#‘casual’ static energy

[ballxbuster]

i am uncomfortable with the energy we have created in the studio today :))))

[chuxmy]

You are mine..

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re visiting your boyfriend with take out food.

Warnings: contains themes of possessive behavior, verbal harassment and aggressive confrontation

The hum of computers filled the air like static electricity, punctuated by sharp keyboard taps and the muffled voices of online matches. Rows of boys hunched over screens, locked into the glowing haze of the digital world. At the very back, in the only booth dimly lit by a flickering LED, sat Geum Seongje.

His headset was pushed halfway off, resting just above one ear. His fingers danced over the keys, fluid and precise, eyes never straying from the screen. A cold energy surrounded him—focused, quiet, untouchable. It was the kind of stillness that made people instinctively avoid him. That, and the reputation that trailed him like a shadow.

But then the door creaked open, letting in a gust of warm night air… and you.

You stepped inside with a paper bag cradled in your arms, the scent of fried chicken and garlic wafting after you. Your eyes scanned the booths before landing on him. His head snapped up the moment your shoes crossed into his aisle, as if he’d sensed you before he saw you.

Seongje straightened slightly in his chair, removing the headset entirely. His dark eyes locked onto yours—sharp, unreadable, but warmer than anything else in that place.

“You came,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel beneath velvet.

“I brought you dinner,” you replied, smiling as you held the bag toward him.

He didn’t say thanks. He never really did. But he reached out and took it, letting your fingers brush—on purpose.

You were mid-laugh, about to ask how many matches he’d won, when a voice from two rows over cut through the moment.

“Damn… now that’s a meal I’d rather take home.”

You froze.

The laughter that followed was louder, smug, careless. One of the boys, tall, leaning back in his chair, feet propped on his desk—was staring straight at you. His smirk widened when your eyes met his.

Seongje didn’t move right away. He stared at his monitor for a beat longer, expression unreadable.

Then, with an almost eerie calm, he stood.

The silence that followed was heavier than the sound of a thousand keystrokes. He didn’t rush. He walked slowly toward the boy, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly.

You called out his name once, softly. He ignored it.

“Wanna say that again?” he asked, tone deceptively casual. There was no trace of a threat in his voice—just a low murmur, dangerously quiet.

The guy snorted. “It’s a compliment, bro. Chill out.”

That was a mistake.

Seongje leaned down, close enough to speak directly in the boy’s ear. “You open your mouth about her again,” he said, “and you’ll be picking your teeth off this floor.”

The guy blanched. “Alright, alright—damn—just joking—”

“Say it again,” Seongje pressed. “See what happens.”

The air felt colder than the café’s busted A/C unit.

He turned without waiting for a response, grabbed your wrist, not hard, but firm and pulled you gently through the aisles. You didn’t resist. You just followed, heart hammering in your chest.

Outside, the night wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Streetlamps buzzed overhead, flickering against the shadows. Seongje didn’t let go of your hand until you were halfway down the alley behind the café, where the only sounds were distant traffic and the faint clatter of dishes from a nearby restaurant.

He finally stopped, exhaling sharply.

“You okay?” you asked, still catching your breath.

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes were on the ground. His jaw clenched tight.

“You shouldn’t come here alone,” he muttered. “Not dressed like that. Not around guys like them.”

“I came for you.”

“That’s not the point.”

You stepped closer. “Then what is?”

He looked up, and there was something raw in his expression—something he usually kept buried beneath that cold, effortless front. “You don’t get it,” he said. “When I heard him say that, when I saw the way he looked at you…”

You reached for his hand again. “I don’t care about him. I only care about—”

He kissed you before you could finish.

It wasn’t a question or a whisper. It was a firecracker going off between your ribs. His lips were warm, his grip on your waist tighter than you expected, almost like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on. The kiss was hungry, a mix of frustration and something more—something vulnerable.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath fanned your skin.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly. “I don’t share. I don’t want anyone looking at you like that. Ever.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

And he kissed you again.

Slower this time.

[lazysoulwriter]

who's that woman? - Pedro Pascal.

requested! thank you so much for sending, hope you like it. ♡

---

The after party buzzes with static energy — music, flashing lights, laughter bouncing off the walls. You feel it in your chest like a second heartbeat. Your heels are killing you, your curls are sticking to the back of your neck, and someone spilled something suspiciously sticky near the bar. But none of it matters.

Because you're dancing.

Dancing like no one’s watching — even though everyone kind of is. The DJ is deep into a 90s setlist, and you’re in your element. You know every lyric, every beat drop, every over-the-top bridge. And you don’t care how you look doing it. You’re having fun. Real, shameless, sweat-slicked fun. And the people around you? They’re feeding off your energy. Laughing when you point to them mid-verse, clapping along when you hit a dramatic air guitar solo.

You’ve always been the life of the party without even trying.

What you don’t know is that, from across the room, Pedro Pascal is watching you — completely mesmerized.

He’s leaning against a wall with a half-empty drink in hand, tired from small talk, already plotting his escape when he sees you. And it stops him cold.

Your smile, your joy, your wild abandon — it’s unlike anything he’s seen in a long time.

“Who is that woman?” he murmurs out loud, not meaning to be heard.

But someone beside him answers casually, like it’s obvious. “That’s Y/N. You don’t know her? She’s the indie singer of the moment. Absolutely magical.”

He repeats your name under his breath. Y/N. It sounds good already. His eyes never leave you — not even when the song ends and you finally step off the dance floor, cheeks flushed, skin glowing, laughter still lingering on your lips.

You head to the bar, needing water more than another drink. And he sees his chance.

He walks toward you — slowly, calmly — but just before he reaches you, someone else gets there first.

A man leans in close to your ear. Says something low. You throw your head back and laugh.

Pedro stops in his tracks.

Of course she has someone, he thinks. Why wouldn’t you? You’re radiant. Magnetic. Everyone wants to be near you. And he isn’t the kind of guy to flirt with someone who’s taken. Even if all he wants to do is hear your voice. Ask what song you were dancing to like it was saving your life.

He’s just about to turn away when the man — whoever he is — looks up and locks eyes with Pedro.

And then he smiles. Waves him over like they’re old friends.

Confused, Pedro approaches. “Took you long enough,” the guy says, easy and amused. “Pedro, right? I’m Luca — co-producer on the indie you’re shooting next month.”

Pedro laughs in recognition. “No way. I didn’t recognize you without five assistants and a clipboard.”

Then Luca turns to you and says, almost too casually: “This is my sister. Y/N.”

You smile at Pedro with that same effortless warmth that had everyone watching you dance. “I love your work,” you say, offering your hand. “Your voice? I’d listen to you read my grocery list.”

He laughs, starstruck and completely at ease. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And from there — the rest of the night falls into place like it was always meant to.

The party fades into background noise. You end up sitting close, knees brushing under a tiny table, talking like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

He’s funnier than you expected. A little shy at first, but playful, too. Sharp. Thoughtful. You tell him you write better lyrics after two drinks. He confesses he’s cried at every animated film he’s ever seen. You tease him for dancing too well for a man over 40. He tells you you’re like his childhood best friend — the one who dared him to do ridiculous things just to see if he’d say yes.

You feel it. That pull. That click.

And you can see he feels it too.

He looks at you like he’s remembering something. Like you remind him of a version of himself he thought he’d outgrown — but misses more than he realized. You’re loud where he’s quiet, fearless where he’s careful. But underneath? You’re made of the same stuff. Passion. Curiosity. Heart.

Six months later.

You’re sitting on the kitchen floor in mismatched pajamas, eating cold risotto straight from the container. He’s across from you, eyes soft, cheeks a little pink from the wine.

He doesn’t kneel. Doesn’t have a speech. Just pulls a small box from his hoodie pocket and says your name like a question.

And you say yes before he even finishes.

Now, in a quiet interview for a glossy magazine, Pedro leans back in his chair, fiddling with the silver ring on his hand. The journalist asks about you — how you met, how it happened.

He smiles, slow and sure. “I never believed in love at first sight,” he says, voice warm. “Not until her.”

---

[natsaffection]

Not like the stories. | N.R

BasketballPlayer!Natasha x Cheerleader!Reader

Everyone says Natasha Romanoff is a heartbreaker, cold, careless, and dangerous. A player who leaves a trail of broken girls behind her and never looks back. But when she catches your eye across a crowded place and starts to unravel everything you thought you knew, you realize the stories might not be the full truth. Because beneath the reputation and the swagger is someone quieter. Softer. Someone who sees you in a way no one else ever has, and doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Warnings: girls being sexualized, none for now

Word count: 2,7k

A/n: First off..!- I don’t even know how many parts there will be. 🍾 But, I like the chemistry…feels oddly familiar.

It was too early in the school year for everything to already feel so loud.

The cafeteria was packed, students flooding the long tables like they hadn’t seen each other in decades instead of just three months. Back-to-school energy vibrated through the walls, locker doors slamming, trays clattering, laughter bubbling from every direction. It was all background noise, really, but to you, it might as well have been static. Your focus was drifting..Again.

“…and Coach said if we don’t hit the new formation by Friday, we’re running suicides until our thighs fall off..” Lexie was saying, twirling her smoothie straw with a dramatic sigh.

You sat at the edge of the cheer table, chin propped on your hand, trying to listen. You really were. But your mind kept pulling you elsewhere, like a stubborn tide.

“I think it’s cute when our thighs fall off.” another girl, Jessie giggled, nudging Lexie. “Mine are finally getting somewhere.”

“Ugh!” Lexie rolled her eyes. “You don’t count. Your body’s already perfect. Right, you? Back me up.”

You hummed vaguely in agreement, your eyes drifting, again, across the cafeteria. You didn’t mean to look. You told yourself you were just spacing out. Just observing. That it was muscle memory, nothing intentional. But there she was.

Natasha Romanoff.

Like gravity, she pulled focus. Your gaze settled on her automatically. She was surrounded, as usual, her basketball teammates crowding around their end of the room, the unofficial royal court of the school’s social hierarchy. Even sitting still, Natasha looked like she was mid-motion. Like she was seconds away from doing something sharp and beautiful and impossible. Her posture was casual but loose-limbed with strength, one leg slung over the other, fingers spinning a pen between them like it was part of her.

The coppery sheen of her hair glinted under the overhead lights, pulled back into one of those effortlessly messy buns that looked like it took two seconds and somehow made her look hotter than half the girls in school who tried for hours. Her face was unreadable, cool, composed, only breaking into smirks when someone cracked a joke. But even then, there was something distant about it. Something guarded.

God, she was…something. You didn’t have words for it. You never had. You’d noticed Natasha before, obviously. Everyone had. You couldn’t not. It wasn’t just the way she played ball, though that was impressive enough. It was the way she moved through the world like nothing and no one could touch her. Always five steps ahead, like she already knew what you were going to say, what you wanted from her.

And yeah…people wanted.

Girls in every hallway cornered her with nervous smiles and flirtatious eyes. Some bold. Some shy. Some daring to hope they’d be the one to get through whatever armor Natasha wore like second skin. And for a minute? Sometimes they did. They’d hold her attention long enough to think they mattered.

Until they didn’t. Because that was the thing about her, she never stayed. You had heard the stories. Everyone had. You’d seen the aftermath. There were always whispers. Always rumors. Never confirmations. Natasha didn’t explain herself. She didn’t need to.

And yet, still…girls kept falling. Like moths to flame, even knowing they’d burn. You weren’t like them. You weren’t. Except… your eyes were still on her.

Something twisted in your chest, part ache, part irritation. Because you knew. You knew the truth about Natasha. You knew she was reckless with people’s hearts. You knew she didn’t do relationships, or feelings, or slow Sunday mornings. Natasha was fast and wild and dangerous.

So why were you still looking? And why..why was Natasha suddenly looking back? Your eyes met across the room. It was fleeting. Barely a moment. But in that half-second, Natasha’s stare settled like a spark in your lungs. Like she’d been expecting you to look all along.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Hell no.” Lexie muttered beside you, voice low and sharp, snapping you back to the moment. “Don’t even think about it.”

You blinked, guilt rushing to your face like a slap. “I, what?”

“You were staring. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Please.” Lexie leaned in, serious now. Her usual teasing tone gone. “Look. I love you. But you’re not getting caught in the Romanoff tornado. No way.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Hard. “I’m not caught in anything.”

Lexie gave you a look, one of those older-sister, you’re-fooling-yourself stares. “She’ll eat you alive.” she said flatly. “She does it to everyone. She reels you in, makes you feel seen, makes you feel like you’re the one. And then she leaves. Always.”

You stayed quiet andLexie sighed. “She’s not the girl who holds your hand at parties. Or slow dances in the gym. She’s the girl who kisses you in the locker room and forgets your name by the weekend.”

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the words wouldn’t come. Because maybe Lexie was right. Maybe she knew better. Maybe it was obvious, from the outside, that Natasha Romanoff was the last kind of person you should want..

The rest of the school day crawled by in fragments. You barely remembered what was said in your last two classes, something about essay deadlines, something about group projects. None of it stuck. Your head was full of glitter, choreography counts, and Natasha Romanoff’s eyes. That half-second in the cafeteria had rewired something in your brain, and no amount of blinking could undo it.

By the time the final bell rang, the school practically exploded into motion. Students rushed to lockers, pulling out face paint, noise sticks, jerseys. Someone blasted music from a speaker they weren’t supposed to have, and no one told them to stop. The energy was buzzing, tonight was the first home game of the season, and people were treating it like a national holiday.

You changed in the locker room with the rest of the squad, tying your laces tight and fixing your hair twice. You didn’t ask yourself why you cared so much about how you looked tonight. You already knew..

Bass thumped from the speakers high above the bleachers, the music shaking the court like thunder. Students jumped and screamed in their school colors, stomping in sync until the whole gym felt alive. Lights flashed in bursts. Smoke machines puffed clouds from the corners of the court, catching in the spotlights. The cheerleaders had already done their pre-game tunnel formation, lining the entrance with pom-poms and cheers, but now the real show was about to begin.

The announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker:

“Aaaand now..yoooour Blackridge Panthers!!”

The crowd exploded. From the locker room tunnel, Natasha sprinted out first, her teammates charging behind her like a wave. She leapt into the air and landed hard, sneakers squealing against the court, pumping her fist into the air. The crowd roared louder. This was her world. Her element. The place where she didn’t have to be anyone but herself.

She high-fived Steve, bumped shoulders with Maria, spun the ball on her finger, all while grinning like fire was in her veins. This wasn’t about reputation or rumors or girls whispering in hallways. This was about winning. About playing.

From the sidelines, you watched, heart hammering at the sheer presence of her. There was no denying it: Natasha on the court was…different. Wild, electric, herself in a way you hadn’t seen anywhere else. Not in the cafeteria, not in the halls. This wasn’t the smooth-talking, rule-breaking girl people warned you about. This was someone else, someone with fire in her blood and nothing to prove to anyone but herself.

The buzzer blared. Tipoff.

From the start, Natasha was locked in. She called every switch, read every screen before it even formed, passed with precision, and drove to the basket like the ball belonged to her. The game was fast, physical. Shouts echoed. Sneakers scraped. Bodies slammed. But Natasha didn’t blink.

She was in it, and then, the whistle. Timeout. Second quarter. The Panthers were up, but barely.

Natasha jogged to the bench, grabbing a towel, slick with sweat. Her chest heaved as the coach pulled them into a tight circle. His voice barked sharp commands over the chaos, drawing on the whiteboard with furious speed. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, forcing herself to stay locked in. She needed to listen. Every point counted. Every second mattered.

And then..The music changed. The cheerleaders ran onto the court, forming their intermission line. The crowd cheered. And somewhere in all the movement, Natasha’s eyes lifted, just for a second-And there you were.

Dancing in the front, your smile wide, eyes glittering under the lights, hair catching in the spinning glow of the gym. You were flipping, turning, nailing every count, and Natasha watched like she couldn’t not. Her chest tightened. She tried to look away. She really did, but it was like trying to breathe underwater.

You looked so damn happy out there. So alive. It made something deep inside Natasha ache, made her forget the sweat on her forehead, the ache in her arms, the pressure in the room. She forgot the play-

A hard slap landed on the back of her head. She turned, and saw Steve giving her a pointed look. “Eyes here, Nat.” he said under his breath, nudging her with his elbow.

Natasha exhaled through her nose, forcing her head back down. “Thanks.” she murmured, almost embarrassed. He nodded once and looked back at the coach.

Natasha scrubbed her towel over her face and tried to clear her head. Focus. This was the game. She couldn’t afford to get caught up in…whatever this was.

But as the cheerleaders finished their routine and the crowd roared again, she knew the damage was done..You had already gotten under her skin. And the worst part? Natasha didn’t even want you out.

The second half was war. The gym was an open flame, crowd screaming, shoes squeaking, bodies crashing, whistles blaring, but inside the chaos, Natasha was still.

Focused and locked in. The visiting team had found their rhythm, and the Panthers were barely holding on. Every basket was answered, every steal returned. It wasn’t just physical now, it was personal. Natasha could feel it in her bones. The sting of every missed shot, the roar of every cheer that wasn’t for them.

Her jersey clung to her skin, soaked in sweat, ponytail damp at the back of her neck. Her thighs ached from pushing harder, her lungs burned. But she didn’t care. This was hers. This was what she lived for.

Final timeout. Tie game. Seconds left on the clock. The coach barked out the last play, sweat dotting his brow as he pointed at the diagram. Steve would pass to Maya. Maya would fake left, swing back right. Natasha would be open at the arc.

It was risky. But Natasha was already nodding. She stood up, bouncing on her toes, chest heaving.

“Let’s finish this.” she said, voice low but steady. The whistle blew. The ball was back in play.

Five seconds.

Natasha moved like instinct, sharp and cutting. She darted to the top of the key, hands out. Maya passed clean. The ball slapped into her palms.

Four seconds.

A defender lunged, Natasha pivoted, stepped back behind the line.

Three.

She breathed in.

Two.

She jumped, and the ball left her hands. You felt your heart freeze the second the ball left Natasha’s hands. The air had gone still. The sound had vanished.

When it hit, when the net snapped, your scream joined the others before you could stop it. You jumped, yelled, clapped, louder than you meant to, your voice lost in the storm. But your eyes never left Natasha. Not for a second.

The gym exploded right after you. Screams shot through the air like fireworks, the bleachers shook with pounding feet, and suddenly Natasha was swarmed. Her teammates tackled her from all sides, Maria yelling in her ear, Steve throwing an arm around her neck, someone lifting her off the floor. And then, through the chaos, through the wild, tangled joy..Natasha looked at you.

Your eyes met like a wire pulled tight. Your breath caught. Your smile faded, just a little. Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. But Natasha, just as quickly..looked away. Like it burned.

The locker room was humid with sweat, cologne, and the sharp sting of victory. Everyone was still riding the high of the win, talking loud, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the tiled walls. Jerseys were half-pulled off, towels hung low around waists, and someone had turned up a speaker in the corner playing some bass-heavy track that rattled the benches.

Natasha sat at the end of the row, one foot propped up on the bench, her head bowed as she slowly unwrapped her wrist tape. Her pulse was only just coming down. The buzz of adrenaline still hummed in her fingertips, the taste of the last shot still lingering in the back of her throat. Around her, the team was loud, looser now. The game was over. The bravado was back.

“Yo.” one of the forwards, Matt called across the locker room. “Tell me I wasn’t the only one who saw the blonde in the front row of the cheer line. The one with the white bow?”

“Dude..” another laughed, “everyone saw her. Those shorts should be illegal.”

Natasha didn’t react. Not yet, but then came the shift. “What about Romanoff’s girl, though?”

That name. That tone..She didn’t look up, but her jaw twitched.

“You mean Y/n?” Matt grinned. A few heads turned. Smirks spread. “She’d let you do anything.” He made a slow, lewd gesture with his hips, subtle but unmistakable, like it wasn’t the first time they’d joked like this. One hand against the locker, the other at his waistband. More laughter.

“Come on, Romanoff. You’ve got the in. She wants it.”

“You could fold her in half and she’d say thank you..” Matt added with a low laugh, voice husky from the game. “Hell, I would.”

That was it. Natasha’s head snapped up. The look in her eyes stopped three people mid-breath. The laughter died out in patches. Not from fear. From confusion. She hadn’t said a word. She didn’t need to. Her stare was enough.

One hand landed gently on her shoulder, grounding her. His voice was low, just for her. “Don’t.”

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off the guy across the row, the one who’d said that last part. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the bench.

“He doesn’t mean it.” Steve added. “He’s just talking shit.”

“He keeps talking, I’ll make him swallow his teeth.” Natasha muttered, her voice low and flat.

Steve leaned in closer. “Not worth it.”

Natasha exhaled slowly through her nose, tension coiled in every muscle like a loaded spring.

“Look.” Steve said, a little quieter, “I get it. I do. But if she means anything to you, you’ve gotta stop pretending she’s just another girl.”

Natasha blinked, like the words slapped her harder than the comments. Steve gave a small shrug. “You keep hesitating..” Steve continued, voice barely above the music. “And one of these assholes is gonna try it for real. And you’re gonna hate yourself for letting it happen.”

That hit. Hard. Natasha didn’t move. But her jaw flexed, and for the first time that night, her face cracked. Not with anger. With something else. A decision starting to form. Steve stood, patting her once. “She’s not a game. And you’re not like them.”

The gym was still echoing with celebration, but Natasha had already stepped out into the cool night air. She exhaled slowly, sweat still drying on her skin, the back of her neck damp beneath her hoodie. Her motorcycle sat where she’d left it, parked in the corner of the lot under a crooked lamppost, half in shadow. She slung one leg over the seat, fingers gripping the keys, ready to start the engine.

You keep hesitating..and one of these assholes is gonna try it for real.

She cursed under her breath. Fingers drumming once against the gas tank..And that’s when she saw you.

Stepping out from the side doors of the gym with Lexie at your side, both of you chatting under the glow of the overhead lights. You had changed out of your cheer gear into jeans and a soft hoodie, hair still pulled back, face flushed and pretty from the heat of the night. You were laughing quietly, head tilted slightly, arms wrapped around yourself.

Natasha’s heart stuttered. She was just about to look away, just about to turn the key and forget it-when she saw him.

Matt. He’d exited from the same side doors, slowing his stride as his eyes trailed lazily in the same direction. Natasha saw the shift in his posture. The way his gaze lingered too long. The way his smirk tugged at the side of his mouth like he was already running a script in his head.

And that was it. Natasha’s heart kicked like it was trying to break free from her ribs. She pulled her leg off the bike in one smooth motion, leaving everything as it was, keys in the ignition, gym bag slung across the seat. No hesitation. No plan. Just instinct.

She walked fast, her boots hitting pavement with quiet force. Lexie saw her first. “Oh, hell no.” she muttered under her breath, elbowing you lightly. “Problem incoming.”

You turned, confused. “What?”

Lexie kept her voice low. “Romanoff. Behind us. Coming this way.”

Your stomach dropped

Oh god. Was this it? Was Natasha about to ask me to go home with her? After the game, the eye contact, the ride out of the locker room..this was where it happened in the stories. The moment the girl got caught, pulled into something she wouldn’t be able to-

But it was too late. Natasha was already close, her stride slow and casual now, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie like she hadn’t just made a life-or-death decision one minutes ago.

“Hey..” Natasha said, her voice low, calm, almost too neutral.

Lexie squared her shoulders. “What do you want?”

Natasha kept her tone low and calm. “Just wanted to talk. That’s all.”

Lexie squinted. “Is that what you tell all the girls before-”

“Lex.” you cut in quietly. “It’s okay.”

Lexie looked ready to argue, but her bus appeared down the street, tires grinding against the pavement.

“Fuck..” she muttered. “Of course. Now.” She looked at you, worry creasing her brow. “You want me to stay? I can stay.”

You hesitated. Heart in your throat. “I’ll be okay.” you said, softly. “Go.”

Lexie cursed again under her breath, then pointed two fingers at Natasha. “If you so much as breathe wrong near her-”

“I know.” Natasha said softly.

Lexie gave you one last glance and jogged toward the bus.

“So…” you began, stuffing your hands into the sleeves of your hoodie, “I’m just heading home.”

“Walking?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s like a thirty-minute walk.”

Natasha blinked. “Alone?”

You shrugged. “I’ve done it before.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Not tonight.” Before you could ask, Natasha added, “Let me drive you.”

You hesitated. Your mind was screaming again, this is it, this is when she asks if I wanna come over, when she tries to be charming and seductive and get me to bed.

Still, you asked, “You mean…on your bike?”

Natasha nodded. “It’s not a problem.”

“I..don’t have a helmet..” you tried, already searching for a polite excuse to back out.

“I always carry an extra.”

Of course you do, you thought. For the rotation.. But Natasha’s eyes weren’t flirty, or smug. They were…careful.

So you nodded, and followed her to the bike. It gleamed under the light, black and lean, humming with quiet power. You stopped a few feet short.

“It’s bigger than I expected.” you said, and immediately regretted it. “The bike..! I meant the bike..”

Natasha’s mouth twitched,just a tiny smile. She didn’t tease you.

“I’ll go slow.” she said instead. She opened the side compartment and pulled out a matte black helmet. “Here. Let me.”

You held still as Natasha stepped close, lifting the helmet gently. Her fingers brushed your cheek as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before sliding the helmet down. The strap clicked softly beneath your chin.

“You okay?” Natasha asked, voice low, eyes searching yours.

You nodded, heartbeat hammering. “Yeah. Just..never done this before.”

Natasha held your gaze. “You’ll be safe.”

Then she straddled the bike and leaned it slightly to one side, holding it steady. “Climb on. Swing your right leg over.”

You did, slowly, fingers gripping Natasha’s shoulders for balance. You settled behind her, the leather seat warm from the engine, legs tucked in close.

Natasha reached back, lightly placing her hands on your thighs. “Scoot in. You’ll feel more stable.”

You moved closer, arms hesitating at Natasha’s waist. “When I turn, lean with me. I’ll tell you when.” Natasha said over her shoulder, her voice softer than before.

“o-okay.”

You tightened your grip, and the engine growled to life beneath you, and Natasha drove slower than she normally would, much slower. Careful with every shift. She gave you warnings softly through the helmet radio. “Left turn coming. Hold on.”

You pressed your forehead lightly to Natasha’s shoulder, trying to breathe through the adrenaline. Not just from the ride. From the proximity..From the her.

“You okay back there?” Natasha’s voice buzzed in your helmet.

“Yeah.” you said. “More than okay.”

“You’re not freezing?”

“No. You’re kinda warm..” you admitted, blushing instantly.

Natasha chuckled softly. “It’s the adrenaline.”

They stopped at a red light, the hum of the engine low beneath them. That’s when Natasha spotted the glowing yellow sign.

“Wanna stop for ice cream?”

You blinked, startled. “You want to stop for ice cream right now?”

“You said you’ve never been on a bike.” Natasha replied. “Thought I’d give you the full experience.”

You smiled as Natasha ordered two vanilla cones and paid. You sat at the edge of the parking lot on the bike, cones in hand, music humming from the speakers overhead. For a while, you didn’t say anything.

Then, quietly, “You were…really good tonight.” you said. “I mean, the shot? That was insane.”

Natasha’s voice softened. “Thanks.”

“Like, game-winning, heart-attack, scream-out-loud insane.”

“Hey..” Natasha added, “you weren’t exactly subtle out there either.”

You grinned. “What do you mean?”

“You lit up the court.”

“Oh god..” you groaned. “You were watching.”

“Hard not to.”

You didn’t answer. You just held your ice tighter.

You both finished your ice cream quietly. It was easier, now. The tension had thinned a little, melted under the soft streetlights, the sugar, and the way Natasha had let herself be there, not as the girl with a reputation, but just a girl who’d wanted a reason to sit next to someone. No pressure. No expectation.

After a few quiet laughs and a mutual agreement that soft-serve somehow tasted better at night, Natasha flicked the keys in her hand and nodded to the bike.

“Ready to head home?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

The ride this time was different. No adrenaline. No performance. Just cool wind brushing over your cheeks and the subtle rumble of the bike beneath you.

Natasha didn’t say much. But when she did, it was soft, gentle, for your comfort.

“Small curve coming up. Lean with me a little.”

You obeyed instinctively, gripping Natasha’s waist tighter.

A minute later, “Bump ahead. Just hold on.”

Natasha slowed for every turn. Every crack in the road. She drove like you were something precious and breakable, something to protect. And you sat behind her, heart slowly unraveling.

You didn’t know how to feel. Part of you was still wound up tight, trying to prepare a way to say no. Just in case. You mentally rehearsed polite excuses.

“I have early practice tomorrow.”

“My parents are still up.”

“I’m not ready.”

But before you could even settle on which one sounded the most casual, you looked up and saw the corner of your street.

“Right here.” you said quickly, tapping Natasha’s side. Natasha nodded once and pulled over.

The engine cut, the sudden silence making your breath catch in your throat. Natasha stepped off the bike smoothly and reached out a hand, steadying it with one arm while offering the other to you.

“Take your time.” she murmured.

You climbed down a little awkwardly, and Natasha’s hand stayed lightly on your hip, helping until your boots hit the pavement. Then the hand dropped. Respectfully. Like it had never been there at all.

And just as you opened your mouth to finally deliver the awkward goodbye-

“Thanks.” Natasha said quietly, cutting in. “For the talk. And the company.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Natasha smiled a little, but there was something knowing behind her eyes.

“You can text your friend now.” she added softly. “Tell her you made it home. Safe and unseduced.”

Your cheeks burned. “I..wait, no..God.”

Natasha laughed once, low and warm.

“I’m sorry.” you blurted. “I just..I really thought you were going to ask to come inside. For, you know..sex.”

The word felt huge in your mouth. Natasha didn’t flinch. Just raised her eyebrows a little. “I get that a lot.” she said gently. “But I’m not..always like that.”

You looked down, embarrassed. “It’s just what people say. I guess I assumed, I’m really sorry..” you whispered. “I just didn’t know what to expect.”

“I get it.” Natasha said with a small shrug. “I know what they say. And I’ve let some of it be true..But not tonight, and for the record, I liked this version better.”

You swallowed. “Me too.”

Natasha took a small step back toward her bike. “Good night, Y/n.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She stood there in the driveway, helmet in one hand, and gave you one last look, quiet, unreadable, but kind. Then she turned the engine over and pulled away, tires humming softly as she disappeared into the night.

And you, still standing on your lawn, felt like the ground under you had changed in ways you hadn’t even begun to understand.

Because Natasha Romanoff had just made you feel more seen in twenty minutes than anyone had in twenty years.

And..without ever laying a hand on you.

[fresitasmoribund]

What Ifs and How It Was

-`♡´- pairing: Poly!Wolfstar x Fem!Reader

-`♡´- summary: A late-night conversation with your best friends—Sirius and Remus—leads to playful confessions. The three of you assume enough time has passed for any romantic feelings to fade. But the awkward silence that follows suggests otherwise.

-`♡´- contains: confessions, kissing

-`♡´- masterlist

-`♡´- word count: 3.9k

You’d never believe the whole “friends-of-the-opposite-gender-can’t-exist” nonsense. It always kind of seemed like an excuse. A way for people to justify turning casual friendships into something way more complicated than they needed to be. In fact, you hated hearing it. You always brushed it off with a sigh or an eyeroll. After all, you had plenty of friends who didn’t fit into those narrow definitions. Until that one night.

You weren’t much of a pub-goer, but that night, something strange pulled you there. Maybe it was the dull hum of the city that night. Or maybe it was the promise of a drink you didn’t have to make yourself. Either way, you found yourself tucked into a corner of the first loud, dimly lit place you could find. You nursed a glass and enjoyed the atmosphere, staying just close enough to any brawls for free entertainment, but safely away from getting hurt.

During your little adventure, you stumbled upon a very drunk man, and his very apologetic friend. Actually, it was more like he had stumbled into you – literally.

Sirius Black was an intoxicated mess of long, unruly hair and had the kind of energy that could ripple through the air like static electricity. One minute, you were sipping your drink, minding your own business. The next, you were knocked sideways by a body that practically materialized out of nowhere. You tried to catch your balance but only ended up stumbling backward.

“Shit! Sorry! I didn’t—” His own laughter interrupted him as he tried to untangle himself from you.

Before you could even process the situation, another presence appeared – calm, collected, and letting a string of “sorry”s fall from his lips. Remus Lupin, his sober friend, helped both of you up with a surprisingly gentle grip.

“You alright?” Remus asked, his voice soft but sincere. His eyes roamed over your face with a mix of concern and just a mild amount of amusement. You found yourself nodding before you could even stop yourself.

Sirius, meanwhile, was still rambling apologies, his words tumbling clumsily over each other in a way that made it clear he wasn’t entirely control of his brain at the moment.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He paused, staring at you with wide, doe-like eyes. “But, hey… you’re alright. You look alright. Maybe even better than alright.”

You blinked – slightly confused – before shaking your head with a smile.

“It’s fine. No harm done.” You straightened, brushing yourself off.

He turned toward his partner, his attention already shifting to something else.

“Moony,” he slurred, nudging his shoulder. “Get the beautiful thing a drink, yeah? It’s the least I can do after practically throwing her across the pub.”

Remus gave him a pointed look with a raised eyebrow, but he didn’t object. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket for some cash. A small laugh bubbled up from your throat. The absurdity of it all made you suddenly realize how amiable they both were together.

As Remus went off to grab the drinks, Sirius took a step closer to you. Thinking back on that moment, it had been a little too close, but it felt… oddly natural. He grinned, still a little wild-eyed. You could tell that despite the graceless introduction, he exuded a sort of warmth that was impossible to ignore.

“So,” he started, as if you’d known each other forever, “Why are you at a place like this by yourself, gorgeous?”

It was cheesy, and it was a clear attempt at flirting. You’d find out that the drunker Sirius got, the worse his flirting was. You never let him live it down from that day on. But in that moment, there was something about it – the light in his eyes, the tilt of his head – that made you grin.

Before you could respond, Remus returned with drinks in hand. He was a little bemused by Sirius’ antics but was clearly used to them.

“You alright?” He asked, handing you your drink with a small smile.

You accepted it gratefully, still processing the oddness of the situation. “I think so. I’ve survived worse.”

Remus chuckled softly and stepped back, more comfortable now that the initial awkwardness had faded. Sirius, however, was still standing a little too close to you. His smirk widened as he took in your drink and then glanced at Remus.

“See?” Sirius said, raising his glass. “I’m not completely abysmal.”

Laughter passed between the three of you, the unexpected bond sinking in quietly.

Even then, you still had the firm belief that you could strictly stay platonic with friends of the opposite gender. They couldn’t count, right? For starters, there were two of them. And, you quickly learned, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were an inseparable package deal.

Okay, maybe you did have a crush on both of them at one point. But it was almost like they actively tried to make it impossible for someone not to be at least a little infatuated by them. Remus had a quiet charm—the kind that lingered in his soft-spoken words and surprising wit. His pensive gaze always carried an air of controlled intensity. It felt like he was trying to understand you down to your very soul – but never in a way that felt invasive. He carried himself with a reserved elegance, shoulders slightly hunched. If you ever had the pleasure of picking up on a mumbled retort of his, you were sure to laugh. The scars that crossed his face only added to the enigmatic air of mystery around him. He was always your source of calm – perfectly balancing Sirius’ chaos.

Sirius was a natural flirt – his beauty so striking it was almost cruelly unfair. He carried himself with a confidence that tipped toward arrogance, but never quite fell over. That was thanks to the way he could charm the socks off anyone in a heartbeat. He tended to look at people like he could eat them alive if he wanted to – in a violent and sexual way. Everything about him was larger than life – his laugh, his humor, his confidence – and it was hard not to be swept up in his orbit.

They didn’t shy away from touching, either. Sirius didn’t seem to know the meaning of personal space – always draping himself over the nearest friend he could find. He’d sit too close, his thigh squished against yours. Or he would lean in too close to make a point, lips quirking into that devilish smirk whenever he noticed your cheeks flushing. And Remus, although more reserved and respectful, was the kind of person who would grab your hips to gently move past you. Or he’d kneel in the middle of the pavement to tie your shoe before you even realized it had come undone.

There were loads of times that you could have justified having a crush on them.

Like that one time you’d walked straight into a pole, and while Sirius was laughing his ass off, Remus wore a worried look on his face.

“You alright, love?” he whispered, his hands tentative as they cupped your face, tilting it gently to inspect for any damage. His touch was warm, and for that brief moment, the whole world seemed to fade away. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed the comfort until it was there.

But it wasn’t just his hands or the softness of his voice. It was the way his brow creased in genuine concern for you, his amber eyes scanning yours as though searching for something deeper than a bruise.

“You had me scared for a second. Can’t have you broken just yet, can we?” His lips curled into a smile, his thumb gently brushed against your cheek.

You managed a sheepish laugh, waving him off with a dismissive, “I’m fine.” But even as you spoke, he remained. His hands fell from your face to your shoulders, steadying you. Sirius grinned, striding over to you both.

“Oi, let me coddle her too.” Before you could react, he slung an arm over your shoulders and pressed his cheek to the side of your head. “You’re alright, love, aren’t you? Say it’s so, for my sake.”

Or that time you’d brought Sirius a drink at a party.

He was talking someone’s ear off when you found him – gesturing wildly as he launched into a tirade. It wasn’t unusual for him to dominate a conversation. His voice was always a little louder than necessary, and his laugh could cut through the room like a knife. He was magnetic, in that way only Sirius could be.

You didn’t even think about it as you grabbed his empty cup and swapped it for a fresh one. You slid it into his hand so seamlessly that it took him a moment to notice. But he always notices when you do something.

When it seemed he finally did, he stopped mid-sentence. He glanced at the new cup and then at you with a look of exaggerated delight, like you’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. Without missing a beat, he grabbed your face – careful not to spill his drink on you – and planted a big, dramatic kiss on your cheek.

“Oh, I just love you, darling,” he beamed, eyes sparkling with mischief.

And then, just like that, he turned back to his conversation. He picked up right where he’d left off, as if nothing had happened.

How could anyone not be totally, madly in love with them?

… Definitely not you. That’s for sure.

Your feelings seemed to die down when they began dating each other about a year into the blossoming friendship the three of you shared. It was only a matter of time for them, and you knew that. They shared a longer history, and, truthfully, you had assumed they were already a couple when you first met them. You had even offered advice to both men on how to approach the topic with each other. You were happy for them, and despite the coupling, there was never a time the three of you weren’t together. The dynamic didn’t change much, either. Well, aside from those moments when you’d step out of the room for only a second and come back to Sirius practically devouring Remus’ face.

The soft, creamy glow of the table lamp illuminated a small portion of the room they had designated as yours after purchasing a flat together. Sirius is sprawled casually on top of Remus, his chin resting on his folded arms. You are next to them, propped up on your side, a pillow tucked beneath your elbow.

While Sirius casually leaned into teasing you as he often did, Remus just… was. The way his hand subconsciously finds its way into Sirius’ hair, twirling a lock between his fingers, spoke volumes without either of them acknowledging it. You knew them both like the back of your hand – their habits and quirks as familiar as your own heartbeat. But in those quiet moments, you’d find yourself wondering what it would’ve been like if the timing had been different. What if you were a little braver?

No. You are grateful for what you have now.

“Remember our first impressions?” Sirius asks suddenly.

Oh, that’s right. The anniversary of that night was coming up. The three of you had been friends for three years now – three years since that night at the pub. Three years of shared moments and laughter.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, you tripped over me and nearly knocked me out cold.”

Sirius grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s not how I remember it. I’m pretty sure I was just making a graceful entrance, and you were too starstruck to see me coming.”

You roll your eyes, and Remus chuckles beneath Sirius, the heat of his hand still resting in his boyfriend’s hair.

“You were a drunk and clumsy fool,” Remus says tenderly and full of affection.

Sirius shrugs melodramatically with a sigh. “Alright, maybe I was a little clumsy. But I’m glad we did have our little run in with each other. I’m pretty sure you were already in love with her by then.”

You freeze.

Remus stiffens, but Sirius is undeterred.

“Moony and I have talked about this, and I think enough time has gone by for this to not be as awkward, but…” He pauses for dramatic effect, turning his head toward you, a sly grin on his face. “I actually had a crush on you.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you fight to keep your jaw from dropping. You were certainly caught off gourd by the sudden confession. You chuckle, brushing it off with a teasing shake of your head.

“Oh, come on. You’re just messing with me.”

Sirius’ grin stretches wider, and he looks like he’s not going to back down.

“I’m serious,” he insists, though the humor still sparkles in his eyes.

“Not this again.” Remus groans.

But Sirius only looked more pleased with himself. “Oh, don’t act like you weren’t gone for her too, Moony.”

Your breath catches in surprise. The comment he made about Remus being in love with you after the first meeting – you thought he meant it as a joke. Your eyes flick toward his face, where he held an unreadable expression.

“What? You’re telling me you had a crush on me too?”

“Oh, you definitely had him wrapped around your little finger.” Sirius raises his head from his arms to narrow his eyes at you before turning to Remus. “Remember that time—early on—when she fixed your tie for you?”

Remus closes his eyes briefly, silently begging a higher power to take him away as his face turns red. You fight the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“You remember that, right? I saw you. You practically turned to stone when she did that. That was the moment I knew.”

“Sirius, please…” Remus lets out an exasperated sigh, but you can see the edges of his lips twitching upward.

You can’t help but smile at the easy camaraderie between the two of them. It was one of the things you love most about being with them – how natural and effortless it all felt.

“Alright, fine. Maybe I did.” He finally looks at you before returning to stare at Sirius. “Can we move on now?”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, fighting back a big smile. “I remember having a little thing for you two as well.”

The laughter that followed filled the room, the three of you lost in the silliness of the confessions. But as the laughter gradually fades, a sudden silence blankets the space. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite, actually—but it carries an undercurrent of something deeper.

When what you revealed finally sinks in, you think you must have misheard yourself. What you said was a joke you hadn’t realized you were about to make, right? You weren’t sure if the sudden heat in your cheeks was from the admission or the way the air in the room had shifted so subtly that it was almost imperceptible. It was as if the past three years of friendship, of teasing, of little moments like these, had all been stripped of their platonic certainty and were now clouded by scrawls of “What if?”

The silence is so thick you can almost hear your heartbeat echo in your ears. The room feels suffocating with the weight of unspoken feelings – as if the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You exchange a glance with Sirius. He’s not looking at you with the usual carefree glint—there’s something else buried beneath it now. Something that makes you think twice before meeting Remus’ gaze. He’s looking at you too, but his eyes are softer, more searching than you’ve ever seen before.

In the stillness, you can hear Sirius’ fingers drumming lightly against Remus’ shoulder. Then it stops, and the sound fades to be replaced by the thrum of your own pulse in your throat. Remus’ breathing slows, and you can see the way his chest rises and falls with a rhythm that seems too deliberate than it should.

Your gaze flits between them. Back to Sirius, then Remus. The question hovers in the air, and even though it’s unspoken, it’s painfully palpable. It’s a question you’ve been trying not to ask for the past few years. It’s one that lingers in the corners of your mind every time they look at you like this.

Then, just as the moment stretches taut and thick, Sirius breaks the silence in the only way he can. His voice is casual – too light – almost too loud for the moment.

“Well, that’s enough emotional exposure for one night!”

He rolls off Remus, flopping onto the bed and causing the springs to protest. His hair spills across the pillow, messy from where he had been lying on top of Remus. The tension that has been building up snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight. It’s broken—but not completely gone.

You can’t help but notice how Sirius’ cheek is flushed with something more than just playful exhaustion, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. He stares at the ceiling in contemplative wonder before he distracts himself by kicking his feet up into the air.

Remus’ gaze is still on you. He looks at you, a beat too long, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t find the words for.

Before either of you say a word, Sirius is already pulling him back into the moment. With a theatrical sigh, he drops an arm around Remus’ chest, yanking him into an easy, lighthearted conversation again. The three of you move on as if the confessions hadn’t resurfaced feelings you thought had vanished a long time ago.

The room is dark, save for the weak glow of the moon filtering through the windows. You can’t sleep. The silence is suffocating, its heaviness too distracting to lull you into sleep. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for far too long.

You can’t take it anymore.

You throw the blanket off you with a frustrated huff and slip out of bed. The cold floor grounds you slightly as you head for the door. Maybe a glass of water – or two – could satiate the drought in your throat.

 You pad carefully toward the kitchen, instinctually trying not to wake them, knowing both are probably already asleep in their room. The hallway feels endless, your footsteps muffled against the cool wood beneath you. But as you pass their door, something stops you.

A voice.

You freeze, eyeing the light that filters from the space between the door and the floorboards, because maybe your ears were deceiving you. The voice is low, almost too faint to make out. I shouldn’t eavesdrop, you tell yourself – but your feet betray you. You move before you can stop it, drawing closer, until you’re standing close enough to hear. Your heart is racing in your chest.

“Pads, it’s not that simple,” Remus’ voice comes, steady and low.

Sirius huffs from the other side of the room, the sound of the sheets rustling in the quiet.

“It’s exactly that simple, Moony. We just… we tell her.”

Remus sighs in a way that tells you the weight of his thoughts—of this apparent proposition—is pulling him down. “At two in the morning? I think she’d appreciate not being woken up to… this.”

“Because we’ll keep putting it off otherwise!” Sirius’ voice rises before hushing again. He’s trying to gather the right words, being left frustrated but determined. “I can’t keep doing this, Remus. I can’t keep looking at her and pretending like I don’t want—like we don’t want…” His voice trails off, the vexation lacing every word, the quiet desperation in his tone is unmistakable.

Your stomach flips. They’re talking about you, aren’t they?

“I hate it.” He continues. “Feeling this way and not saying anything. It’s like it’s going to rip me apart, and I know you feel the same. Don’t you?”

Silence takes place again, then Remus’ voice breaks the quiet.

“Of course I do, Pads. But what if…”

Your chest tightens. What if? What if what?

There’s a creak of the bed. Then Sirius’ voice intensifies again, louder now. “No. No more of this. Let’s just go talk to—”

“Sirius, it’s the break of d—”

The door swings open.

You don’t have time to step back. You freeze – caught – and there he is. Sirius. Standing in the doorway, his hair tousled, his grey eyes widening as they meet yours.

With no warning, he steps forward. His hands find your face as he pulls you into him. His lips crash against yours with a fierce intensity that you’ve come to expect from Sirius Black.

The kiss is sudden, messy, and it knocks all the breath from your lungs. It feels like lightening, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. His lips are demanding and desperate, with an undeniable tenderness guiding them too. He sighs against your mouth, his shoulders relaxing as he leans into you. You can’t breathe – can’t think. Everything is buzzing, spinning, and all you can focus on is Sirius.

When he finally pulls back, he huffs in satisfaction.

“There,” he says, as if he’s finally put everything to rest. His hands fall from your face, but his gaze lingers.

Behind him, you can hear Remus groan. He rubs a hand over his face in exasperation, through there’s a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I guess we’re doing this now.”

You blink, still standing there and completely speechless. You’re sure you must be dreaming right now as your mind races. You open your mouth to say something – anything – but Sirius doesn’t give you the chance. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder at Remus.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” he says. “You wanted this too.”

Remus raises an eyebrow, attempting to keep his composure. He rises from the bed and steps forward, closing the small gap between the three of you.

“I’d have gone about it differently,” he teases. He pauses, his gaze locking with yours, his smile widening just a fraction. “But… I supposed he’s not entirely wrong.”

You’re nestled between them, the quiet warmth of their bed wrapping all three of you like a cocoon. Sirius’ arm drapes lazily across your stomach as his fingers trace patterns and shapes on an exposed bit of skin. Remus’ hair tickles your jaw as his head rests against your shoulder. Sirius shifts slightly, propping himself up on an elbow to look at you. His stormy eyes flicker with something almost boyish.

“You’re finally ours now,” he says with a satisfied grin.

The words hit you square in the chest, sending a flurry of fluttering wildly in your stomach.

Remus huffs. “Couldn’t have put it more poetically, could you, Pads?”

Sirius snorts and rolls his eyes. “Excuse me for not wanting to keep pretending like we haven’t been living in a ridiculous tension-filled love triangle for the last few years.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Remus mutters while you laugh. He glances at you, his amber eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.

Sirius leans in with zero hesitation, catching your lips in a kiss. It’s playful but loving, and your lips curve into a smile against his. Pulling back, he flashes you one of those grins that causes your face to heat up. He tilts toward Remus next, with the kiss being slower, and filled with the same easy intimacy that’s always existed between them.

When they part, Remus raises his head from your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He moves, placing another kiss to your cheek, then your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against your hair.

Sirius’ arm tightens around your waist as Remus’ fingers lace with yours.

[d-z20]

Not Like Before (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Witch Reader

Summary: You and Agatha go on a date, and when you return home, the evening intensifies as you both get more turned on and you try a new experience.

- OR -

Agatha fucks you with the strap for the first time and its magical

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, smut, top Agatha, enchanted strap, somewhat innocent reader, tiny bit of praise

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Requested fic :) In my head the strap is enchanted in the way she can cum from it being stimulated but like her orgasm is normal, not like gp orgasm if that makes sense?

AO3 | Master List

The night is alive with a quiet hum of energy. The small, upscale cocktail lounge you’ve chosen for tonight’s date thrums with an undercurrent of power that only those attuned to it can feel. It’s a haven for witches—neutral ground where enchantments and glamour are as commonplace as the expertly mixed drinks. The air shimmers faintly with unspoken spells and whispered charms, weaving through the soft candlelight that flickers on the polished wooden tables.

Agatha sits across from you, her presence as commanding as ever. Tonight, she is a vision of sharp elegance in a tailored black suit with a plunging neckline. Her hair is swept back into a sleek style, exposing her jawline and the glint of earrings that catch the dim light with every movement. She exudes control, a master of both her appearance and the simmering magic that radiates from her in subtle waves.

You’ve dressed to match her energy, knowing full well that anything less would pale beside her. Your outfit—a fitted, dark ensemble with just the right amount of daring to complement her sharp sophistication—keeps her eyes lingering on you just a moment too long every time she looks. Those glances, and the way her lips curl into a smirk as her gaze sweeps over you, leave your cheeks warm and your pulse racing.

The two of you play this game all evening. A brush of her fingers against yours as she hands you a drink. The faint spark of magic you send in response—a subtle flicker of warmth at her wrist that makes her eyebrow arch in interest. She teases you with her words, her tone low and syrupy, while you meet her challenge with coy smiles and the occasional playful hex—minor spells to warm her glass or dim the candlelight whenever her smirk grows too smug.

“You’re being particularly bold tonight,” she murmurs, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand. Her blue eyes bore into yours, her lips curving into that slow, deliberate smile that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And you’re enjoying it,” you shoot back, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass idly. A soft pulse of magic flickers from your touch, making the ice cubes inside melt slightly faster than they should.

Agatha tilts her head, her smirk deepening. “Perhaps,” she allows, her voice rich with amusement. Under the table, her hand brushes up your thigh, the faint static of her magic dancing across your skin. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed your little tricks.”

Her words send a thrill down your spine, though you mask it well. “Oh, those?” you say casually, tilting your head as if bored. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

Her laugh is low and dangerous—the kind of laugh that makes your breath hitch. “Careful, darling,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. “Keep this up, and I might forget to be gentle.”

The flicker of heat in her voice makes your control slip for just a moment. The candle on your table flares slightly before settling, its light casting flickering shadows that seem to dance to their own rhythm. Agatha notices, of course. She notices everything. Her smirk grows as she leans back in her chair, swirling her wine glass lazily as though savouring her victory.

The tension between you builds all night—an invisible thread pulling tighter with every lingering glance, every casual brush of magic exchanged between you. The air feels electric, charged with unspoken desire and the potent power both of you wield so effortlessly.

When the server comes by to ask if you want dessert, Agatha doesn’t even glance at the menu. “We’ll take whatever’s at the top of the list to go,” she says smoothly, standing with a grace that’s almost otherworldly. She extends a hand toward you, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Shall we?”

—

The walk home is a blur. The cool night air does little to temper the heat between you, and every step feels like an eternity. You feel the subtle hum of her magic brushing against yours—a silent challenge you can’t help but answer with a flicker of your own. Her hand slides to the small of your back as she guides you up the steps to the door, and the moment you step over the threshold, all pretence of restraint vanishes.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, Agatha’s lips are on yours—hungry, urgent, filled with the fire she’s been stoking all night. You barely have time to gasp before she pushes you back, your spine hitting the wall with a soft thud as her hands pin yours above your head. Her kiss is relentless, her teeth grazing your bottom lip as her nails dig lightly into your wrists. Your knees weaken under the sheer force of her need.

“You’ve been driving me absolutely mad, teasing me, pushing me..." she growls against your lips, her voice rough and breathless. “Did you think I’d let your little games go unanswered? You should know me better than that.”

Before you can respond, she sweeps you into her arms with effortless strength and carries you toward the bedroom. You let out a startled sound as she tosses you onto the bed with surprising roughness, her smirk wicked as she towers over you. Her magic swirls in the air, palpable and electric, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. The fire in her eyes sends a thrill racing through your body.

Agatha wastes no time. With a wave of her hand, your clothes begin to peel away, each piece tugged free with deliberate precision. The fabric slides off your skin as though it has a mind of its own, her magic coaxing and caressing every inch of you it touches. You shiver under the sensation, your breath hitching as her power leaves you bare before her. Her smirk deepens as her eyes rake over you, dark with desire and satisfaction.

“You look absolutely devine like this,” she murmurs, her voice thick with lust. Her hand grazes your cheek, but there’s nothing gentle about the way her magic wraps around you—tight, commanding, and impossible to resist. “Completely at my mercy.”

She climbs onto the bed with the grace of a predator, straddling you as her hands press firmly against your shoulders. Her lips crash down onto yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, her teeth scraping against your skin as her nails rake down your arms. The soft flicker of her magic tingles where her hands don’t reach, adding an intoxicating edge to every touch.

You arch beneath her, your own magic surging in response, flickering like fire across her back as your hands grip her waist. She lets out a low, guttural sound that sends heat straight to your core, her lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck. Her teeth nip at the sensitive skin there, and the faint spark of her magic sears against you, making you gasp and clutch her tighter.

“Getting bold again, are we?” She teases, her voice breathless but dripping with amusement as she presses her weight into you, pinning you firmly to the bed.

You barely manage a breathless laugh, your lips brushing against hers as you whisper, “Would you want it any other way?”

Her answering growl is all the warning you get before her lips claim yours again, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat, power, and the relentless pull of her touch. Every brush of Agatha’s lips against yours setting off sparks that race down your spine. Her hands roam freely now, trailing from your shoulders to your sides, exploring every curve and hollow with a possessive kind of hunger. Her lips find your neck again, and the sharp scrape of her teeth leaves you gasping, your fingers tangling in her hair to pull her closer.

“Such a tease,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with amusement. Her hands slide lower, her touch firm and deliberate, and the heat pooling in your core intensifies. You shiver as her fingertips trail over your thighs, brushing teasingly close to where you crave her most. When her hand finally cups you, the gasp that escapes your lips is enough to make her smirk against your skin.

Agatha doesn’t stop. Her fingers press just right, her magic thrumming faintly against you, adding an intoxicating edge to her touch. Your breaths come faster, your body arching into her as her lips return to yours in a kiss so heated it leaves you dizzy. She pulls back, hovering above you, her lips curled into a smug, satisfied smile as she brushes stray strands of hair from your face. Her own breathing is ragged; her normally pristine control frayed at the edges in a way that makes her look even more devastatingly beautiful.

You barely manage to form words between pants. "I... I want more tonight. I need more.”

Her eyes darken at your admission, a flicker of surprise mingling with the raw desire that’s already written across her face. She leans in closer, her lips ghosting over yours as she whispers, “Are you sure?” Her tone is soft, but the hunger beneath it is unmistakable. She’s been holding back, waiting until you were ready, but it’s clear how much she wants this.

Rather than answering with words, you pull her into another heated kiss, pouring every ounce of need and certainty into it. Her lips crush against yours, her hands sliding up your body as the kiss deepens, growing more fervent by the second. She groans into your mouth when your own hands begin to explore, trailing down her sides with deliberate curiosity. When your fingers brush between her legs and find a firm bulge beneath the fabric of her suit pants, you freeze.

Your wide-eyed gaze snaps to hers, startled by what you hadn’t expected. She pulls back slightly, her smirk widening as she takes in your reaction, her eyes glittering with amusement and pride. “Did you think I’d wait to put it on after the way you just kissed me?” She teases, her voice low and sultry.

“Oh,” you breathe, momentarily lost for words, “I love magic.”. Then curiosity takes over, your hand exploring the unfamiliar sensation, gently pressing and teasing. The way Agatha’s lips part, a soft moan escaping, sends a thrill through you. Her hips twitch under your touch, and it clicks—you realise she can feel everything.

Her moans grow sharper as your hand strokes the bulge through her pants, and her forehead falls to yours, her breath hot and uneven. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling,” she groans, her voice trembling with restraint.

You smirk, feeling emboldened by the way she’s unravelling under your touch. “I really, really love magic,” you murmur, your tone dripping with mischief.

Her answering laugh is low and guttural, a sound that sends heat racing through your veins. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she growls, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, her magic sparking faintly against your skin as her control slips.

When she finally pulls away, you’re left breathless, your skin burning with anticipation as she leans back and stands. Her eyes never leave yours; the promise in them is enough to make your pulse race. With a deliberate flick of her wrist, she clicks her fingers, and in an instant, her body is engulfed in a swirling haze of purple smoke. It lingers for only a heartbeat before dissipating, leaving her standing before you completely bare—except for the deep violet strap now secured to her hips.

“Ready for more?” She asks, her voice low and velvet-smooth, a dangerous smirk playing on her lips as she steps toward you.

You nod, your breath catching as she climbs back onto the bed. Her hands glide over your thighs, parting them gently as she settles between your legs. The heat of her body against yours is electrifying, her magic humming faintly where her skin brushes yours.

Agatha’s hands find your hips, her grip firm yet tender as she lines herself up with practiced precision. Her gaze meets yours, her smirk softening into something darker, more intimate. “Tell me if it’s too much,” she murmurs, her voice a low purr.

Her fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you steady as she takes her time, letting the anticipation build as her body moves closer to yours. Agatha’s gaze never wavers as she presses forward, her movements slow and deliberate, giving you all the time you need to adjust. The initial stretch draws a gasp from your lips, and her grip on your hips tightens, grounding you with her steady touch. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing despite the obvious strain in it. “You’re doing so well.”

Her pace remains measured, her hips rocking in shallow, careful movements. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you feel the tension in her body as she fights to hold back, letting you catch your breath and find your rhythm.

But restraint has never been Agatha’s strong suit—not when it comes to you. It doesn’t take long before the careful control begins to slip. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and urging her on with breathless gasps and moans that spur her to move faster, deeper, and harder. The moment she senses you’re ready for more, any pretence of caution vanishes.

“Fuck, doll, you’re perfect,” she growls, her voice rough and thick with desire. Her hips snap against yours with a growing urgency, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat and movement. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with the symphony of gasps, moans, and her ragged breaths in your ear.

Her name tumbles from your lips like a prayer, and Agatha responds with a low, guttural sound, burying her face in the curve of your neck as she drives you higher. Her teeth graze your skin, her nails pressing into your thighs, and every thrust sends sparks racing down your spine. You lose yourself in her—her strength, her heat, the raw passion she pours into every movement.

“God,” she groans, her voice heavy with awe and lust. “You feel… incredible.”

Her pace grows erratic, and she moves like a woman possessed, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. When your hands clutch at her shoulders, your nails dragging across her back, she lets out a sharp gasp, her hips stuttering for a brief moment before resuming with even more intensity.

You can feel her magic surging, wild and untamed, spilling over in waves that leave you breathless. It’s all-consuming, pulling you under like a riptide. When the climax crashes over you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—a white-hot explosion of pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath her, her name a broken cry on your lips.

Agatha follows moments later, her hips slowing as her head falls to your shoulder, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, tangled together, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing.

When she finally lifts her head, her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as she brushes a strand of hair from your damp forehead. “I told you teasing me was dangerous,” she murmurs, her voice soft but full of smug amusement.

You laugh weakly, your hands still clutching her waist as you try to catch your breath. “And I’d do it all over again.”

Her laugh is low and rich, and she leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, her movements now gentle and languid. “Careful, darling,” she purrs, her magic flickering faintly in her fingertips as they trace lazy patterns on your hip. “I’m far from done with you.”

With a sly smirk, she leans back, her fingers snapping once more. The faint glow of purple magic surrounds her, and in an instant, the strap is gone, replaced by an effortlessly regal floral robe that shimmers like liquid starlight. She stretches lazily, her eyes glinting with mischief as she looks down at you.

“Rest while you can,” she murmurs, her tone laced with promise. “We’ve got a long night ahead.”

[izzih22]

Could you do a fic where Azzi is overstimulated and no one realizes except for Paige.

Don’t Let Go

Note: hope y’all like it.

Azzi blinked against the brightness of the lights.

The room was packed — reporters crammed in every seat, cameras flashing like firecrackers, overhead bulbs turning everything sterile and loud. Her body still buzzed with residual energy from the game, but the longer she sat still, the more she could feel the noise crawling under her skin.

She was seated between Geno and Paige, at the long table up front. Her name placard sat clean and sharp in front of her, like it belonged. Like she belonged.

But her chest was tightening.

The questions came fast, one after another. Geno answered with clipped professionalism. Paige added dry wit and sharp insight.

Azzi tried to keep up.

But her hands were sweating. Her pulse was racing. Her leg bounced beneath the table uncontrollably.

She forced herself to smile.

Fake it. Get through it. You’ve done this a hundred times.

“Azzi,” a reporter said, “you had a huge impact in the second half. What changed for you mentally after the break?”

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

The room waited.

“I—uh…” she blinked. Her voice sounded far away. “I think we… locked in. Adjusted.”

That was it. Just a few words.

But it felt like she was underwater.

She stared down at the table, trying to breathe evenly, to keep her hands still in her lap. But her fingers had started to shake.

And then— a gentle touch.

Paige’s pinky brushed hers under the table.

Barely there.

But it grounded her.

Azzi didn’t look up, didn’t move — just slowly let her hand shift sideways until her pinky hooked Paige’s.

Paige gave the tiniest squeeze.

Geno kept talking, answering a question about defensive adjustments. Paige jumped in when a follow-up came her way. Her voice was even, her posture relaxed, but her hand moved beneath the table — careful and unseen.

She traced her pinky gently along Azzi’s.

Azzi’s breath hitched, eyes stinging. Her shoulders were up around her ears. She couldn’t stop the static in her head. But Paige’s touch was anchoring her.

Then Paige shifted.

Under the table, her entire hand slid over, and she laced their fingers together.

Full grip. Warm. Solid.

Azzi let out the softest, tiniest exhale — almost a whimper.

But it was enough for Paige to move her foot too, gently brushing Azzi’s ankle under the table, their legs nudging together just enough to touch.

You’re not alone.

Azzi stared at the table, fighting tears. The lights were still too bright. The noise still too loud. But Paige was right there, tethering her to something soft. Something safe.

“She’s tired,” Paige said casually, when another question was directed toward Azzi. “She gave everything tonight. It’s all in the tape — you’ll see it.”

No one pressed.

Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand back. Harder now.

Paige didn’t flinch. She just gave a gentle stroke along Azzi’s knuckles with her thumb. Over and over. Like a heartbeat.

The press conference wrapped five minutes later, but Azzi had stopped tracking time. She only noticed when Geno stood and the cameras stopped flashing.

Then Paige stood too — but didn’t let go of her hand.

Not until they were backstage and alone, the door clicking closed behind them.

⸻

The second it shut, Azzi broke.

Her body slumped forward as she tried to hold in the sob building in her throat. She turned to the wall and leaned into it with one hand, the other still gripping Paige’s.

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispered. “I wanted to get up and walk out.”

“You did do it,” Paige said gently, stepping up behind her. She pressed both arms around Azzi’s waist, holding her from behind. “You stayed.”

Azzi’s shoulders shook. “Only because of you.”

“I’ll always be there,” Paige whispered into the crook of her neck. “You don’t have to say a word for me to know when you need me.”

Azzi turned in her arms, finally letting herself cry.

Paige held her tight — one hand cradling the back of her head, the other around her middle, swaying them slightly in place like she could rock the pain out of her.

“No one saw,” Azzi whispered after a long minute. “No one but you.”

Paige kissed her temple. “No one ever needs to see but me.”

⸻

They stayed like that — just holding, breathing, forehead to forehead in a quiet, dim hallway — until the lights no longer felt blinding and Azzi’s chest stopped trembling.

“You saved me,” she said again, this time softer, steadier.

Paige smiled. “Every time.”

⸻

The hotel room was quiet when they stepped inside.

Azzi didn’t say much on the way back. Paige didn’t make her. She just kept her close — a hand pressed to the small of her back as they walked, her voice low when she needed to cut through noise, her eyes always watching.

Now, in the stillness of the room, the weight of everything began to settle in.

Azzi dropped her bag on the floor by the door. Her hands hovered over the zipper of her hoodie but didn’t move. She stood there, stuck in place.

Paige stepped in gently behind her.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice low like they were sharing a secret. “Let me take care of you now, okay?”

Azzi nodded without turning. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

⸻

Ten minutes later, the bathroom was filled with warm steam.

Paige had drawn the bath quietly — not too hot, just how Azzi liked it. She lit one of the little travel candles she always packed now (lavender and sandalwood, because it calmed Azzi’s breathing) and pulled out a fresh towel to set on the counter.

Then she came back to the bed where Azzi sat, still half-dressed, staring at her knees.

Paige knelt down in front of her.

“Arms up,” she said softly, and Azzi raised them without question.

She peeled off her hoodie, then the tank top underneath. Her fingers were gentle, reverent. Like she was unwrapping something sacred, not undressing a tired girl.

Paige kissed her shoulder before standing. “Come on. Bath’s ready.”

⸻

Azzi sank into the water with a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

Paige sat behind her on a stool, her hands resting on Azzi’s shoulders, thumbs brushing slow circles into her skin. The tension didn’t melt instantly — it never did — but Azzi leaned back into Paige’s touch, just a little.

They didn’t speak. Paige knew silence was part of the healing.

After a while, Azzi finally whispered, “It felt like everything was caving in. Like the lights were stabbing me and I couldn’t breathe.”

Paige didn’t flinch. She just kept rubbing slow circles into her shoulders. “I know. I saw it.”

“You always see it before I even know it’s happening.”

“That’s my job,” Paige said simply.

Azzi cracked a small smile at that. “You never signed up for that job.”

“I kind of did,” Paige said, reaching forward to brush wet curls off Azzi’s cheek. “The minute I fell in love with you.”

Azzi turned her head slowly until her temple rested against Paige’s arm. Her eyes were heavy now, her body limp with the kind of safety only Paige could give her.

“You can stay in here as long as you want,” Paige murmured. “I’ll be right here.”

⸻

Later, when Azzi was wrapped in the fluffy hotel robe and curled under the blanket, Paige climbed in beside her without hesitation. She lay on her back, and Azzi rolled over, tucking herself into Paige’s side like she was born to be there.

“Do you ever get overwhelmed like that?” Azzi asked softly, her fingers tracing patterns along Paige’s ribs.

Paige thought for a second.

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes. But I’ve always been good at hiding it. Even from myself.”

Azzi lifted her head just enough to look at her. “Don’t hide it from me.”

Paige smiled and kissed her forehead. “Never.”

⸻

They stayed like that long after the lights were off. Paige held Azzi through every aftershock — every twitch, every deep breath, every little moment her body remembered the panic.

“I love you,” Azzi whispered into her chest.

Paige didn’t respond with words. Just pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.

That was the thing about them.

When the world was too loud, their love didn’t have to be.

[metalmonki]

Can I request a Eddie Diaz x reader you work together and maybe make it similar to the Maddie plot where you get kidnapped and really injured but he finds you

I hope this is what you were after! I certainly enjoyed writing it. Thanks for requesting it.

Through The Dark

Edmundo 'Eddie' Diaz X Reader

4.1k word count

Summary When your kidnapped from the 118 Eddie becomes a man with a mission and nothing will get in his way.

The day started like any other at the 118.

The sun was already beating down on the asphalt as Buck and Eddie moved around the fire truck, prepping equipment with the easy rhythm of long practice. Eddie was double-checking the hoses while Buck swung open compartments, tossing a football lightly between his hands during every free second.

Across the bay, Hen and Chimney leaned into the back of the ambulance, rattling through their stock. The familiar sound of supplies clinking together echoed off the walls: saline bags, bandages, splints. The station hummed with the usual lazy energy of a morning before the inevitable chaos hit.

But there was something… off.

It was Hen who noticed first, her hand freezing over the trauma kit.

"Hey," she said, turning to Chimney with a slight frown. "You seen Y/N?"

Chimney paused mid-count, brows furrowing. "No. I figured she was already here. Y/N’s usually first in."

Eddie, overhearing, called over his shoulder, "Maybe she’s just running late?"

Buck spun the football in his hands. "Late for Y/N?" he said. "Nah, that's like... against the laws of physics."

The team exchanged glances. A strange, unspoken tension crept into the air.

Hen wiped her hands on her cargo pants and grabbed her radio. "Y/N, you copy?" she said, pressing the button. Static answered.

"Maybe she’s in the showers?" Buck offered, already moving toward the living quarters. "I'll check."

The firehouse, usually alive with movement and banter, suddenly felt too big, too quiet. As Buck jogged down the hall, a gnawing sense of worry tightened in his chest.

Something wasn't right.

And they were about to find out just how wrong things really were.

Buck came jogging back into the bay, shaking his head. "Nothing. Showers are empty. Locker room too."

Hen pulled out her phone, scrolling quickly to Y/N’s contact. "I'm calling her," she said, pressing dial. They all stood still, waiting, listening — but no ringtone echoed through the station. No hurried footsteps. No laugh.

Just silence.

Eddie wiped his hands on a rag, but it didn’t help. His palms were already clammy. His heart hammered against his ribs in a way that had nothing to do with work.

Where are you, Y/N?

He knew he shouldn’t panic — not yet. But he couldn't help it. He had been in love with her since the day she showed up at the 118, nerves visible but determination stronger. And since then, he'd hidden it. Buried it under years of jokes, teasing, pretending he was just another teammate.

Now all that restraint was crumbling. Fast.

"I'm checking Bobby’s office," Eddie muttered, already moving.

Buck and Chim followed without hesitation, Hen right behind them.

Bobby looked up from behind his desk as they pushed in. "Something wrong?" he asked, concern already flickering across his face.

"Have you heard from Y/N today?" Eddie demanded, sharper than he intended. His fists clenched at his sides.

Bobby’s frown deepened. "No. I figured she was out back, doing equipment checks. She clocked in last night for the overnight. Why?"

Eddie felt his stomach drop. She had been here. Something had happened.

Buck glanced at him, unease written all over his face. "She wouldn't just leave without telling someone."

Hen crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "This isn’t right, Bobby. Y/N would never."

Bobby grabbed his radio, his whole posture shifting from casual to urgent. "Alright. No assumptions. Full sweep of the station first. If we don't find her, we escalate."

But Eddie wasn’t waiting. His mind was already spinning worst-case scenarios, panic clawing at his chest. He barely heard Bobby giving orders, barely registered Buck calling after him.

He had to find her. Because this wasn’t just about a missing teammate.

This was about the woman he loved — and he was terrified he might already be too late.

…

The search of the station turned up nothing. No signs of Y/N — no note, no discarded gear, no hint of where she might have gone.

Bobby ordered Buck and Eddie to check her apartment while he and the others coordinated with dispatch. It wasn’t standard protocol, but none of them cared. Y/N was family — and families didn't sit around and wait.

Buck drove, Eddie riding shotgun, his knee bouncing with restless energy the entire way. Neither of them spoke much. What was there to say?

When they pulled up outside her building, Eddie was already unbuckling, practically jumping out before Buck even fully parked.

"Maybe she overslept?" Buck offered weakly, jogging to keep up as Eddie charged up the front steps.

"Y/N doesn't oversleep," Eddie snapped, pounding on her door. "Y/N’s the one who wakes us up."

He knocked again, harder. "Y/N! It's Eddie and Buck! You in there?"

No answer.

Buck tried the doorknob — locked — then looked down. No packages, no keys, no sign she'd come back after her shift.

Eddie's stomach twisted painfully.

He was about to suggest they try the manager for a key when Buck’s phone buzzed. He yanked it out of his pocket.

"It’s Hen."

Buck answered on speaker. "Hen, tell me you found something."

"I did," she said quickly, breathless. "You need to get back here. Now."

Eddie stiffened. "What is it?" His voice was rough, desperate.

"I found Y/N’s radio." Hen’s words were grim. "Stuffed behind the lockers. Like someone was trying to hide it."

Buck cursed under his breath.

Eddie felt like the floor tilted beneath him. Y/N would never ditch her radio. It was her lifeline. She treated that thing like it was a part of her body.

"I’m grabbing it now," Hen said. "Get back here. Something’s wrong."

Buck was already moving before the call disconnected, sprinting back to the truck.

Eddie stayed frozen for a second longer, staring at Y/N’s door. Something had happened. Something bad.

And he was running out of time to save her.

Buck barely waited for Eddie to slam his door shut before peeling away from the curb, tires screeching against the asphalt. Eddie gripped the dashboard, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Neither of them spoke on the way back — didn’t need to. The air in the cab was thick with fear.

When they pulled into the station, Eddie was out before the truck fully stopped, sprinting through the bay doors.

Inside, it was a whole different scene.

Bobby was at the center of it all, his expression grim. Standing beside him, already in uniform and radiating authority, was Athena.

Eddie’s heart twisted tighter. If Bobby had called in Athena, this was no longer a missing teammate situation — this was an active investigation.

Athena spotted them and came over immediately. Her voice was calm but firm, the kind of calm that made Eddie even more nervous.

"Bobby filled me in," she said. "Hen found Y/N’s radio hidden behind the lockers. That’s enough for me to start a formal missing persons report."

"She wouldn’t leave without her radio," Eddie said hoarsely. He could hear the tremble in his own voice and hated it.

Athena’s gaze softened just slightly. "I know. Which means we treat this like foul play until we know otherwise."

Bobby stepped forward. "I’ve already locked down the station. No one in or out unless they’re part of the investigation. Dispatch is rerouting calls to the other houses."

Hen appeared beside them, holding a clear evidence bag with Y/N’s radio inside. The sight of it made Eddie’s stomach churn.

"There’s more," Hen said. "The clip on the radio is busted. Like someone ripped it off."

Athena nodded tightly. "Alright. First step — we canvas the station again, top to bottom. If Y/N left anything behind, a message, anything, we’ll find it."

"I want to help," Eddie said immediately, stepping closer, like he could physically force the universe to let him do something.

"You will," Athena promised. "But I need you sharp, Eddie. You, Buck, Hen, Chim — you know this station better than anyone. Look for anything out of place. Anything."

Eddie nodded, forcing himself to breathe.

Buck clapped a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "We'll find her," he said under his breath. "We have to."

Eddie didn’t trust himself to answer. Because in his gut, he already knew — this wasn’t going to be simple. Someone had taken Y/N.

And he was going to tear the city apart if he had to, just to bring her home.

The station, usually filled with chatter and movement, was dead silent except for the sound of footsteps and the low crackle of Athena’s radio as she coordinated with patrol units outside.

Eddie, Buck, Hen, and Chimney split up, each taking a section of the building.

Eddie’s heart was hammering so loudly it drowned out everything else. He moved methodically — locker rooms, rec room, the kitchen. Nothing looked out of place, but he knew better than to trust appearances.

He found himself drawn back toward the bunkroom, where they all slept on long shifts.

He pushed open the door carefully.

The beds were neatly made, just like always. Sunlight filtered through the blinds in dusty beams.

Eddie scanned the room, every instinct on edge.

And then — something.

Barely visible under the edge of Y/N’s bunk, tucked up near the wall — a scrap of dark fabric.

Eddie crouched, reaching for it carefully.

It was a piece of Y/N’s uniform shirt. Torn, like it had been caught on something. And just beside it — tiny scuff marks on the floor, like there had been a struggle, quickly hidden.

"Eddie!" Buck’s voice echoed from down the hall. "You find something?"

"Yeah," Eddie called back, voice tight.

Buck came running, and Eddie held up the torn fabric.

Buck’s face went pale. "That’s hers."

Eddie nodded grimly. "Someone grabbed her here."

He could barely get the words out. Rage and fear warred in his chest, almost choking him.

Buck looked around the bunkroom, his eyes narrowing. "If there was a fight, maybe she left something else behind. A clue. Something we missed."

Eddie crouched lower, studying the baseboards, the bedframe — anything.

That’s when he saw it — carved into the underside of the wooden bed slat, just barely scratched deep enough to be visible:

5A

Eddie stared at it, his mind racing.

"What is that?" Buck asked, crouching beside him.

"Room number?" Eddie guessed. "Locker? Storage?"

They both exchanged a look — knowing time was running out.

Without waiting for backup, Eddie bolted out of the bunkroom, Buck on his heels. They had a firehouse to tear apart — and a message from Y/N to decode.

And Eddie swore to himself — he wasn’t leaving without her.

Eddie didn’t stop moving as he charged back into the main bay, "5A" burning into his brain like a brand.

"Bobby!" he called, waving the others over.

Bobby, Athena, Hen, and Chim all converged immediately, tension crackling in the air.

"We found this," Eddie said, holding up the torn piece of Y/N’s uniform. "There were scuff marks near her bunk — and this—" he pointed to Buck, who pulled up a photo on his phone of the carving under the bed slat, "5A."

Athena leaned in, frowning hard. "5A? What's that mean?"

"I don't think it’s inside the station," Eddie said, breathing hard. "Y/N had seconds — if she could scratch that in, she must have known where she was being taken."

Bobby’s face was grim. "5A... it could be a vehicle. A plate number. A storage unit. An apartment."

Athena was already moving, radioing her team. "Start pulling street cam footage near the station. Look for anything suspicious around shift change. A van, a car, anything with a 5A on the plates."

"There's a side alley," Hen said suddenly, snapping her fingers. "By the maintenance exit. Cameras don’t reach it. If someone wanted to grab her without being seen..."

"They’d use that," Eddie finished, already sprinting toward the maintenance door.

They burst outside into the narrow alley. The sun beat down on the concrete, harsh and unrelenting.

It looked empty — no obvious signs of a struggle.

But Eddie’s instincts screamed at him to look closer.

Buck scanned the ground. "Wait—" he pointed. "Tire tracks. Fresh."

Athena crouched beside them, professional but clearly rattled. "Two sets. One small, one larger — like a truck or a van."

"And here," Eddie said, pointing to the brick wall. It was faint — almost nothing — but a set of scraped marks, like someone had been dragged, boots scraping desperately for purchase.

Buck swore under his breath.

Eddie turned a slow circle, trying to breathe through the rising panic. Y/N was gone. She was outside the station — taken.

But she hadn’t gone quietly. She’d fought. Left them clues. She believed they’d find her.

Eddie clenched his fists, every muscle in his body vibrating with rage and fear.

"We get that footage," Athena said, already dialing. "We pull traffic cams. Every feed in a five-block radius. We find that van."

"And when we do," Eddie said, voice low and shaking with the force of it, "we're bringing her home."

No one argued.

Because they all knew — nothing, nothing — would stop him.

Back inside the station, Athena coordinated with officers across the city, barking orders into her radio. Bobby paced like a caged animal. Hen and Chim ran through street cam feeds on a laptop, scrubbing footage frame by frame.

Eddie stood frozen in the middle of it all, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, heart hammering so hard it hurt.

It’s not enough. We’re too slow. She’s out there. Alone.

Buck noticed, stepping up beside him. "Hey. Breathe, man. Athena’s gonna find something."

But Eddie shook his head, frustration boiling over.

"I can’t just stand here!" he snapped. His voice echoed across the bay, making everyone glance up.

Athena shot him a sharp look — but Eddie didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just knowing Y/N was scared, hurting, maybe worse, while he stood here doing nothing.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle. Think, Diaz. THINK.

"5A." "5A." The number kept spinning in his head.

And then — like a fist to the gut — he remembered.

Weeks ago. Late-night conversation after a rough call. Y/N sitting across from him, laughing softly, looking tired but beautiful. Talking about how she hated her ex-boyfriend — the manipulative jerk she'd finally left for good.

"I used to live in Unit 5A of the building we were at," she had said, rolling her eyes. "Worst six months of my life."

Eddie froze, blood running cold.

"5A," he whispered.

Buck frowned. "What?"

"Her ex’s apartment," Eddie said hoarsely, turning to face him. "She lived there with him — Unit 5A."

Realization hit Buck like a freight train. "You think he took her?"

"I don’t think," Eddie growled. "I know."

Without waiting for permission, Eddie snatched the keys off the hook and headed for one of the station SUVs.

Buck was right behind him. "Let’s go."

Bobby started to call after them, but Athena caught his arm. "Let them," she said quietly. "They’re her best shot right now."

Buck drove while Eddie rattled off the address from memory — he'd made her laugh so hard that night mimicking her ex’s dramatic, whiny voice.

Now it felt like acid in his mouth.

As they weaved through traffic, Eddie’s hands shook in his lap, rage and terror fighting for dominance.

Hold on, Y/N, he thought fiercely. Hold on. I'm coming.

…

The city’s noise seemed miles away as Eddie and Buck raced toward the apartment building. Every second felt like an eternity. Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest, and his hands trembled, his thoughts drowning in one singular focus: finding Y/N.

When they reached the building, Eddie was out of the SUV before it even stopped, running toward the front door with Buck on his heels.

They didn’t knock.

Eddie slammed his fist into the doorframe of the apartment before stepping inside, his eyes scanning the dimly lit space.

The man was on the couch, his scruffy face pale with panic as he scrambled to his feet. His hand reached toward his waistband.

"Where is she?" Eddie’s voice was a growl, low and dangerous. "Tell me where she is right now."

The man froze, eyes flicking nervously between Eddie and Buck. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Eddie’s eyes narrowed, and in one fluid motion, he grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him back against the wall.

"Don’t lie to me," Eddie hissed. "She’s here. You took her."

Buck stepped up, placing a hand on Eddie’s arm. "Easy, man. Let’s just—"

"Shut up!" Eddie snapped, not looking at Buck. He wasn’t listening. He couldn’t, not with Y/N out there, alone, scared, hurt.

The man looked terrified but slowly backed up, hands raised in submission. "Okay, okay. She’s back there," he stammered, nodding toward a hallway at the back of the apartment. "I didn’t—didn’t. I just didn’t want her to leave”

Eddie didn’t wait for the rest of his confession. He was already pushing past him, running down the narrow hallway, his chest tight with fear.

When they reached the last room, the sight that met Eddie was enough to stop him cold.

Y/N was sitting against the wall, her legs drawn up to her chest. She looked so small. So fragile. Her clothes were torn and stained with blood. Her face was bruised, her lips cracked and swollen, one eye nearly swollen shut. Her arms were marked with deep red scratches and faint bruises. Every part of her seemed broken — physically, emotionally.

Eddie’s heart shattered at the sight of her, his whole body instinctively reaching for her. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice catching as he dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands gently cupped her face, trembling with barely contained fear. "Oh, god, I thought—"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused at first. But when she saw Eddie, a flicker of recognition passed through her, and her lips trembled as she whispered his name.

"Eddie..." She tried to speak, but her voice was weak, barely audible.

"Shh," Eddie breathed, gently pressing his forehead to hers. "You’re safe. We’re gonna get you out of here, I swear. I’m not leaving you."

She tried to push herself up, but the effort was too much. She collapsed back against the wall, exhaustion and pain too much for her to bear. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with pain. "I... I couldn’t... I fought... but—"

Eddie’s eyes were fierce, his grip tightening around her hand. "You did fight, Y/N. You’re here. You’re alive. You did everything you could, okay? You hear me?"

She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her battered cheek as she nodded weakly.

Buck appeared behind Eddie, stepping back into the room. "Athena’s on her way."

Eddie nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He pulled Y/N into his arms, careful of her bruised body, his heart breaking all over again at how fragile she felt in his hold.

"Hold on, Y/N," he whispered into her ear, his voice barely more than a hoarse breath. "We’re getting you out of here."

She leaned into him, but the pain was obvious in the way her body trembled. "Please," she whispered, barely audible. "Don’t leave me..."

Eddie held her tighter, desperate. "Never again. I’m not going anywhere without you."

Eddie carefully lifted Y/N into his arms, cradling her close, and despite the pain she was in, she rested her head against his chest. Her breath was shallow, her body trembling from the shock, but Eddie held her like she was the most fragile thing in the world, moving quickly but gently.

Buck grabbed the man, now cowering on the floor, and yanked him up by the collar. "You’re not getting away with this," Buck growled, shoving the guy toward the front door. "The cops are on their way. They’ll deal with you."

Eddie didn’t look back. His focus was entirely on Y/N.

Her head rolled slightly to the side as she looked up at him, her gaze unfocused. "I didn’t think... I thought you wouldn’t find me... I didn’t know if I could hold on..."

"Hey," Eddie said softly, his voice breaking, a quiet desperation beneath his calm exterior. "You’re here. You’re alive. We found you." He started to walk out of the apartment, his heart a twisted knot of relief and guilt. She shouldn’t have gone through this. I should have protected her,

The moment they stepped outside, Buck turned to him. "We need to get her to the hospital, Eddie."

"I know," Eddie said, already heading for the SUV, his footsteps quick but careful as he moved through the dim hallway.

At the hospital, everything happened in a blur.

Nurses rushed to Y/N’s side, pulling her from Eddie’s arms and onto a gurney. The beeping of monitors, the urgency in their voices — all of it echoed in Eddie’s mind, muffled, as he stood frozen at the foot of the bed. His chest felt tight, like someone had shoved a weight into his lungs.

He watched them work on her — cleaning her cuts, bandaging the bruises, stabilizing her, but through it all, Eddie couldn’t shake the image of her battered, broken form sitting on the floor in that apartment. The pain she’d endured. The fear in her eyes when she first saw him.

The hospital staff finally left, giving them a moment of quiet. The room was dim, the sterile scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. Eddie took a seat beside her bed, his body tense but his hand gently brushing against her uninjured one.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "I’m so sorry. I should’ve—"

She turned her head slowly, eyes fluttering open. Her face was pale, but her lips curled into a weak, painful smile. "You found me," she murmured. "I knew you would."

Eddie’s throat tightened. He hated seeing her like this, hated knowing that she’d been through hell — and he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been able to stop it.

"I should’ve been there sooner," Eddie whispered, his hand gripping hers, as though holding on to her might make up for the time he lost.

"Hey," Y/N said softly, her voice barely audible. "You found me. That’s all that matters."

Eddie shook his head, a mixture of relief and guilt churning inside him. "It wasn’t enough, Y/N. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. I should’ve protected you—"

Y/N squeezed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her injuries. "Eddie, listen to me." Her voice was still shaky, but there was a determination in it that made his heart skip a beat. "You didn’t let me down. You never could. You kept looking for me, and that’s all that matters. You’re here. You saved me."

He stared at her for a long moment, his chest tight as he tried to swallow the emotions flooding him. Saved her. That was the word she used. But she had saved herself, too — she'd fought, she'd held on.

Eddie could feel it then — the crushing weight of everything he’d been keeping inside for so long. The way his heart seemed to crack open, pulling him closer to her, making him realize just how much she meant to him. He could never put it into words, not in this moment, but he knew.

He knew that he’d been in love with her for so long, it hurt.

Y/N slowly reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, her touch soft but grounding. "Eddie," she whispered, her voice still hoarse. "You don’t have to say anything. I’m here. You’re here. That’s enough."

Eddie nodded, his throat tight, his emotions threatening to spill over. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to hold her until this whole nightmare felt like it was finally over. But instead, he simply leaned down, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closing for a brief moment.

"I’m here," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "And I’m not going anywhere."

Hours passed, and Y/N was sedated, resting in a peaceful sleep under the watchful care of doctors and nurses. Eddie stayed by her side, not caring about the world outside the hospital room. Buck had stopped by, giving him a brief, understanding glance before leaving them alone.

But Eddie couldn’t leave. Not now. Not after everything she had been through.

And when she woke again, her hand reached out for him, her fingers trembling.

Eddie took her hand gently, pressing it to his lips. "I’m not leaving you," he promised again, and this time, he meant it in a way that felt deeper than before.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with exhaustion but trust. She smiled weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want you to."

And that was enough.

[dramagodesss]

four : pose for the fans

playin' the players

y/n's phone

rafe's phone

tuesday, 3:00 PM. studio 2C.

the space was sun-drenched and quiet, all clean white walls and tall windows cracked just enough to let the spring air drift in. you were already setting up when jj walked in—five minutes late, a little smug, holding a soda can and wearing that same “i know i’m hot” expression.

“you’re late,” you said without looking up, adjusting the tripod.

“nah,” jj said, stepping inside and stretching lazily. “i’m fashionably on time. there’s a difference.”

you gave him a quick once-over. clean tee. denim jacket. nothing too loud—just what you asked. “points for following instructions,” you said, holding back a grin. “miracles do happen.”

he tossed his jacket onto a chair and walked toward the backdrop. “so what now? you gonna make me look like a tortured artist? or should i do blue steel?”

you rolled your eyes. “just… sit. act natural. don’t overthink it.”

jj flopped onto the stool, legs splayed wide, arms resting loose on his thighs. you stepped back and lifted your camera, squinting through the viewfinder.

“yeah, okay… not bad. chin up a little.”

“like this?” he tilted his head, eyes locking onto yours with a lazy grin.

you clicked your tongue. “less ‘bedroom eyes,’ more ‘existential crisis.’”

he laughed. “damn. i didn’t realize you liked your models depressed.”

“i like them honest,” you shot back. “now shut up for two seconds, pretty boy.”

you moved in closer, quietly adjusting the angle. jj watched you, his smile softening. and just when you had the shot almost perfect, you paused.

“hold still,” you murmured. “hair’s messing with the light.”

he raised an eyebrow but didn’t move as you stepped in, brushing a thumb across his temple to fix a loose strand. the room felt weirdly quiet all of a sudden.

jj didn’t move. didn’t blink. just watched you.

your hand lingered for a second.

then you said it—low, casual, like it meant nothing. “what? falling in love?”

jj’s breath caught, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile, like he couldn’t decide whether to flirt back or just melt on the spot.

you fixed the strand, adjusted the collar of his tee like you hadn’t just sent his brain into static, and stepped back with the same calm energy.

“relax, maybank. it’s just for the shot.”

you lifted the camera.

click.

jj blinked like he was just now remembering how to breathe. the smirk crept back onto his face, but softer this time. almost… shy.

you kept shooting. quiet clicks in a sunlit room. and for once, he didn’t have anything to say. he just looked at you—eyes less cocky, more curious. like maybe he was trying to figure out what kind of game he’d just walked into… and if he was still winning.

you circled around him again, low to the floor for a wider angle. “elbows on your knees,” you murmured. “lean forward a little. yeah—just like that.”

jj did what you asked without question this time, his gaze following you like gravity. when your shoulder brushed his leg as you stood back up, he didn’t flinch. didn’t move. you felt it—the way his breath hitched just enough to make you smirk behind the lens.

“you always this bossy?” he asked, voice low, the usual edge dulled into something slower.

you shrugged. “only with boys who need direction.”

jj huffed a laugh. “that so?”

“mhm.” you adjusted the focus. “stay still.”

click. click.

“and you always this flirty with your models?” he added, lips tilting.

“only with boys who can take it,” you replied, not missing a beat.

he leaned back slightly, expression somewhere between impressed and wrecked.

you gave him one last look. “a little less smug. more thoughtful. like you’ve got secrets.”

“i do have secrets.”

“yeah?” you smirked, raising the camera again. “hope they’re photogenic.”

click.

jj ran a hand through his hair and gave you a crooked grin. “you know,” he said slowly, “i didn’t think being objectified would feel this good.”

“you’re welcome,” you said, lowering the camera.

you lifted the camera again, already lining up another shot before he could get too cocky.

“smile,” you said softly. “but for real this time.”

jj quirked a brow. “what, you don’t like my usual smirk?”

“you look pretty when you smile.”

his grin came instantly—bigger, real, and so stupidly contagious it almost threw off your focus.

click.

“there it is,” you muttered, almost to yourself. then, louder: “you lil cocky bastard. you love the attention, don’t ya?”

jj let out a full laugh, head tipping back. “you’re the one aiming a camera at me like i’m a piece of art. can you blame me?”

“oh, so now you think you’re art?”

“you just said i’m pretty.”

you snorted. “that was bait. so you’d give me a genuine smile.”

he narrowed his eyes, still smiling. “oh? so it was all strategy?”

“obviously.” you peeked at the preview screen. “but it worked.”

jj stood and padded over to your side, shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in. “lemme see.”

you tilted the camera toward him.

he scrolled through a few frames, mouth twitching. “okay, not to hype myself up but… damn. you’re good.”

“i know.”

“send me the results?”

“only if you say please.”

he turned to you, lips inches from your cheek now, voice low and teasing. “please, winslow.”

you didn’t flinch. just smiled, unbothered. “check your inbox later.”

he lingered a second longer than he needed to, then stepped back with that familiar swagger creeping in again.

“you ever need another model…” he said as he walked to the door, “you know where to find me.”

taglist : @beewritess @davinashifts333 @lanasangelsz @littlefreak-liz @drewstarkeyswife0 @lalaloopsieparty @ethanthequeefqueen @wtfisastiles @angelicameron @moth-feeet @drewstarkeyswife-7 @hiphopstar @cokewithcameron @cameronsbabydoll @chillgal135 @ayy1234567

[baigepueckers]

Paige Bueckers X Olympic Skateboard Reader

Drop In

The sun in Dallas didn’t just shine…it pressed. Heavy and relentless, it clung to your skin like static electricity, forcing sweat to gather beneath your Team USA cap as you surveyed the edges of the temporary street course carved into a parking lot downtown.

You were here for the X Games Summer Showcase, technically. It wasn’t a competition…more of a media circus, with energy drink tents and influencer drones buzzing overhead. You’d done your interviews. Your demo run. Smiled for photos even when you were sore and didn’t feel like talking.

You should’ve left by now. Your manager had already texted twice. But something about the golden light, the smell of tacos from the truck across the lot, and the hum of conversation in the background kept you still. That and the lingering buzz of adrenaline under your skin. Skating…even on a non competition day…never left your system right away.

You pulled your board into your lap and sat on the edge of the cement bowl, wiping sweat from your brow with your sleeve, letting your heartbeat slow. That’s when you felt it a gaze. Not creepy. Not desperate. Just… focused.

You turned your head and spotted her leaning quietly against the chain link fence, arms folded, sunglasses half down her nose. She looked so casually unbothered it took you a second to clock the fact that she wasn’t just another fan.

Tall. Athletic. Blonde. The kind of face that had been everywhere on sports media last year.

“Paige Bueckers” you muttered under your breath, piecing it together slowly.

UConn’s golden girl. The highlight reel darling. And if the rumors were right, the Wings’ latest rookie.

What was she doing here?

You stood, brushing off your shorts, and casually pushed your board under one arm before walking toward her. You weren’t sure if she’d notice…but of course she did. Her gaze flicked up as you approached, and a slow, easy smile curved across her face. Calm. Unreadable.

“You a scout or just here to vibe?” you asked with a lopsided grin.

Her smile widened, amused. “Neither. Just watching.”

Her voice was smooth and slightly raspy. It had weight. Like she wasn’t used to saying more than she needed to. She slipped her sunglasses off completely then and you finally got a proper look at her. Blue eyes, sharp and soft all at once. Her skin glowed from the sun, freckles just barely visible across her nose.

You swallowed before answering. “You a fan?”

“Maybe,” she said, and there was a teasing lilt in her voice. “I’ve seen your Olympic runs. My cousin’s obsessed with you.”

You blinked. “Your cousin?”

“She skates. Sort of. Well, she tries,” Paige added with a slight laugh. “She sent me your entire street final from Tokyo and said, and I quote, ‘This is the most powerful woman alive.’”

You laughed. “High praise. I should hire her as my agent.”

Paige smiled again, this time smaller, more personal. “I thought I’d come see you in person. Didn’t expect to run into you after your run, though.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“You looked… in the zone. Like your own universe.” Her eyes flicked to your board, then back to you. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

No one ever said that to you. People interrupted all the time…managers, brands, fans, influencers desperate for a collab. But not her. She waited.

You leaned a little against the fence, letting the silence stretch. “Well, now that you’ve made contact,” you said playfully, “what’s the plan? You gonna ask me to sign your basketball?”

Paige rolled her eyes, just barely. “Only if you teach me how to stay on a board longer than ten seconds.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You skate?”

“I tried once,” she admitted. “Fell harder than I’ve ever hit the court.”

Your lips twitched. “Okay, now I have to see that.”

Her eyes sparkled just a little. “Maybe later. If I survive practice tomorrow.”

“You’re in town already?”

She nodded. “Just moved last week. Figuring it out as I go.”

That tugged something in your chest. The vulnerability in that sentence. You knew what it felt like to be in a new city, chasing a dream, unsure of whether the ground beneath you would hold. You’d lived that feeling…skating through Tokyo half on adrenaline, half on fear. You’d never had time to stop and look around.

“Adjustment’s weird,” you offered quietly.

Paige tilted her head. “You get used to it?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it just becomes part of you.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. There was no pressure to. You watched a little kid roll past on a plastic scooter, one foot dragging behind him. Paige kicked a loose pebble with the toe of her sneaker.

Then suddenly, she looked up. “You free tonight?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Depends.”

“There’s a taco truck a few blocks from here. I haven’t eaten real food since I got off the plane.” She offered a small, almost shy smile. “You want to come with me?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to but because it felt… delicate. Like the beginning of something you didn’t quite understand yet.

“I like tacos,” you said eventually. “But only if you let me buy you a drink after, too. For surviving the first week.”

Paige grinned, her cheeks tinged with sun and something warmer. “Deal.”

[hishumanbelle]

All I want is for Alastor to like the reader 🙏 and for him to blush at the smallest thing or get even goofier! I really can't find things like this, and even when I do, it's so hard

(Alastor's behavior doesn't have to be as I mentioned, just silly)

You didn't think much of it at first. It was just an offhanded compliment, something casual. You were both sitting in the lounge of the Hazbin Hotel, and Alastor had been talking—well, monologuing—about some old radio show he used to love. His voice was full of that usual eerie cheer, smooth and rich with old-timey charisma.

“You have a really nice voice, you know that?” you said absentmindedly, sipping your drink.

The moment the words left your mouth, the room shifted. The ever-present hum of Alastor’s static stuttered, cut out entirely—like a record player yanked off its track. You glanced up to find him staring at you, his grin frozen, his red eyes wide as if you’d just told him the most scandalous secret in all of Hell.

“Oh—” he let out a single, clipped chuckle, then slapped a hand over his mouth so fast you barely registered the movement.

You raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I—! Oh, HA!” the laugh that followed was too loud, too forced. He practically threw himself into it, tilting his head back dramatically, but you caught it—the twitch of his ears, the way his fingers fumbled against his cane.

And… was he blushing?

Oh.

Oh, this was golden.

“You like being complimented, don’t you?” you teased, leaning in just a bit.

Alastor’s entire body stiffened. “Hah! Preposterous!”, his voice cracked ever so slightly, and his shadow flickered—its edges fraying like it was trying to retreat. “Why, I—oh dear, would you look at the time!” he yanked a pocket watch from nowhere, squinting at it with exaggerated scrutiny. “Yes, yes! Time for me to be—anywhere else!”

He practically teleported across the room, straightening his tie with far too much focus. But even from there, you could still see the red dusting his cheeks.

“You’re flustered.”

“HA! I do not get flustered!” his grin was too wide now, his hands too twitchy. The air itself crackled with restless energy, like a radio struggling to tune in.

You smirked. “So if I said I liked your smile too…?”

Pop.

His shadow completely short-circuited—tendrils recoiling, curling in on themselves like dying antennae. His ears flicked violently, and for a split second, his entire face went redder than his eyes.

Then—

BAM!—he hit the floor.

Just collapsed, legs giving out as he wheezed through gritted teeth.

You stared. “…Alastor?”

“…Damn it.” His voice was barely above a whisper, forehead pressed against the carpet as his shadow flailed helplessly around him.

You had never, ever seen him look so defeated.

And you were absolutely going to use this against him.

You had expected Alastor to recover quickly. After all, he was a smooth talker, always on top of things, never truly caught off guard.

But no.

It had been days since you had called his voice nice, and he was still acting weird about it.

For example, right now: you were in the kitchen, just trying to make yourself something to eat, when Alastor appeared out of nowhere, as he often did.

“Ah, darling, you must let me handle that! A delicate thing like yourself shouldn’t trouble those lovely hands with such menial labor!” he reached for the knife you were using to cut vegetables, practically tripping over himself in the process.

You pulled it away. “Alastor, I am literally just making a sandwich.”

“Ah-ah-ah! That’s where the trouble starts! First, it’s a sandwich—then suddenly, you’re engaging in the culinary arts, and before you know it, you’re—you're—!” he hesitated, waving his hands wildly like the very thought was too much to handle. “Burning down the whole hotel!”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you saying I can’t cook?”

“No, no, not at all! I simply wouldn’t dream of letting you lift a finger when I could do it for you!” his grin twitched—too wide, too forced. “Why, I—ah—!”

You placed a hand on his wrist.

Just lightly. Just to push him away so you could finish your damn sandwich.

And that was all it took.

Alastor froze. Completely. His grin went rigid, his pupils shrinking, his whole body locking up like someone had yanked his power cord straight out of the wall.

You blinked. “Uh. Alastor?”

Silence.

Then—

Bzzt.

A short burst of static popped in the air. The room dimmed. The radio in the corner hissed. And then—

“Oh, DEAR—”

Alastor all but flung himself backwards, twisting his body so abruptly that he nearly knocked over an entire chair. His shadow—his ever-present, eerie, independent shadow—actually fled the room without him, slithering away like it wanted nothing to do with this.

You stared. “Did you just—?”

“I REMEMBER I HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE!” he bellowed, voice cracking as he smacked his cane against the floor. “SOMETHING! VERY! IMPORTANT!”

“Uh-huh.” You crossed your arms, watching him scramble. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE OKAY IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!” his ears twitched violently, and then, before you could say anything else, he vanished. Just—gone. Poof.

Silence fell over the kitchen.

You sighed, shaking your head, before taking a bite of your sandwich.

Yeah. You were definitely going to have fun with this.

You had already established that Alastor did not handle affection well. Or rather, he handled it about as well as a radio with a frayed wire—lots of static, sparks, and the occasional dramatic system failure.

Which is exactly why you decided to push it.

Just a little.

For science.

So here you were, leaning against the lobby counter, watching Alastor chatter away to Charlie about something. You weren’t really listening—not because it wasn’t interesting, but because you were too busy planning your next move.

You had complimented him. You had touched him.

But you had never done both at the same time.

Until now.

“Alastor,” you interrupted smoothly, stepping closer.

His attention snapped to you immediately, and oh—perfect. His ears were already twitching, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his cane.

“Yes?” his grin was steady, but his voice—just the faintest bit strained.

You hummed, pretending to consider something. Then, before he could say anything else, you reached up and placed your hand gently against his cheek.

The effect was instantaneous.

His entire body locked up, his spine going ramrod straight like a puppet whose strings had just been yanked. The moment your fingers made contact, a deep buzzing filled the air—his own radio frequencies betraying him as static crackled wildly around you both.

You leaned in slightly, looking up at him with the sweetest smile you could manage.

“You really are quite handsome, you know,” you mused.

BZZZZT.

Oh.

Oh, that one might have fried him completely.

Alastor stopped breathing. His eyes—normally sharp, always brimming with mischief—went completely blank. The static around him peaked, the air distorting like an overloading signal. His hand twitched at his side, and then—

“Oh NO.”

That was all he managed before his legs gave out entirely, sending him CRASHING to the floor with a dramatic thud.

Charlie screamed. “OH MY DAD, DID YOU KILL HIM?!”

“I—” You blinked, looking down at him.

He was flat on his back, completely sprawled out, one hand clutching his chest like you had just sniped him straight through the heart. His ears were flicking wildly, his shadow writhing on the walls like it was experiencing second-hand embarrassment.

Then, finally—his mouth opened, and he let out the most broken, wheezing laugh.

“HAHA! Ohhh, dear me—” his voice was weak, pathetic, like a dying radio host gasping out his final words. “I—I’ve been bested! What a cruel, cruel fate!”

Charlie looked horrified. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!”

You shrugged. “I just called him handsome.”

Charlie gaped at you, then down at Alastor—who was still collapsed like some kind of tragic Victorian widow, his fingers trembling against his chest.

“Ohhh, the humanity,” he crooned, his face still red as hell. “The sheer, unbearable agony of it all!”

You crouched down beside him, resting your chin in your hand. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” he cracked one eye open, still refusing to move from his self-imposed exile on the floor. “Tell me, darling, how am I meant to react when you so brazenly deliver a fatal blow to my very existence?”

“… You just fell over.”

“I was struck down by love’s cruel hand!”

Charlie groaned, running a hand down her face. “I can’t deal with this.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

You, however, stayed put, watching as Alastor’s ears twitched violently the longer you stared at him.

Slowly, carefully, you leaned in just a bit more.

“You really are handsome, though,” you murmured, just for good measure.

Alastor made a garbled noise—like an old radio short-circuiting—before disappearing entirely, his static bursting into the air like a dying transmission.

… Gone.

You sat back with a smug little smile.

Yeah. This was way too much fun.

\\ I thought about this too last night. //

Alastor prided himself on his composure. He had faced eldritch horrors, orchestrated the demise of powerful demons, and smiled through it all like a well-rehearsed showman. Nothing rattled him. Nothing made his grin falter.

Until you.

You, with your impossible ability to throw him off balance. You, with your warm laughter that sent an unfamiliar sensation crawling up his spine. You, who were currently standing too close—far too close—as you adjusted his tie with the gentlest touch imaginable.

“Honestly, Alastor, how do you manage to mess this up?” you teased, tugging lightly at the knot.

“I—I most certainly did not mess it up!” he protested, his voice a notch higher than usual. “It was a stylistic choice! A statement of chaotic fashion!”

You raised an eyebrow. “So having it completely lopsided was intentional?”

Alastor’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. A rare silence followed.

Oh.

Oh, this was terrible. He never lost his words. But as you straightened his tie, your fingers grazing his collarbone, something warm and foreign spread across his face. He felt it in his ears first, then his cheeks.

Heat.

Oh, for the love of the airwaves—was he blushing?

His hands twitched, unsure what to do with themselves, so he awkwardly clasped them behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. He had to regain control of the situation.

With a dramatic wave of his hand, he burst into song.

“♪ My tie was fine, but you made it divine, and now I—oh dear, my dear, I think I might die! ♪”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “Alastor, what was that?”

“A completely normal reaction!” he declared, twirling away from you. But as he turned, his foot caught on the edge of a rug.

There was a pause. A moment of realization.

And then—

THUMP.

Alastor, the terrifying Radio Demon, master of manipulation and chaos, was now sprawled on the floor, limbs tangled, staring at the ceiling in stunned disbelief.

You gasped before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my Lord, are you okay?!”

Alastor shot up immediately, hands adjusting his coat as if nothing had happened. “Of course I’m okay! That was—uh—an illusion! A grand trick to keep you entertained!”

You crossed your arms, still giggling. “You tripped.”

“I did not trip!” he pointed a finger at you, his face still flushed. “You—You’re imagining things! You must have been dazzled by my impeccable charm and lost track of reality!”

You smirked. “So you’re saying I make you lose control?”

Alastor’s mouth opened again—before he immediately clamped it shut, red creeping up his face once more. His ears twitched violently as he let out a short, nervous chuckle.

“Oh, would you look at that!” he blurted, gesturing wildly to nowhere in particular. “The weather today! Isn’t it just swell?!”

You stepped closer, peering at him. “Alastor. You’re flustered.”

“I most certainly am not!”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m just radiating warmth!”

“Mhm.” You grinned. “Adorable.”

Alastor choked. Actually choked.

Then, with an over-the-top, dramatic twirl, he practically phased through the nearest wall, his voice trailing behind him.

“I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT RADIO BROADCAST TO ATTEND TO, GOODBYE FOREVER—”

You covered your mouth, shaking with laughter. Oh, you were never letting him live this down.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Calling Hazbin guys prettyboy

May make a sister post for the lady characters if theres a demand for it woooooo yeahhhhhh

Characters: Angel Dust, Husk, Pentious, Vox, Adam, Lucifer, Alastor

Notes: reader is GN, reader for angels part is male, written on mobile

CWs: none

ANGEL DUST

Hes heard the same petname at least a couple times a day, and on top of that he already knows hes cute

He doesnt need a reminder... but its coming from you.. so it feels a little different

He doesnt let it show that it effects him, and hes going to return the energy... likely a little harder to fluster you

It's very easy for him to turn it around, its always fun doing that

Doesnt shut it down when you call him pretty boy

HUSK

He doesnt seem to enjoy the name all that much but hes going to let you keep calling him it as long as it's not over used

He doesn't think hes unattractive, he just feels the term pretty fits him...

He wasnt even sure he heard you right the first time you said it since pretty is one of the last descriptors hed personally use

PENTIOUS

His hood flares up in an instant and hes looking around to make sure you're in fact talking to him

Looooves the petname but hes going to try to keep it together so that he doesnt look like some pathetic loser who melts at the slightest kindness

Oh wait...

Tries to say something in return, and after a few stammered words he manages to get something out

He never quite gets used to the name since it's so different than the stuff you usually call him

ADAM

He prefers the word hot or handsome, but hes not going to deny a compliment

He also knows hes attractive, but actually telling him so only feeds his ego more

Calling him pretty boy becomes a habit and an expectation between the two of you

Of course hes going to return some of your energy, hes not going to let you sit and think you're not attractive either... though hes more... vulgar... when doing so

VOX

Pretends that he knows hes hot but sometimes that insecurity creeps into view

Acts casual when you call him pretty boy and hes not going to seek the name out from you

Pretty boy feels... like it would be more humiliating to ask for than the other names you tend to call him

You know he likes it by the static running through his antennae

LUCIFER

Feels that the name is a little silly, so he may shoot back with something similar to let you know he thinks you're a cutie too

Ignore the seconds hesitation of him processing what you called him before he shoots a name back at you

Its not his go to name but hes not going to stop you from saying it

Loves most of anything you call him because it's from you! If you couldn't tell, he absolutely adores you

ALASTOR

Hes polite enough to let you know that he heard you

Asides from the acknowledgment, hes likely to give a thanks for the compliment

It's not... his favorite compliment... but unless you're overusing it or using it to make fun of him or tease him... hes going to let you have your fun, for now

If the two of you are particularly close hes going to compliment your appearance in return

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Can you do an Isekaid child reader who's a cat Mobius with platonic yandere sonic, Amy and tails? 🥹👉👈 I was reading holorform2009's post, it was so damn delicious. And I loved the fact that Isekaid reader is based on scraps from dandy world. And I also liked your writings too!

A/n: holorform is a great mutual

Yandere Sonic, Amy & Tails x Isekai’d Child Reader

Platonic

Your first memory here is... static. Trying to remember it was the same as trying to gather sand in your hands, it just slipped past you. One moment, you were somewhere else, a place of light and strange voices. Then, nothing.

Now, you're here. In a world of blue skies and rolling hills, staring up at a trio of strangers who look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"Whoa, little buddy, you okay?" The blue one, Sonic, crouches in front of you, ears twitching forward trying to hear you better. His voice is casual, but hes careful in the way he speaks, like he's trying not to spook you.

Amy, the pink one, is already kneeling beside you, gloved hands hovering like she wants to scoop you up. "They look so lost, Sonic! Poor kid... Where did you come from?"

You tell them your name, one of the onky things you *can* remember, everything else a blur.

"Thats fine Y/N, we'll help you get back to wherever you cane from in no time!"

Tails observes you, he seems to have some sort of device in his hands he keeps looking back at hefore squinting his eyes at you again. "huh, it seems like there was some big burst of energy from where they are!"

Sonic looked back at you reachibg out a hand for you to take"Don't worry, we'll help you figure this out," he declares, as here l helps you up.

Amy beams at you, her enthusiasm palpable.

"You're safe with us now! We'll take care of you," she promises, her voice gentle.

Tails nods in agreement, already brainstorming solutions. "We should head back to my workshop. I have equipment there that might help us understand your situation better."

They guided you through the hills and stretching scenery until they made it to his workshop.

At the workshop, he ran various test, his fascination with your form evident. Sonic and Amy hover nearby, their protective gazes never leaving you.

"You're truly unique," Tails remarks, his eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and something else you can't quite place.

Days turn into weeks as you adjust to life in this new world. Sonic, Amy, and Tails rarely leave your side, their devotion unwavering. They shower you with attention, always eager to assist you, but their overprotectiveness becomes stifling.

One evening, as you sit by a tranquil lake, Sonic approaches, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with a somber expression.

"Hey, I know this is all new for you," he begins, sitting beside you. "But we care about you, a lot. We just want to keep you safe."

Before you can respond, Amy appears, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"You're like family to us now," she cradled your face. "Please, don't ever think of leaving."

"Seriously." Tails stated, his voice firm.

Their words weigh heavily on you. While their affection is genuine, there's an underlying possessiveness that makes you uneasy. Their love had good intentions, but it was becoming obsessive.

As days pass, their behavior becomes more controlling. They insist on knowing your every move, discouraging you from interacting with others. The once warm and welcoming environment now feels like a gilded cage.

One night, the moon shone overhead, full And bright. You decided eniygh was enough. You need to reclaim your freedom, to find a way back to your world. But escaping their watchful eyes woudn't be easy.

Gathering your resolve, you waited for the right moment, a moment when no one was watching, a moment where they weren't practically smothering you with worry.

But the moment you try to leave, the moment you so much as hint at being anywhere but here.

One of them is already in front of you. Blocking your path.

"Whoa there. Where d'ya think you're goin'?"

…You're not sure.

But wherever it is, you get the feeling they won't let you reach it.

[cryiingoutloud]

☽〝 an encounter ( matty healy x reader )

in which you are an extra in a music video, and an ordinary day of work turns into a scorching encounter with the frontman of the band.

warnings: 18+, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, masturbation, needy matty aaah, like he can’t shut the fuck up for a second. wc: 11.4k

the studio was a hive of activity, humming with an energy that felt almost suffocating. bright spotlights hung from rigging high above, casting harsh white light over the massive set. everywhere you looked, people rushed about with clipboards and headsets, shouting instructions over the pounding bass of the track that played on a loop.

you stood awkwardly near the edge of it all, feeling completely out of place. just an extra— a last-minute addition to fill space in the background shots. the director’s assistant had told you to “mingle casually,” but that was easier said than done when everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing. you felt invisible, and maybe that was a good thing. no one would notice if you just stayed out of the way.

but someone did notice.

he was lounging in a director’s chair near the center of the chaos, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. matty healy. you didn’t need to be a fan to recognize him— the messy black curls, the tattoos peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, the devil-may-care smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face. he looked every inch the rockstar, exuding a kind of casual arrogance that made him impossible to ignore.

you hadn’t expected him to be so magnetic in person. photos didn’t do him justice. there was something about the way he carried himself, the way he leaned back in his chair like he owned the room, that made you hyperaware of his presence. and then his eyes met yours.

it was fleeting— just a quick glance as he took a drag from his cigarette. but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. you told yourself it meant nothing. he probably wasn’t even looking at you. you were just part of the scenery.

but then it happened again. and again.

by the third time, you couldn’t pretend anymore. matty healy was looking at you.

the hum of activity on set didn’t falter for a second, but to you, it felt as though the noise had dulled. the air shifted every time matty’s eyes landed on you, his dark gaze sharp and unrelenting, cutting through the chaos and pinning you in place. you tried to convince yourself it was a coincidence. maybe he was bored. maybe he was zoning out and just happened to be looking your way.

but then his gaze turned deliberate. calculated. his lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like a quiet acknowledgment. a dare.

you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you felt in this crowd of strangers. you didn’t belong here— not among the carefully curated glamour of the other extras and certainly not in his world. you looked away, fixing your attention on a grip carrying a massive piece of equipment, but the feeling of his eyes lingered, a weight you couldn’t shrug off.

you didn’t realize how close he was until you caught the scent of him— cigarettes, leather, and something faintly spicy that clung to his skin. when you glanced up, he was standing only a few feet away, talking to the director. his body language was loose, casual, but there was an edge to the way he moved, like he was aware of the way every set of eyes followed him. he said something low to the director, and the older man nodded, glancing around the room.

“her,” matty said, his voice carrying just enough for you to hear. the word hit you like a jolt of static. you didn’t process it at first, not until the director’s gaze followed matty’s finger— pointed directly at you.

your breath caught in your throat. no, surely he didn’t mean—

“you,” the director called out, his tone brisk and impatient, like he didn’t have time for hesitation. “come here.”

you froze. your mind screamed at you to move, but your feet refused to cooperate. the director frowned, gesturing sharply with one hand, and before you knew it, someone was nudging you forward, pushing you into the spotlight. every instinct told you to shrink back, but there was no escape. not when matty’s gaze was fixed on you like a spotlight of its own.

when you finally stepped into the center of the set, you felt small, out of place under the weight of so many eyes. matty, however, looked utterly at ease. he stood just a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his head tilted as he watched you approach. the corners of his mouth curved upward in something resembling amusement.

“relax,” he said, his voice low and rich, cutting through the buzzing anxiety in your head. “i don’t bite.”

the director clapped his hands, already moving on to instructions. “we need something raw, something spontaneous. the last scene fell flat. a kiss, unscripted, unplanned— it’ll be perfect.”

your stomach dropped. a kiss?

before you could form a coherent thought, matty took a step closer. he was tall - taller than you expected - and the sharp angles of his face seemed even more pronounced up close. his curls fell messily across his forehead, and his dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something dangerous.

“you’re okay with this, yeah?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle. the question caught you off guard. it didn’t match the intensity of his presence, the raw magnetism that seemed to radiate from him.

“i—” you swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dry your throat had become. “yeah. i guess.”

his lips twitched into a half-smile, but he didn’t say anything else. he just waited, watching you with a patience that felt somehow more unnerving than the chaos surrounding you.

“all right, places, everyone!” the director called out, his voice snapping like a whip. the crew bustled around you, shifting cameras, adjusting lights, barking last-minute instructions. you barely registered any of it. all you could focus on was matty— on the way he stood so still amidst the motion, like a storm gathering in the eye of a hurricane.

“action!”

the word rang out, and before you could even process it, matty was moving.

he closed the distance between you in a single, unhurried step, his hand lifting to cradle the side of your face. his touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, and then his lips were on yours.

the kiss wasn’t what you expected. you thought it would be quick, perfunctory, something to get the shot and move on. but matty kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nothing else in the room worth paying attention to. his mouth was soft yet firm, coaxing rather than demanding, and the taste of cigarettes lingered faintly on his lips.

your body froze at first, overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy, but then his other hand found your waist, his fingers pressing lightly against your hip, and something inside you cracked. you kissed him back without thinking, your lips parting slightly as he deepened the connection. his tongue brushed against yours, a teasing flicker that sent a shiver down your spine, and your hands moved of their own accord, gripping the fabric of his shirt as though to steady yourself.

the world around you blurred. you couldn’t hear the director shouting for another angle, couldn’t see the camera operators adjusting their lenses. all you could feel was matty— his heat, his scent, the way his body seemed to mold perfectly against yours.

and then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended. matty pulled back, his lips lingering against yours for a fraction of a second before he stepped away. his hands dropped to his sides, and his expression shifted back into something unreadable, the intensity in his eyes shuttered behind a veil of practiced indifference.

“cut!” the director yelled, his voice jolting you back into reality. the room buzzed with activity once more, but you felt like you were moving through molasses, your limbs heavy and your thoughts sluggish.

“not bad,” matty said, his voice low and smooth as he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “you might’ve even enjoyed that.”

before you could respond - before you could even process the low, teasing lilt of his words - he stepped away, disappearing into the crowd of crew members and equipment as though nothing had happened.

you stood there for a moment, rooted to the spot, your heart pounding against your ribs.

“not bad,” you muttered under your breath, still reeling. it felt like the understatement of the century.

you spent the next hour trying to focus on anything but him. the director barked out instructions, moving extras into new positions, setting up shots that required wide angles and sweeping camera movements. it should have been easy to lose yourself in the crowd, just another nameless face blending into the backdrop. and for a while, you managed it.

until you felt him again.

matty was impossible to ignore. even when he wasn’t near you, his presence lingered like static in the air, crackling faintly against your skin. you tried not to look at him, but every time you did, he was already watching. his gaze wasn’t subtle— it was deliberate, steady, a pull you couldn’t resist no matter how much you tried. and he knew it. the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wasn’t keeping his distance, either. between takes, he wandered the set with a casual sort of purpose, his strides loose and unhurried. once, he passed close enough that his arm brushed yours, and even that fleeting contact sent a spark shooting down your spine. he glanced back over his shoulder as he walked away, like he was waiting for you to react. you refused to give him the satisfaction, but your heart betrayed you, hammering against your ribs so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

the first time he spoke to you again, it was barely more than a whisper.

“doing all right?” he asked, his voice curling around the words, low and smooth.

you turned to find him standing just behind you, far too close for comfort. he leaned in slightly, his dark eyes flicking over your face with lazy curiosity, like he was cataloging every detail. his proximity was disarming— his body warm, his scent all-encompassing. you swallowed hard, willing yourself not to lean into him.

“i’m fine,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

“good.” he didn’t move back. if anything, he leaned in closer, his voice dipping even lower. “wouldn’t want you to feel… overwhelmed.”

the emphasis on the word sent a flush creeping up your neck. he was teasing you, testing your boundaries, and the smug tilt of his lips told you he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having.

“i’m fine,” you repeated, sharper this time. “thanks for checking.”

his grin widened, but he finally stepped back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “message received.”

by the time the director called for a short break, you were desperate for a moment to collect yourself. the lights were too hot, the noise too loud, and matty’s relentless teasing had left you feeling frayed, stretched thin by a tension you couldn’t shake. you slipped away from the set, weaving through the maze of equipment until you found a quieter corner— a storage area cluttered with spare cables, cases, and forgotten props.

leaning against the wall, you took a deep breath, letting the relative silence wash over you. your pulse was still racing, and no amount of logic could calm it. this was ridiculous. he was just some musician. a man. you’d kissed him, sure, but it was for work. it didn’t mean anything.

“found you.”

the voice startled you, low and smooth, cutting through the stillness like a blade. you turned sharply, your breath catching as matty stepped into the room. his presence filled the small space immediately, the sharp angles of his face cast into shadow by the dim overhead light. he wasn’t smirking anymore. his expression was something else entirely— intent, focused, like he’d just found exactly what he was looking for.

“you’re not supposed to be back here,” you said, your voice unsteady.

“neither are you,” he countered, leaning casually against the doorframe. “guess that makes us even.”

you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to put some kind of barrier between you and the weight of his gaze. “did you follow me?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he took a step closer, closing the distance between you with an ease that made your pulse jump. he stopped just short of your personal space, tilting his head as he studied you.

“you ran off earlier,” he said finally, his tone soft but pointed. “didn’t even stick around to hear if the director liked the shot.”

you shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “figured it wasn’t my business.”

“hmm.” his gaze flicked over you, lingering on your lips for just a fraction of a second too long. “seemed pretty personal to me.”

your heart stuttered, your skin prickling with heat. “it was just a scene.”

“was it?” the question was barely above a murmur, but it carried the weight of something heavier, something dangerous. he took another step forward, and this time, you didn’t move back. “because it didn’t feel like ‘just a scene’ to me.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. the air between you felt thick, charged with something you couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore. every nerve in your body screamed at you to step away, to put some distance between you, but you couldn’t move. not when he was this close, his breath warm against your cheek, his dark eyes holding you in place like a magnet.

“tell me i’m wrong,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, rough and intimate. “and i’ll leave you alone.”

your throat tightened. you wanted to say it. you wanted to push him away, to break whatever spell he’d cast over you. but the words wouldn’t come. instead, your silence hung heavy between you, louder than anything you could have said.

matty’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like a quiet acknowledgment of victory. he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his.

“you’re not going to say it,” he murmured, and there was something almost tender in his voice, a softness that made your chest ache. “are you?”

the words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. matty’s hand lingered on your jaw, his thumb brushing a feather-light stroke along the curve of your cheek. you felt the press of his gaze, dark and intent, pulling at something deep in your chest. but instead of shying away like you might have earlier, you met his stare head-on.

and you smiled.

it wasn’t much at first - just the faintest curve of your lips - but it was enough to make matty falter, his expression shifting ever so slightly. his brows knit together, like he wasn’t sure he’d seen what he thought he did. that hesitation was all you needed.

“who says you’re not wrong?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady, laced with just enough bite to let him know you weren’t going to back down.

the corner of his mouth twitched, his grip on your jaw tightening just enough for you to feel the heat of his skin. “am i?”

you tilted your head slightly, forcing his hand to drop away. “maybe you are,” you said, stepping out of the shadow he’d cast over you. “or maybe you’re just trying too hard.”

matty let out a soft laugh, low and rough, but there was a spark of something behind it— surprise, maybe, or curiosity. you’d caught him off guard, and you weren’t about to let him recover so easily.

“trying too hard?” he echoed, straightening. “is that what you think?”

you shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your heart pounded in your chest. “you’re laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think? all the staring, the brooding— it’s very… obvious.”

his lips parted slightly, as if he was about to respond, but instead, he let his gaze rake over you, slow and deliberate. when his eyes met yours again, the playful smirk had returned, sharper this time. “you don’t seem to mind.”

“oh, i didn’t say i minded,” you said, your tone sharper now, a teasing edge creeping in. “i just think it’s funny. you don’t have to work so hard, you know.”

matty tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing you for the first time. “you’ve got some fight in you after all,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

you crossed your arms over your chest, the movement deliberate, designed to draw his attention. it worked. his eyes flicked down, just briefly, before snapping back up to your face. “were you expecting me to swoon?” you asked, arching a brow. “sorry to disappoint.”

his laugh this time was louder, rougher, and it sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “i don’t know if ‘disappointed’ is the word i’d use.”

“good,” you said, your voice dropping just slightly, enough to make him lean in closer. “because i’d hate to let you down.”

the shift in your dynamic was almost palpable. where you’d been shy and unsure before, now you had the upper hand, and you weren’t afraid to wield it. matty, for all his bravado, seemed thrown by your sudden confidence, though he hid it well behind his usual smirk. still, you noticed the way his posture changed, the way his eyes lingered on you just a little too long, like he was trying to figure out exactly what had shifted.

and then you pushed it further.

“you’re staring again,” you said, the words slipping out before you could think better of them. they were bold, teasing, but you didn’t regret them. not when they made Matty’s smirk falter for just a split second.

“am i?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

“you are.” you took a step closer, closing the distance between you until you could see the faint flecks of gold in his dark eyes. “i’m starting to think you have a staring problem.”

matty tilted his head, his curls falling messily across his forehead. he looked at you for a long moment, his gaze heavy, calculating. “and i’m starting to think you like it,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “what if i do?” you asked, letting the words hang between you like bait. “what are you going to do about it?”

something in his expression shifted— an almost imperceptible change, but enough to make your breath catch. his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and his hand twitched at his side like he was stopping himself from reaching for you. he took a step forward, and suddenly, the air between you felt thick, suffocating in the best way.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a shiver down your spine.

“and you’re not?” you shot back, tilting your chin up just slightly, enough to make him notice. enough to make him react.

he did.

matty’s hand shot out, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. the movement was so sudden, so sure, that you barely had time to process it before you felt it - him - hard and undeniable, pressing against your thigh. the realization sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and your breath hitched despite your best efforts to remain composed.

“still think i’m trying too hard?” he asked, his voice rough, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath.

you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. instead, you looked up at him, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. his eyes were darker now, heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide with something that made your stomach flip.

“i—” you swallowed hard, struggling to find your voice. “you’re definitely trying.”

his lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through the intensity of his expression. “and?”

you knew what he was asking. you could feel the tension coiling between you, thick and electric, begging for release. part of you wanted to push back, to keep playing the game, but another part - a louder, more insistent part - wanted to see how far you could push him.

“and,” you said, your voice steady now, bold, “it’s working.”

that was all it took. matty let out a low sound that was somewhere between a growl and a laugh, his grip on your waist tightening as he shifted his hips just slightly, pressing himself more firmly against you. the movement drew a soft gasp from your lips, and his eyes lit up at the sound, his smirk returning in full force.

“you’re full of surprises,” he murmured, his free hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from your face. the gesture was almost tender, but there was nothing soft about the way his eyes raked over you, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“i could say the same about you,” you managed, your voice breathless but still sharp enough to draw another low laugh from him.

“yeah?” his hand slid up from your waist, his fingers grazing the curve of your ribs, and you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out another sound. “what’s surprising about me?”

your breath caught as he shifted again, the pressure of him against your thigh sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. “that you’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

that earned you a grin, sharp and wolfish. “you’re lucky i like a challenge.”

“am i?” you asked, leaning in just enough to make him chase you, to make him close the final gap between you.

“very,” he said, his voice a low growl, his lips brushing yours in a way that was maddeningly light, teasing, almost cruel.

matty’s lips hovered just a fraction of an inch from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that his breath fanned over your skin with every shallow inhale. his hand lingered on your waist, his fingers pressing into the curve of your side with just enough pressure to remind you how much control he could take— if he wanted to.

but he didn’t. not yet.

“i’m not smooth?” he repeated, his voice low, teasing, like he was tasting the words as he said them. his thumb traced a lazy circle over your ribcage, sending a ripple of heat through your body. “that’s a bold accusation.”

you smiled, your breath catching as you felt him shift again, his hips pressing more firmly against your thigh. the hard, unmistakable evidence of his desire was searing even through the layers of clothing, and you swallowed hard, your cheeks flaming despite yourself. still, you held your ground.

“bold, maybe,” you said, your voice softer now, but steady. “but accurate.”

matty let out a low hum, tilting his head as he regarded you. his gaze flicked over your face, lingering on your lips before sliding back up to meet your eyes. the weight of it was enough to make your knees feel weak, but you refused to back down. you wanted to see how far you could push him, how much you could unravel that tightly wound self-assurance he wore like armor.

“you’ve got a mouth on you,” he murmured, his smirk returning, sharper this time. “i like that.”

“i bet you do,” you shot back, leaning in just slightly, enough to make him close the distance between you. it worked— his breath hitched, his hand tightening on your waist, and the flicker of surprise in his eyes sent a surge of satisfaction through you.

for the first time all night, you felt like you had the upper hand.

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone low and rough, the words more accusation than question.

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you let your hands drift down to rest lightly on his chest, your fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt. his breath caught, and you felt the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the tension coiling tight just beneath the surface. you dragged your fingers lower, just to see what he’d do, and the way his jaw clenched sent a thrill racing through you.

“maybe i am,” you said finally, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “why? is that a problem?”

matty let out a low laugh, his hands sliding to your hips and pulling you closer, the movement so smooth and fluid it made your heart stutter. “not for me,” he said, his voice a low growl. “but you might regret it.”

you arched a brow, refusing to let him intimidate you. “i doubt that.”

“is that right?” his smirk widened, but there was something darker in his expression now, a heat in his eyes that sent your pulse racing. “you think you can keep this up, do you?”

“why not?” you asked, your voice dipping just slightly, enough to let him know you weren’t backing down. “you’re not exactly hard to figure out.”

the moment the words left your mouth, you saw the shift in his posture, the subtle flicker of something predatory in his gaze. he leaned in, his breath brushing over your cheek, and you braced yourself for whatever sharp retort he was about to throw at you.

but he didn’t speak. instead, he rolled his hips forward, pressing himself against you more deliberately this time, the hard line of him dragging against your thigh in a way that made your breath catch.

you felt the heat rush to your face, but you refused to look away, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. instead, you let your hands drift lower, your fingers brushing the waistband of his trousers in a move that was just bold enough to make him tense.

“careful,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, like he was holding himself back by sheer force of will. “you’re playing with fire.”

“maybe i like fire,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words landed with the force of a challenge.

matty’s lips twitched, his smirk giving way to something darker, something hungrier. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“don’t i?” you asked, tilting your head. you dragged your fingers along the waistband of his trousers again, slower this time, just to see how far you could push him. “you don’t seem like the type to hold back.”

his breath hitched, his hands tightening on your hips as his head dipped lower, his curls brushing against your cheek. “i usually don’t,” he admitted, his voice rough and raw. “but you’re making it difficult.”

“good,” you said, your lips curving into a smile that you knew would drive him mad. “i’d hate for this to be too easy.”

for a moment, he didn’t respond. he just looked at you, his gaze heavy, searing, and you felt the weight of it in every inch of your body. his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing the bare skin beneath your shirt, and the deliberate slowness of his movements made your breath catch.

“you’re trouble,” he said finally, his tone low and almost amused. “i knew it the second i saw you.”

“then maybe you should’ve left me alone,” you shot back, the words bold, reckless, but they made him laugh— a low, rough sound that sent a thrill racing through you.

“not a chance,” he murmured, his head dipping lower until his lips were just a breath away from yours. “not when you look at me like that.”

the chaos of the set melted away the moment matty grabbed your hand. he didn’t ask, didn’t explain— just laced his fingers with yours and pulled you through the maze of equipment and crew, his grip firm and insistent. you barely had time to catch your breath as you followed him, your pulse racing and your skin buzzing from the electricity crackling between you.

when he finally pushed open the door to his changing room and pulled you inside, the sharp click of the lock sliding into place seemed to echo in the small space. the air was different here— still heavy with tension but quieter, more intimate, as if the room itself had been holding its breath, waiting for you both to arrive.

the space was simple but messy, the telltale signs of matty’s presence scattered everywhere: a leather jacket draped carelessly over the back of a chair, an ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette still smoldering, makeup and hair products cluttering the vanity. the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the smell of cigarettes and something faintly earthy— something that was entirely him.

you barely had a chance to take it all in before matty spun you around and pressed you against the door, his body flush against yours. the solid weight of him was grounding and overwhelming all at once, and your breath hitched as his hands found your waist, his grip firm and possessive.

“been driving me fucking crazy,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, the words spilling out against your neck as his lips found your skin. “all night. watching you, teasing me…”

“teasing you?” you shot back, your voice shaky but teasing. “you’ve been staring at me like i’m the only person here.”

“you are,” he said simply, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. the blunt honesty of his words sent a jolt of heat through you, and you let out a soft gasp as his lips trailed lower, kissing and biting a path down your neck.

your hands found his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. his touch was everywhere - his lips, his hands, the heat of his body pressing into yours - and you felt yourself melt into him, your earlier boldness giving way to the raw, desperate need he’d ignited in you.

“matty,” you breathed, the sound of his name spurring him on. he groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding up your sides to tangle in your hair as he pulled your mouth to his.

the kiss was searing, all teeth and tongue and barely contained hunger. he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to devour you whole, and you gave as good as you got, your fingers tangling in his curls as you pulled him closer. his lips moved against yours with a deliberate intensity, and when he nipped at your bottom lip, you let out a soft moan that made him press harder against you, his hips rolling into yours in a way that left no question about what he wanted.

“fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough and strained. “you’re—”

he didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t have to. the way his hands roamed your body, his fingers skimming the curve of your waist before gripping your hips, said more than words ever could. he lifted you just slightly, pinning you more firmly against the door, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him like your life depended on it.

the heat between you was unbearable, each kiss and touch stoking the fire that threatened to consume you both. when matty finally pulled back, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire, you felt like you might collapse without the support of the door behind you.

“we need…” he trailed off, glancing around the room like he was searching for something. his eyes landed on the vanity, cluttered with makeup brushes, compacts, and an open water bottle. he smirked, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs. “come here.”

before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you the few steps to the desk and setting you down on its edge. the scattered items clattered as he pushed them aside, but neither of you cared. his hands were back on you in an instant, gripping your hips as he stepped between your legs, his body fitting perfectly into the space you’d made for him.

“you’re trouble,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “i fucking love it.”

you didn’t have a chance to respond before he kissed you again, his mouth hot and demanding as his hands roamed over your thighs, squeezing and caressing in a way that left you trembling. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and the low groan he let out at the contact sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

matty’s hands slid higher, his fingers brushing the hem of your shirt before slipping beneath it to explore the bare skin of your waist. the rough pads of his fingers against your soft skin were intoxicating, and you arched into his touch, your head falling back as his lips left yours to trail down your neck.

“fuck,” he muttered again, his voice muffled against your skin. “you feel so good.”

“matty,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way to your collarbone, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue. the combination of pain and pleasure sent a shiver down your spine, and you tightened your legs around him, grinding against him in a way that drew a strangled moan from his throat.

the sound was addictive, and you wanted more. you wanted to see just how far you could push him, how much you could unravel that carefully cultivated control he carried like a shield. you slid your hands down his back, gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward. he pulled back just enough to let you strip it off, the fabric catching briefly on his curls before falling to the floor.

your breath caught at the sight of him, his lean frame littered with tattoos, each one a story you wanted to unravel with your fingertips. you reached out, your hands roaming over the smooth planes of his chest, the hard lines of his stomach, and he shuddered under your touch, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you were sure you’d bruise.

“jesus,” he muttered, his head falling forward to rest against yours. “you’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

you smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of a tattoo on his ribs. “good.”

he laughed, the sound low and rough, before pulling you into another kiss. this one was slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. his hands slid to your back, pressing you against him as his lips moved against yours, and you felt like you might come apart under the weight of it all.

the edge of the desk dug into your thighs, but you didn’t care. all you could think about was the way matty’s body felt against yours, the way his hands explored you like he couldn’t get enough. when his lips left yours to trail lower, kissing and biting a path down your neck to the hollow of your throat, you let out a soft moan that made him groan in response, his fingers digging into your hips.

“say my name,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and pleading. “i need to hear it.”

“matty,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way to your collarbone. the sound of his name seemed to spur him on, his lips and hands growing more insistent as he claimed every inch of you he could reach.

you didn’t know how much more of this you could take, the tension between you stretching so taut it felt like it might snap at any moment. but you didn’t want it to end. not yet.

not when it felt this good.

matty’s lips trailed lower, his kisses growing hotter, wetter, and more insistent as they mapped out every inch of your neck, your collarbone, the delicate line of your throat. his hands gripped your hips tightly, his thumbs brushing over the bare skin just below your shirt, and every touch, every press of his mouth, sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you.

your head fell back, hitting the mirror lightly as you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his dark curls. he groaned at the sound, the vibration of it humming against your skin, and the edge of his teeth as he bit gently into your collarbone sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“you’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. his fingers slid lower, brushing against the hem of your skirt, and his grip tightened as his lips moved back to your mouth, capturing you in another searing kiss. this time, there was no hesitation, no careful build-up— just pure, unrestrained hunger.

his hands, warm and rough, slipped under the fabric of your skirt, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs. the feeling was electric, and you gasped into his mouth, your hips jerking involuntarily toward his touch. that reaction seemed to spark something in him, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes heavy with lust as they locked onto yours.

“you’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, but there was an edge to it, a tremor of barely contained desire that made your stomach flip. his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing against the edge of your underwear, and you saw the exact moment he felt how wet you were.

he froze, his breath hitching sharply as his fingers pressed more firmly against the damp fabric. “fuck,” he whispered, his voice low and strained, like he was barely holding himself together. he looked up at you, his eyes blazing. “you’re already this wet for me?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. instead, you nodded, your cheeks burning under the intensity of his gaze. his smirk returned, sharp and dangerous, and he let out a low, rough laugh that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

“you’re gonna drive me fucking insane,” he muttered, his fingers hooking under the fabric of your underwear. his movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring every second, but the tension in his body told you he was holding himself back by sheer force of will.

and then he snapped.

with one sharp tug, he tore the flimsy fabric down your legs, his movements rough and impatient. you gasped at the suddenness of it, your thighs clenching instinctively as the cool air hit your heated skin. matty, however, seemed completely oblivious to anything but the scrap of lace now dangling from his fingers.

he brought them to his face, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled deeply. the sound he made - a low, guttural moan that seemed to come from deep in his chest - was almost obscene, and it sent a shiver racing through your entire body. his fingers tightened around the fabric, and he looked at you with a kind of raw, unfiltered hunger that made your heart stutter.

“fuck, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick and unsteady. he pressed the fabric to his face again, his eyes slipping shut as he let out another moan, his hips twitching slightly as though even the scent of you was enough to push him closer to the edge.

you couldn’t take your eyes off him, couldn’t process the raw, shameless way he was indulging himself. it should have embarrassed you, but instead, it sent a rush of heat straight to your core, your thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache building between them.

matty noticed, of course. his lips curved into a wicked grin as he tossed your underwear to the floor and dropped to his knees in one fluid motion.

he looked up at you from his position on the floor, his curls disheveled, his lips parted, and his eyes heavy-lidded with lust. the sight of him - so shameless, so utterly consumed by his need for you - made your breath catch.

“spread your legs for me,” he said, his voice rough and commanding but laced with a kind of reverence that sent a shiver down your spine.

you hesitated for only a moment before obeying, your thighs parting slowly, deliberately, as you leaned back on your hands for balance. matty’s gaze never left yours, but you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“good girl,” he murmured, the words soft but heavy with praise, and the sound of them made your cheeks burn. he slid his hands up your thighs, his palms warm and rough, and the deliberate slowness of his movements made your skin prickle with anticipation.

when he reached the apex of your thighs, his thumbs brushed over your slick folds, and you couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips. matty groaned at the sound, his eyes flicking down to where his fingers were exploring you, and the heat in his gaze was almost unbearable.

“look at you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “so fucking perfect. so wet.” he spread you open with his thumbs, his breath hitching as he took in the sight of you, and you felt like you might melt under the intensity of his stare.

and then his mouth was on you.

the first touch of his tongue was soft, almost tentative, as though he was testing your reaction. you let out a shaky breath, your hips jerking slightly, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his tongue moved over you with slow, deliberate strokes.

you let out a low moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into his touch. he groaned in response, the sound vibrating against you, and the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through your entire body.

“fuck, matty,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

he didn’t respond, didn’t look up— he was too focused, too intent on making you fall apart. his tongue moved with maddening precision, tracing every inch of you, teasing and exploring until you were trembling under his touch. he alternated between soft, languid licks and sharper, more insistent movements, his lips and tongue working together in a rhythm that had you gasping for air.

when he finally found your clit, his lips closing around it in a gentle suck, you let out a loud, broken moan, your thighs clenching around his head. matty growled, the sound low and primal, and his hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he worked you with an intensity that left you dizzy.

his tongue circled your clit, his movements slow and deliberate, and you felt the pressure building with every stroke. your hips bucked against his mouth, desperate for more, and he groaned in response, his hands sliding up to grip your hips as he pulled you even closer.

“you taste so fucking good,” he muttered against you, his voice muffled and wrecked. he didn’t wait for a response— just dipped his head lower, his tongue slipping inside you as his nose brushed against your clit.

the sensation was too much and not enough all at once, and you let out a choked moan, your fingers tugging at his curls as your thighs trembled against his grip. he fucked you with his tongue, the movements slow and deliberate, before pulling back to focus on your clit again, his lips and tongue working together in a way that made your vision blur.

“matty, i’m—” you didn’t finish the sentence; you couldn’t. the pressure inside you was building too quickly, too intensely, and all you could do was hold onto him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

he seemed to sense it, his movements growing more focused, more insistent, as though he was determined to pull you apart. his tongue flicked over your clit, his lips sucking gently before releasing, and the alternating sensations sent you spiraling.

when you came, it was with a loud, broken cry, your body arching off the desk as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. matty didn’t stop, didn’t slow— he kept working you through it, his tongue and lips coaxing every last aftershock from your body until you were trembling in his hands.

finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal as he looked up at you, his expression equal parts smug and reverent.

“good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “you look so fucking beautiful when you come.”

you couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but stare at him, your chest heaving and your skin flushed as you tried to catch your breath. matty smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning up to kiss you again, and the taste of yourself on his lips sent a fresh wave of heat through your already spent body.

matty rose from his knees slowly, almost reluctantly, his hands sliding from your trembling thighs as he stood. his face was flushed, his lips swollen and glistening, and the hunger in his dark eyes hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. if anything, it burned brighter, sharper, like he was fighting to keep himself in check.

you were still catching your breath, your thighs trembling against the edge of the vanity as the aftershocks of your orgasm rolled through you. your head felt light, your body boneless, but the heat in your belly hadn’t fully subsided. if anything, the way matty looked at you - his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving - rekindled the fire almost instantly.

you reached for him instinctively, your hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders. your fingers brushed against the soft skin of his neck, and you could feel the rapid pulse beneath your touch. he groaned softly, leaning into your hands, his lips parting as though he was going to kiss you.

but then you moved lower.

your fingers drifted down to his stomach, brushing the waistband of his trousers. you felt the hard line of his erection pressing against the fabric, and when you let your palm graze over it, his entire body tensed. a low, guttural sound escaped him, his hips jerking slightly into your touch.

“fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and strained. His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could go any further. “don’t.”

you looked up at him, your lips parting in surprise. “don’t?” you echoed, your voice breathless and confused. “i want to—”

“i know,” he said, cutting you off with a shake of his head. his grip on your wrist softened, but he didn’t let go. instead, he leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours as he took a deep, steadying breath. “i want you to, but… not now.”

his words were quiet, deliberate, but there was a rawness in his tone that made your stomach flip. he was holding himself together by a thread, and you could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.

“i need to feel you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m too fucking close. i can’t wait anymore.”

the honesty in his words, the way his voice broke just slightly at the end, made your heart stutter. you nodded, your breath hitching as his hand slid from your wrist to your waist, his fingers curling around you as he lifted you effortlessly from the vanity.

matty carried you across the room like you weighed nothing, his grip firm but careful, and you clung to him instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck. he set you down gently on the plush couch, his hands lingering on your hips as he stepped back just slightly, his eyes raking over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

“you’re still shaking,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with something darker, something that made your breath hitch.

“i’m fine,” you said, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and breathless as you tried to collect yourself.

matty’s lips curved into a faint smile, but there was no teasing in his expression now— just raw, unfiltered want. he let out a soft hum, his hands sliding down to your thighs as he knelt in front of you once again.

“you’ll be fine,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “but not yet.”

before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing over yours in a kiss that was slower, softer, but no less consuming. his hands moved to your hips, gripping you firmly as he guided you back against the couch, the plush fabric cool against your skin.

when he pulled away, his dark eyes locked onto yours, he shifted to sit back on the couch, his long legs sprawled slightly apart, his body relaxed in a way that was entirely deliberate. one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other rested on his thigh, and he tilted his head as he watched you with a smirk that was equal parts lazy and commanding.

“now,” he said, his voice low and rough, “take care of this for me.”

you followed his gaze to where his erection strained against the fabric of his trousers, the outline of him unmistakable, and your stomach tightened at the sight. the sharp line of his hips, the way the waistband of his trousers dipped just slightly, the bulge pressing against the zipper— it was all enough to make your mouth go dry.

your hands trembled slightly as you reached for him, sliding over his thighs and stopping just short of the waistband of his trousers. his breath hitched, and when you glanced up, his eyes were locked onto yours, his smirk faltering as you dragged your fingers slowly over the taut fabric.

“you’re teasing me,” he muttered, his voice rough and strained.

“am i?” you asked, your tone deliberately innocent, though the way your fingers lingered over his zipper betrayed your intent.

“don’t play with me,” he said, his voice dipping lower, his fingers curling into the couch cushions as though he was trying to hold himself back. “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“oh, i think i do,” you said, your lips curving into a small smile as you finally slipped your fingers under the waistband of his trousers. his hips lifted slightly, a silent plea for you to continue, and you took your time, dragging the zipper down slowly, deliberately, just to watch the way his jaw clenched.

when you finally freed him, pushing his trousers down to mid-thigh, you let out a soft gasp, your breath hitching at the sight of him. he was big, the length of him curving slightly upward, the tip red and glistening with precum. the sheer size of him made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring, from taking in every detail.

matty groaned softly, the sound rough and needy, and when you looked up, his head had fallen back against the couch, his eyes fluttering shut as he dragged a hand through his messy curls.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice strained. “you’re killing me.”

you couldn’t help but smile, the sight of him - so utterly wrecked, so shamelessly undone - filling you with a rush of confidence. you let your thumb drift over the head of him, brushing against the bead of precum and spreading it slowly. the movement was soft, almost tentative, but it was enough to make him hiss sharply, his hips jerking into your touch.

“fuck,” he said again, his voice tight as his head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

you didn’t answer— not with words, at least. instead, you let your thumb brush over him again, slower this time, and the way his entire body tensed beneath your touch sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

your thumb grazed over the slick head of his cock again, this time with a little more pressure, and the sharp hiss that escaped matty’s lips sent a shiver down your spine. his hips jerked involuntarily into your touch, his breath catching in his throat as you wrapped your fingers around him, your grip firm but teasing. the weight of him in your hand, the heat of him, made your pulse race, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as you slowly began to stroke him.

“jesus,” he muttered, his voice low and wrecked. his head fell back against the couch, his curls spilling over the cushions, and his chest heaved as his hands gripped the edges of the seat. “you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

you smiled, your confidence growing with every broken sound that spilled from his lips. your strokes were slow, deliberate, and you tightened your grip slightly, your thumb brushing against the sensitive underside of his tip. his reaction was immediate— a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his hips bucked into your hand, seeking more.

but just as you started to pick up the pace, he stopped you.

his hand shot out, gripping your wrist with enough force to make you freeze, your movements halting as you looked up at him in surprise. his dark eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, and his expression was so desperate, so raw, that it made your breath catch.

“no,” he said, his voice hoarse, almost pleading. “i told you, not like this.”

you blinked, your lips parting to speak, but he shook his head, his grip on your wrist softening but not letting go.

“i need to feel you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. he leaned forward, his free hand cupping the side of your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “i need you. now.”

the sheer need in his voice, the way his body trembled beneath your touch, sent a wave of heat rushing through you. your heart pounded in your chest, your skin buzzing with anticipation as his words sank in. he wasn’t asking— he was begging. and the realization made your head spin.

you kissed him then, slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of your own mounting desire into the press of your lips. matty groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulled you closer, his body pressing into yours with an urgency that left you breathless.

when you pulled back, your breathing ragged, you didn’t hesitate. you rose to your knees, your thighs bracketing his hips as you positioned yourself over him. the heat of his cock, hard and heavy against your inner thigh, sent a jolt of anticipation through you, and you bit your lip as you reached down to guide him to your entrance.

matty’s breath hitched as the tip of him brushed against your slick folds, and his hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like he was holding himself together by a thread. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained. “you’re so fucking wet.”

you couldn’t respond, couldn’t find the words to express the way you felt as you shifted your hips, pressing yourself down slowly. the slightest pressure was all it took— your body yielding to him with an ease that made you both moan, your wetness allowing him to slip inside you in one smooth, effortless motion.

you settled over him completely, your thighs bracketing his hips as his cock stretched you impossibly full. he was buried deep, every inch of him, and you could feel him throb inside you, hard and slick from your wetness. matty’s head fell back against the couch, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as his hands gripped your waist almost too tightly, like he needed the anchor to keep from losing himself.

“fuck,” he groaned, the word drawn out, desperate. his fingers flexed against your skin as his hips twitched, pressing deeper, testing the limits of what you could take. “you’re— jesus, you’re so tight.”

the overwhelming stretch and fullness made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders for balance. he filled you so completely it bordered on too much, but the delicious drag of his cock against your walls had your head spinning. you shifted slightly, rolling your hips experimentally, and the way he groaned- a low, guttural sound that made your stomach flip - spurred you on.

“you’re so big,” you murmured, your voice breathless and shaky. the words weren’t meant to tease, but matty’s reaction was immediate. his eyes snapped open, locking onto yours, and the hunger in his gaze sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

“don’t,” he warned, his voice hoarse, strained. his grip on your hips tightened as you rolled your hips again, slower this time, testing his resolve. “don’t fucking start.”

“why not?” you asked, tilting your head as a faint smile played on your lips. you rolled your hips again, and the way his jaw clenched, his head falling back against the couch, made satisfaction bloom in your chest. “you don’t like it?”

“too much,” he muttered, his voice rough and wrecked. his hips jerked upward instinctively, and the sharp thrust made you gasp, your thighs trembling against him. “fuck, you’re too much.”

you leaned forward, your hands bracing against his chest as you began to move in earnest, slow and deliberate. every rise and fall of your hips drew a broken sound from his throat, his head snapping up to watch you, his dark eyes wild and heavy-lidded with lust.

“look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven as his hands slid from your hips to your thighs, gripping tightly. “you’re fucking perfect. riding me like that, looking so— fuck.” his words cut off as you sank down on him again, grinding your hips just slightly, and his entire body tensed beneath you.

the sheer size of him, the way he filled you so completely, made your breath hitch, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. “you feel so good,” you murmured, the words spilling out before you could think to stop them. “so fucking good.”

“yeah?” matty growled, his voice low and wrecked. his hands slid back to your hips, his grip firm as he guided your movements, his hips bucking up into you with sharp, deliberate thrusts. “you’re so fucking wet. squeezing me so tight— i’m not gonna—” he stopped himself with a sharp hiss, his jaw clenching as he fought to hold back. “shit, i’m not gonna last if you keep—”

“don’t hold back,” you said, your voice shaky but teasing as you braced your hands against his chest, matching his thrusts with your own. “i want you to lose it.”

“you’re evil,” he muttered, his voice rough and wrecked. his head fell back against the couch as he fought to keep up with your pace, his thighs tensing beneath you as he pushed up into you with every roll of your hips.

the rhythm between you grew frantic, your bodies moving together in a desperate, almost primal rhythm. the sharp snap of his hips, the way his cock dragged against your walls with every thrust, sent sparks of pleasure racing through your body. you were dizzy with it, drunk on the feeling of him inside you, the sound of his broken groans and curses echoing in your ears.

“fuck, you’re gonna ruin me,” matty growled, his hands sliding up your back as he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. his lips brushed against your skin, hot and wet, as his thrusts grew sharper, harder, his restraint unraveling with every second. “you’re so fucking perfect. so tight, so wet, so— jesus christ.”

you clung to him, your fingers tangling in his messy curls as you buried your face in his shoulder, muffling the sounds spilling from your lips. the tension between you was unbearable, every thrust and grind building the pressure higher and higher until it felt like you might break under the weight of it.

matty was trembling beneath you, his body taut with tension as he fought to hold himself together. “i’m close,” he muttered, his voice rough and strained. his hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as his hips snapped upward again, harder this time. “too fucking close. shit, i can’t—”

“hold on,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you leaned back, your hands bracing against his chest to steady yourself. “just hold on a little longer.”

“fuck, i’m fucking trying,” matty growled, his dark eyes locking onto yours as his grip on your hips tightened almost painfully. “but you’re— jesus, you’re fucking perfect. i can’t—”

“matty,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he thrust up into you again, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur. “just hold on.”

your body trembled as matty thrust into you, each movement raw and desperate, the slick heat of his cock dragging against your walls in a rhythm that had your head spinning. his hands gripped your hips like a lifeline, his fingertips pressing into your skin as though holding you there was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“fuck, i’m coming,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, strained. his dark eyes were half-lidded, his curls damp with sweat as he stared up at you. the desperation in his expression was palpable, his lips parted as he panted for breath, every muscle in his body taut with tension. “i— fuck, i’m gonna—”

you leaned forward, your hands bracing against his chest as you kissed him deeply, swallowing his broken moan as you slowed your movements. the kiss was messy, hungry, your lips and tongues tangling as you rode him slower, deeper, until you felt him twitch inside you, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back.

“let me,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft but commanding. “let me take care of you.”

his groan was raw, guttural, and he dropped his head back against the couch, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands slid from your hips. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “do whatever you want. just— just don’t stop.”

you smirked, leaning back slightly as you placed your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms.

Your eyes drifted downward, and you bit your lip at the sight of his cock, still buried inside you, glistening with your wetness. the tip was flushed an angry red, a bead of precum dripping from the head, and you could feel him throb inside you, his body begging for release.

“look at you,” you murmured, your voice low, almost teasing as you lifted yourself slowly, letting him slip out of you. he groaned at the loss, his hips twitching upward instinctively, but you pressed a hand against his stomach, keeping him still. “so desperate.”

“fuck,” matty muttered, his voice rough, his hands fisting in the couch cushions as you wrapped your fingers around him again, stroking him slowly. “you’re fucking killing me.”

you smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw as your hand worked him, your grip firm but deliberate. his cock was slick with your arousal, making every stroke smooth and effortless, and the sounds he made - the sharp gasps, the broken curses, the low, desperate groans - sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you.

“don’t hold back,” you murmured against his ear, your voice soft but insistent. “i want to see you.”

his breath hitched, his hands gripping your thighs as his hips bucked into your hand. “i can’t— fuck, i can’t—”

“you can,” you said, your voice firmer now as you kissed your way down his neck, biting gently at the sensitive skin there. “let go for me.”

that was all it took. matty’s entire body tensed, his hips jerking upward as his cock twitched in your hand. “fuck,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his release spilled over your fingers, painting his abdomen in hot, thick ropes of white. his head fell back against the couch, his mouth falling open in a silent moan, and his entire body trembled with the force of it.

you didn’t stop, your hand working him through the waves of his orgasm, drawing out every last drop until he was panting beneath you, his chest heaving and his thighs trembling. his cock twitched in your grip, still sensitive, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him— utterly wrecked, his hair sticking to his forehead, his body glistening with sweat and the evidence of his release.

“fuck,” he muttered again, his voice barely above a whisper. “you’re— jesus fucking christ.”

you didn’t answer. instead, you leaned back, your eyes drinking in the sight of him. his release coated his stomach, dripping down his skin, and the sight made your mouth water. you licked your lips, your gaze flicking to his as you shifted, sliding down his body.

“what are you—?” matty’s question cut off with a sharp gasp as your tongue darted out, licking a broad stripe up his stomach. his cock twitched against your wrist, still leaking, and the broken sound he made as he watched you clean him with your tongue sent a fresh rush of heat pooling low in your belly.

“fuck, you’re insane,” he muttered, his voice shaky as his hands found your hair, gripping it tightly. “you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

“good,” you murmured, glancing up at him through your lashes as you licked another drop of his release from his skin. his cock twitched again, harder this time, and you smiled against his stomach, your tongue swirling over the sensitive skin just above his navel.

matty groaned, his head falling back against the couch as his fingers tightened in your hair. “you’re fucking evil,” he muttered, but his voice was thick with arousal, his body trembling beneath your touch.

you took your time, your tongue tracing every line of his abdomen, cleaning every drop of his release until his skin was glistening, slick with your saliva. his cock jerked again, leaking another bead of precum, and the sound he made - a low, desperate whimper - sent a shiver racing down your spine.

when you finally finished, your lips trailing up his chest to his neck, matty pulled you close, his hands fisting in your hair as he kissed you deeply. his tongue swept into your mouth, tasting himself on your lips, and the kiss was so raw, so consuming, that you felt your knees go weak.

he groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down your back as he pulled you closer, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. when he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours as he held you tightly.

“jesus,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “you’re fucking unbelievable.”

you smiled, your fingers brushing through his messy curls as you caught your breath. “you’re not so bad yourself.”

he laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and his arms tightened around you, pulling you against his chest in a way that felt almost protective. the silence that settled between you was heavy but comfortable, your bodies pressed together as you let the heat of the moment slowly fade.

“can i see you again?” matty’s voice was soft, tentative, and it caught you off guard. you pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his, and the vulnerability in his expression made your chest ache.

you smiled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “i think i’d like that.”

his answering smile was slow, lazy, and it made your stomach flip. “good,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back as he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming. “because i don’t think i’m done with you yet.”

[fidesvirtusobsession]

Now There’s Two of Them?!

It happened again.

YN had just barely gotten used to Noctis lurking in the shadows, making her coffee, and being the overbearing, slightly terrifying presence in her life. But, of course, she had to mess up another spell.

This time, she wasn’t even trying to summon anything—she was just experimenting with a minor communication spell that was supposed to enhance her connection with spirits. Instead, the air cracked with static, the temperature dropped, and a second demon stepped right into her cozy little cottage.

This one was… different from Noctis. Where Noctis had an eerie, silent, intimidating presence, this new one—Vesper—was all flair and theatrics. His glowing violet eyes gleamed with mischief as he took one look at YN and immediately…

"Oh. OH. You are adorable.”

YN barely had time to react before Vesper swept her up into his arms like some prize he just won.

"W-WAIT—!" she yelped, struggling in his grip.

"Look at you! Small, soft, and absolutely enchanting! Did you summon me, little witch? Just for you? I accept your offering!"

YN flailed harder. "I DIDN’T MEAN TO SUMMON YOU—PUT ME DOWN!"

Right as she said that, a dark cold shadow loomed behind Vesper.

A low, unamused voice cut through the air.

"Put. Her. Down."

Vesper turned, still holding YN, only to come face-to-face with Noctis, whose glowing eyes burned with restrained fury.

“…And who might you be?" Vesper mused, tilting his head with a playful smirk. "Her guardian? Oh no, don’t tell me—you���re one of those possessive types, aren’t you?”**

Noctis’ fingers twitched, his claws flexing instinctively.

"You’re trespassing."

"Ohhh? Big words. But, unfortunately for you…" Vesper gently booped YN’s nose, ignoring her look of betrayal. "Our little summoner here has made a binding rule, hasn’t she? No harming each other."

Noctis’ eye twitched. He hated that stupid promise.

Meanwhile, YN was stuck between them, arms crossed, feeling like an exhausted kindergarten teacher breaking up a fight on the playground.

"Okay, both of you, listen up—no competing, no sabotaging, and NO more picking me up without warning—!"

Both demons immediately spoke at once.

Noctis: "I don't compete."

Vesper: "Absolutely, love, I’d never—" pauses "…Okay, maybe just a little."

And just like that, YN’s relatively peaceful (if you ignored the constant lurking) life turned into a full-blown supernatural custody battle.

Now There’s Two Demons Hovering Over YN’s Every Move:

Morning Coffee Chaos

Noctis, as always, makes perfect coffee, handing it to YN in his usual silent, expectant way.

Vesper immediately snatches it away.

"Ah-ah, darling, you should try mine instead—it's got just a hint of cinnamon and dark magic to invigorate your senses!"

Noctis coldly stares at him before taking YN’s cup back.

"She doesn’t need your... modifications."

YN, sipping both cups at the same time in pure exhaustion: "...You’re both insufferable."

Competing Over Protection Duties

Someone tries to hex YN? Noctis blocks it before it can even reach her.

Vesper counters with a dramatic swirl of violet energy, neutralizing the hex and twirling YN away from danger like it’s a dance.

*"Oh, love, did you see that? I saved you in such style!"

Noctis grabs her wrist, pulling her back.

"She doesn’t need theatrics. She needs efficiency."

YN, completely over it: "Can one of you just let me breathe for five seconds?!"

Lurking In The Cottage – Double Trouble Edition

YN sits at her desk, quietly studying, only to get the distinct feeling of being watched.

She turns her head left. Noctis is standing there, arms crossed, staring.

She turns her head right. Vesper is on the other side, casually lounging upside down on a floating chair, smirking.

YN: "Do you two ever leave?!"

Noctis: "No."

Vesper: "Why would we? You’re so fun to watch."

Late-Night Comfort – A Truce (For Now)

Despite their bickering, both demons share one unspoken agreement:

YN is their little witch, and she’s not allowed to get hurt.

So, when YN is too exhausted to deal with them and eventually falls asleep at her desk, the competition momentarily ceases.

Noctis gently picks her up, carrying her to bed.

Vesper flicks his fingers, summoning a warm blanket over her.

They exchange a glance.

Not a hostile one.

Not quite friendly either.

But… a mutual understanding.

Because at the end of the day—they’re both obsessed with her. And whether she likes it or not…

She’s stuck with them.

@yourhornysister

[hoshifighting]

I don’t know if this has already been done but, I was wondering if you can do a reaction to SVT members hearing a member and their S/O having sex

seventeen members hearing a member and their S/O having sex

seungcheol raises an eyebrow, chuckling to himself as he thinks, "well, looks like someone's having a good time." not wanting to even dream about who it could be making so much noise that late.

jeonghan smirks knowingly, exchanging a glance with Joshua, before casually remarking, "sounds like they're getting pretty into it." and he would probably be one of those who would make fun of the member.

joshua "tsk... guess they're not holding back tonight." he would keep complaining to himself, turning up the sound on the TV.

junhui would probably keep his face as static as possible, avoiding contact with the member for a few hours afterward. maybe a lil' traumatized?

soonyoung widens his eyes in mock surprise, "just now that I'm dry asf. I wish it was me, do you know if --- is home?"

wonwoo raises an eyebrow, not missing a beat in his game, though inwardly thinking, "they could at least try to be a bit quieter." another that would try to increase the volume of the headphones to avoid further constraints. if the other members would listen… it was no longer his problem.

jihoon rolls his eyes, muttering to himself, "can't they keep it down for once? some of us are trying to work here." I would pick up his things and go to the studio… which is soundproof.

mingyu would accidentally have a boner, not because of the S/O, or the member, is just It's just because it reminded him of sexual memories of himself.

minghao would judge right away "how do they have so much energy? just listening to it makes me tired." he would say to himself.

seokmin blushes furiously, feeling awkward and embarrassed by the sounds coming from the other room. he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on anything other than the noises filtering through the walls.

seungkwan would sulk upon realizing what was happening, feeling a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. "not again," he'd mutter to himself, rolling his eyes and trying to drown out the noise with his own activities.

vernon's mistake this day was arriving home early, not even giving him time to take off his shoes at the entrance. catching the sounds from the main door. he'd immediately feel awkward, swiftly making his exit.

chan, understanding the hectic schedule and lack of privacy the members face, chan would be the least bothered by the situation. he'd simply shrug it off, knowing that the dorms serve as a refuge for the members to unwind and have some privacy.