not a part of your plan. 

Spending the next two months with him meant coming to terms with your actions, perhaps take responsibility for the mess you created out of this situation. Had you further dug into his information, paid attention to the last name splattered across your screen, you would not have ended up in the bathroom, contemplating whether going downstairs was a good idea. 

Avoiding him could be an option right now, but you knew you'd have to face him one day, whether it was today, or another. And while he stayed oblivious to the incident, you couldn’t help the embarrassment that flushed your face everytime his eyes would lock with yours.

You somehow spent the afternoon together, his lingering gazes leaving you a nervous mess every time his eyes fell on you. He’d stare at you for a few seconds, letting tension heave through the air, almost as if it was the most casual thing ever, as if he’s not your brother’s best friend, someone so off limits, forbidden to the touch. 

Besides that, it was nice, you got to spend more time with Sarah, catch up with the girl and everything you missed out on in the past few hours she was gone. It distracted you from your embarrassment, eternally grateful, because you don’t think you’ll be capable of spending another minute within Rafe’s presence without exploding. 

Taking a deep breath, you mustered up the courage to head downstairs, taking each step with haste. Sarah perked up when the hardwood creaked underneath you, causing you to come to a halt. Sarah called out your name, addressing you with the hand she waved in your direction, her excitement instantly replacing the frown spread across your face with a smile. 

“What took you so long?” Her lips jut into a pout, tucking her hair behind her ear. She welcomed you with open arms, chuckling when you accepted the embrace with a content hum “You know, I missed you.” 

“You were jus’ talking to me.” You muffled out, relaxing as the blonde rocked your bodies back and forth. 

“It’s not the same!” She exclaimed, pulling away for a moment. “It’s not everyday I get to see you in real life.” 

Ryan cleared his throat, in an attempt to earn yours and Sarah’s attention. To his satisfaction, he did, causing your gaze to shift back to the latter, instantly detecting the disgusted expression he had splattered across his face. 

“Can you save this for later, and please help me out?” Ryan questioned, making you roll your eyes. “You think I called you down so you could be all over each other?” 

“Shut up.” Sarah stuck out her tongue, teasing the latter from where she stood. 

You scrunched your nose, tensing when you sensed Rafe’s burning glare from the corner of your eyes. The boy’s glances were intense, almost as if he was staring at you for the purpose of undressing you with his gaze, and that, yeah, it never failed to knock a breath out of your chest, creating a flustered mess out of you. 

Sarah returned to her old position, standing behind the counter with you following in her steps, striving to see what they were up to. Your lips formed into an ‘o’ shape, peaking with interest when you noticed the deviled eggs Ryan was plating.

“That looks good,” you hummed, turning in Ryan’s direction, who conceitedly nodded, proud of the dish they had displayed on the counter. “Don’t people usually make these for thanksgiving, though?”

“That’s what I said!” Sarah agreed, giggling when Ryan grumbled, disapproving of your statement. 

“You’re acting like you’re not gonna eat them!” He elbowed your side, acknowledging you with his chin when you hissed, faking a pained expression. “Stop complaining and grab more plates, we need them for the mash potatoes.” 

“The only thing missing is the turkey, at this point.” You scoffed, mumbling to yourself, though Ryan could still hear you. “Where’s the plates?” 

“Uhh,” Sarah started, observing the cabinets behind you. She pointed to one of them with her finger, your eyes instantly following where her digit landed. “You can find some in there.”

With a nod, you shuffled to approach the stacked cabinets, aiming for the one Sarah was referring to. A groan instantly escaped your throat, gaze trailing up to the plates positioned on the top shelf. 

“Why on earth are these cabinets so high?” You whined, standing on your tippy toes to grab the dishes, merely to end up with nothing in your grasp. “And why are you putting plates on the top shelf?! None of you could reach them!” 

You extended your arm once again, stretching out your body in an attempt to seize the plates, losing your balance when you maintained the same position for a little too long, eventually failing to achieve what you were aiming for. 

Ryan mumbled a few words of complaints, rushing you to grab the plates faster, though he noticed that you were struggling, not offering to step in and help you. You paused for a second, calculating how you were going to capture the plates without asking for help, as that was a no in your watch. 

Right, you could use a chair, and although that was quite the embarrassment, it was the only option you had, even if it meant making a fool out of yourself. 

“Here, lemme try.” 

You tensed where you stood, breath hitching when Rafe shuffled behind you, his broad chest colliding against your back. Your vision blurred as you inhaled his scent, his musky cologne intoxicating your senses. 

Your gaze trailed up his arm, where it hovered over your shoulder, the brief contact sending goosebumps down your spine. And if you weren’t aware before, you definitely are now, enjoying the sight of him towering over you a little too much for your liking. 

The latter grunted as he reached for the plates, capturing them with a little difficulty. The sound instantly echoed through your ears, blinding you whole, that you had no right being this into it. Your mind wandered with thoughts you shouldn’t even ponder about, not as the boy was innocently stepping in to help, when your own brother couldn’t. 

“There you go.” Rafe muttered, voice barely above a whisper. He placed the plates on the counter in front of you, moving to catch sight of your reaction, chuckling when he noticed how flustered you were, mouth slightly parting with an exhale. “Did I startle you? Sorry, I was jus’ tryin’ to help.” 

“Right,” you said through a breath, blinking far too many times for your liking. “Thank you, I– that was really nice.” 

“Mhm.” He leaned his arm over the counter, admiring you with a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He stood still for a moment, almost as if he was seeking something out of you, perchance a reply, if that was even appropriate in this situation.

“What?” You asked, cluelessly staring back at him, fingers clutching the plates you had in hand. 

“Could you hurry up!” Ryan interrupted, causing you to jolt from where you stood, leaving Rafe hanging as you headed in your brother’s direction. “The food’s about to run cold.”

“You could’ve helped me grab them, dickhead.” You scoffed, failing to keep your eyes to yourself as you stole a glance in Rafe’s direction, breath catching in your throat when you spotted him yet staring at you, with the same mischievous smile he had from earlier. 

He’s only helping, you’re acting like this because it caught you off guard, right? Fuck, you were totally screwed, how were you supposed to act normal when Rafe was behaving like a gentleman, doing everything in his power to make you comfortable, whether it’s him helping you grab the plates, or him offering you a drink with the scorching hot sun. 

Either way, this was bad, for your mental being, and the boundaries you created for yourself. It’s only been a day, what will happen in the next few weeks you’re spending with him? You don’t know, but what you do know is that they’ll be hell, tortuous, even.

Sarah passed you the pot of mash, politely asking you to plate it, making it hard for you to refuse the request. You did as told, doing it as neatly as physically possible, with Ryan nagging over your head, telling you to be more cautious in the process. 

You managed to get what you were asked for done, with the boy pestering you nonstop throughout it, creating a frustrated mess out of you. Rafe offered a helping hand, arranging the plates on the table, for each person they were serving. 

The elders came through the front door, having been gone for most of the time they’ve been here, excusing themselves for what you assumed was a business meeting. You embraced your mom in a hug, presenting the food to her with your free arm, snickering when she squealed, taken aback by all the food displayed on the table. 

Dinner was chaotic, filled with chatter and giggles as everyone bonded over the food, getting to catch up with each other. Ward was quite the man, and while you did dislike him, witnessing all the times he was harsh to Sarah, you couldn’t dodge his curious questions, not when everyone surrounding you thought of you as angel who wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

You kept to yourself for most of the time, amused by Sarah and Ryan arguing over who cooked each dish, fighting to claim their credit. And as for Rafe, well, he was there, sitting besides Ryan, who was across from you.

“You’re oddly quiet, Bug.” Sarah suddenly started, talking over the elders, who were chatting about business. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh, yeah!” You nodded, flashing her an endearing smile, one Sarah contently returned. 

“It’s only ‘cause there’s people around,” Ryan clicked his teeth, having heard the conversation. “Trust, she’s such a brat, don’t encourage her to keep talking, otherwise, she’ll never shut up.” 

“Can you not?” You muffled through gritted teeth, kicking his foot from underneath the table. “Could you also move? You’re all up in my space.” 

“That’s uh,” Rafe choked out, taking a sip off of the glass of water splattered across his side of the table. “That’s my leg.” 

You froze your spot, eyes widening with shock when you peaked under the table, discerning that it was Rafe’s leg you were kicking, Ryan’s far back positioned inches away from his chair. Sarah mimicked your action, chuckling when she caught sight of the ridiculous sight, entertained by the situation. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You apologized, eyebrows furrowing with concern. “I thought you were Ryan.”

“It’s okay.” He dismisses, flashing you a gentle smile. “Sorry for ruining your uh– plans.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” Ryan jutted his lips into a pout, turning to glimpse at Rafe, whose face filled with concern. “You’re supposed to defend me. Why are you taking her side?” 

“Mhm,” Rafe hummed, going along with the bit. His fingers found the curve of Ryan’s jaw, cupping his face in a teasing manner. “Did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry, I’ll be more cautious next time. Do you want a kiss, sweetheart?” 

Ryan nodded, nuzzling into the latter’s hand, letting his eyes fall shut when Rafe leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss to his forehead. The mere sight made you sick to your stomach, with Sarah just as cringed out as you were, grumbling with detest.

Looks like you had some competition. 

“Can you not?” Sarah huffed, “We’re eating.” 

“She doesn’t get it.” Ryan shook his head with disappointment, withdrawing from the touch. Rafe agreed by nodding, patting Ryan’s shoulder before he got back to eating, acting as if that was the normalest thing they’ve done over dinner. 

Fancy plating was all fun and games until you had to do the dishes, and with the little work you did tonight, it did not look good on your watch. Ryan excused himself out of the list, with Sarah following behind, informing you that they made dinner, meaning it was your turn to do the dishes. 

Which, truth be told was fair, you totally understood where they were coming from, because if that was you, you would’ve done the same thing. 

“I’ll help out.” Rafe joined in, the suggestion creating a nervous mess out of you. 

That’s how you ended up in front of the sink, watching as plates piled up with every dish Rafe brought, instantly joining your side after he tidied up the table, wiping it clean to ensure a disinfected setting. 

Your contained giggles seeped through the silence, observing as Rafe clumsily scrubbed a plate, stumbling as it almost slipped from his hands. A sigh of relief escaped his parted lips, tightening his hold around it before it could further slither through his fingers. 

“You don’t need to do it.” You uttered, catching Rafe’s attention, who turned to face you with a smug grin spread across his lips, oblivious to the teasing smile you flashed him.

“Why?” He curled one of his eyebrows with confusion, scrubbing the plate with all his might, though it was past its limit. “Do you not want my help?”

“It’s not that,” you playfully rolled your eyes, rinsing off the excess soap. “It just looks like you’re struggling.” 

“‘That so?” He shot back, mimicking your action, copying your each move to make sure he’s doing it right. 

“Mhm.” You mused, letting silence linger through the air, atmosphere heaving with tension. 

“You know,” Rafe started, eyes glued to his gloved hands. “You’re different over text.” 

You almost drop the plate in your hand, caught off guard by the latter’s statement. Rafe maintained a blank expression, continuing what he was doing while you tensed in your spot, too dumbfounded to move, or respond. 

“I–” you stammered, abandoning the dishes piled in the sink, and focusing your whole attention on Rafe. “Why are you bringing that up?” 

“Should I not?” He questioned, stealing a swift glance in your direction as he cocked his head to the side, intrigued by how the conversation was flowing. “I mean, you did text me this morning, am I supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“You said it yourself,” you started, suddenly feeling your throat go dry. “Ryan’s my brother, it would be best if we didn’t discuss this.” 

“Why not?” He muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not like we’re doin’ anythin’ weird, y’know? I mean, you did leave an impression on me.”

“impression?” You repeated, jeered by his words as your mouth moved faster than your brain. “Did you know we’d be meeting here?” 

“Well,” he replied, rinsing off the soapy dishes. “I can’t say I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, then?” You whispered, afraid others would overhear your conversation. “Had you told me, I wouldn’t have continued speaking to you. Do you know how awkward things are now that you’re here?” 

“Why?” Rafe hushed out, pausing for a second, before he turned to face you, now leveling his face with your own. “Am I making you nervous?” 

Your throat ran dry, taken aback by the question. Was he flirting with you? And if not, why did it have such a big effect on you? Tolling you with temptation in ways you knew were impossible, out of reach, even. 

“What?” You uttered through a breath, face flushing with heat. “No– no it’s just–”

“I’m just messing.” He snickered, amused by how flustered you grew, stuttering to mutter a coherent statement out. 

“That wasn’t funny.” You grumbled out, fluttering your eyes at the latter, visibly embarrassed by the reaction the boy received from you. 

“Right.” He chuckled, not sounding convinced at all. 

The next few minutes filled with tension, as you both fell quiet, letting silence heave the air. Rafe didn’t seem as affected as you were, maintaining a blank expression the whole time you were a mess, too embarrassed to be in the boy’s presence, who seemed oblivious to the uncomfortable atmosphere he had created. 

You instantly excused yourself to your room afterwards, telling the boy you were sleepy, though it was too early for bed. You needed a moment to yourself, even if it meant lying through your teeth.

Besides, you weren’t the only one who was gone, as Sarah was nowhere in sight, disappearing once you were done. She was probably talking to her boyfriend, hence you know how clingy they were with each other. 

You took a quick shower, freshening up before bed, immediately followed with your skin care routine, playing soft music in the background while you did so. You dressed yourself in comfortable pajamas, instantly slipping under your covers, letting the warmness engulf your body whole. 

Your eyes droswed with sleep, after a few hours of scrolling through your phone, not noticing the time, only acknowledging how late it was when you received a notification that earned your attention. Your breath almost hitched as you opened the DM, caught off guard by who it was from. 

It was Rafe.

a/n THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON THIS WTH!! i wasnt expectingt it ily mwahh!! & just a little fyi this story will have more irl parts, it wont be solely sm based as i alr have stated in the beginning! it will definitely have social media, but im not abandoning the irl part of it yk 😣 that being said, feel free to lmk if you want to be removed/added to the taglist :) (in order to stay on it, you need to interact with the posts)

TAGLIST @greyswaren @slut-4-gojo @depthsofdespairr @littlelamy @lilithblackkk @cnnamongrl @mattyskies @percysley @jaklvbub @inlovewithdob @ilovefiction4lmen @theeternaloptimistt @maybejj @icaqttt @idgasb @purplerose291 @shincidios @laniirackssss @malibuhearts @adulterated-cocaine @bugg06 @murdockcastleslut @drwstarkeys @pretymads @klmaaaoooo @wearemadeofstardust0 @urbrunettebombshell @stylestarkey @riverxsq @louxmcl @totalswag @cl4uus @simpforboys @tearsfromasliverwolf-blog @bilssturns @fandomhopped @strsdoulikedem @congratsloserr @dr3wstarkey @xoxo-ada @stvrligghtt @rafeswhoooreee @kythefangirl25 @chaneydoll @blushmimi @akobx @empath-bunny @flirtism @stopnala @rafecameronswifeyy

[nanamiskentos]

SALVATORE — jujutsu kaisen x reader minors dni

prologue. → going on summer vacations with the jjk men and things get a little...hotter?

pairings. satoru gojo x afab!reader / suguru geto x afab!reader / nanami kento x afab!reader / choso kamo x afab!reader / ryomen sukuna x afab!reader / toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings+. non-sorcerer/jujutsu au, from the back, exhíbitíonism, mild food play, ríding, máting press, creámpíe, against the wall, oral (f. receiving), fíngeríng, hey even in a cave! reader is called good girl, princess, baby, darling, my love.

word count. 4.1k! song inspiration. salvatore — lana del rey

a/n. update #1 writing this fic had me looking up shit on wikipedia pages abt cities around the world, had me checking meteorology maps...tried to choose cities i've been to but i was still racking my brains. update #2 btw whenever i write smut like this i'm filled with outstanding self awareness and minor shame but thats the fun of it 😭 this is day no.3 of me trying to rewrite this all from scratch update #3 day 4! fawkkkk i wanna go on holiday too now. lmao if i was in the sukuna one, i would have been mad as hell, istanbul is stunning <3

mp3. everything looks better from above my king, like aqua marine, ocean's blue

TOJI FUSHIGURO — all the lights in miami begin to gleam 📍 miami, america

"o-oh, fuck. think she's really tellin' me to keep going like this, don'tcha think?"

your boyfriend is mean when he's like this. sharp, jade eyes narrowed as they take in the sight of your puffy folds swallowing him up over and over as he's stuffing himself into your sticky walls. and if you turn your head away, from where you're smashed against the pillow, you can see the floor-to-wall ceilings of the high-rise penthouse that offers an uninterrupted view of miami's glittering skyline.

"how - how, did you even get this place, hah, toji?" it's a wonder you can even get a coherent sentence out right now, your guts are practically being stuffed with inches of your boyfriend's veiny cock, and it's leaving you, well, delirious.

but with humble credit and thanks to what you can assume is your own nasty grip, toji's not faring much better either. his brawny frame is practically shuddering, and while you can't see his face in this position, you're certain that a sharp canine has sunk into his lip, and his breath is coming out in hulking groans.

"heh, you're n-not meant to ask questions like that, princess? gotta, ohhh, gotta keep some business s-secrets up my sleeve, huh?" and he's practically a beast right now, handling you on all fours of this king-sized bed, draped in silk sheets the colour of red wine, "just a reward for a-, haah, a job well done."

any job well done from toji was most likely something illegal, but you can't even bring yourself to care, not when there's a bucket of chilled champagne on the glass table to your left, and certainly not when his fat cock is smearing right through you, leaving a coil in your abdomen that only he can unravel.

you whine, feeling the fat tip of his cock practically rummage and make a home in your cunt, "toji, wan' more," and you're pushing the plush of your ass against his pumping hips, and you hear his sharp intake of breath.

a rough hand has snaked underneath you, creating a small gap between you and the bunched-up fabric on the bed, and his callous fingertips are now circling sloppy, messy circles over your clit, leaving you bucking in his hold.

"n-now, stay still, princess. not done with you yet."

SUGURU GETO — ciao, amore. soft ice-creams. 📍 amalfi coast, italy

you're not sure how long you've been trembling under suguru's mouth, but it must have been an eternity under the ministrations of his tongue.

the sun has been blazing high, casting a golden glow over this part of the private beach, hidden away from the towns bustling with tourists like yourselves who had descended upon the coast for the summer.

soft waves lapped in ebbing waves, the rhythm breaking the perfect stillness of the afternoon, in this wooden cabana, separated from the terracotta villas.

and no, your mind was nowhere near admiring the turquoise waters of the ocean, but rather your lover's mouth practically exploring every inch of your cunt like this.

the tapered tip of his tongue had long been probing around your fluttering pussy, taking in every last drop of your pearlescent luster that was practically dripping over his chin.

not to mention the absolutely sticky and languid trails of melting ice-cream, each biting cream drop that fell on your hot swollen folds getting promptly cleaned up by the one who was enjoying this sweet game.

"shhh! don't wanna get kicked off this beach, do ya, pretty?"

and suguru looks positively devious, his violet eyes gleaming with crude intent. his black hair is a tangled mess, long locks falling victim to your clawing nails that tumble carelessly over his bare back, kissed by the sun and glowing with a soft, rosy pink hue.

and when he smiles, the sunlight catches onto his lips, making the slick on his mouth sparkle and wink up at you.

"been - it's been an entire hour by now, can't you just let me cum," you huff, closing the plush of your thighs around his ears, boxing him in.

geto flashes you a mischievous grin, running a slow finger through your sopping folds, and lightly brushing over your entrance as you mewl again.

"where would the fun in that be, pretty?" he murmurs, "love seeing how wet this cunt gets for me, need to let me have my fun."

what a devil. clearly, getting under your skin is a sport for him.

you're hardly given a moment to breathe before he's jostling two thick digits right into the thick of it once more, in and out, in and then out, as his thumb find its home on the slope of your bare mound again.

"besides, we can take it slow for 'nother hour, can't we?" and now suguru's toying with your clit, and his teeth lean down to graze the swollen, throbbing bud, "gotta see just how much you can beg for me."

NANAMI KENTO — catch me if you can, working on my tan 📍 gold coast, australia

"w-wait, darling," nanami shudders under your touch, under your fresh set of nails raking small patterns over his neck, "anyone could just walk past here, y'know."

you curl your lip, before pressing your mouth in an open mouthed kiss to his stretched neck, warm and flushed.

you can feel the galloping thrum of his pulse beneath your lips, the heat almost intoxicating, mingling with the faint tang of the pool water's chlorine, and the scent of banksia and frangipanis in the air.

you can also feel his thick cock dragging through your walls, as you ram the weight of your hips over and over again. it seems like the shimmering skyline of surfer's paradise was just what nanami needed, after months of work, and you're determined to make the most of your time here.

he's got you bouncing practically like a ragdoll, heavy balls swinging up and smacking your skin in what little space remains between the two of you, and he's panting into your chest, "whatd'ya gonna do if someone sees?"

"mhm, don' care, no-one's here, nanami."

his broad arms loop around you in the pool chair, as you straddle the sizeable bulge that's making a tent in his briefs, "nasty, sometimes, aren'tcha?"

you smile, as your husband's large hands roam over your back, making you arch your back into his touch — as he deftly pulls at the tight knot holding your damp bikini top together.

"ah, don't get shy now. let me see these," and you can only nod hazily as he lets your tits spill out, and press up against his bare, chiselled torso, "wanted this so bad, just a minute ago, yeah?"

"s-still want this," and for good measure, you grind your hips down over his cock with even more pressure, feeling him jolt with a quiet 'fuck!' underneath you.

"haah, that's not fair, darling," and he's crashing his weeping, curved tip so far into you, that you're certain you're seeing stars on the saltwater horizon, "what happened to playing nice?"

you know you should be weary of the flicker of challenge that glints in his stern brown eyes, softened by the haze of your squelching cunt, "do y-your worst, otherwise what? can't keep up?"

a cocky smile curves over his mouth, and that's the wave of satisfaction you were looking for, hoping that he'd take the bait.

he leans further back in the pool chair, now with an arm wrapped lazily around your gyrating hips, but you can feel his grip tighten, stealing the humid air right out from under you, "we'll see who can't play nice when you're begging for my cock to fill you up."

CHOSO KAMO — all the lights are sparkling for you, it seems 📍santorini, greece

"hey, shh, shhh..."

choso's voice is a low rumble as he glides his thick, leaking tip down your slick core, and you shiver as the cool ocean breeze mixes with the warm slick gathering between your bodies, "w-wow, you're doing so good, handling it so well, my love."

you must have made a good choice, choosing this suite. one carved seamlessly into the tan-rock of one of the island's famous caves. and well, your sweet boyfriend has been fucking you so incredibly that you feel your eyes start to water, blear away from the pretty blue and terracotta accents on the mantelpiece.

his girthy cock sinking into you send shivers to your pussy that leave you fluttering and squeezing around him tighter, clenching around the veins as he sinks even deeper, so the thickened head is practically kissing your cervix, and filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

"d-does it feel good for you too, cho?” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the soft choppy strands that fall around his shoulders, "this...this is what you wanted, right, baby?"

the pale mauve of his lips curves into a faint smile, and despite the sharpness of his thrusts making a home in your gummy walls, there's a tenderness in his shadowed, hazel eyes as his palm glides down your torso, cupping your tits gently, "w-would go anywhere in the world, if it was with you."

and he's looking at you with such love that you just cannot help but believe him when he says, no, shudders out a "you're so beautiful."

the sound of the water lapping against the rocks below fills the room, mixing with your soft whimpers, as the slow roll of choso's hips leave your puffy folds weeping. the thick, throbbing head of his cock brushes against your g-spot, right there, and you moan, lost in the sensation.

"god, y-you’re so good at this," he breathes into your ear, his voice hoarse and strained, and suddenly far more shaky, "ah - could do this forever."

"w-will you?" you whisper, eyes fluttering as you lose yourself in what is surely ropes of stringy white cum painting you lovingly inside, "wan' feel you all the time, cho."

choso's misty, flushed gaze locks onto yours, filled with a heat that makes your heart race, and fireworks shoot through your abdomen, "think you're g-gonna be my wife someday, yeah?"

you bite your lip, a shy smile painting your face despite the way that he's practically jostling inch after inch into your pussy, pressing into you like a vice, "really mean t-that, cho?"

"ahh, 'course i do," he shudders, brushing a thumb down the swan-arch of your neck, "now, hold onto me."

RYOMEN SUKUNA — dying by the hand of a foreign man, happily 📍istanbul, turkey

"huhh, oh my god! you're an animal," you huff at your fiancé, who's currently sprawled on the plush bed underneath your straddling thighs, under the sheer curtains that billow softly in the warm breeze from the open latticework windows.

and right now, sukuna looks like a mess.

and it brings you a great deal of satisfaction to see your usually composed and aloof fiancé so undone and disheveled, as he grins up at you — the black markings on his face creasing with the movement.

his rosy-pink hair is a tangled heap, but you can't resist running your fingers through the short, tousled spikes.

and his lips, which have been marking you up consistently for the past ten minutes, gleam glossy and full, as his crimson eyes lock onto yours with the smug satisfaction of a cat who's gotten its way.

he'd barely waited a mere minute after the two of you had arrived back to your hostel's room, from a whirlwind tour of the sultanahmet district, before he had pounced on you, and had practically tore your long skirt off.

you don't quite think it's worth mentioning that you've been pawing equally at your boyfriend in the same time as well, pulling his thick and lengthy shaft out of the confines of his boxers, and swiping a thumb over the angrily-gleaming tip.

"d-didn't even take a second to think about all the places we just saw? the history lessons, and - sukuna, were you even listening?"

by now, you're fighting back heaving shivers at the way the pads of his calloused fingers run under your top.

"hah! yeah, yeah. history and all that," he murmurs, low and amused, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, his lips now resuming their previous task of snapping at your torso, letting pretty berry-red marks beam.

you roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at the corners of your own glossy mouth, "y-you're impossible," and you try not to squirm as his forefinger and thumb on each hand pinch at a nipple under your top, "don' even know why i bothered bring this...this camera around. the guide said that these sights were o-once, oh fuck, sukuna, get a grip, said the sights were once-in-a-lifetime b-breathtaking."

"breathtaking, huh?" sukuna shifts closer to you, scooting you further over his wide lap, and his voice has dropped to a low and sultry whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, and leaves you aching, "i think you're breathtaking. wan' explore this," and here, he snaps at the elastic band of your lace panties, "instead."

"and besides, i was listening," and now, he's patting his sculpted, exposed thighs behind the plush of your ass on him, "the guide said that this city straddles two continents."

he's emphasising his words with a deliberate tap, clearly hoping you'd catch the awful word-play.

"say something like that again, and i'm booking the next flight home."

"hah, so now you hate it when i am cultured."

by now, his two rough hands kneading at you has left you...airless. thick heat has been pooling in your core, and you just can't help but let out a soft whimper, "sukuna…only wanted y-you to focus."

he shakes his messy head, laughter rumbling deep in his chest, under thick pectoral muscles, "no can do, brat. you’re my focus now. done enough sightseeing outside today, wanna do something inside."

"you’re impossible!" but you gasp as he skims a thumb over your cloying, dewy clit, making you jolt.

you know he must be in a rare, mellowed mood because he breathes, "impossibly in love with you," and it's quiet, teasing as the heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, "now tell me how much you want this, and maybe i'll think about giving you a different type of lesson."

franky, by now you want nothing more than to be filled with heavy, hot inches that curl into you, sloshing their way to the most sensitive spot of all, and sukuna must see that on your face.

"i -," you begin, but the words falter as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, and the weeping tip of his cock taps against the wet pool staining your underwear darkly translucent.

"just say it, brat. tell me how bad you want it, i'll even be nice this time," he urges, his voice a sultry purr, "just gon' give it to you as you ask, yeah?"

"wan' you in me, 'kuna," you finally admit, breathless, "i want you so much it hurts."

"good girl," he mutters, his eyes darkening with desire. "now you're getting the right idea."

you sigh, content, but then still your rocking hips suddenly, "but after this, we're still going out to the bazaar for dinner."

"for fuck's sake."

GOJO SATORU — like a boss, you sang jazz and blues 📍paris, france

you're not quite sure where exactly you should be training your ears, whether you should be listening to the sultry notes of a saxophone that wrap around the plush velvet booth where you and gojo are seated.

or the thick, clingy swish of his fingers practically bullying themselves in and out of your pussy. the air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars that make you wrinkle your nose, and fine whiskey (that makes gojo wrinkle his nose) and the sweet tang of your own slick, privately, just for the two of you.

your boyfriend sits close to you, his left hand tight on your waist, and the other working a fine instrument, bunching up underneath your ysl silk dress.

"baby, look at how your perfect cunt's talkin' to me," he's whispering, and you can hear the sheer glee in his voice, his breath hot against your ear.

meanwhile, your jaw is slack and you're doing your best to not meet his touch with a sultry, rhythmic grind of your own hips, but the knot is quickening and tightening within you.

but gojo just smiles, and you can see the blue in his eyes darken underneath his sunglasses that have slipped slightly down the slope of his nose, "but can't have everyone hearing this melody, can we? might think you were the main fuckin' attraction for the night and not -" he cocks his head to the quartet serenading the paris night sky, and the other patrons of this filthy wealthy club.

you just sink your teeth into your painted lip, suppressing a whine as he curls three fingers within you, reeling you entirely pliant and having you lean against his broad chest under his jacket, "b-but satoru, 'm getting close."

he's being awful, you think. and when he had pulled his hand out earlier, it had been entirely coated in a ribbon of your arousal, the slow syrup beginning to run down his slender digit, but he had parted his lips and let not a drop go to waste on his tongue.

the music is swelling, it's a jazzy crescendo that fills the air, and your gaze hazes and wonders, focusing on the open window where the eiffel tower stands ablaze in lights. soft gasps are escaping your lips, when gojo starts slamming his fingers up and up further, right up to his glossy knuckle, clearly searching for your g-spot.

and you are so glad that this booth is turned away from the rest of the club's patrons, for if they saw you, it would be no secret as to what exactly was going on underneath your gown.

"focus on me, love. just focus on how you're soaking me."

he's pressing his fingers impossibly deeper, stroking your walls in a way that make it impossible to think of anything else but him.

"gojo, please…" you breathed, struggling to keep your voice low, "what if someone sees?"

he laughs, pressing his mouth to your neck, and you know he's inhaling the new scent that you had picked up at the luxury flagship stores earlier, his treat.

"let them. paid good enough money to get in here," and now he's getting more insistent, practically ravishing your aching pussy now, "besides, they wanna say anything about it? i'll cut out their tongue."

"p-pretty sure that's, mmph, i'm sure that's i-illegal, 'toru."

"don't want your pretty head thinking about anything else right now, 'kay?" and god, it's one of life's greatest works, how he just knows how to work his magic like this, and the way that he's pinching, rolling and twirling his fingers has you convinced that the holy six-eyes technique, passed down in the sacred tradition of the gojo clan, is being put to nasty work.

sure enough, a little spark! there, and a bigger zap! against your clit practically confirms your suspicions, as does the unearthly glow you catch in gojo's wide eyes, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards a precipice, panting open-mouthed against him.

"dirty girl, you don’t want to make a scene, do you?" he says this like he was not the one who pulled you into this booth, and palmed his way up your slip-dress. like he's not the one who tore into your lace panties, and shoved them into his pocket.

"it feels so good, satoru,” you babble, barely able to contain yourself, as he scissors his fingers wide, nudging your walls apart, "i can’t — "

"then don't," he interrupted, his voice low and commanding, "just let it happen. i want to hear you, i wanna hear her too, but only if you can keep it down."

you nodded, breathless, watching as waiters in impeccable black-and-white attire glide between the tables, carrying trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and glasses of dom pérignon.

"good girl," he murmured, his fingers curling just right, pushing you closer to that exquisite precipice, "now, be quiet and enjoy the moment."

just as he pinches your clit, you feel everything around fall away in shattering starfall. bolts of lightning shoot and splash through your lungs, stilling your heart, leaving your cunt pulsing with a life of its own, fluttering against satoru's fingers which still haven't stopped.

it's only then you realise that the band has stopped playing, and the other patrons of the clubs are leaning out of their seats, slapping their hands together in fervount applause.

but you can only stare, dazed and boneless from the remnants of an excellent fucking orgasm, as gojo leans in, just over the shell of your ear.

"how about we go back to the hotel room? wanna see an encore?"

[averyisnotpresent]

LONG TIME COMING family-friend!pazzi au

𓇼 in which: azzi fudd has been counting down the days until her summer vacation begins and she gets to reunite with her best family-friends. but something feels different about this year. why are her quiet moments with paige so loud, and why does her stomach curl when they embrace like it never had before? (slightly TSITP inspired)

𓇼 warnings: swearing, sexual content (fingering- both receiving)

𓇼 wc: 8.8k

𓇼 avery's note: hi! this is my first time writing smut so i hope it's not too bad. some events in this story are kinda childish i guess you could say, but obviously i wasn't gonna make them minors so just ignore that! also imagine azzi's like 5 inches shorter than paige (it's for the plot😉) live react if you can! | my masterlist

The cool breeze combs through Azzi’s curly hair and the beaming sun lights up her tanned skin. The light illuminates the smile plastered onto her face, the one she’s been wearing this whole car ride. These summers were the things Azzi had been counting down the days until, getting more and more eager as the “days until” countdown she had on her phone got lesser and lesser.

She begins to pack up the things splayed around her as she passes the bright blue sign: “Silver Lake, MI”. The best memories Azzi can think of come from this place, on the beach, fruity drink in hand, but most of all, the people she spends it with - the Bueckers.

From the very first Silver Lake getaway, Azzi and Paige stuck like glue. Azzi might have only been 8 years old, but everyone surrounding them knew those two were inseparable, and would continue to be. 10 years later, Paige just finishing her freshman year of college and Azzi preparing to start hers, their bond was no different. The two girls had been texting nearly every day of the school year, not being able to contain their excitement until they got back to where they were happiest.

Azzi messily folds up the blanket she had been wrapped in and stuffs it in the backpack laying at her feet. The warm Michigan air floods Azzi’s skin when she rolls the window down further and breathes in the salty smell of home. She peels the navy hoodie she had been wearing over her neck, leaving her outfit to be made of jean shorts and a flowery tube top. Strings draw two lines from the hem of her tube top over her shoulders and back down: her pink bikini top peeking through. 

Jon, Azzi’s young brother, elbows her in the side from the seat next to her: “Who you tryna’ impress, huh?”

“Nobody. This is just how I dress, weirdo.” Azzi shoots back, rolling her eyes and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “It’s like 90 degrees. I just don’t wanna melt into a puddle the second I step outside.” Jon smacks his lips, giving Azzi an eye roll of his own before kicking the back of his dad’s seat.

Before Jon can even open his mouth, Tim lifts his hand, quieting Jon down before he can pester him. “Three minutes tops and we’ll be there. Bob just texted me saying he and everyone else got there a little bit ago.” Azzi and Jon both grin wider than they were before, excited to see their loved ones after much too long of a time apart.

The three minutes pass slowly, agonizingly even. Azzi unbuckles her seatbelt before Tim has even got close to the white house’ driveway and her door is open before he can even think about shifting into park.

Sitting on the porch is Paige, long blonde, slightly wavy, hair cascading down her pale back and lips curved into a smile just as big as Azzi’s. Blue swirly basketball shorts cover her legs and a plain white t-shirt hangs off her tall frame. Paige slams down the phone in her hand, letting it topple over to the ground when it flips off of the table she set it on, and runs over to Azzi.

Azzi chuckles a little under her breath, giggling at how funny Paige looks running over to her, but doesn’t seem to care much when Paige wraps her arms around her waist and embraces her in a tight hug. Paige rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder as her breath fans into Azzi’s ear. “Hey, Az.” Paige whispers, excitement filling her voice, but also some sort of relief. Like she couldn’t stand another minute being away from the curly head.

Azzi goes to greet Paige back, but before she can get any words out, Paige lifts Azzi up, spinning her around by her waist and watching as Azzi’s smile grows, despite her groans of protest and the look of annoyance in her eyes.

“I was about to say I missed you, but y’know what? I’m not so sure I do after that.” Azzi says, and while her voice has a tone of sass, Paige knows underneath it all she’s joking. Or at least she hopes so.

“I would argue back, but I’m actually a kind person and am happy to see you. I swear the school years seem longer every year.” Paige answers back, finally surrendering Azzi to the ground and letting her out of her grasp.

She takes this time to fully drink in the picture of Azzi. She looks about the same as last year, but she seems to be glowing in a way she never had before. She seems to carry a newfound confidence with her. Paige knows Azzi never would have worn something like this last summer, at least not anywhere where her brothers could see her, that is.

Azzi brings her head up from smoothing out a wrinkle in the flowered fabric and her dimples pop out as she smiles from Paige’s sentiment. “Maybe I missed you too, Bueckers. But only maybe.” Azzi admits, a purplish blush flushing her cheeks with her slight white lie.

“Hey, Paige!” Tim hollers from behind his family’s car, “You wanna give me a hand with these bags or what? Put those empty hands to work?”

“I gotchu.” Paige accepts, leaving Azzi in her flushed state to go grab a bag or two from the Fudd’s trunk. She daps Tim up before he pulls her into a hug.

“Good to see you kid.” Tim greets, used to being ignored during these trips for his daughter. Paige agrees, then hoists Azzi’s backpack from the backseat over her shoulder and grabs the matching duffel bag in her free hand, the other holding Katie, Azzi’s mother,'s beach bag.

Paige trudges forward with the bags weighing down her arms, Azzi shamelessly letting her eyes follow the Paige's flexed biceps. Her sleeves are slightly rolled after the straps of Azzi’s backpack moved them, and the slopes of her arm knot with every step.

“Did you wanna carry any of your things or am I your butler now?” Paige teases, already halfway into the house, Azzi following suit.

“Y’know what, I think I’m okay actually. Thanks for offering though.” Azzi jokes, letting Paige carry her things up to the room she designated hers a decade ago.

“Yeah alright, princess. Don’t be expecting me to do anything else like this.” Paige scoffs, and Azzi knows she’s rolling her eyes in front of her. Once Paige sets Azzi’s stuff down on her bed, leaving Katie’s beach bag at the top of the stairs, she grabs Azzi’s hand and tugs her right back down the stairs.

“That your suit on under there?” Paige confirms, earning a nod from Azzi as well as a knowing look. She does this every year.

Paige grabs two towels from atop the kitchen table downstairs and folds them over her shoulder. “We’re heading to the beach!” Paige calls up to her parents, she gets no response and just shrugs before grabbing Azzi again and rushing outside.

“Be safe!” Katie yells, still helping her sons get their things out of the car and trying to settle an argument between Jon and Jose over God knows what. Azzi rolls her eyes, annoyed with how protective her mom still is, but can’t be bothered for long.

Her and Paige start down the worn-grass path down to the beach, birds around them singing, like they’re just as happy as Paige and Azzi to be back.

“So,” Paige starts, “UCLA, huh? They’re lucky to have you.” Paige sounds a little bitter as she says the last part. She had been hoping Azzi would come to UConn with her, so they could finally see each other without having a year break in between. But Azzi was striving for somewhere with better academics. She had always been smart, and so had Paige, but never like Azzi.

Azzi got into UConn of course, but she knew she’d be doing herself a disservice if she went there. And thought it hurt Paige, she understood.

“I’m sorry, P. I wanted us to live out our little eight-year old dreams, but it just wasn’t gonna work.” Azzi admits. Her voice is sorrowful, like she truly means everything she’s saying.

“We’ve got all of summer. And when these summers stop, we’ve gotta promise we’ll still see each other.” Paige pleads. She knows she sounds immature, but that’s always what these summers are. She can be a kid again. She can be herself again. And she gets to be herself with Azzi.

“Agreed. Now stop being sentimental, we just got here!” Azzi scolds, punching Paige lightly on the shoulder without any malice behind it. Both girls smile at the contact and the grins stay put as they keep walking.

“So,” Azzi begins a new line of questioning. “How has college been? You finally find yourself someone special?” Paige has always been a fan-favorite everywhere she goes with… well, everyone. Guys and girls basically fall at her feet whenever she goes out in public and while Paige never complains or really turns them down, she never says yes either.

Paige has the kind of demeanor where you catch her eye from across the room and immediately are sucked in. She has the most genuine eyes, and if you see them once, they’re pretty hard to forget. She’s attractive, there’s no getting past that, but in a sort of mysterious way. Where you wonder why she doesn’t say yes to all the people offering themselves up to her. Not that Azzi’s been wondering or anything. ‘Cause she definitely hasn’t.

“Unfortunately I’ve been pretty busy with, you know, the academic part of college.” Paige laughs at Azzi’s question and slightly giggles while she answers. “A couple people tried, but no one stuck. What about you? I saw that guy you went to prom with on your Instagram. What’s up with him?”

Azzi scoffs out of what Paige interprets as disbelief, like she couldn’t believe Paige would even think that. “JD? He’s just a friend. One of his friends was going with Miranda, you know Miranda,” Paige nods along, “and I needed a date, so.” Azzi pauses, swallowing and breathing in for the first time since before she started her explanation. “End of story.”

Paige nods, not really having anything much else to add to the topic. “You look different this year, Az.” Paige admits after a few moments of silence. Not awkward though, it never is with them. At least before now.

“Different?” Azzi repeats, not sure if she heard Paige right. Paige nods and Azzi racks her brain for what she could mean. “Good different or bad different?”

“I dunno.” Paige starts to explain casually. “More - I don’t know - sure of yourself, I guess. Less shy.” Paige looks over at Azzi to see her facial expression which she can’t read. Paige has always prided herself with being perceptive, knowing how people are feeling, but she has no idea what Azzi’s thinking. To clarify, she speaks again, “Or maybe I’m making it all up. It’s been a while since last summer.”

Azzi knows what Paige is saying. She is different, I guess you could say, than last summer. Less scared. I mean, she’s an adult now. She can’t be scared to go to a party or wear a crop top anymore. Or maybe she can. But her friends from back home are very confident that she can’t.

“Azzi?” Paige breaks Azzi’s dissociation. “You in there?” Paige asks, waving a hand in front of Azzi’s wide, brown eyes. “I asked if you wanted to jump off the dock.”

Azzi blinks quickly a few times, bringing herself back to focus at the sound of Paige’s slightly raspy voice. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Azzi mumbles out, trying not to stumble over her own feet.

The two girls reach the beach, the sand hitting their feet and sticking to the bottoms of their sandals. “Race you to the dock?” Paige suggests, the little kid competitiveness she never grew out of shining through.

“Oh, you are so on.” Azzi challenges, counting down to three and sprinting like her life depends on it. Just like when they were little.

Some things never change.

Paige reaches the dock first, just like she’s been doing for the past ten years and Azzi groans as she arrives just a few seconds too late. “You’re like five inches taller, this is not fair!” Azzi complains, pouting like she did when she and Paige did this the first time.

As Azzi bends over and catches her breath, her hands falling to her knees and her breaths short and loud, and Paige watches her, hard. The way her chest rises and falls, and her teeny little bikini top poking through more and more with each breath. The way little sweat beads wet her forehead and collarbone before she quickly wipes them away.

But, before Paige can allow herself to get too wrapped up in the brunette, she places her large hands on either side of her shoulders and pushes her into the water.

Azzi lets out a squeal as she falls into the water, clothes on and all, her side hitting the water with a splat.

As she swims back up the surface she pushes a loose curl out of her eye and catches her breath from her unexpected entrance. She pulls a hand up from under the water and flings a big splash of water at Paige, soaking through her white shirt and getting in her eyes.

“Chill, I was gonna get in anyways.” Paige says as she strips her clothes, peeling off her now very wet shirt and dampened shorts. She’s wearing a black bikini, though it’s not as feminine as Azzi’s is. The top is cut with a straight line rather than Azzi’s triangle bikini, the two girls’ personalities showing out in their styles.

Azzi studies her as she strips, and thinks that maybe Paige is the one who seems different this year. She looks at Azzi like she’s never done before, and Azzi smiles wider than she ever had. A year is a long time I guess.

Time to change.

“Throw me your clothes, Az.” Paige offers, holding her arms out to catch Azzi’s drenched clothes. Azzi struggles to unbutton and slide down her shorts while she treads water, her legs being just barely too short to stand in the deep blue water.

Once Azzi’s left in her bikini she throws her clothes up to Paige, who catches both pieces with one hand like it’s nothing, balling them up and lying them next to her clothes.

“Watch out, princess.” Paige warns as she jumps into the cool water, cannonballing and drenching Azzi, if it’s even possible for her to get wetter than she already is.

“God, you’re so annoying, Paige.” Azzi says as she spits water out of her mouth, coughing slightly when Paige comes to the surface.

“Yeah, but you still love me.”

“Can’t seem to figure out why.”

☀︎༄.° two weeks later ☀︎༄.°

Azzi is scrolling on her phone in bed when a knock arrives at her door and she knows who it is even before the blonde strolls into her room.

Cooking book in hand, smug smile on her face, and hair pulled back into a low bun, Paige hangs in Azzi’s door frame, leaning against the wood like she wants something Azzi has.

“Can I… help you, Paige?” Azzi laughs, pressing her phone into her white comforter, shutting away Instagram and zoning into Paige.

“Can you help me bake? I was ‘sposed to make cookies for tonight but I might have burned them. Only like hypothetically, though.” Paige’s cheeks flush, slightly embarrassed with her cooking skills, even if she claims it’s not her fault.

“How do you even mess up cookies? Put the ingredients in, put them in the oven for like 8 minutes and you’re done. They’re like the simplest dessert.”

“Are you gonna gloat or actually help? ‘Cause I can make you eat burnt cookies if you want.”

Azzi pushes herself off her bed, pushing a few empty candy wrappers to the side and brushing off the invisible dust on her tank top. “I’ll help.” Azzi grudgingly agrees. “Only because I’m terrified for what you might make me eat.”

Azzi and Paige wind down the stairs of their beach home, finding their way to the kitchen with giggles and smiles shared between them along the way.

As they arrive, Azzi sees the tray of Paige’s first baking attempt, the ashes falling through the slots of the cooling dish and landing on the marble counter.

“Again, I pose the question: How do you even mess up cookies this badly?” Azzi laughs, not even trying to hide her disbelief with Paige’s… lack of talent, we’ll say.

“I think I forgot a couple things. Like y’know the eggs… and maybe the flour and baking soda.” Paige comes to the conclusion that she forgot at least half of the ingredients and left them in the oven for double the time they needed, but Azzi’s just grateful she didn’t burn the house down.

“Open up that book and find the recipe. Then you're gonna let me tell you what ingredients to get and I’m gonna double and triple check you actually got all of them.” Azzi orders, her voice stern but still partly playful.

“Yes, ma’am.” Paige smirks.

Azzi’s stomach churns. She doesn’t know why.

Paige flips through the old cooking book, its pages yellowed and filled with oily fingerprints from all of the times her and Azzi did this in years past. “We wanna do chocolate chip right?” Paige asks and Azzi nods her head to confirm.

“Alright, I got the page. Oven goes to 375.” Azzi walks over to the silver oven, making a tone out of the beeps as she punches in the numbers to preheat the oven.

Azzi walks back over, Paige’s eyes along with her, and steals the cooking book from Paige. “Go to the pantry and get both sugars, flour, baking soda and powder.” Azzi demands, Paige leaving her side to go get the ingredients.

Paige comes back with the containers balanced on various parts of her body, the large bags of flour held tightly in her oversized hands. Azzi’s watches as her fingers flex from the weight of the bags.

Her stomach continues to churn. Reason still unknown to Azzi.

Azzi’s leaned against one of the set of cabinets, reading the manual for what materials for Paige to get next. “We need vanilla extract and chocolate chips, too.”

Azzi, not realizing she’s in front of the cabinet that holds both of those things, continues to engross herself in the cooking book, mind forgetting Paige and the organization of their kitchen.

Paige, not finding it necessary to ask Azzi to move, reaches her hand over Azzi’s head, her hand meeting the cabinet handle with ease. Paige’s hands are now full with more cooking supplies as she comes down, and Azzi, who still hasn’t realized the precarious position they’re in, is stagnant in her position from earlier.

Paige begins to tip off balance, leaning away from Azzi as to not hit her, but out of sorts from the way she’s leaning. As she starts to slip she quickly lets the bag of chocolate chips drop the counter to free up one of her hands, which falls to Azzi’s bare waist for stability.

“Thanks for moving, princess. Almost knocked me over.” Paige thanks sarcastically, her hand still wrapped around Azzi’s hip bone, her cool hand heating up at the contact with Azzi’s warm skin.

Azzi looks up from her book finally, her eyes first finding Paige’s bright blue eyes, then her pale hand on her, then up to her eyes again. Paige looks deep into Azzi’s brown eyes, staring with some sort of uncertainty and nervousness. Her hand shakes ever so slightly, so minimally that Azzi barely even notices it, goosebumps forming under Paige’s calloused palms.

Neither girl moves, cooking book still in Azzi’s arms, vanilla in Paige’s free hand, slight perplexed smile on both girls' faces. Paige breathes in, her grip on Azzi tightening as she does, not in a harsh way, just like she wants to be closer.

Paige is the first to break the silence: “You’re so pretty, Az. You know that?”

Azzi breathes out shakily, her and Paige’s trance broken and suddenly the silence between them is loud. Uncomfortable.

She can hear the air conditioner purring, the fridge buzzing, her parents talking faintly with Paige’s on the porch on the opposite side of the home.

Azzi’s the first to pull away, Paige’s hand falling to the counter, the contact making a loud ‘slap’ noise as its descent finishes.

“Did you get the stuff?” Azzi asks, ignoring Paige’s compliment and focusing back in on the task at hand.

“Yeah.” Paige says slowly and softly. Her voice has a slight tone of surprise, like she was expecting Azzi to say something different. Or maybe less expecting and more so hoping. “Yeah I got ‘em.”

☀︎༄.° three weeks later ☀︎༄.°

Azzi was shoving a few of her clothes and as many blankets as she could find into her duffel bag as the sky began to turn from a light blue to a deeper navy. The birds were loud, the sun was hot, and the bugs were buzzing, but she didn’t care.

This was always the best part of summer.

One night a summer, the Bueckers and Fudds slept under the stars, sometimes in tents if it was raining, but no matter what: the last day of the vacation, this was their tradition.

The kids played a game of flag football that grew much too competitive much too quickly and the adults played cornhole and sipped on their beers.

Tim and Bob self identify themselves as chefs, and cook every typical barbecue food you could think of, and nothing more than a grain is ever left over.

The beach house sat atop a hill, the backyard stretching at least three acres, with a clear path down to the beach that was just their own, until their younger neighbors tried to sneak in occasionally.

Azzi loved the privacy: loved feeling like she had a place that was just her own, and her family’s of course.

As Azzi finished packing in an extra pair of socks, Paige walked in through the open door, her navy backpack slung over her newly tanned shoulder.

Paige’s bright red, burned skin finally turned to a tan, her pale skin never tanning easily. Like clockwork, Paige gets a near third degree burn halfway through the summer when she’s decided “sunscreen isn’t for her” and everyone else groans, knowing they’re in for at least a week of her complaining after.

“Do you know if it’s supposed to rain tonight? Your dad was asking if we should grab the tents.”

Azzi shook her head, knowing her weather app told her there was a 0% chance from when she checked earlier. “Just bring our sleeping bags from the laundry room. I’ll be out in a second.”

Paige nods, leaving Azzi to zip up her bag and turn off her lights. The kids made a rule years ago, much too outdated at this point to still be following, that they couldn’t bring phones, and once outside, they couldn’t go back in. Hence, sleeping in a gross tent rather than in their warm, more importantly, roofed, beds.

The families piled in outside, throwing their bags and blankets to the couches on the back porch and leaving to go set up the games. Azzi shook the can of washable spray paint in her hand, drawing poor wavy lines in the grass to make a makeshift field with a halfway line and some uneven end zones.

The teams had been the same as long as Azzi could remember, and once Drew, Paige’s much younger brother, was born, he just joined in with Paige, not really being old enough to contribute anyways.

Azzi played a quick game of rock-paper-scissors with Jose, the boy winning the game and awarding himself the position on offense. He stood behind Jon, who held the football in his hands, bent over and ready to throw.

Jon threw the ball to Jose, who caught it with ease. Jon ran out into the field waiting for Jose to pass it back, Paige sticking to him like glue, her tall figure towering over his. Azzi instructed Drew to count to five and then run over to Jose and pull his flag.

Drew counted softly, Azzi holding him in place as he counted to five in less than two seconds. “You little cheater.” Azzi teased before letting him go after a real count of five.

Drew chased after Jose, trying to pull at his red flag. Jose managed to pull himself away from Drew, throwing a rushed pass to Jon near the halfcourt line. Jon threw himself forwards in an attempt to catch the pass, pushing Paige over with him and both of them toppling to the ground.

They both fell to the hard dirt with a bit of a groan, the grass not very forgiving after it’d been run around on and mowed so many times. Azzi rushed over to Paige, Jon already being helped up by Drew. Paige sat up slowly, lifting her shirt up at the hem to see if a bruise was forming.

Azzi watched intently at the reveal of skin, irritated but not purpled yet. Azzi saw a flash of Paige’s soft ab lines, the ones that had seemed to distract her all summer long. Azzi offered her hand out to Paige, the older girl accepting with a slight grimace.

She stood up with ease to Azzi’s relief, and let her shirt fall out of her grasp as she did. “Don’t worry, Az. I’m good.” Paige responded before Azzi could even ask, seeing a look of worry painted across her face.

“Second down!”

-

The girls, finally out of breath and sweating, too tired to keep going in their football game, take to the porch where their dads are calling out frantically that dinner is ready and that they have to “rush over before their burgers burn.”

Jon and Jose sprint over, pushing each other as they do so, trying to get first pick for their dinner. Azzi and Paige take their time, Paige’s arm casually swung over Azzi’s shoulder, giggling in her ear about how badly they beat Azzi’s brothers.

They both grab their paper plates, filling them up with various dishes: corn, mac and cheese, hot dogs - the barbecue basics.

As they take their seats, the girls waste no time before digging into their meals, Azzi messily biting into her ketchup drenched hamburger. As she pulls her food away from her mouth, a swatch of ketchup stays on the corner of her lip, accentuated even more when she looks over to Paige who’s laughing at her.

“What are you laughing for, weirdo?” Azzi teases, slapping Paige on the bicep playfully.

Paige, not seeing a need for explanation, leans in closer to Azzi, her hand finding the crook of Azzi’s neck and her thumb caressing the corner of her plump lips.

Her thumb swipes the ketchup out of the slit, before bringing it to her own mouth and licking it off.

“Ew!” Azzi exclaims. “Paige, that’s disgusting.” She continues to complain. “You are such a child, my God.”

Paige just chuckles, her stomach beginning to hurt from laughing for so long. “Shut it, princess.”

-

Eventually the night slows down, the clear sky starting to form bright stars and the families setting up for bed. People’s t-shirts were replaced with hoodies, for the most part, which all had “Silver Lake” plastered across the chest or the sleeve, another one of their traditions.

“Paige, will you throw me my sleeping bag?” Azzi asks as she throws her curly locs into a bun above her head. She forgot to pack her bonnet, so a simple high bun will have to do.

Azzi watches as Paige pushes through the pile of sleeping bags, looking for the ones she brought for herself and Azzi, however she comes back up with a guilty and embarrassed face.

“I… may have grabbed the big sleeping bag and thought I grabbed two.” Paige scratches her head, holding up the queen sized sleeping bag and pointing to the otherwise bare couch cushions, all the other sleeping bags already claimed.

“Whatever, it’s fine. Jon is totally gonna kill me if I go back inside to get it.” Azzi sighs. “I swear, Bueckers,” Azzi points, but Paige cuts her off before she can continue.

“One of these days I’m gonna kill you. Yeah I know.” Paige rolls her eyes having heard that phrase spoken by Azzi a few times more than one.

Paige and Azzi drag their sleeping bag out to the top of the hill, near the path to the beach, like they’d always done. Paige takes off her t-shirt, crawling into the sleeping bag in just her shorts and sports bra.

She catches Azzi watching her, her eyes not watching her face but her figure and how it moves. “You good over there, Az?” Paige asks, trying to swallow back the smile that is tempting to form on her face.

“Just get in the bag, Bueckers.”

Paige obliges and Azzi follows, doing the same. Azzi lies facing the opposite direction of Paige, their backs grazing but not pressing against each other.

“Good night, Az.”

“Night, P.”

-

It’s silent outside, all animals have gone to bed, even the annoying hummingbirds that always seem to want to bother Azzi while she sleeps. Jon and Jose are fast asleep, as are Paige and Azzi’s parents. The stars still shine and they seem to be the only thing awake at this ungodly hour.

Oh, and Paige along with them.

She stirs in her sleeping bag, not wanting to move too much as to wake Azzi up, but unable to find a comfortable position.

Around two hours have passed, it’s probably a little past one in the morning and Paige has officially given up. Sitting up in her sleeping bag and pushing her pillow behind her, to the back of the tent, she breathes in loudly.

No movement from Azzi.

Paige clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, trying to be obnoxiously loud.

Still, Azzi sleeps silently.

Paige leans down to Azzi’s shoulder, blowing on the crevice between her neck and jaw, hoping the breath of air will jolt the curly head away.

Still, nothing.

Paige rolls her eyes and gives in, tapping Azzi on the shoulder and watching as her eyes flutter open, turning towards the blonde.

“What the fuck, Paige.” Azzi groans, rubbing her eyes open and sitting up, knowing she’s now gonna be unable to fall back asleep.

“I can’t sleep.” Paige explains, not making eye contact with Azzi and fidgeting with her fingers.

“Tough luck. Go on a walk or something.” Azzi complains, annoyed with Paige for taking away her precious sleep.

“Let’s go to the beach.” Paige blurts, watching as Azzi turns to her with an annoyed look.

“No way, Paige. My mom would kill me. It’s also, not sure if you’ve realized or not… but the middle of the god damn night.”

“C’mon Azzi, it won’t kill you. Let’s have some fun. It’s our last night together for a while.”

Azzi stirs in her position, contemplating if she’s actually going to agree to this or not. She knows she’s not gonna be getting back to sleep anytime soon, but it’s also basically the witching hour and though she won’t admit it to anyone, Azzi never really got over her fear of the dark.

Azzi knows Paige does have a point. She probably won’t see her until at least winter break, minimum, after this and she doesn’t really want them arguing about who gets to go back to sleep to be their parting memory.

“Alright, fine. But we’re coming back quickly and going so quietly that we won’t even wake up a fly.”

Paige nods, already agreeing in the silent part that Azzi wants her to oblige to and starts to stand up. She pushes her sandals over her feet and throws Azzi her flip flops from beside her hoodie.

The two girls tip toe out of bed, sneaking past their families and suddenly very grateful they chose to put their sleeping bags so close to the beach path. They start down the trail, not saying much until they’re excessively far away from the house and their families.

“What are you thinking about?” Azzi ponders aloud, reading through Paige easily. She’s still whispering, though she’s not sure who she’s trying to stay quiet for.

“How do you know I’m thinking about something?” Paige challenges back.

“‘Cause it’s the only time you can’t sleep. Otherwise you’d be keeping me awake with your snoring.”

“I do not snore!”

“Oh, yes you most certainly do.” Azzi giggles, recalling the annoying, yet somehow fond, memories of Paige keeping her awake and forcing her to go sleep in a different room with the soft sound of her snores.

“Whatever. I wasn't thinking about anything. Just couldn't sleep, ‘dunno why.”

“Liar. But I'm not pushing because I’m still barely awake.”

At this point, the girls are walking on the beach, sand curling between their toes as Paige directs them forwards towards the ocean rather than turning so they can walk further in the sand.

“Paige Madison, we are not swimming in this lake right now.” Azzi looks over to Paige, abandoning her whispers and talking, more like scolding, at a normal level.

“C’mon princess, lighten up a little bit. We used to do it all the time.”

“Swim at night?” Paige nods. “Uh huh. Usually while the time has a PM after it, though.” Azzi fights back stubbornly, still not wanting to allow herself to give in.

“Neither of us even have suits on.”

Paige plasters a knowing look on her face and Azzi immediately allows her lips to draw a face of fear. “No way. I’m not going skinny dipping right now. This has not gone well in any horror movie and I don't want a true crime documentary made after us.”

“Alright, well I’m getting in. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Paige pauses as her and Azzi get further and further onto the dock. “But, please don’t make me swim by myself.”

Paige pouts, jutting out her bottom lip and tilting her head slightly at Azzi. Even in the dark, dimly lit sky, Azzi can see the sparkle in her bright blue eyes and can feel herself giving in bit by bit.

Azzi sighs, dropping her shoulders in silent agreement and beginning to strip her clothes. She watches as Paige rids herself of her clothes first. First her basketball shorts, then her sports bra, and finally her boxers. Azzi watches with intent, sucked into the vortex that is Paige Bueckers.

Azzi follows in the undressing task, going slowly while Paige climbs down the ladder and into the water that’s only gotten warmer along with the summer air. Azzi strips herself of her athletic shorts and underwear, then her maroon hoodie, and finally her teal bra.

Paige has to stop herself from letting her jaw drop as she watches Azzi unclasp the bright colored bra. It pairs so well with her dark, tanned skin, and Paige can’t help but find herself glad Azzi can’t see her expression.

Once Paige is off the ladder and Azzi is bare, the brunette starts her own descent down the ladder, climbing down slowly, inadvertently teasing an already flustered Paige.

Azzi suddenly has a realization that she should have had before she agreed to get into the water, or when she undressed, or even before she submerged herself in the deep water.

She can’t stand here. Her feet touch the sandy ocean floor and the water sucks in her mouth and nose along with it, her eyes and forehead barely protruding through the water’s surface.

“I can’t stand, Paige.” Azzi groans as she swims her body back to the ladder, beginning to tread water along the way. “I’m getting out. We’re going back.”

“No way, we just got here. I’m not walking half a mile back after not even being in here for a minute.”

“Alright, well that’s great for you, but I’m not treading water for half an hour, so you can walk back on your own.” Azzi’s already begun to start climbing back up the ladder when Paige blurts it out.

“Just c’mere.”

Azzi turns around while on the ladder, half of her body freezing in the cool air and the other half still covered by the water. “Excuse me?”

“Swim over here. I’ll hold you.”

A look of bewilderment and disbelief is painted on Azzi’s face because… what?

“Are you crazy? I don’t have a bathing suit on, Paige! That’s weird, even for us.” Azzi adds the last part, knowing that even for a decade-long friendship, that’s a bit much.

“How long have we known each other Az? Ten years. It’s nothing I haven't seen before. I promise. Just let me have a good last swim here. Preferably not alone.”

Azzi’s never been able to say no to her. Never in their ten years has she ever learned how to not give in to Paige, how to look away from her warm eyes and decline whatever ridiculous thing she wants from her.

Azzi, sighing once more, climbing back down the ladder and swimming over to Paige, her curly bun fallen down her back, hair tie sunk underneath the water, never to be seen again.

Azzi wraps her arms around Paige’s shoulders, her fingers intertwining at the nape of Paige’s neck, bumping the bottom of her low, messy bun.

Paige brushes the bare skin of Azzi’s thigh, wrapping one leg around her waist, Azzi bringing the other to match by herself.

They both know this is weird. They both know this isn’t something friends do. But neither of them are moving. And neither of them seem to be disgusted with the other.

Paige tries to ignore the fact that she can feel Azzi’s clit against the skin below her navel.

Paige tries to ignore the fact that she can feel Azzi’s nipples, hardened from the cool air, palming her own chest.

Paige tries to keep her eyes locked on Azzi’s, and Azzi tries to do the same, but both girls are failing miserably, their eye contact growing weighted and heavy.

They just stand there for a few minutes, Azzi wrapped around Paige with care and Paige holding her up with ease. They both study the night sky, the stars rendering a beautiful picture above their heads.

It seems impossible, but the girls seemed to have grown closer than before Paige first picked up Azzi. Azzi seems to be more pressed into Paige’s stomach, and Paige’s hands have seemed to travel closer to Azzi’s ass from their former placement on her thighs.

Azzi meets Paige’s eyes, this time firmly locked on hers, and they both just stare. They have the same expression mirrored on either side of each other, salacious and hungry, yet also fearful. Both girls seem to shake a little with each breath before Paige finally speaks.

At a whisper so low that Azzi can barely make out the words, Paige breathes out, “Can I kiss you?”

Azzi just looks deeper into Paige’s eyes, trying to stop herself from letting her eyes flicker down to Paige’s lips. But she can’t.

Like she physically can’t.

So she leans in, pulling Paige’s head closer to her with the hand around her neck, and slots their lips together. Paige tastes faintly of salt and vanilla, probably from the chapstick she’s always applying and Azzi can’t get enough of it.

Azzi kisses her like she’s starved and Paige kisses her back just the same. They breathe into each other, chests pressing further and further into each other as they do so, voracious and needy.

Their senses are heightened from their bare states, no skin of Azzi’s left untouched as Paige’s hands begin to wander around Azzi’s shaky body.

The two girls only pull away occasionally to catch their breaths, like they can’t take a second away from each other’s lips.

Paige is infatuated with the way Azzi tastes: better than she ever could have imagined.

Paige slips her left hand out from under Azzi’s thigh, catching the little drop with her right forearm, which is now laid out under Azzi’s ass.

Paige’s left hand slides up between their chests, palming one of Azzi’s breasts, earning her a quiet whimper from the curly head. Its noise is swallowed by Paige’s mouth, but all that does is urge Paige on more.

Her hand continues to graze across Azzi’s body, pinching her nipples, and Paige grows more and more hungry with each soft moan from Azzi’s mouth. Paige is in utter disbelief with how pretty Azzi sounds and she can’t imagine she’s gone so long without being serenaded by its sound.

Paige’s kisses begin to trail down Azzi’s jaw and quickly find her neck, Azzi mindlessly tilting her head so Paige has more area to work. Paige’s tongue touches every inch of Azzi’s neck, trying to find the places to suck on that make Azzi go mad, and trying to memorize them for later.

Without even realizing she’s doing it, Azzi begins to slightly push herself onto Paige’s stomach, trying to give herself some relief against the ridges of Paige’s abs.

Paige quickly realizes what Azzi is doing and is grateful to see that she seems just as needy as Paige is right now.

At the same time Paige finds a particularly sensitive spot towards Azzi’s collarbone, Azzi catches her clit on just the right part of Paige’s stomach and she lets out a loud moan as Paige sucks the skin and lets it go with a ‘pop’.

“Do you need me, Azzi?” Paige whispers against Azzi’s neck.

Azzi nods promptly, forgetting about embarrassing herself and being consumed by the need pulsing inside her.

Azzi feels Paige smirk against her neck as she kisses back up from her neck to her lips and continues to play with her chest.

Paige positions her right arm, the one that’s balancing and holding Azzi up, so that she can reach where Azzi needs her the most.

Paige wastes no time, beginning to draw slow, tantalizing circles over Azzi’s clit, and Azzi begins to melt like putty into Paige’s hands. She can’t silence the pathetic noises that are coming out of her mouth and she can’t help her want for more.

She presses herself further down into the pads of Paige’s fingers, wanting, scratch that, needing more pressure from the blonde.

“Fuck Paige-” Azzi murmurs out, her words coming out jumbled and broken up, Paige removing her ability to form coherent words.

Paige shifts her hand down from Azzi’s clit to the bottom of her lips, her finger splitting them open and taking a dive into the wetness.

Azzi’s slick mixes with the lake water around them and while water surrounds them, Paige knows the slick her fingers are feeling is not that kind of wetness.

“Holy shit-” Paige murmurs, in disbelief with Azzi and herself for how wet she is. “You this soaked or is it the lake?” Paige asks, though she already knows the answer.

“Jesus-” Azzi whimpers out, unable to breathe properly. “It’s for you, P.” Azzi admits, squirming under Paige’s touch, desperate for any kind of contact from the blonde.

“For me, huh?” Paige gloats, never missing a chance to feed her own ego. Paige traces her finger around Azzi’s wetness, gathering it with her fingers and dragging it along her center.

Azzi twitches as Paige drags the slick up to her clit and presses deep on either side of the sensitive bud. “Paige… fuck- just-” Azzi tries, she really tries to get her words out, but she chokes on her own moans and can’t take the throbbing much longer.

“What do you need, princess?” Paige taunts, her movements getting slower and softer, her kisses still peppering down Azzi’s neck.

“You.” Azzi manages, chasing Paige’s fingers as they move slowly, trying to press herself down harshly.

“You already have me.” Paige smiles against Azzi’s skin, knowing that’s not what she meant.

Before Azzi can open her mouth to clarify more or to protest, Paige shoves her fingers inside Azzi’s center, pumping them in and out slowly to start, but gaining more urgency as she goes for longer.

The harsher she presses down, the louder Azzi is for her, and Paige has never been so turned on in her life. Azzi is a jumbled mess. The only words she can get out are broken swears and “please”, though she doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.

“Paige-” Azzi pleads out, grinding down on Paige’s fingers as she strives for the release she’s hungry for. “My god.”

“Say my name again, Az. Say it again for me.” Paige asks, though she’s not really asking, more so demanding.

Azzi obliges and lets out another string of curses as well as a moan that Paige makes out to have her name written underneath the breathy sounds.

“You’re-” Azzi pauses to swallow and tries to breathe. “Fuck, you feel so good, P.” At this point, Azzi’s nearly blacked out. She barely knows what she’s saying, just mumbling out whatever comes to her brain and letting herself be handled by Paige.

“You’re doing so good, Azzi. So good for me.” Paige whispers into Azzi’s ear, the sensual tone making Azzi more needy and starved for Paige’s touch.

A few more minutes pass, and Azzi can’t stay like this forever. Her movements have become completely broken up and she’s a mess. Her hair is flipped over to one side, and Paige is still moving with the same urgency.

Her head is thrown back and Paige is still attacking her neck, leaving marks she’s sure will still be there in the morning.

“I can’t… last much longer, P.” Azzi groans out, her words so broken that Paige can barely understand what she’s trying to say.

“It’s okay, Az. Let go for me. Let me feel you.” Paige slows her words at the last part, trying to make herself sound more sensual and less nervous than she really is.

With that, Azzi taps out, leaning into Paige as she collapses, Paige’s movements not slowing until Azzi’s fully come down.

Even under the water, Paige can feel the shaking of Azzi’s legs, and with Azzi leaning right into her ear, the pretty sounds she’s making are louder than ever.

Paige feels herself growing wetter with every moan from Azzi and every whisper of her name.

“Oh my god… fuck-” Azzi moans out with her climax, too spent to be ashamed of how loud she is at this point.

Paige works her through it, her fingers still pumping, harder than ever, as Azzi continues to shake and press into her shoulder.

Eventually, Paige’s movements slow and she slowly pulls her fingers out of Azzi. Her hands return to their previous position on either side of Azzi’s thighs, a much more stable way to hold her, as she leans in for a kiss to her lips.

This time it’s slower, less rushed. Less hungry and needy. But there’s still a hint of that underneath: Paige now desperate for a relief of her own.

They kiss slowly for a few moments, Azzi catching her breath against Paige’s lips and readjusting to the silence she created with the halt of her whimpers.

After a while of their chaste kisses, they heat back up again, this time Azzi initiating the harshness of it all. She starts to explore Paige’s mouth like it’s a piece of art she’s trying to memorize and store for later, and Paige just lets it happen.

She lets Azzi control what’s happening, hoping if she lets this happen, she’ll get the same release Azzi did.

But Azzi’s not as quick moving as Paige, she likes to take her time getting to know Paige deeper. Her lips tattoo the skin of Paige’s neck and chest and Paige groans, partially out of pleasure, and partially out of frustration with Azzi’s pace.

Not being able to take it anymore, Paige tightly grips Azzi’s hand from behind her neck and slides it down her stomach. Azzi traces Paige’s abs along the way before she gets down to Paige’s wetness, and even then, she goes painfully slow.

She immediately inserts a finger inside Paige, but the one isn’t enough, and she’s going so slow that Paige barely feels anything except a little pressure.

“You’re killing me, Az.” Paige complains, though the whimper at the end of her sentence tells Azzi that annoyance isn’t the only thing in her tone. “You’ve gotta let me feel good.” Paige pleads.

“But I am making you feel good.” Azzi whispers innocently, tilting her head with a bit of a mischievous grin. “Patience, P.”

Patience is something Paige has never had, and now is definitely not the time she’s going to acquire it. She takes a hand out from under Azzi and reaches it down to her own clit, circling it with urgency and finally getting some relief: the kind Azzi’s refusing her of.

Azzi quickly notices and pushes Paige’s hand away, much to Paige’s chagrin. “That bad, really?” Azzi teases. “Fine.”

Azzi shrugs before pounding three of her fingers into Paige, the inside of her wrist palming Paige’s clit as she does so.

Paige is so worked up that she barely lasts two minutes of this, her body surrendering to Azzi quickly.

“Fuck.. Azzi…” Azzi cuts Paige’s babble off with a kiss. She can already tell Paige is about to unravel for her.

Azzi swallows the moans that pour out of Paige’s mouth, smiling as she does so. She finally slows her fingers when Paige seems to stop her shaking and calm down slightly.

Azzi can’t believe Paige managed to hold both of them up while doing that, and she sits back for a moment before realizing that she can’t believe what just happened as a whole.

As Paige finally comes back to Earth, she seems to have the same realization as Azzi. Both of them looking at each other with concerned looks on their faces.

“I- I’m sorry.” Paige is the first to speak. “I wasn’t trying to… do this when I woke you up. I promise.” Azzi can tell the statement is genuine, and she knows Paige too well to think that’s something she would do.

“Don’t apologize.” Azzi breathes out, Paige sighing a sigh of relief at her response.

It’s silent again, Paige still holding them up as they look into each other’s eyes, trying to get a sense of what just happened.

“Did that mean something, P?” Azzi questions, asking what she knew Paige was wondering too.

Paige sucks in a deep breath of the cool air before answering with a look of sincerity. “Yeah. I ’dunno, Azzi. I’ve been tryna’ read you all summer.”

“I love you.” Azzi blurts out and though the girls have been saying that for years, it carries a different weight now. And Paige knows that. She can tell in the way Azzi refuses to meet her gaze after she says it.

Paige pulls Azzi into another slow kiss, this one pure and wholesome in a way their others weren’t. “I lov-” Paige starts but Azzi quickly interrupts.

“I knew. I know.”

A beat of playful silence waves over the two girls. Paige joking rolls her eyes, accompanied with a large smile as she lets go of Azzi and swims closer to the ladder slowly. Azzi peels herself away from Paige's hips and follows behind, both of their legs sore, lips swollen, and necks bruised with kisses.

After Paige and Azzi have dried themselves off as best as they could without towels, Paige circles back. “You knew? And you made me wait all summer for you to say something?”

Azzi grins a little while nodding, chuckling at herself as she does so.

“You are so fucking infuriating.” Paige crosses her arms jokingly.

“Am I? Do you remember the lake about three minutes ago or?”

“Oh, I could say the exact same for you, Azzi.” Paige challenges back.

Paige stumbles over something rough at her feet, a pile of towels someone had left on the beach from the day prior. She leans down to pick two of them up and hands one to the girl beside her.

Ignoring their theft, they wrap their bodies in the stolen towels and Paige reaches down to grab Azzi’s hand.

They walk back to their families and sleeping bags with wide grins and fingers intertwined, the moon smiling down at them as they walk.

Long time coming.

[prettyboykatsuki]

WITH HEAT AND WET SKIN | caleb (xia yizhou)

♡ tags ; fem + afab!reader, incest / psuedocest, armpit kink (kill me), sweat fetish, scent kink, light angst (SUPER light), crybaby princess reader, gege used a few times, petnames, 18+

♡ wc ; 4.3k (what the actual fuck man.)

♡ a/n ; heed the tags. sorry in advance.

takes place in mlma ficverse but can be read stand-alone. post canon. title is from 'skin' by dijon

♡ synopsis ; summer has always been calebs favorite season.

July is the hottest month of the year. The air in Caleb’s Skyhaven apartment is thick with the seasons heat.  

Summer is always the same. Nostalgic and suffocating - rife with childhood anecdotes. Memories of splitting popsicles, rolling around in the grass, propping you on the back of his bike while you were still soft enough—sweet enough—to call him gege all the time. To call on him for any little thing you needed.  

Caleb’s most fond memories take place in the summer heat. Teaching you to play hopscotch and ride bikes, racing you down the street and buying you treats when you lost, cooling off in the blazing sun with fresh watermelon and a kitty pool filled with ice.  

The older you got, the more summer became about desire. For Caleb at least, at some point - summer was something he looked forward to in different ways. How your figure cut differently, filled out at your hips as you paraded around the house and shorts and spaghetti straps. Things to be conscious of and perhaps the source of all the inferno he ever endured in his youth.  

Caleb knows the desires he's been burdened with like the back of his hand. Knows how long his eyes have traced  your silhouette in the burning warmth of the sun - comfortably stretched out in the place you both called home.  

It’s because of summer that Caleb could draw your body from memory—before he ever laid a single hand on you.  

How many nights he dreamt of it. How many times he's held you close enough, like trying to fit you into his ribs. Summer, always a season of nostalgia, also became one of heavy sins such as these.  

Still, Caleb likes spending his summers with you. Despite the melancholy longing that makes his youth bittersweet. Despite his memories of puberty and all the inappropriate things he had to (read: tried) to unlearn when thinking of you.   

Despite everything, he loves seeing the sun and how your face looks when it's kissed by it.  

Once puberty hit, summer was never quite the same.  

Now, his fondness for the season comes from other things.  

The long and short of is: Caleb is distracted.  

"It's so hot,"  

You come in from a run soaked from the sun. The apartment isn't much better condition than the outside. Caleb is currently in the middle of repairing his own AC. Summer as an adult has proved more mundane than before. 

But…  

He's thankful that he's not done yet. You click the door shut behind you and Caleb watches you from the corner of his eye—opening the fridge and yanking a vitamin water out. You crack it open and swallow it down in desperately gulps, liquid spilling from the corners of your lips. Still panting and shaky from your work-out.  

Down your neck, mixing with the beads of sweat sliding down your skin. You don't wipe your mouth after, like  you figure it doesn't matter anyway. Something drips down between your cleavage but he isn't sure what exactly. It’s incredibly distracting. He takes a deep breath - masked as one of frustration with his work, as he continues. Prying his gaze away, he forces himself to focus on task at hand.  

It’s sweltering.  

Caleb swallows, suddenly parched and burning up from the inside out. He’ll never get back the innocence from that time in his life.  

You give him a glance, closing half-finished bottle  and leaving it on the counter before  waltzing towards him completely carefree.  

"Still not done fixin' the AC? You're losing your touch.'' 

Caleb clears his throat and pretends to scoff. "Huh? As if. It's just in worse shape then I thought. It should be another hour before it's up and running again." 

You flounce over to him. You lean over the back of the couch while he sits adjacent to you. He gives you another look, this time more noticeable then the last as his hands stop fidgeting with the unit. 

It’s hard to pry his eyes when you’re so close to him. Your cleavage is just in his line of sight when he turns his head. Sweat making your skin sheen, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath from the effort. The curve of your shoulders and the dip of your clavicles, Caleb takes in a sharp inhale and narrows his eyes.  

Shaking his head, he really tries not to think about it and attempts to make conversation. Keyword: attempts. 

The words slip before he has a chance to prevent them. "...Is that really what you wear to run?"  

You pause. Stand up on your feet, frowning - already irritated. "It's over a hundred degrees. It's just a sports bra and shorts. Pretty standard for running."  

He scoffs. "Standard? For who exactly?"  

"Caleb," You say exasperated. "I'm not arguing with you. They’re just clothes." 

He pauses then. Reaching for your wrist  before you turn away to leave. Bratty as usual.  

"I'm not saying this as your Gege," He clarifies, perhaps unhelpfully. You pause. "I'm saying this as your boyfriend. It's too short."  

You turn your heel with sudden interest, amused by the admittance. Your smile betrays the next words out of your mouth. "It's not like that makes it any better. Don't you think that's a bit too much? Girls don't like guys who are so controlling, you know?"  

He rolls his eyes. "Your face doesn't match your attitude."  

You turn the corner and join him on the couch. Or that’s what Caleb thinks you’ll do. Instead you stand in from of him, leaning over and casting a shadow over his face. Your expression is mischievous, and familiar - glancing down at him with mirth. “You must've been looking at me a lot to notice it being too short."  

"It was hard not to notice." He deflects. A pout pulls on your lips.  

"Caleb,” You hum. You’ve got the lilt in your voice that makes him wonder if you do know what you’re doing after all. Caleb wouldn’t put it past you.  

Caleb doesn’t regret crossing the line with you. He never would. But it’s made your attitude worse somehow. You’ve always taken pleasure in getting under his skin, but he’s used to that. Always trying to get your way.  

There’s an added element now, an added layer to you having your fun. He can hear it in your voice when you talk, how you sway when you walk towards him. Deliberate—testing his resolves. Your voice is saccharine. “Gege,”  

“What do you want pipsqueak?”  

“Don’t say it like that,” You whine. You shift in front of him, from his peripherals. “You won’t look at me,”  

He sighs and picks his eyes up to do as you’ve asked. You’re pouting at him, face flush as lips pushed out slightly. Wet with spit and doe-eyed, Caleb gathers up all of his strength. It’s killing him. You’re killing him. He looks down again.  

This, notably, does not please you.  

“Why won’t you look at me properly?”  

“You—”  

You get closer to him. Caleb holds his breath.  

He can practically see you throw a tantrum. His eyes are still closed as he takes a deep breath and tries to regain his composure  - but he doesn’t have much of a chance. You huff at him and suddenly his things are being moved from his lap to another end of the couch—right out of his hand.  

Caleb looks up at you startled.  

Before he can say anything back, you drop yourself into his lap without word. He stammers, body reacting instantly to you.  

Your hand finds his face, palm cupping his cheek as you make him face you with furrowed brows. “Why won’t you be honest with me?”  

He breathes out. “What are you saying?”  

“You’re being all weird and evasive and I don’t like it.” You reply, pouting.  

“I’m not—It’s not like that, yeah?”  

Your frown only deepens. He won’t get out of this easily, it seems.  

“You always make me tell you everything I want so why won’t you tell me anything? Don’t you think that’s being unfair?”  

Caleb gives you a half-hearted smile. “It’s different, right?”  

“How is it different?” You say, somewhat exasperated. Your mood is only worsening. “When are you going to stop treating me like a kid?”  

He opens his mouth only to close it again, at a loss for words on the right thing to say or the right course of action to take to get you to drop it for now. It’s hard to find the right thing to say to get his point across. So he opts for what he knows best - doting on you to distract you.  

“Don’t be like this, hm? You’re tired right? I’ll draw you a bath and we can—“  

You place your hand on his shoulder and suddenly look serious. Caleb gives you a strained expression but your resolve remains perfectly. Still. “I already told you you can do whatever you want with me. Don’t you want me?”  

Your voice trembles like you’re going to cry. He wasn’t expecting that. 

“Of course I do. Don’t you know that already?”  

You huff. “So why won’t you touch me? Why do I always have to embarrass myself?”  

He wonders who he should ask for advice on things like this.  

“I’ll scare you if I do whatever I want,” Caleb says, half-smiling. Affectionate and warm and sincere. “So drop it okay?”  

Still upset, your expression droops and Caleb feels his heart shatter into a million pieces. You sniffle.  

“It’s lonely when you treat me like this. I hate it,”  

Caleb doesn’t know what to do. Despite the progress you’ve made and the steps you’ve taken - the fact you’ve already crossed the line, there’s nowhere for the guilt to go. What part of him is left wants to protect you at all costs. No matter what anyone said - nothing could get in his way when it came to protecting you.  

The only issue is now he’s the main thing you’re in danger of.  

Maybe it is unfair to see it that way. He thinks the disbelief of it being mutual will last an entire lifetime. Even now every kiss on the lips and romantic gesture makes him reel, always half-way to trying to pinching himself awake.  

He’s afraid of how much you dictate his feelings. His moods, his wants, his desires  - he’s done nothing but want you for most of his life but now that you’re his - none of it feels real.  

That’s why each time he touches you he keeps it brief. Why he tries not to go to far and hasn’t since then - despite your few attempts. He’s running out of good reasons to turn you down and it’s not like he really wants to.  

The only thing that makes you tangible is touch but he worries he’ll hold you so hard it’ll break you. Caleb knows he’s capable of it at least.  

(Caleb knows what he’s capable of in general. He often thinks of how at ease he would be if he really did trap you at home. Keep you in a gilded cage with false sun and always by your side  - clip your wings so you’re never out of his sight. Even then, he’d do it gently. 

He knows he has it in him to do that to you. He knows a small part of him never leaves it out as an option.)  

Caleb examines your face for a while longer before his hand reaches out to your wrist. You tumble into his lap as he pulls you towards him, knees landing on either side of his thighs. The heat of your body radiates off of you, warmth curling around you both as the humid summer air makes you sweat.  

“I’m sorry,” Is all he can come up with. You frown at him, delicate fingers carding through his dark hair.  

“Gege can do whatever he wants to me,” You say innocently, sweetly, sincerely. His chest tightens. “No one else. Just you,”  

It’s not giving him permission, nor is it asking him for anything. It’s a gentle reminder. Charmingly innocuous, meaningful without bearing down on him too heavy. Like you know just enough what buttons to press to make him tick. 

Caleb lets out a shakey inhale but the message comes across. And the sad look on your face is worth giving up his resolve. He kisses your palm.  

“Don’t regret this,”  

You make a small noise as Caleb dips his head down and sticks his tongue out - licking a bead of sweat just from just above your belly button to just underneath the soaked material of sports bra. He follows it with a moan so loud it reverbs and startles you. 

You squirm under him, of course you do - a slight laugh leaving your lips because it tickles. Caleb doesn’t say anything. The taste of salt and skin flood his senses and suddenly his pants feel tight. He’s resolved himself to take what he wants in hopes to alleviate the desperate pressure.  

He knows what he wants well and the first taste of it alone is enough to make him reel.  

You crinkle your nose after the fact. “I’m sweaty,”  

Caleb lets out a deflated laugh. Tries to mask how ruined he sounds but doesn’t do a good job. “I know. I know,”  

Summer has a lot of memories and milestones for Caleb - but most of all, he sees summer as a hallmark of his developing sexuality. Summer where you’d sweat out your white shirts, nipples peaking through the fabric - beads of sweat trickling down your spine. Summer where you’d where shorts that were loose and skimp with 3-inch inseams, legs flopped playing on your DS as he’d catch soft whiffs of your scent when you’d roll around.  

Summer where you’d come home from your part-time job itching to change and Caleb would so kindly offer to do your laundry.  

There’s something about the scent of your sweat that makes Caleb tick. It’s been this way for as long as he can remember. It makes him dizzy, blood rushing to his cock—desperate to press his nose into damp skin and inhale. Whenever you get sweaty, he just barely restrains himself from huffing you like paint. He likes the way it soaks your clothes when it’s particular humid, likes the sticky way it clings to your skin. The humid air around you.  

It’s a pleasant scent to him, putting it lightly. You smell good when you sweat, raw and real.  

He has a hard time putting it into words. It’s almost sweet to him - or it has that same addictive pull. It’s something subtle, a scent note underneath layers of musk that smells like you and only you. Lightly acrid, salty, loud  - Caleb can’t help but get hard every time he sees you that way. Dripping down your temples, hairs damp from the humidity, face flushed. The years of your Hunter Training where you’d come home everyday after working your ass of were some of the hardest of his entire life.  

Caleb takes in another deep breath. You squirm in his lap, startled by the press of his erection to your thigh. 

“Do you like when I’m sweaty, Caleb?” You ask with no judge or derision - sincere curiosity only. 

Calebs voice is strained in his reply. “Yeah,”  

He can feel it in his hands how over-eager he is. Practically trembling with desire, heart-racing and mind absolutely refusing to settle down. He makes the mistake of looking up at you again. You’ve got such an innocent look on your face, Caleb is almost tricked into thinking you think nothing of it.   

Your eyes have a playful quality to them. Not judgmental but coy, lashes batting.  

“Clean me up then, Gege,”  

Fuck. You know him just as well as he knows you.   

Caleb groans. His whole body breaks into a shiver, suddenly feverish as his hands find themselves frantic to undress you. 

He decides ultimately if he can’t figure out where to start - it’s better to pick somewhere and indulge all of his desires as opposed to waiting around. His fingers crawl up your midsection, sliding underneath the thick band of your sports bra before frantically sliding it off.  

He presses his nose to the material in inhales once before placing it aside. Something he’ll resist later, he’s sure.  

You make a soft sound as your breasts touch air, nipples pebbling at the slight breeze - no longer suffocated underneath the silky material. Caleb stares long and hard at your chest, thinking deeply about what he should do.  

Then, he maneuvers you both until you’re laying on your back on the couch with Caleb hovering over you.  

And, in one swift go, he drops his head down and licks the indents of your sports bra with as much fervor as he can conjure. His tongue dips into the lines, cleaning your edge to edge just like you’ve requested. He leaves no part untouched  - clumsily moving from one side to the next as he laves and cleans each inch of your skin.  

He pauses to breathe you in as he continues. Like it’s oxygen. Licks a strip from below your sternum, through your cleavage before moving his mouth again to the underneath side of your tits.  He never neglects to pleasure you, his fingers light as they touch your nipples before they meet the same fate as the rest of you with his mouth.  

When he’s near finished with your chest, he has to pause.  

Caleb is silent as he grabs both of your hands with his and pins you down by the wrist. You squeak in surprise at the sudden force but the noise falls on deaf ears.  

His brain is static. His mouth is so flooded with the taste. It’s strong - salty and sharp and acidic. He can barely think anything consciously. He just follows wherever the scent of you is strongest.  

Caleb likes to think of himself with some composure. That he’s above this  - past the stage where’d he’d bury his nose into your sweaty shorts and jerk off so mindlessly he’d be sore the following day. He’s old enough, wise enough, sensible enough. His frontal-cortex has developed. He’s gotten through puberty.  

But he feels little more than animal when he buries himself into your pits and huffs.  

You squeal. Mostly with laughter but not with disgust, thank god - because if you pulled him off of you now he might genuinely lose his mind.  

You smell so good. So good he nearly creams himself. It’s so concentrated, so thick and heavy and suffocating that Caleb can’t help but press himself into you further and breathe and breathe and breath. In and out  - lungs pushing hard as his cock stirs in his sweats. His free hand immediately goes to palm himself, itching to feel some relief as he overwhelms himself. 

Caleb licks there too. It tastes good, bitter and intoxicating. He hears you protest above him, something about being unshaved. He barely registers it, too busy pushing his tongue through the hair and licking up every bead of sweat imaginably. His brain feels permanently rewired and incapable of registering anything that might be important.  

“You’re so into it,” You say, a half-hearted mumble. Caleb looks up briefly, nose pressed to your skin still as he speaks into your pits.   

“You smell so fucking good.”  

You jolt underneath him. “You’re like a dog.”  

He can’t really deny it, but it does make him laugh a little in a broken way. He can’t hide how he’s feeling no matter how hard he tries.  

Caleb lets himself go afterward. Lets his hands off the reigns and does what he wants. Guides himself on nothing but sheer lust and the repression he’s been harboring his entire life as he licks every last droplet of sweat on your body until you’re sticky from nothing but his saliva. He spends the most time at your pits - realizing quickly that there’s no way he’s going to do this only once.  

He feels completely drunk on it by the time there’s nothing left for him even in the continuous, sweltering heat.  

There’s one part of you that Caleb has avoided entirely up until now, and deliberately - because the thought alone makes his every nerve in go alight. His stomach churns with lust, like honey through his veins. He only moves down further when he hears you plead for it.  

“Gege,” You whine. Caleb looks up from under his lashes to see your chest rising and falling - newfound interest and lust all over your face. You look debauched, even this embarrassed. “More,”  

So Caleb gives you more. “Of course princess,”  

He takes himself back down - kissing a path from your neck all the way down to your navel until he’s just above the waistband of your workout shorts. It’s a stretchy material - the kind that clings to your skin and is meant to wick away sweat from your body by soaking into the fabric instead. Caleb can barely look at them without his pants getting tight. The way they hug your figure is enough to cloud his judgment.  

But the heat radiating from between your legs - the strong, inebriating scent of your sex is enough to fucking kill him.  

He makes a noise something hysterical. He’s crazy about you - he knows this. Well and truly, more than anything in the world. But there’s something about here and now that feel strangely affirming in a way that makes him almost want to laugh. Almost.  

He doesn’t understand it no matter how hard he tries, but Caleb thinks it’s not something for him to understand. He’s appealing to baser needs being this so obsessed with you - your scent, something less logical and more tactile. 

Caleb puts both of his hands on your thighs and pulls you down further, nose buried in your sweat-soaked cunt without a modicum of shame or restraint. It’s a raw, thick smell - the kind that borders on acrid but still smells so fucking sweet to him. Nothing but your scent - distinctly yours, pheromones and all.  Uniquely yours and irreplaceable and so fucking good he wants to suffocate in it.  

He thinks of how would be the best way to go about this. He wants to savor this, no matter how frenzied he feels. You deserve to be savored in this state. Worshipped. 

He thinks of taking them off of you. Moans into your clothed pussy at the though of the hair, dampened from sweat and slick and how the taste would fill his mouth. But it doesn’t feel like enough still.  

So he settles for something else, and presses his tongue against your clothed slit.  

“Caleb,”  

He holds you down tight as he makes work of soaking your shorts with spit, lapping endlessly at the sensitive, neglected bundle of nerves. Even through a layer of fabric - he can feel your clit pulse. The heat of your cunt fills his lungs and clouds his mind as he dedicates himself to licking you through the material. It darkens a shade further right where his mouth has been.  

Caleb kisses it before he continues.  

Your voice comes as a demand. “Take them off,”  

“Will later,” Caleb hums, looking up at you apologetic. “Cum like this first,”  

Your eyes go wide. “There’s no way I can!”  

“You can,” Caleb says, so assured you slink back. “Be good for your gege,”  

You huff at him. Spoiled. Caleb adores you.  

“Fine. Make it up to me,”  

Of course he will, he thinks. After he gets his fill, he’s going to fuck you through the mattress and make some excuses to keep you home. He can never get enough which is why he was trying to show some restraint, but he’s already well beyond that and decides not to dwell.  

Caleb licks at your clit diligently, tongue pressing hard and delibrately against the seam. He knows all your weak points and he plays with them to keep you on edge, bring you where he needs. You sound sweet above him. Hips bucking into his mouth, desperately seeking more friction even as you whine about having to cum in such a way.  

Your complaints only goad him further. He loves when you act that way. Act spoiled and always having to get your way. He grinds the head of his cock into the couch as he continues to eat you out  - arousal spiking, flooding his brain with endorphins.  

When he’s gotten you wet long enough, Caleb does what he’d been planning to do from the jump and sucks the fabric into his mouth.  

Subsequently sucking up the spit, sweat, and filth that’d been collecting there the entire time. His intention from the jump.  

You gasp, your hands finding their way to his scalp. Threading through his dark brown locks and pulling, you grind your hips up into the warm cavern of his mouth. Caleb does both things together. Sucking at the material, flicking at your clit with pointed edge of his tongue - and meeting your movement with each cant of your hips, eagerly seeking your orgasm.  

Caleb wants you to cum more than he cares about cumming. He holds you tight and locks on hard - making it impossible for you to run away from the pleasure. His mind chants while his mouth busies. 

 Cum, cum, cum - fuck please.  

“Gege—!”  

Your hand grips tighter as you cum finally  - back arching off the couch, body tremoring as you grind yourself against his mouth even harder. Caleb sits there groaning, his own arousal apparent as he feels cum flood his boxers after rutting into the couch cushions beneath, as you ride out your high. You shake as you come down, slowly but surely. 

It’s silent for a beat before you break the silence. You take in a deep breath, eyes fluttering open as you look down at him from between your legs.  

“Can we at least keep going in the shower? I’m sticky,”  

Caleb laughs. “One more time with them off. Then we can,” 

“Fine. Perv,”  

Caleb is in no place to deny it.  

[mandoalorian]

meet cute [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Congress & Carnality Prologue

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Moving to New York was supposed to be a fresh start. You didn’t expect to cross paths with a stranger who offered a helping hand—or that fate would throw him back into your life in the most unexpected way. Now, navigating a new job and an enigmatic boss, you start to wonder if this city has more surprises in store than you bargained for.

Word Count: 3100

Tags/warnings: 18+ fic series. employer x employee.

Masterlist

congress & carnality masterlist

Brooklyn was alive with the hum of the city—horns blaring, distant laughter floating through the air, the occasional shout of a street vendor trying to make a sale. The summer heat had begun to cool with the setting sun, but your skin still stuck to the fabric of your shirt as you strained to lift the last of the boxes from the moving van.

It wasn’t going well.

You gritted your teeth, adjusting your grip on the heavy cardboard box labeled BOOKS – HEAVY AS HELL in thick marker. You had been ambitious, thinking you could handle moving all your things alone. Your new apartment was on the third floor, the elevator was out of service, and your arms were already aching.

"Come on, come on," you muttered under your breath, trying to shift the weight in your hands. Just a few more steps to the front door—

"You need a hand with that?"

The deep voice startled you, making you jump. You turned too quickly, and the box wobbled dangerously in your arms, your grip slipping. Before you could react, strong hands reached out, steadying it with ease.

"Whoa—got it," the man said smoothly, catching the box before it could meet the pavement.

Your heart pounded, both from the near disaster and the sudden presence of him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your stomach flip. His dark hair was a little longer, pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. But it was his eyes that caught you—steel blue, sharp and assessing, yet softened by something unreadable.

He was handsome. Like, ridiculously handsome. And familiar.

“I saw you from across the street,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Looked like you needed a hand. Forgive me for overstepping, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Was this man trapped in the 40s? “No you’re all good,” You swallowed, clearing your throat. "Uh—thanks."

"You sure you got this?" he asked, glancing at you with a teasing smirk as he easily lifted the box like it weighed nothing. "Looked like you were about to start a wrestling match with it."

You narrowed your eyes. "I had it under control."

"Right," he drawled, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you were losing?"

Your lips pressed together, but despite yourself, you let out a small huff of laughter. "Fine. Maybe I was struggling a little."

"Kinda figured," he said, shifting the box effortlessly under one arm. "Where to?"

You hesitated. "You really don’t have to—"

"Third floor?"

You sighed in defeat. "…Yes."

"Then I’m helping."

You knew better than to argue with someone who looked like they could carry your entire bookshelf up the stairs without breaking a sweat. You grabbed a smaller box to at least pretend you were contributing and led him toward the building.

"You new to the area?" he asked as you climbed the stairs, barely winded. Meanwhile, your legs were already burning.

"Yeah," you panted. "Just moved here for work."

"Work, huh?" His voice held a note of interest.

"Technically nowhere yet," you admitted with a dry laugh. "I have an interview tomorrow."

"Big deal?"

"Could be. It’s for a political assistant position."

His steps faltered just for a second, so brief you almost missed it.

"Politics, huh?"

"Yeah. Not my first choice, but… I need the money. And I figure it’s a good stepping stone."

He hummed, unreadable. "Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll get it.”

You raised a brow at that, watching him effortlessly balance the heavy box in one hand. His other hand, clad in a single dark leather glove, flexed as he adjusted his grip.

Your curiosity got the better of you. "What’s with the glove?” 

His expression didn’t change, but there was the slightest pause before he shrugged. "Fashion statement."

You smirked. "Oh, sure. You just had to be the guy who wears one leather glove in the middle of summer."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "Real trendsetter."

You laughed, eyeing his physique. "Are you a bodybuilder or something?"

He grinned, a soft blush kissing his cheeks when he realised you were checking him out. "Something like that."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You’re being very mysterious."

"Am I?" His smirk widened.

"Yes. And it’s suspicious."

"You think I’m suspicious?"

"A little."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

Your stomach did an unexpected flip at that, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on not tripping over the stairs.

When you reached your apartment, he set the box down effortlessly while you huffed and wiped sweat from your brow. He turned to you, rubbing his palms together as if dusting them off.

"There you go. Least I could do.”

You hesitated. "Thanks… I uh— I appreciate your help,” You said awkwardly, extending your arm to shake the man’s gloved hand. You registered the weight of it, a strong and firm grip. “Do you live round here?”

“Ah, no,” The man replied. “Used to. Was born here, actually. But that was a while ago and everything looks so different now. I hardly recognise it,” You quirked an eyebrow. The man appeared no older than 40 and you could’ve sworn the neighbourhood hadn’t changed that much.  “I live in uptown Manhattan.”

You laughed. “Wow, fancy,” you tutted, jokingly rolling your eyes. “How come you’re here in Brooklyn?”

“Promised I’d meet with Sam for a drink later, he’s a friend, I mean, he’s actually more of a headache,” he replied, clearly unimpressed with himself.

“You know I didn’t catch your name.” You laughed. In the past five minutes you’d learned the name of this Brooklyn-born body builder’s friend and discussed his keen eye for fashion trends, and yet, you didn’t even know his name. 

Something flickered across his face, a split-second hesitation. Then, smoothly, he said, "Bucky."

Bucky.

The name stirred something in your mind. But before you could dwell on it, he was already backing up, a small smirk on his lips.

"Good luck tomorrow," he said. "Hope you get the job."

You wanted to say something else—to ask if you’d see him again. But the words caught in your throat, and before you could untangle them, he was already turning down the hallway, disappearing into the stairwell.

You sighed, shaking your head. If it’s meant to be…

Yeah, right. What were the chances you'd ever run into him again?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Late. You were so late.

When your eyes fluttered open that morning, it was already too bright outside. Too bright meant one thing—you had overslept.

The moment you turned your head to check the time on your phone, panic set in like ice in your veins.

8:43 AM.

Your interview was at 9:30 AM.

In Manhattan.

Your stomach dropped.

"Shit—!"

You flew out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as you scrambled to the bathroom, fumbling to brush your teeth while simultaneously yanking a hairbrush through your tangled strands. Your carefully planned, professional morning routine? Completely out the window.

By the time you threw on your blouse and blazer—both slightly wrinkled—and snatched up your bag, it was already 8:57.You bolted down the stairs of your apartment building, the adrenaline in your veins the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

The subway was packed. Of course it was—rush hour in New York.

You squeezed yourself into the train, clutching onto the pole with one hand while you rifled through your bag with the other, checking for your resume.

Crumpled.

Great.

The train lurched forward, and you stumbled, mumbling a curse. Your reflection in the dirty subway window revealed wide, stressed-out eyes, flushed cheeks, and a shirt that looked like it had been rolled into a ball before you put it on. Fantastic first impression.

The train ride felt eternal, every stop stretching time like torture.

By the time you finally made it to Uptown Manhattan, you were sweating. You raced up the steps to street level, nearly twisting your ankle in your heels as you sprinted down the crowded sidewalk.

The office building came into view, towering over you with its sleek glass facade. You skidded to a stop inside, gasping for breath as you approached the receptionist.

"I'm—I'm here for the—interview," you panted, pushing hair from your face.

She barely glanced up. "Mr. Barnes is expecting you."

You straightened, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Mr. Barnes? The name meant nothing to you. You nodded, smoothing your clothes before pushing through the doors.

And then—you froze.

Because sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, was Bucky.

Your Bucky.

Except… not your Bucky.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

Oh. Oh.

His smirk was slow and smug, his eyes filled with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

"Surprise," he murmured, a coy smile playing on his lips.

Your stomach plummeted.

Oh, shit.

The straight navy blue suit was very different to the black tec-top he was wearing when you had met him yesterday. His hair had been combed back with a little product placed in it to keep it from falling out of his face. You stood there, still, like a tin of milk, blinking in disbelief at the Congressman you were stood before. 

“Well, you could at least take a seat, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled, pulling your seat out like a gentleman. 

Your legs moved on autopilot, your mind still reeling as you sank down into the chair. You tried to steady your breathing, smoothing your clammy hands over your skirt as you forced yourself to focus.

He walked over to the drinks trolley, picking out a crystal glass. “Want a drink?”

“Wa-water would be good,” you swallowed, stiffly sitting into the chair and taking your crumpled resume out of your purse, doing your best to straighten it out the best you could. 

“You’re thirty minutes late,” Bucky acknowledged. “But your shirt is inside out so I won’t be too harsh on you.”

You gasped looking down at yourself. He was right. How had that even happened? 

Bucky handed you the glass of ice water and slid into the chair, opposite you, behind the obnoxiously large mahogany wood desk. 

“You're staring.” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form words. Any words.

"You—You're him!" you finally sputtered. “Congressman James Buchanan Barnes!"

“Just Bucky is fine," he corrected, his lips twitching. "But yeah. Still me."

Your pulse thundered in your ears. "You're—You're a Congressman?"

His smirk widened. "Something like that."

You shot him a glare. "That’s the same thing you said when I asked if you were a bodybuilder."

"I was being vague for a reason."

"You—!" You exhaled sharply, gripping the folder in your hands so tightly the edges crumpled. Your eyes scanned your resume one last time before handing it over to him. ”This is the political assistant job?"

"That would be correct."

"And you’re the one hiring for it?"

Another nod.

You could kill him.

Bucky only watched you with a maddeningly calm expression, clearly enjoying your struggle to process reality. This was still an interview. Your interview. And you were going to nail it—whether or not the man across from you was someone who had once carried your heavy-ass book box like it weighed nothing.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "So," he said, voice settling into something more businesslike. "Tell me why you want to work for me."

You straightened, lifting your chin. "I'm interested in politics, and I think working as a congressional assistant would be a valuable step in gaining experience."

He arched a brow. "But not your dream job?"

You hesitated. "No," you admitted. "But I want to learn. I want to understand how things work from the inside."

His sharp blue gaze studied you for a long moment. "And you’re okay working in a… morally gray environment?"

Your brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Bucky sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Politics isn't exactly clean. There's a lot of… persuasion, deal-making, bending the truth."

You swallowed. "I can handle it."

That made him smile. It was small, approving.

"Alright, then," he said, leaning back. "You’re hired."

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"Congratulations, sweetheart." His grin was teasing. "You just became my new assistant.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Bucky led you through the winding halls of the congressional office, his presence steady beside you. The space was sleek—wood-paneled walls, modern glass partitions, the faint hum of ringing phones and muted conversations filling the air. You tried to take it all in, the sheer gravity of where you were now working.

You had just started feeling like you could breathe again when Bucky turned a corner and led you into an open office space filled with desks, most of them occupied by young, fast-talking, coffee-fueled staffers who barely spared you a glance.

But one person did notice you immediately.

She was perched against the edge of a desk, legs crossed, her deep red dress fitted to perfection. She had long honey blonde hair, pristine makeup, and an air of effortless authority that made it clear she was used to being in charge.

Her gaze swept over you in an instant—assessing, calculating. And then she smirked.

"So, this is the new girl?"

You forced a polite smile, ignoring the sharp prickle of discomfort that ran down your spine. "That’s me."

Tara’s eyes flicked over to Bucky, amusement dancing in her gaze. "I see why you hired her."

Your stomach clenched at the implication.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bucky cut in smoothly, his tone firm. "Tara."

She glanced at him, feigning innocence. "What? It’s just an observation."

"You promised to play nice," he reminded her.

She hummed, tilting her head at you. "I am being nice."

You arched a brow. "I'd hate to see what not nice looks like."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh, you’ll find out," she said lightly before pushing off the desk. "Welcome to the team, sweetheart." With that, she strode past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

You exhaled, finally turning back to Bucky. "Well. She seems charming."

Bucky chuckled. "You’ll get used to her."

"I doubt that."

His smirk grew. "Tara’s tough, but she’s good at her job."

You folded your arms. "Is she always like that?"

"Like what?"

You shot him a flat look. "You know what."

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "She’s protective. She likes to test people."

"Test people? Or test me?"

Bucky’s lips twitched. "A little of both."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push further.

"Come on," he said, nodding towards the exit. "You survived your first day. That means you deserve a reward."

You frowned. "A reward?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Coffee. On me."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The café Bucky led you to was small, nestled into a quiet corner of Manhattan. It had warm lighting, the scent of roasted espresso beans filling the air, and a cozy charm that made you instantly feel at ease.

You stepped inside, grateful for the slower pace compared to the chaos of the office. Bucky guided you to a table near the window, and as you sat, you let out a long breath.

"Better?" he asked, watching you.

You nodded. "Much."

A barista came by to take your orders—Bucky got a simple black coffee, while you opted for something with far too much sugar and whipped cream.

As soon as the barista left, you looked at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. "So. Congressman Barnes."

Bucky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can just call me Bucky, y'know."

You smirked. "Oh, I know. But I’m still reeling from the fact that you didn’t tell me you were a politician when I met you."

"I didn’t lie to you," he said innocently. "I just… didn’t offer unnecessary details."

You scoffed. "Not unnecessary! You made me think you were some guy who just walked around offering free labour to people moving into their apartments."

He shrugged. "Maybe I am that guy."

"Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of England."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I’ll admit it—I should’ve told you."

You leaned forward, propping your elbows on the table. "Why didn’t you?"

His smirk faded just slightly, his eyes darkening.

"Would you have acted differently?" he asked. "If you knew who I was?"

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Would you have?

You weren’t sure.

He saw the conflict on your face and smiled knowingly. "Exactly."

You huffed. "Still. You let me ramble on about my job search when you knew you were the one I was applying to work for!"

He grinned. "That was my favorite part."

You kicked him lightly under the table.

He chuckled, reaching for his coffee as the barista returned with your drinks. You took a slow sip of yours, savoring the warmth, before glancing at him again.

"So, tell me," you said. "What exactly does being your assistant entail?"

Bucky smirked. "Keeping me in line."

You snorted. "That sounds like a full-time job and overtime."

"You’re not wrong," he admitted. "You’ll help with scheduling, policy briefings, liaising with the press. And, sometimes…" He hesitated. "You’ll deal with people like Tara."

You made a face. "Ah. So ‘babysitter’ should be in the job description."

He chuckled. "Something like that."

There was a moment of quiet between you two, the soft hum of café chatter around you.

Then Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time.

"I wanted to ask you out for coffee the other day," he admitted. "When I helped you move."

Your breath caught.

"But I chickened out," he continued, looking down at his cup. "Figured I missed my chance."

You tilted your head. "And now?"

"Now?" He looked up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "Now, I finally have an excuse."

Your pulse stuttered.

Fate.

You had told yourself that if it was meant to be, you’d cross paths again.

And here you were.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

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[realcube]

PERFORMANCE ENHANCER (18+)

synopsis : while in paris for the 2024 summer olympics, ushijima is advised that ejaculation releases stress and hence boosts athleticism. so, the night before his match, he asks for your help.

tws/tags : ts! ushiwaka, cursing, vaginal, riding, size kink, creampie, oral (giving), rough sex, slight hair pulling, petnames, praise — minors dni!

note : this is for the summer olympics collab by @tetzoro. tysm for allowing me to join <3 fyi studies differ but it is mostly shown that sex has no significant impact on athleticism. also smut is labelled if you want to cut to it lol — wc: 6k

it was never a question as to whether or not ushijima would qualify for the olympics; you knew for certain he was going to be on that team, so the only query that ever crossed your mind was when should you start packing?

usually that kind of mindset leads to disaster and disappoint, but in this case you were right to make that assumption because next thing you knew, you and ushijima were on a chartered flight straight to france, along with the rest of the japanese volleyball team.

you were excited to explore paris — the city of love — with your husband. although you were well aware that this was far from your honeymoon, and in fact more like a business trip for ushijima. hence, training will occupy most of his schedule, and any downtime he may have, he'll likely spend with his long-distance best friend tendou, who you both haven't seen since your wedding two years ago.

having made peace with this fact, you hung around on the main street, poking around in some luxury stores while ushijima visited the chocolaterie tendou works at. his friend was aware that he qualified for the olypmics and would be coming to paris, but it was still astounding to see ushijima walk through the front door of his shop, in the flesh.

with a massive grin, they hug and catch up with each other, discussing all the new things that have happened in their lives since they last saw other. well, tendou did most of the talking, but ushijima did make a couple of brief contributions about his thriving marriage and volleyball career.

"so," tendou hums with his elbow propped up on the table and his chin resting on his knuckles, "how are you feeling about your match against argentina?" he quirks a brow.

"good."

despite his curt response and dry demeanour, tendou can tell simply by ushijima's subtle mannerisms that there is something weighing on his mind. "oh, c'mon, mr perfect. let's get deep!" he urges, and ushijima knits his brows in thought.

what he's experiencing is so complex and foreign, he can't quite put a finger on it. he needs a couple of moments to find a way to describe it. "stressed. representing japan in an international tournament is a lot of pressure." he's been under pressure before though and prospered, so he doesn't understand why this is any different.

"huh, who would've thought? the almighty super ace of the century is finally feelin' the heat?" tendou exaggerates his syllables and narrows his eyes to look at ushiwaka with an amused expression, but all he gets is blank stare in return, so he continues, "well, you've got no chance of winning if you're nervous, that's for sure."

he says it so nonchalantly, it causes ushijima to falter, "what?" of course, that's not his desired outcome, and tendou seems to know what he is talking about, so wakatoshi asks, "what can i do to win?"

"not lose." tendou titters to himself, but ushijima's piercing stare persists. "you need to release the stress! free yourself of all your worldly doubts. luckily for you, my good friend, i know how you can do that."

"how?" ushijima is quick to respond.

tendou smirks and leans across the table until his face is inches away from ushijima's. "you need to beat it."

"beat what?"

"masturbate!" tendou yells, accompanied with an exasperated sigh, as he falls back into his chair. despite how they were having this conversation in the back of the store, tendou exclaimed that word loud enough to cause some customers browsing in the front to tilt their heads. "when you finish, not only does it it release sperm, but it also lets out all your pent-up fears and worries."

ushijima raises an eyebrow in doubt, which prompts tendou to elaborate, "also, when you orgasm, hormones pump through your body that kill all the stress chemicals. that's why it feels so good!"

seeing that ushijima is still suspicious, tendou throws his arms up in defeat, "fine! don't believe me if you want, but just know this information was told to me by a reliable and knowledgeable source: shirabu."

"shirabu kenjirō?"

when tendou hums in agreement, ushijima takes a moment to reflect. last he heard, shirabu is a medical student, studying to become a doctor, and they don't let just anyone into med school. additionally, biology and health is in shirabu's realm of expertise, so it would make sense for ushijima to take his advice.

with a nod of resounding certainty, ushijima declares proudly, "okay. i will masturbate."

"great. glad i could help." tendou grins, leaning his cheek onto his hand, "but you don't have to do it yourself. that was just an example. you should do whatever will make you finish—..."

tendou's voice trails off as he searches for the right word, "hardest. so in your case, that might not be masturbating. i mean, you've got a real pretty wife."

though he wasn't keen on tendou calling you 'real pretty' in that suggestive tone, ushijima kept that comment inside, and instead said, "i think i know what you meant."

tendou wishes he could just leave the conversation at that and move on, but knowing his thick-skulled friend, he had to confirm, "what do i mean?"

"my wife should masturbate on my behalf."

"no!"

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

eventually, ushijima may have understood what tendou was talking about. he was still sceptical about the whole thing but as the game grew closer and closer, he found himself becoming desperate for any solution to cure his volleyball nerves.

so, once the night before his match arrived, he figured there was no harm in trying.

you had just come out of the bathroom with your hair down and dripping, and your salacious body clad only in a short towel that didn't leave very much to the imagination; as your tits were threatening to escape with every movement you made, and the bottom of your perky ass was just peeking out. he watches intently from the bed. it's as though you knew what he had planned.

and perhaps you did, considering how he urged you to get in the shower as soon as the two of you got home from your excursions. due to the fact that he has a very strict sleeping schedule and needs to be in bed by 22 at the latest, which means you guys need to start having sex by 21. he lasts a while.

"(y/n)." the simple act of uttering your name in his husky voice already has you scrambling over to him, kneeling beside him on the covers.

"yes?" you respond with a cute twinkle in your eyes. ever doting and caring: one of the many things he loves about you.

"i am stressed for the game against argentina tomorrow."

you frown, already had the inkling that something was bothering him. "i'm sorry, toshi." you rest your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into him as you stroke his muscular chest, "it's completely normal to feel that way, especially since you'll be competing against your archenemy: tōru oikawa."

he isn't sure what you mean by that — him and oikawa are on decent terms — but he enjoys your comforting words so he allows you to witter on without interruption.

"i'm also sorry that you felt as though you couldn't tell me this sooner; we could've done something about it. still, if there's anything i can do to help now, just say the word."

"sex." he responds plainly, taking your request literally.

"huh?" you stutter, unsure if you heard him correctly.

naturally, ushijima misinterprets your confusion and takes the opportunity to explain what he was told, "tendou and shirabu said that ejaculation let outs tension, so i would like your help with that. tendou mentioned that i could do it on my own, but i would prefer to do it with you."

your jaw hung open and your eyes darted across your husband's face, unsure of what to address first: his sweet desire to make love to you on such a special night, or his impressive use of the word 'ejaculation'.

clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pressed a long kiss to his lips, tasting his minty breath, before squealing, "yes, of course we can!" you throw one leg around him so you are now straddling his lap. he smiles at your sweet reaction and places a strong hand your waist to hold you in place.

while running your hands reassuringly over his arms and admiring his toned biceps, you pout, "oh but toshi, we can't have you waking up all sore in the morning." you point out, however it's as though a solution to your problem occurs to you instantly as you blurt out, with wide eyes and a cheery smile, "but that's okay! i can just ride you, yeah?" you eagerly tease him by grinding your hips against his already throbbing erection.

using his grip on you, he puts a swift end to your antics, and your whole body is no match for the strength in his right arm alone. "that sounds like a lot of effort." ushijima was aware of how long he can go for, and it left him exhausted most of the time, so he can't imagine how you would feel after doing all the work for such an extended period of time. you were just his precious wife after all, deserving of being spoiled and catered for — in bed or otherwise — so riding wasn't an act he ever expected from you.

"it will be, but it's only for one night and i'd do anything for you." he reassure him while laying against his chest, as his hand stroked your back. with your ear pressed against him, you could hear the faint drumming of his heartbeat.

so selfless too, another thing he loved about you. he smiled when you leaned into his embrace, carefully running his hand up and down your spine, as though you were the most fragile thing he's ever touched and may shatter at any moment.

"thank you, my angel."

oh, this man is horny. typically he only calls you nicknames when he is fucked out. even then, they were mostly limited to 'dear' or 'honey'. not that you minded, hearing him call you by your real name was hot, also the scarcity made the times when he did call you petnames all the more sweet.

so to hear him call you 'angel' before you've even started is very telling as to how badly he needs you. more than he lets on, that's for sure. such a stoic man; even after years of being together, you still find it difficult to read him sometimes, but the way he hardens underneath you is unmistakable.

[NSFW]

wearing nothing underneath the robe, you grind down against his clothed cock and he almost winces at the warmth of your bare pussy. so sensitive that he can feel every curve and dip of your needy cunt, and he revels at how your folds kiss his firm length.

in order to supress his bubbling moans, he hurriedly locks lips with you, fixing his hand onto your back so he can pull you closer. the passion from your lips against his is addicting and the heat of your body against his just feels so right. he wants nothing more than for you to melt into him so you can become one.

though he doesn't like how he can't feel your pretty tits pressed against him, only the fluffy fabric of your robe. his hands find their way to your shoulders, where he roughly tugs off your robe in one swift motion, casting it to the side.

the fiery kiss only ends when you gasp at the sudden chilliness that washes over you. the cold is combatted by ushijima's strong embrace as he holds your delicate figure against his own. it's nice to be his strong arms, it makes you feel so secure and you fit into him perfectly.

meanwhile, ushijima is focused on the lewd sensation of your tits squished against him. being able to feel your hard nipples poke him through the thin fabric of his shirt made it difficult to resist flipping you over and fucking you from behind, with one hand messily tangled in your hair while it hits it raw. like he usually does.

his kisses trail from your cheeks, across your jaw and down your neck. naturally, at that point you pull away from his embrace so he can continue lower, until he had your bud locked between his teeth. sucking and flicking it with his tongue while his hand worked at fondling your other tit, slowly falling so he was caressing your waist.

now that you've retracted, you take this opportunity to tug at the elastic of his shorts, pulling at it just enough for his aching erection to spring free. you've experienced ushijima's size before, but it's still baffling every time you see it. how a nice girl like you could take a monster like him.

drool pricked at the corner of your lips at the sight of girth, admiring the beast in your hands. ushijima stopped sucking on your tits when he realised you had let out his cock, and he couldn't help but smirk as he watched you idly toy with it while staring intently.

his poor angel. he knew how nervous you could get sometimes before taking him and he wasn't one to rush you, so he sat in comfortable silence, admiring your gorgeous figure and stroking your hip with his thumb. though the more he looked at you, the more he longed to dive right back into your tits and have another taste. or push you onto your back and explore between your thighs with his mouth.

though his raging fantasies were interrupted as you finally take his cock. not into your pussy, but rather, your mouth. that wasn't what ushijima was expecting, but he'd never complain. not when it comes to your head. how the warmth of your mouth consumed him, and your tongue licked seductively down his shaft. of course, you were never able to take his whole length but that's not your fault; most amateurs couldn't. and he preferred it like this, actually. he liked seeing you with your cheeks puffed out — his coarse fingers brushing your stray hair away from your face so he could witness every lewd detail — and watching you struggle to deepthroat him, coughing and spluttering whenever you'd try. just a reminder of how diligent you are when it comes to pleasuring him.

a layer of your spit shines on his cock, coating him so nicely, as you continue to suck him off. your movements are slow but thorough, gripping him with his lips as tightly as you can when you drag upwards, and ensuring your tongue rubs properly against the underside of his shaft. you were doing so well, as a reward you received the occasional hushed grunt from your husband.

usually this gentle approach would be the correct one, as ushijima prefers a moderate pace to begin with, that gradually builds up into a frantic, hasty one. however, today there was just something so tempting about you that he couldn't resist. maybe it was the obscene way your plump lips wrapped around his girth. or maybe it was how your glossy eyes looked to him for approval after every frivolous attempt to deepthroat. at which, he'd always flash you a brief yet kind smile, sometimes even mutter something along the lines of 'you're so cute' or 'good job, baby.'

regardless, there was an allure about you that he couldn't quite explain, but it is what triggered him to abruptly grab you by the hair and yank you off his cock and into a rough kiss. he just couldn't get enough of those gorgeous lips, and he utilised his grip on the back of your head to pull you in as close as physically possible. he wanted to feel every inch of your nude body against him.

after your initial shock to his actions, you soon melt into the kiss and move your lips rhythmically against his, allowing his tongue to slip past your defences and into your mouth. and while all your senses were saturated by the intoxicating kiss, you almost didn't notice when ushijima's other hand — that was previously groping your ass — sneaked down between your wet folds and teased the entrance of your pussy.

you moaned into the kiss at the stimulation of your needy hole, but despite your longing, you knew it wasn't right. you exit the kiss only partly, and say, virtually still upon his lips, "toshi.. don't. you need to save the energy in your arms."

"i always have energy for you." he counters, as his finger threatens to penetrate you.

"let's not risk it." you smile, pushing yourself back so you are sat upright on his lap with each leg on either side of him. aligning his cock with your hole, you notice he's still slightly damp with your spit, but not enough to make for sufficient lubricant, so you run his dick between your lips, allowing him to soak up your wetness.

he grunted at how your wet folds stroked his length, as his hand wandered up from your shoulder to your face so he could cup your cheek. "can you handle it, (y/n)? it's okay if you can't." of course he's been in you before but in the past, extensive prep is required before you can even fathom the idea of taking him. and on this occasion, you've not undergone any preparation at all. "i don't want to hurt you."

he doesn't mean to sound patronising; that's just how he expresses concern. well, maybe he does mean it a little, but that is only because the bedroom is the place where he gets to be the smart one, considering how quickly you get fucked dumb by his massive dick, unable to speak right or think straight.

"i can and i will, toshi! i was made to fit you." you whine, and you were quick to try and prove it by letting yourself relax onto his cock. however, you reacted by jolting, as the tip alone had your walls stretching and sore. you bit your bottom lip to try cope with discomfort, as your legs trembled at the strain.

"made to fit me?" he smirked, amused by your proclamation and how it was immediately followed by proof of his doubts. the way your body writhed said more than enough. "it's too much for you, sweetheart."

using the back of your hand to cover your tense expression, you shook your head, "no.. it's not." you squeak and mewl as you lower yourself on his cock, the wetness caused by the congestive sensation being just enough to make the descent bearable.

"mmph— too big, toshi." you moaned, and hearing his name fall from your lips in such a dirty manner send all his blood rushing straight to his cock. a part of him wanted to grasp your shoulders and push you all the way down to his base. but the other part knew that he'd destroy your insides if he did that. he'll have to learn to be patient; the burden of having a wife with such a tight little cunt.

your sopping pussy clamping down on him caused a lustful haze to cloud his mind, so he was barely able to choke out, "hurts?"

you nod meekly.

a shaky sigh huffs out of his nose, as he tries to deal with your gummy walls swallow the head of his cock. his eyes were fixated on where you two connect, your hips were quivering yet you had barely covered half of him. slick from your moist cunt seeped down the rest of his shaft that you had yet to take. "you don't have to." he reassured you, a big hand grazing over the silky skin of your stomach, then resting to the side of your tit while he idly thumbed your sensitive nipples.

"but i wanna." you whine, sinking down on his cock ever so slightly, but even taking a couple additional inches caused an intense abdominal pain, resulting in quiet sobs hiccupping from you. it burned and stained your body in such a delicious way. your hungry pussy gnawing at his cock was addicting, and even when it poked you in the most personal and irregular places you still couldn't get enough. in fact, it made you want to fit his whole length even more, because seeing stars is always the goal with wakatoshi.

ushijima swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat while he was admiring your pretty pussy graciously accepting more of his cock. "my beautiful girl.." he cooed at you, paying close attention to the way your face twisted in pain as you sunk further down, fighting to reach the base, although you were getting closer.

more lubricant would've been useful, perhaps it would've got you started quicker like it usually does but a small part of him enjoyed you watching you struggle a bit; it's a display of how devoted you are. "do it." he grunted.

motivated by his firm command, you keep pushing down on his cock, no matter how tough it may be. your eyes are squeezed shut and your husband's strong hand cradles your ass just as you finally made it down to his base. your breathing is already heavy so you pause for catch your breath and marinate in the sensation of his cock brushing your cervix and visibly protruding from your lower stomach.

during this time, ushijima's clutch slipping from your ass, over your folds until he was rigorously palming your throbbing clit. you recoil a bit from his arousing touch, and grumble, "arms.." referring to preserving strength for tomorrow's match.

begrudgingly, he took his hand away. a whole night of sex without putting effort into pleasuring you didn't feel right to ushijima. the way he showed affection and that he cares about you is by rubbing that puffy clit, or letting you lie down while he stood at the end of the bed and ramming into you from behind, not stopping until he had you creaming all over his fat cock. so refraining from pleasing you didn't come naturally to him.

but he must not realise the effect his dick alone has you, especially without much lube — the friction of him dragging against your clammy insides was enough to have you teetering on your first orgasm already.

once you were ready, you braced yourself by placing your hands on his chest and used your knees and arms to supports you while you slid up his length. your insides freeing from his congestion was a relief yet simultaneously so empty, it's as though you craved it as soon as each inch withdrew from you.

"gah!— toshi, feels.." your words get lost in a chorus of your own staggered moans, "s' good."

wakatoshi normally wasn't very vocal in bed at all, so it was very telling that the combination of your tight pussy and unintentional dirty-talk already had him grunting and moaning shallowly under his breath.

as he watched you lift yourself up, he pet your leg soothingly, "that's right, princess— hnn—" he caught himself and clenched his jaw before an unwelcome noise left him, "keep going."

soon you were able to build momentum and start riding him properly. it took a moment to develop a suitable rhythm and to stop your yourself from wincing every time you sunk down on him, but once your hole built more slicker and wetter, it became easier.

it's not long before you're able to glide up and down his shaft with relative ease, whimpers bubbling in your throat from the luxurious satisfaction. at first you went steady, purposefully to savour each and every delicious inch of your well endowed husband.

going at your own rate and slowly bobbing on his cock was practical for you — enough stimulation to have your knees weak already. but your unrushed method wasn't doing it for him. not to say he wasn't entirely entranced by the way your pussy devours him and rubs against his raw flesh, but he need more of you in order to cum. he wants you to be bouncing on his dick until he's completely fucked your brains out and you've milked him dry.

"(y/n)." he states, while you were leaned forward, with your arms holding yourself upright on his chest while your hips got to work in rocking against him. your head hung low because you were concentrated on riding him, and your hair partially fell into your face.

but upon hearing his stern voice, you garner enough strength to lift your head to meet his molten brown eyes. he smiles at the lewd expression painted on your face; it served as a nice reminder that even a dribble of his cock was enough to drive you mad with bliss. he could tell by your watery eyes and your flickering grin that you fucking loved it.

"(y/n)." he repeats your name, though it's more breathy this time and he glances at the place where the two of you connect when he says it then, before he looks back at you expectantly. and of course, you know exactly what to you do.

you let out a deep sigh, drop your head and hope for the best — using your knees and hips to push yourself upwards so you can drop back down onto him at a heightened pace. every time his dick pierced into you, there was a meaty stretch of your walls — a salacious ache that you never could comprehend because as soon as you experienced it, you'd immediately shoot off his cock, then sink back down onto it, over and over again.

you didn't understand what you were feeling down there but you knew for certain was good. your back arched into the filthy euphoria and moans were spilling from you like a flood. "ngh— fuck! stop.." you whine, despite how you were responsible for the sharp jolts of electricity shooting through you; and you were the one hungrily bouncing on his cock like a desperate slut. impaling yourself with his length until your legs were shuddering beneath you.

when it got so fast, the riding became sloppy, you'd hardly touch the base before you'd pull yourself up. likewise, you'd rarely reach the tip before sinking down again. but you were just too eager to pay attention to these small details. alas your movements are no longer deliberate and every buck of your hips is senseless and fuelled by pure lust and hedonism.

it got harder when you could feel your orgasm impending. the pulsing in your abdomen wracking through your entire body, tingling and making it difficult for you to keep bobbing on his cock when your stomach was on the verge of exploding and your legs were ready to give out under you.

but ushijima's intense glare on your exposed, shaking figure brought you motivation to persevere. as well as his protective hands that stroked your trembling thighs, while gazing at you with adoration and desire. he wasn't a man of many words but the way he looked at you spoke a thousand.

and these sappy eyes only faltered when your walls clenching around his dick eventually led to him being knocked over the edge and spilling his first orgasm all into your homey cunt. a raspy groan was torn out of him and his eyes flutter close while his seed pump through your insides; the thick warmth spreading through your core caused your eyes to twist shut, and force of his load pushed you off his cock.

he had made a vulgar mess of his precious girl, your little hole was dripping with cum. to be stuffed with your husband's fluid love was so filling yet comforting — and you were truly stuffed, the volume of his load replacing the mass of his cock. "thank you, babe.." you pant, head still spinning from your frantic bouncing.

"thank you." he corrected, eyes trained on you still sitting atop his flaccid cock, but it hardened with every passing second, at the sight of your pert nipples teasing him as your chest rose and fell, or your pretty lips he longed to kiss passionately. "two rounds is hard-work, dear. i'm impressed."

perhaps you were just to fucked out to count. still, you gulp to clear your dry throat and splutter, "two?"

"yes." ushijima confirmed. though strand of his hair still clung to his shining cheeks and forehead, he seemed to have overcome the post-orgasmic exhaustion already. "so there's one more left."

you groan. you should've expected this considering usually ushijima can go for upwards of four rounds, but it's different when you are doing all the work. "but 'm tired!"

"two ejaculations are recommended to get rid of all the stress." he explains, but from how you wearily hang your head and you're quick breaths, he could tell you weren't listening.

"one more, (y/n)."

"but toshi!.." you whine in retaliation.

"yes, my angel?"

you narrow your eyes at him and although he wears that big, dumb look on his face you tell he knows what he is doing. he is aware of the effect those cute nicknames have on you, especially in his deep, husky voice. how can you refuse? plus a small part of you wants to keep going anyway, and not stop until you forget your own name,

you huff out your nose and lift your hips over his tip once more — which has already fully stiffened — then abruptly drop them, taking his big length in one swift gulp. one that caused you to recoil and squeal, and even wakatoshi to gasp slightly at being enveloped by your tight insides again so fast.

it's easier to fit him this time because your hole is already drenched with his cum and your own, but his dick was still as big as it was a minute ago, and it still strained your walls— having to contort beyond their means to accommodate his girth. " toshi, shhuh.. shit— too big!" you whimper.

"not for my girl." he grunts, a firm grip on the fat of your thigh while you frantically ride him, "make it fit."

"mph, mkay.." your knuckles white as you hold onto his shirt for dear life, mustering every ounce of energy you have to keep thrusting yourself up and down on your husband's mighty cock, but every part of you gave away your exhaustion: beads of sweat budding on your forehead, shaking muscles and rapid breaths.

ushijima could tell you were struggling and that only egged him even closer orgasm. though he was kind enough to offer you some grunts of reassurance between moans. "my perfect girl, go on.."

there were moments when then the bursts of pleasure were drowned out by the futility of repeatedly bouncing on his stubborn erection but you persisted, even when your legs had virtually gone numb and your sore pussy was still being rammed into.

"can't.." you whimper, your knees now beginning to wobble with each bounce, making your position unstable until wakatoshi steadied you by the ass.

"so tight, princess. i need you to." he grits, grabbing your ass to aid you in your staggered movements, guiding you up and down on his soiled length but even then, your aching legs prevented you from riding with any real vigour, "i'm close."

despite his encouragement, you couldn't find the strength to continue and your hips gradually decreased in ferocity until you lay dejected against his chest, feebly bucking your hips while his cock stirred inside your sticky walls.

you mutters all sorts of slurred gibberish that resembled 'sorry', with your face pressed against his chest as he rubbed comforting circles on your back.

"don't be sorry." he says, hands fixing themselves to your hips, "you're still going to help me, angel."

with his tight grip on your hips, he lifts you as though you're weightless and pushes you back down his length, all the way to base which makes you shiver as his tip intrudes your cervix. initially shocked, you gape at the determines look on your husband's face as he uses your weak body as his own little fucktoy, slamming you down on his cock over and over. but it doesn't take long for you to melt into the atmosphere and get turned on by the way he manhandles you, treating you like his personal property.

the power his strong hands hold over you is indescribable. his dick ploughs into your sopping hole at an ungodly pace — so fast and rough your tits shook and it left your limb neck nodding along with each bounce. yet all you could focus on his cock stretching out your insides, hitting all the right spots on your sensitive walls.

your hair thrashed about too, with every violent snap of ushijima's arms, and it wasn't long before the heat pooling at your core came gushing out. "tosh— hhn— 'm comi—" the words couldn't even form on your tongue completely before they were crushed and swept away in a flood of melodious moans and sobs.

as you climaxed, your back arched into him and your coated walls began to convulse around his brimming cock, which served as the catalyst to him shooting his second load into your already filthy pussy.

your tight cunt wrung him dry for every last drop, and even through his high, he held you through yours, as you twitched and screamed with pleasure in his arms from the most overwhelming and satisfying orgasm of your life. he kept you close, wrestling against his own muffled moans — they were hard to suppress when your hole clamped down on him like it never wanted to let go.

soon, the intensity had faded, and you were left lying on his chest, enjoying each other's embrace and listening to each other's heartbeat while he was buried inside you. once you both found your bearings, he looked to you for approval before easing you off his cock.

you hissed at first; the feeling of emptiness had become so oddly foreign to you. and it stung a little but it was so unbelievably worth it.

"thank you, (y/n)." wakatoshi mutters against your forehead, tickling you a bit, "i'm proud of you, and grateful to have you as my wife."

"i'm grateful for you too, wakatoshi." you muse, mind still a bit hazy, "proud of me for what?"

"for lasting so long. that must have been a lot of effort."

you scoff, idly tracing hearts on his chest with your finger, "yeah, right. i didn't even make it through the whole thing, you literally had to carry me at the end."

"that's because you're not used to it." he explains kindly, as he shifts his hand to take yours, stroking the back of it with his thumb, "but it's okay. you will receive plenty of training when we go home."

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

BONUS

tw// oral (receiving)

the whole arena erupted into cheers when japan scored the final point against argentina and won the match! the audience were screaming and the players were all doing celebrations of their own — the atmosphere was simply electric and joyus.

from the stands, you looked at your boyfriend who was standing on the court, staring back at you with a cute little smile on his face. or at least, that's what it looked like from where you were sitting, so you blew him a kiss.

you later realised that it was probably a devious smirk, as that was the moment when the ejacultion hypothesis was confirmed, and he was probably thinking about the new pre-game ritual that had been established.

it's useful though. think of it like this: whenever he has a match, you also get some training!

but of course, you would only agree to take part in this 'pre-game ritual' if certain criteria were met. meaning that after every game, ushijima has to dick you down good and bury his head between your legs, eating you out for minimum ten minutes (twenty if he wins).

[lcvecove]

jack x wife!reader?? I just know that when he’s fr locked in with someone, he would love them ENDLESSLY

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ you did not put husband!jack in my inbox. omgggg . . .

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ I agree nonnie , once jack meets someone he wants to go all the way with he’s 100% locked in and he’s soo devoted, soo committed, soo in love 😩 some husband!jack for you I guess😽

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack loves saying “my wife” every chance he gets. It doesn’t matter if it’s been years since the wedding; he’s still obsessed.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ he’s the type of guy that once he knows you’re the one, he knows and he’s not shy about making it known. he’d be jokingly calling you ‘wifey’ up until he proposes

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ his friends invite him somewhere? it’s “yeah, the wife and I will be there.” and they never care, they know you and jack come as a package deal. it’s been like that since day one.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack loves talking about you. he’ll find any moment to talk about you. mentioning you in interviews. “my wife actually got me into that” or “the mrs. and I are headed to michigan for the summer” etc.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ even the little things — ordering coffee, talking to fans, casual conversations — he’s constantly name dropping you like it’s second nature.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ like I said once jack knows, he just knows, and he’s 100% committed to you. he’s got your anniversary memorized down to the minute and makes a huge deal out of it every year. he’ll plan trips, romantic surprises, and thoughtful little gestures just because. if you have a bad day? he’s on his way home with your favorite snacks and a long hug waiting.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ domestic husband!jack is just something else. it doesn’t matter if he’s been at practice all day or just got home from a road trip—he wants to be wherever you are. he just wants to be close to you all the time. he’s the type to cuddle up next to you while you’re working or cooking, resting his chin on your shoulder and watching you with a lovesick grin.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ will do the cheesiest things—slow dances in the kitchen, forehead kisses, and pulling you into his lap during movie nights. you’re the type of couple that’s still sickeningly in love even years after your wedding.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ loves when you wear his clothes, especially his jerseys— he’ll smirk and say, “damn, mrs. hughes looks good.” or “I’ve got hot wife huh?”

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack loves taking you to events, dinners, and hanging out with friends because to him, everything’s better when you’re there. he introduces you to literally everyone and beams with pride while doing it. at team events, he’s constantly checking in on you, making sure you’re comfortable and having fun. if you’re at a party and he loses you for even a second, he’s scanning the room until he finds you again.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ he loves lazy sunday mornings with you—making breakfast together, lounging in bed, and just enjoying the little things. tries to cook sometimes, but ends up burning things, so he settles for being your “official taste tester.”

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack trusts you completely, and he knows you can handle yourself but if anyone disrespects you, he’s immediately stepping in. in the same way if someone makes you uncomfortable in public, he’s the first to pull you closer and give them a warning glare. even if it’s some times his own friends/teammates doing it intentionally or unintentionally. he’ll always mutter a little “watch it” or “careful” in their direction before checking on you.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ he’s just the most devoted, committed and attentive husband for sure 🥺

[gossameres]

chapter two, poncho punch

pairing: jacob black x f. reader

notes: i realized writing this i abuse em dashes so…oops… anyway here is more cute fluffy jake

genres: childhood friends, best friends to lovers, mutual pining

word count: 2k

prev. series masterlist! next.

The first few mornings of May in Forks arrived slowly, like the sun was still shy about showing its face. Contrary to popular belief, summers in Washington do come—and when they do, the clouds finally pull back and the sun becomes a welcomed guest after months of gray.

Today is one of those quietly golden days. You wake to soft light filtering through your window blinds and the gentle tap of birds on the roof. Rolling onto your back, your eyes trace the knotty wood ceiling above you. It smelled faintly of old books and damp earth from the rain earlier in the week–and part of you liked that the house hasn’t tried to be anything other than what it was. Forks never changed much.

But Jacob did. And you still haven’t quite figured that out.

You see him most days now, which you don’t mind—actually, you kind of like it. You never had that many friends in Forks to begin with, and the few you did have moved away, just like you had. Jake would show up with that lopsided grin and some excuse to get you out of the house—down to First Beach, out by Sol Duc, or just cruising around in his rebuilt Rabbit, pointing out every small thing that has changed since you were last here. He makes it feel easy, like old times, but there’s always something unsaid in the air between you. Like every sentence hangs with an ellipsis.

This afternoon, he came by again. You’re both on the porch swing, spending one of those perfect slow afternoons doing absolutely nothing. Your parents are out for the day—visiting friends, maybe, but you didn’t ask. You’re busy…with Jake. Your knees are hugged to your chest, one earbud in, and Jake’s got the other. He’s nodding along to the playlist you made—Beyoncé, Nelly Furtado, and his now not-so-secret favorite: Avril Lavigne.

“It’s getting kinda hot,” he says suddenly, tugging the earbud out. “Otter Pop?”

You grin. “Yes, please. Can you get me—”

“Poncho Punch. Yeah, I know.” He’s already standing, smirking. “Be right back.”

You laugh as he jogs inside like it’s a mission. A few minutes later, he returns with two hilariously oversized Otter Pops. The kind your parents bought in bulk just because they were cheaper than the regular ones.

He tosses you the orange one, keeping the red one for himself.

“You still eat the red ones first, huh?”

“This one’s got a bite,” he says, tearing the plastic with his teeth. “Kinda like me. Fiery. Intense. Unapologetically cool.”

You snort. “Please stop psychoanalyzing your artificially dyed sugar water, weirdo.”

He grumbles but sits down beside you anyway, unwrapping his pop fiercely. You do the same. The earbuds go back in, and you both fall into that easy rhythm again—breeze in the trees, tires on gravel in the distance, his arm warm where it brushes yours.

For a while, it’s like no time passed at all. But you still can’t quite believe the shift in him. The height. The new muscles. The serious way he carries himself sometimes, like he’s older than he should be. When you asked, he’d just muttered something about a growth spurt, but you didn’t buy it. You didn’t change that much, not really. But Jake always insisted you had.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he tenses slightly as he pulls it out. One glance and his jaw tightens.

“Everything okay?” you ask, still eating your popsicle.

“Yeah,” he says too fast, shoving the phone back into his jeans. “Just Sam.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Sam Uley?”

“Mhm.” He hesitates, then shrugs like it’s no big deal, “The guys are hanging out tonight. You should come.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Bonfire at the beach. Everyone’ll be there.”

Everyone. You bite your lip. You’d been looking forward to a quiet night settling in, but the idea of seeing Embry and Quil again makes your chest lift a little. You alway loved tagging along with the three of them, even if they were total chaos. Quil and Embry never treated you like you couldn’t keep up–and Jake never loved that. He was always protective over you for some reason.

“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Yeah, I’ll go.” Then you pause. “But I thought you didn’t like Sam?”

Jake rolls his eyes slightly, like he expected this question.

“Things change,” he pauses. “I got over it. We’re… cool now.”

You give him a look. “That’s it?”

He shrugs again, but his smile is a little crooked. “I dunno. Sometimes you realize you were wrong about people.”

You decide not to press. Not today, at least.

Your Otter Pop drips a bright orange line down your wrist and you fumble for the hem of your shirt–but Jake’s faster. Without a word, he leans in, catching the melting trail with his thumb, wiping it gently from your skin. His touch lingers, warm and a little too careful. You glance up and for a second–just one second–he’s looking at you like he’s seeing something new. Like he’s remembering something old.

The moment passes. He leans back with a grin that’s too casual and shoves his finished Otter Pop wrapping into his other pocket.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

And just like that, he stands, heading down the porch steps like nothing happened–like his fingers didn’t just leave a burning line on your skin.

You spend the next few hours cleaning up, texting your parents (who are, predictably, still out), and trying not to overthink the way Jacob had looked at you earlier.

Because it had been different than anything you were used to.

You’d known Jacob Black since you were kids and had seen every version of him–from the scrawny eight-year old who challenged you to races on the beach (and won every time) to the sulky fourteen-year-old who pretended not to care when you told him you were moving. You don’t remember the exact moment when you met Jacob. He was just there–holding your hand when you jumped off the jungle gym, pushing you on the swing, playing tag. Somewhere along the way, he just stuck.

But the way he’d stared at you today–like he was seeing you for the first time–that was new. You shake your head. You’re probably just imagining things.

At exactly 8:00 PM, the roar of Jacob’s motorcycle cuts through the quiet of the evening. You grab your jacket and head outside where he’s waiting, helmet in hand.

“You sure you’re okay on this thing?” you question, eyeing the bike.

He smirks. “Scared?”

“No,” you lie.

He laughs and tosses you the helmet. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip, but you climb on behind him anyway, gripping the sides of his jacket as the engine rumbles to life beneath you.

“Hold on tighter than that,” he says over his shoulder. “Unless you wanna eat pavement for dinner.”

You roll your eyes but slide your arms around his waist, pressing closer. His breath hitches, barely, before he revs the engine and takes off. The wind rushes past as you speed down the road, the trees blurring into one long streak. Jacob’s warmth seeps into you, even as the cool air nips at your cheeks, his back solid against your chest and despite your earlier nerves, you find yourself relaxing.

Because this is Jacob–with him, you’ve always been safe.

First Beach is just as you remember it. Smoke and salt in the air, the crash of waves blending with the snap of logs in the bonfire. The group’s already gathered–Embry, Quil, Sam, and a few others you barely recognize. You remember their faces from around La Push, though you’d never known them well. The ones you can’t quite recall the name of sit slightly apart from the rest, arms crossed but with a faint smile when they catch your eye.

You didn’t expect to be greeted like someone returning home, but Embry jumps up first, nearly tackling you with a hug.

“No way it’s you!”

Quil follows right behind him, shaking his head. “City life didn’t ruin you after all.”

“Shut up,” you retort, hugging him too. “Barely a city, even.”

Sam offers a polite nod and a small smile. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” you reply tight-lipped, still taking it all in.

Jacob stays close to your side as you find a spot around the fire. You catch Quil nudging Embry and whispering something that sounds like, “She’s basically part of the–” before Sam shoots them both a look that shuts them up. You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it.

Despite the unfamiliar faces, the night settles into a rhythm. The heat of the fire, the low rumble of conversation, the occasional laugh from Paul that always seems louder than it needs to be. You talk with Leah for a while, glad for the presence of another girl. She's blunt, dryly funny, and easy to talk to once she warms up. It's nice—not being the only one. Someone mentions the old Quileute stories, and a few of the guys start joking about them, but you catch the shift in their expressions. Something passes between them.

You smile faintly. “I remember Billy used to tell us those stories,” you say quietly. “You never believed any of them, Jake.”

Jacob doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks at the fire, then at you. “Maybe I was wrong.”

There’s a silence there, brief but thick.

It’s only your second full day back, but you’ve caught Jacob staring more than once—longer than before, longer than friends should. You catch him doing it again now, the firelight reflected in his eyes, something unreadable behind them. He looks away when you meet his gaze. Eventually, the others begin to drift off, pairing up or heading home. Quil tosses another log into the fire with a lazy salute before he disappears with Embry into the dark.

“Bonfires aren’t the same without your terrible ghost stories,” you say.

Jacob smirks. “You were always the one who got scared, not me.”

You both laugh softly.

When it’s just the two of you left, the sounds of the ocean fills the quiet, waves crashing in rhythm with your pulse. Jacob stands and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet–but when you go to let go, his fingers linger, just a second longer than they need to.

The ride back is quieter. The wind bites a little more than before, but Jacob’s presence keeps you grounded. When he pulls up in front of your house, he doesn’t cut the engine right away. The night hangs suspended between you, thick with something unspoken.

“Thanks for tonight,” you murmur, voice nearly swallowed by the hum of the bike.

Jacob finally turns to look at you, his dark, brown eyes reflecting off the porch light. “Anytime,” he says, low and earnest, like he means it in every possible way.

You hand him his helmet, and your fingers brush against his, sending a jolt up your arm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant, like a kid waiting for reassurance.

You smile and nod. “Obviously.”

On the porch as you fumble for the keys, your heart still thuds from the ride–or maybe from the way his hands lingered or the way his voice dipped when he said “anytime.” All these little moments of extra long touches and the loaded glances are building up, and as you close the door behind you, something settles heavy in your chest: something is changing. You don’t have a name for it yet, but it’s there, undeniable as the tide.

[itneverendshere]

Could you please write btchy!pogue where shes the one whos jealous this time and rafe savors the moment.

don't like the way she's looking - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x raf

the cut had a party tonight, like most summer nights.

the music was loud enough to shake the ground, beer kegs were getting drained faster than anyone could fill them, and people packed into the yard like sardines. 

it wasn’t fancy, but that was the point, pogue parties weren’t about appearances, you showed up, you drank, you made some bad decisions under the string lights, and you went home.

it wasn’t your favorite kind of night, but rafe had convinced you to come out, promising it’d just be a chill hangout. he lied.

instead of spending the night with you, he’s currently perched by his truck, surrounded by a rotating cast of pogues. you’re leaning against a beat-up picnic table, a half-warm beer in your hand, keeping one eye on rafe while he did his thing. 

by “his thing,” you mean selling weed to every pogue with a crumpled-up twenty and a dream.

to his credit, this is probably his best hustle yet.

rafe cameron, reformed asshole, and your probationary boyfriend, has somehow turned himself into the cut’s go-to dealer. it’s a whole thing, people like him now, which is fine. 

good for him, whatever, but some people like him a little too much. 

case in point? the girl currently throwing herself at him like a damn frisbee. you clocked her the second she strutted over. 

she wasn’t subtle about it, either—crop top hanging so low she might as well not have bothered, denim shorts so short they were illegal in some states. she’s leaning against his truck, like she’s in some fuck ass music video, her body language loud and clear. it’s the hand on his arm that does it for you. 

that, and her laugh. 

jesus, her laugh. high-pitched and fake, like a dying bird trying to flirt.

you’ve been rolling your eyes from the second she started talking, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. 

“you’re really good at this whole business thing, huh? bet you’re good at lots of things.”

you gag audibly from your spot, but of course, she doesn’t hear you. 

rafe, for his part, looks mildly amused but doesn’t say anything. still, you stay put, you’re not here to play babysitter. he’s not that stupid—he’ll shut her down. 

he better.

her next move is placing her hand on his arm. on. his. arm.

like she isn’t aware that his girlfriend is sitting fifteen feet away, the audacity. she’s batting her lashes and laughing at something he says like he’s the funniest guy alive, and you can see his shoulders stiffen, the slight step back he takes when she puts her hands on him.

“so, like,” she giggles, twirling a piece of hair around her finger, “what if i can’t, you know... pay in cash? ’m sure we could work something else out?”

rafe’s reaction is immediate, “i have a girlfriend.”

“oh,” her pout deepens. “that’s fine. she doesn’t have to know.”

at that, he laughs—an incredulous, slightly panicked laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “yeah, see, that’s not gonna work for me.”

she doesn’t take the hint. 

instead, she tilts her head, giving him what you’re sure she thinks it’s a seductive look. “c'mon, rafe. it’s just a little fun, bet she wouldn’t even care.”

you freeze mid-sip of your beer, brain short-circuiting.

you slam it down on the table so hard it splashes everywhere, your vision zeroing in on her like a predator spotting prey. you’re halfway across the yard before you realize you’re moving.

oh, you care, you care a lot.

rafe’s already holding his hands up like he’s trying to ward her off. “don’t know what you think is happening here, but it’s not. i’m not interested.”

“not interested in me?” she asks, like the idea is physically painful.

“correct,” you announce loudly, “he’s not interested. crazy, right?”

she squares her shoulders and glares at you. “who are you?”

“hi, i’m the girlfriend” you shoot back, “just wondering if you’re planning on embarrassing yourself any more tonight or if that’s it?”

rafe rubs the back of his neck, looking between amused and mildly terrified, “baby—”

“don’t ‘baby’ me, cameron,” you snap, shooting him a glare before turning your attention back to the girl. she’s still standing there, trying to figure out if she should fight or flight.

smart money would’ve been on flight, but apparently, she’s the stubborn type.

she smirks, seemingly not the least bit fazed by you. “pogues share.”

“how about i share this fist with your face? that sound good to you?”

she whips around, her fake-confident expression faltering “uh, excuse me?”

“you heard me,” you only stop a foot from her. your hands are on your hips, ready to pounce if she even thinks about mouthing off one more time. “can’t you take a fucking hint, or are you just dumb?”

“i didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” she rolls her eyes.

“everyone here knows he’s with me, you just thought you’d try it anyway, didn’t you?”

“it’s not that deep,” she shrugs, her voice going fake casual. “it’s just rafe. pogues share—what’s the big deal? you’re overreacting.”

rafe winces, stepping back as if to give you space to handle it. good, he knew better than to get in your way.

“you wanna find out how much more i can react? i’m feeling real generous tonight.”

her mouth opens to say something even dumber, but you’re already pouncing , not even thinking—your body just reacts.

“whoa, whoa, whoa!” rafe’s arms are suddenly around you, yanking you before you can do any real damage “okay, we’re going home.”

“i’ll punch you too,” you hiss, squirming in his grip. “let me hit her.”

he only holds you tighter against his chest when you try to kick out at her. “baby, come on.”

“this bitch said pogues share!’” you cram your neck to glare at her over rafe’s shoulder. “i just wanna share some sense with her.”

she’s already backing away, her hands up in surrender, “okay, whatever, no dick is worth dealing with a crazy bitch. ’m leaving!” she snaps, turning on her heel.

rafe’s grip lightens up slightly, thinking this is enough to calm you down, but unfortunately for him, you take it as a chance to get what you want. as soon as he lets you lose, you take one giant step forward and grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her back just as she tries to escape.

"get your ass back here," you growl, tugging her head back.

“jesus christ,” rafe’s eyes widen and he’s there, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind once again, pulling you back. “baby, let her go!”

she lets out a surprised squeal, trying to pull away, but you’ve got a grip on her so tight she can’t. “what the hell is wrong with you?!” she screeches, hands desperately trying to pry your fingers from her hair.

“okay, you’ve made your point,” he chuckles despite the situation, “let go of her hair.”

you release her, but not without one last, satisfying shove to her back. she stumbles, glaring at you over her shoulder with her hand pressed to her scalp.

“keep your hands to yourself next time,” you warn with a sneer.

she glares at you, and opens her mouth like she’s about to start some more shit—but then she seems to think better of it. with a huff, she turns on her heel and stalks off, her footsteps retreating into the crowd.

rafe stands there, rubbing his neck nervously as he watches her go. “you’re gonna get arrested one day, y’know that, right?”

you look up at him, eyebrow raised, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips. “and you’re gonna get your balls ripped off and be single for the rest of your life. how’s that sound?”

his mouth falls open as he stares at you.

“what? i’m innocent! i didn’t do shit. you just went wwe smackdown on her. i was standing there, minding my business.”

“minding your business while she was all over you?” you challenge, “she was practically trying to crawl inside your skin.”

“told her i wasn’t interested!” he defends, throwing his hands up. “even used the line— i have a girlfriend! that’s...the ultimate force field!”

you snort, crossing your arms. “she walked right through it like it wasn’t even there.”

rafe sighs dramatically, stepping closer, his voice dropping, that little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “gotta admit, that was kinda hot.”

you narrow your eyes at him, trying not to let his charm sway you. “hot?”

“yeah,” he grins, “watching you go full psycho really does something for me.”

you can feel your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “you’re such a fuckin’ loser.”

“am i wrong, though?” he teases, slipping his arms around you, his lips tickling your ear as he adds, “never felt more horny—or scared—in my life.”

you huff a laugh, shoving at his chest playfully, “stop trying to make me laugh, i’m mad at you.”

“you’re mad at me?” he leans in impossibly closer, pulling you flush against him.

“rafe—” you start, but he’s already tilting his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

“mm, y’know,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “i like you mad. all fired up, it’s sexy.”

“don’t even,” you warn, hoping you sound firm, but it’s hard to when he’s trailing slow kisses down your neck, the press of his mouth sending shivers straight to your toes.

he doesn’t stop, of course. his kisses get sloppier, his lips parting so his tongue can flick against the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“can’t help it,” he groans in between his work, nipping at your skin. “my girl’s too fucking hot.”

your hands come up to push at his chest, but they end up curling into his shirt instead. “i’m so fucking serious. you can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“m’not sweet-talking,” he slurs, teeth grazing your skin, followed by the soothing heat of his tongue, and you gasp despite yourself. “just... appreciating you. can’t a guy admire his girlfriend after she defended his honor?” he bites down and then sucks at the spot until you’re squirming in his arms. “got me so gone for you, shit, it’s embarrassing.”

“good,” you mutter stubbornly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

he practically purrs at the contact, his lips dragging down to your collarbone. “you’ve ruined me, y’know that? can’t even look at another girl.”

you laugh, your grip tightening in his hair. “keep talking, cameron. see how far that gets you.”

he grins against your skin, his teeth scraping lightly before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. his hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and setting you on the edge of the picnic table.

“guess i’ll just have to show you instead.”

"rafe cameron," you start, intending to scold him, but your words stop in your throat as he steps between your legs.

“now you’re quiet,” he’s leaning in so close his nose brushes against yours. “where’d all that fire go, mm?”

your glare is half-hearted at best. “don’t push your luck, you’re still on probation, asshole.”

he hums thoughtfully, his hands sliding up your legs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. “not luck, baby. skill.”

“you’re so fucking insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, slipping under the hem of his shirt to splay across his warm skin.

his abs tense under your touch, and you relish the reaction, how his breath hitches as you dig your nails in just a little.

“irresistible,” he counters, his voice rough. his lips hover over yours, daring you to close the gap, but he doesn’t make the first move.

he waits, his eyes locked on yours, the faintest flicker of a challenge in his pretty blue eyes. two can play that game, matter of fact, you know you’ll win.

you pull back, smirking as you trace your fingers over the waistband of his jeans, “that’s pushing it, don’t you think?”

he exhales a chuckle through his nose, his hands moving to your waist, tugging you closer. “you’re so fucking stubborn.”

“me?” you scoff, your fingers dipping beneath the fabric of his jeans, making his tighten, his smirk faltering enough to make you feel victorious.

“yeah,” he repeats, though his voice is strained now. “practically begging me to fuck you here.”

“please.” you tilt your head, your lips grazing his jaw, “you’re the one begging.”

rafe’s laugh is low and throaty, a sound that sends a thrill to your core. his control visibly slips as you trail your lips down the line of his jaw, peppering kisses that grow increasingly slower, more deliberate.

his sharp exhale and the way his grip on your hips drops for half a second tell you everything you need to know.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, his forehead dropping against your shoulder for a moment.

you grin, pleased with yourself, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

“don’t sound too surprised.”

he shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it, but he can’t seem to stop staring at you. “god, i hate you sometimes,” he breathes out, his lips quirking up into a smirk that betrays his words.

“funny,” you retort, fingers sliding back into his hair to tug lightly. “don’t believe you.”

his jaw tightens at the sensation, a groan slipping past his lips before he catches it.

 “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says again, but his mouth is already back on you, a bruising kiss that steals every smart-ass remark you had locked and loaded.

your mouths move together with instinct, and when his tongue flicks against your lower lip, you don’t hesitate, opening up for him. he groans low in his throat as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, curling against yours, slick and overwhelming in the best way.

it’s messy and unrestrained, the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy and drenched. 

rafe’s lips leave yours only for a second, his teeth tugging lightly at your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. he pulls back just enough to let it drag between his teeth, his eyes locked on yours, all dark with something feral.

you don’t let him stay in control for long, your hands tighten in his hair, tugging him back to you, and this time it’s your tongue that takes over, sliding against his in a way that has him moaning like a bitch in heat into your mouth. he sucks on it lightly, the sensation only making your panties stick harder to you, and you press closer to him, your legs tightening around his waist, looking for some kind of friction.

when he pulls back, both of you gasping for air, his lips are swollen and glistening, his eyes glazed over with that unmistakable lust.

a string of spit still connects your mouths, and you watch, entranced, as he swipes his tongue across his lips, catching it before smirking at you.

“you kiss me like that again,” he murmurs, “’m not responsible for what happens next.”

[bbyg4rl]

MEET . . . GIRL!DAD!JJ && HONEYCOMB!READER

girl!dad!jj && honeycomb!reader . . . who are still young, still growing, still learning—but never alone. They were kids in love. Now they’re parents in love. And that love is loud, soft, tired, glowing. Real. They don’t hear “young parents” like it’s a warning, It’s just a challenge. And they win every day, together.

girl!dad!jj && honeycomb!reader . . . who have the most chaotic morning routine known to man, and yet somehow, it always works. JJ makes all three lunches while you and your daughter debate very serious things like which scrunchie gives off “smart girl but fun” energy. There’s glitter on the floor, socks in the fridge, toast burning, JJ going “why is there a barbie in my boot,” and your daughter yelling “It’s fashion, daddy!”

girl!dad!jj . . . who drives both his girls to school every morning in his truck that he fixes in the auto shop himself. First the preschool drop-off “Bye, bug! Be good!” then you, with a coffee he made extra sweet because he knows how tired you are. Always ends with a kiss to your cheek and “Ace that test, honey. I’ll be thinking about you.”

honeycomb!reader . . . who always does pickups. You take a bus from uni straight to her preschool, tucking your textbooks into your tote with the snacks he packed for you that morning. You’re always early. You sit outside under the tree, rereading a chapter while waiting. You just… can’t stand the idea of her ever feeling forgotten. She always runs out yelling, “MAMA!” You always open your arms before she even reaches you.

girl!dad!jj . . . who comes home after a long day at work to find his girls at the dinner table, heads bowed together, two pencils tapping in sync. You’re teaching her the difference between “b” and “d.” She’s teaching you the names of her classmates. He drops his keys and just… stares.

girl!dad!jj . . . who says he’s gonna “help with homework” but ends up on the floor with your daughter and a 64-pack of crayons, lying on his stomach with his legs kicking in the air while he colors in a sparkly horse. Meanwhile, you’re at the table dying over a 12-page essay due at midnight.

honeycomb!reader . . . who starts quietly crying during the preschool “my hero” presentation when their daughter waddles up in a too-big cardigan and says, “I wanna be smart like my mama.” You’re holding back sniffles while JJ squeezes your knee, whispering, “she’s not wrong, y’know.”

girl!dad!jj && honeycomb!reader . . . who do bedtime together every night, no matter what work is pending. You curl up on his right side, your daughter on his left, while he sings the sleepy dinosaur song for the seventh time. You always fall asleep first, drained from a packed day of classes, and JJ and your daughter whisper over your head, admiring you. “She looks pretty like this.” “Stop macking on mama, Dad.” “…huh? Where did you learn that word?” She blows a raspberry at him in response.

girl!dad!jj && honeycomb!reader . . . who name their daughter June Jesse Maybank. June because they met on a breezy June night, and every summer since has felt like falling in love again. Jesse for his middle name, so she carries the softest part of him. JJ calls her Junie Bug and says, “She’s got your brain, babe. But that attitude? That’s all me.”

MEET JUNE JESSE MAYBANK

GIRL!DAD!JJ & HONEYCOMB!READER WORKS BELOW ↓

telling jj you’re pregnant (fluff/comfort)

GIRL!DAD!JJ & HONEYCOMB!READER THOUGHTS BELOW ↓

to be updated !

[rafesyangel]

What happens if reader tries to apply for a summer internship

Cw: manipulation, rafe is just toxic

It was just a quiet night The kind where silence filled the place , your vanilla scent still hung in the air. You slammed your laptop shut in excitement finally gathering the confidence turning toward rafe, nervous excitement bubbling in your chest.

“So… I’ve been thinking,” you began carefully. “There’s this summer internship you know..” you stammered around him anxiously waiting for his reaction

“I thought what if I could ap..”.

You didn’t finish. You didn’t have to. Rafe already ditched whatever he was doing and focused on you now, he had a way of silencing a room without a word.

“What do you need that for?” He calmly questioned you and you blinked.

“What?”

“I said why would you need that?” he repeated, calmly too calmly

“You’re not applying for that.” Your mouth parted in disbelief.

“Rafe, why? It’s just a summer internship. It’s not like I’m—”.

“I dont risk my life for you everyday with some lowlifes doing sketchy shit so you could go around and leave ,” he cut you , voice harder now. “How do you think you are able to afford getting your lash extensions every couple of weeks baby or your nails done ? and who is affording your expensive shopping sprees”.

“Rafe I made my mind its none of your concern i-.” He stood, towering, clearly pissed off.

“It is when it starts pulling you out of this house, out of my bed, away from me then that matters to me.” You stared at him dumbfounded

“Rafe, it’s an internship, its not like im going to stat all day away “ You were Trying your best , he cant just stop you like that

But he stepped closer, his tone dropping, colder, filled with restrained anger. “You aren’t going anywhere princess”

“I want something for me, Rafe” you suddenly snapped at him

He let out a harsh laugh. “You ? Want something? You’ve a rooftop over you , me paying your damn bills , i can provide everything you wish for ? Without even lifting a damn finger and You wanna be like one of those tough feminists now huh!?” Rafe said clearly angry at you now

“That’s not what this is, rafe i just want to be able to afford stuff myself i just kno-”

“No, it is what it is” he growled. “And you’re not doing it. You’re not wasting your precious time doing stupid desk stuff working a 9 to 5 with random men and chasing their validation when you could be here with me”

You were speechless, you truly dreamt of that position most of your life and he just stopped you like that

Maybe he was right

Maybe he doesn’t want you to spend your coming years trapped in a boring job barley getting paid , while you could just sleep in his arms everyday the only thing on your little mind is your next new hair color

There it was.

He didn’t shout or yell or force, Just declared. Unmovable. Like everything Rafe said when he decided something for you, He tilted his head, voice softening into something so sweet the kind of sweetness that made your stomach twist.

“Why do you wanna fill your pretty head with such nonsense baby?” He cooed , big hands wrapped around your face as his finger removed that one tear that fell from your glassy eyes

you felt the tears already forming struggling to hold it in, not from weakness, but fury

You were starting to understand him now how he is right until rafe opened his mouth and it felt like he dropped a bucked of cold freezing water on you

“But i…i..already sent in the application,” you said, “they should call me in the next hours” Rafe didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink., He just gave a slow, smile

“You won’t get a call. I made sure of that.” Your heart dropped.“What?”He leaned in, kissed your cheek and whispered to you

“Dumb little puppy remember when when you asked me to fix your MacBook for you?didn’t you? I did that “

“Then I hit ‘delete.’ You’re welcome, baby”

“You forgot to close the tab sweetheart”

And just like that, rafe once again ruined your chances :(

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍, 𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 ⸝⸝

a/n: i was thinking about this for a while and just HAD to write it!! Bill's a little freaky but ok. everyone kisses differently and i love how much that says about them :) maybe i'll do a part two tho idk if it'll be smth nsfw or no. also sorry if photos are random i just think it suits gravity falls aesthetic plus i was out of ideas (i want summer)

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚

Stan’s got a thing for forehead kisses, always has, always will. they’re effortless and easy. a quick press of his lips when he passes by, a habit more than anything. he’s a busy man, always moving, always going somewhere, but that doesn’t mean he won’t grab you, tilt your head up and press a warm kiss right to your forehead

it's a way of saying “i gotcha” without actually saying it. doesn’t matter if he’s in a rush, grumbling about tourists, wiping down the counter. he’ll keep you safe. he swears it.

big, warm hands cupping your face. his lips are warm, his stubble scratches against your skin but the moment you start to melt he’s gone.

he pulls back, smirks, winking at you

“gotta give the tourists their money’s worth, sweetheart.” you hear his voice through the walls of the Mystery Shack, always so confident as he launches into his usual con. “step right up, folks! come see the eighth wonder of the world!”

but, oh, don’t let that fool you. he’s a tease, and he knows it.

he’s got another favorite, too

your neck

he makes a game of it. a teasing peck when he leans in to tell you something. a slow, tender kiss at the curve of your throat when he’s feeling particularly smug, when he’s got you pinned between him and the kitchen counter, when he knows you’re hanging on to every little touch.

“heh. what’s that face for, baby? didn’t think id be so smooth, huh?”

he’s a biter, too, making you shiver. he needs to feel the way you react beneath his hands. he likes knowing he can fluster you. likes leaving you breathless, just for him.

and if he’s feeling real bold, his lips might stray lower, making a slow, lazy path along your collarbone. “what? somethin’ wrong? i think I’m right where i wanna be.”

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅

Ford kisses like a man who’s spent most of his life not kissing anyone, like someone who’s read about it, thought about it, imagined it, but never quite gotten the chance. but when he feels the warmth, the closeness, how intimate it is he can’t stop.

he kisses your hands first, always. fingertips, knuckles, the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters

your shoulders come next. he’ll press his lips there absently while he’s working, when you’re standing beside him reading over his notes. sometimes, he forgets himself, murmuring a distracted “mm, love you” against your skin before his smart brain catches up with his mouth. and oh the way his ears burn when you point it out

also when he’s overwhelmed, when the world is too much, when his mind is too loud, he rests his forehead there, brushing his lips against the curve of your shoulder. he just wants to feel you close

but when he’s really feeling it, when he’s past overthinking and just wants you, it's your calves. he kneels. Ford takes his time, hands so big, shaking a little as he presses his thumb into muscle while tracing a slow path from your ankle up, up, up with his lips

“you never let me appreciate you properly.” he worships you. lets you feel it in every single careful, thorough kiss.

𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓

Bill isn’t bound by flesh, but he's bound by desire

he loves mirrors. loves floating there behind you, his golden triangle form looming over you, all-seeing eye staring right into your soul. oh he loves the way you shudder when you see yourself in the reflection, when you see him, wrapping around you

thousands of long, dark limbs curl around your waist, a hand-like thing at your jaw, tilting your head to the side, exposing your skin to him. Bill's mouth appears where his eye should be and oh, that tongue. . .

“nervous, sweet thing? don’t be. i’ll take real good care of ya.”

his tongue is long. obscenely so. it drags over your throat, a slow, hot stroke that sends a jolt straight through you. you hear him laugh delightfully against your skin, because he knows exactly what he’s doing

“aww who’s my favorite little human, huh? who’s my delicious little slab of meat?”

kiss after kiss, mark after mark, he makes you watch. makes you see the way he devours you.

and he doesn’t stop at your neck, oh no, no, no. he follows your spine. mouth pressing open. dragging his long tongue against the curve of your back, your chest, your stomach

“every inch of you is mine. dont you forget that.”

𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒎𝒄𝒈𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕

Fidds kisses every part of you that makes him smile.

“well, ain’t you the cutest lil’ thing!”

your cheeks. he just can’t help himself, he sees your face and boom! instant smooch. one cheek, then the other, peppering you with quick, excited little kisses

he giggles into kisses. always, always grinning. pecks to your cheek when he’s working, smooches to your temple when you bring him a snack, laughter between every single kiss because he can’t believe his luck.

“gotcha! hehehe, ya oughta see the look on yer face!”

your nose is next. he thinks it’s adorable. boop. peck. boop. peck

“who’s the cutest thing in the whole dang world? ohhhh, that’s right, it’s you!”

sometimes he’s so excited he forgets to aim and accidentally bumps his nose against yours, which only makes him laugh more

but the most special place, the sweetest is your eyelids.

he does it when you’re falling asleep, when you’re curling against him, feeling safe and warm. a press of lips to your closed eyes, so feather-light

“rest easy, darlin’. im right here.” and if he wakes up before you, if the morning sun is spilling golden across your skin, he does it again

because he loves you. because he just can’t help it