#(trying to shift back to thinking about my girl)

[cherrycuppacoups]

Speed Champions 🏁...🏎💨 LN4

summary: when lando norris finds you torn between two LEGO F1 sets, he helps you pick—then sticks around long enough to find out you’re more than just a second favorite.

[word count] 1.6k

warnings: strangers to something more | fluff | insecure!reader | ferrari fangirl | second favorite driver but first to notice her | soft lando | mutual curiosity | comfort themes | feel-good one-shot | reader with self-worth struggles

author's note: this is my first f1 fic...i really hope yall enjoyed it, the story may seem sloppy cause its my first time writing something like this and its just a random idea that came up. enjoy!

The LEGO store smelled like plastic and childhood nostalgia. Y/N had been standing in the “Speed Champions” aisle for what felt like forever, arms crossed, brows furrowed, lower lip caught between her teeth. In one hand she held the Red Bull F1 car. In the other, the McLaren.

“I can only afford one,” she whispered to herself, as if saying it aloud would magically make the choice easier.

A reward, that’s all this was supposed to be. A little “well done�� for surviving her final semester of university and crawling to the finish line of her internship without combusting. Just a small celebration for herself, from herself. Because no one else would. Not her so-called friends who always forgot to invite her. Not the boys who never once asked for her number, only her prettier friend’s. Not even her family who seemed to think “cute” was the most she’d ever be.

Her hands trembled slightly. Maybe she shouldn’t even be here. Maybe this was dumb. A silly plastic car to make up for—

“What’s a fine lady doing in the Speed Champions section?” a voice asked beside her, smooth and accented, with the exact kind of playful confidence that made her freeze.

She turned slowly, cautiously and nearly dropped both boxes. Standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, was Lando Norris.

Lando freaking Norris.

“I—uh—hi?” she blinked, eyes wide. “Just, um… browsing. For the F1 cars.”

He peered at the boxes in her hands, grinning. “McLaren, huh? Excellent choice.”

She laughed nervously, shifting her weight. “I was thinking about it. But I’m torn between it and the Red Bull car.”

“Ahh,” he nodded solemnly, like she was telling him something gravely important. “Tough decision.”

“I know right?” she chuckled, more at ease now. “I mean, I can’t buy both. I just finished my internship, and this is like… my little treat. You know, for surviving.”

“Fair enough.” His eyes sparkled. “Honestly, you deserve both.”

She snorted. “Tell that to my bank account.”

There was a beat of silence, comfortable and warm. She could feel him watching her but not in the way people usually did, eyes glossing over her like she was background noise but more like he was really looking.

“I’m Lando, by the way,” he said, casually.

She blinked again. “I know.”

He laughed at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Of course you do.”

She lowered her voice, nervous again. “Sorry if I’m being weird.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly, sincere. “I like weird. Honestly, watching you try to decide was the highlight of my day. Your thinking face is adorable.”

Her breath caught.

No one ever called her adorable and meant her, not something she said or did.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. Visiting a friend. Well… technically visiting. More like killing time while she’s out with her other friends.”

He tilted his head. “Sounds… familiar.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, I’m usually the last person to know plans anyway.”

“Then those people suck,” Lando said simply. “You seem cool. More than cool, actually.”

She looked down, cheeks flushing. “Thanks. I guess I’m just used to being… background. Not the kind of girl guys notice.”

He stepped a little closer. “I’m a guy. I noticed.”

Her breath hitched. Something in her chest fluttered.

He smiled, like it was no big deal. “So. Red Bull or McLaren?”

“…McLaren,” she whispered.

“Excellent choice! Max could wait he has 4 freaking championships already plus we are surely wining the championship this year” he grinned, taking the Red Bull car from her hand and putting it back on the shelf for her.

"Want me to buy it for you?" He asked casually.

Her eyes widened. “What? No! I can’t—”

“Not trying to be weird, I swear,” he said, hands up. “Just… call it my contribution to your final semester celebration. And maybe a thank-you for supporting us! The least thing I could do.”

She smiled slowly, unsure, but touched.

“…Okay,” she said. “But only if I get to say thank you with coffee?”

He beamed. “It’s a date.”

The box crinkled softly in her arms as they wandered away from the Speed Champions section, Y/N still not quite believing this was happening.

She clutched the McLaren LEGO set to her chest like it was sacred, her brain still trying to process that Lando Norris. Yes, the actual F1 driver Lando Norris had just helped her pick it out. And now he was casually strolling next to her like it was normal.

“So,” he said, eyes scanning the shelves, “since I saved you from the heartbreak of choosing the wrong car, think you could help me now?”

She looked up, surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he grinned. “I need to pick a LEGO set for Max's daughter P. She’s turning six, smarter than I am, and brutally honest. If it’s boring, she’ll tell me.”

“Well, no pressure at all,” she laughed. “What’s she into?”

“Everything chaotic,” he said. “Dinosaurs, glitter, cats, treehouses, science experiments… basically a one-girl tornado in sparkly sneakers.”

“She sounds amazing.”

“She is,” he agreed, fondness softening his tone. “But I’m losing my title as favorite uncle. This is my comeback attempt.”

Y/N studied the shelves thoughtfully. “Hmm… okay, how about this one?” She pointed to a colorful treehouse set with a zipline, mini figures, and a cat in a hammock. “Lots of chaos potential. There’s even a popsicle cart.”

Lando examined the box with exaggerated seriousness. “A zipline and a popsicle cart? You’re spoiling her.”

“She deserves it,” Y/N shrugged playfully. “Everyone does.”

He glanced at her sideways, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Including you?”

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed with a soft notification. She instinctively pulled it out and instantly regretted it. Another text from her friends bailing out on her cause apparently the car was full and there wasn't any space left. Nothing new.

However Lando noticed something.

Bright red case. Ferrari.

Big yellow 55 on the back.

And, of course, her lock screen? A candid shot of Carlos Sainz mid-laugh at the podium.

Lando squinted at it, eyebrows raising. “Wait… is that a Ferrari case?”

Her face flushed instantly. “Oh… yeah.”

“And is your lock screen—hold on—is that Carlos?”

“I—yeah, um—he’s my favorite driver,” she mumbled.

He mock-gasped. “You were debating between Red Bull and McLaren, and you’re out here walking around with a full Ferrari starter pack? What happened to loyalty?”

“I already have the Ferrari Speed Champion set,” she replied quickly, defensive but laughing. “It was the first one I bought when I started watching.”

He gave her a mischievous look. “So I’m your rebound after Carlos.”

She groaned, laughing. “No! You’re not—okay, fine. You’re my second favorite.”

He put a hand to his chest like he’d been stabbed. “The betrayal.”

“But!” she added, holding up a finger. “You are my mom’s favorite. Like… hardcore.”

Lando blinked. “Your mom?”

“She’s obsessed,” Y/N grinned. “She heard your name once during a race, said you sounded like a character in a teen rom-com, and now she never misses your interviews.”

He burst out laughing. “A teen rom-com?”

“She has a theory that you’d be the main character’s charming, funny best friend who’s secretly the love interest.”

“Your mom sounds like a genius.”

“She really is,” Y/N said sincerely. “She told me if I ever met you, I better get an autograph and a photo. She won’t forgive me otherwise.”

He grinned wide. “I’d hate to disappoint her.”

Y/N looked up, still holding her McLaren LEGO box, her heart unexpectedly full.

He glanced at her phone again. “Okay, so Carlos is your number one, and I’m runner-up. But hey… silver still gets a podium.”

She giggled. “Are you seriously turning this into an F1 metaphor?”

“Absolutely,” he smirked. “And I’m fully committed to moving up to P1.”

lando posted a story

ynusername posted a story

fin.

[tobegoodisgood]

Cotton Candy

Harry Styles. Whatever. It is filthy. I am horny. Enjoy x

Harry Styles on his wild yacht… and you, Y/N, as the girl he ends up obsessed with.

The sea glittered like black silk under moonlight, waves lapping lazily against the side of Cotton Candy, Harry Styles’ floating palace. A hundred feet long, sleek, wrapped in tinted glass and chrome, she glowed violet and gold under party lights. Music thumped from within, a low, sexy heartbeat echoing over the water.

Harry leaned against the rail on the upper deck, shirt unbuttoned, tattoos exposed, cigarette between his lips. He’d barely touched the drink in his hand. Champagne, or something bubbly — who cared. Below him, celebrities danced. Models, actors, athletes. Blurred faces, all beautiful and drunk.

He wasn’t bored. But he wasn’t thrilled either.

The usual.

Then he saw you.

Far off on the dock, standing alone with your arms crossed over your chest, was a girl in a sundress. Your hair was slightly messy. No makeup. No designer heels. Just sandals and a canvas tote slung over one shoulder like you thought this was a beach picnic.

“Who the fuck is that?” Harry murmured, narrowing his eyes.

Jeff — one of his longtime friends and occasional chaos coordinator — appeared at his side with a lazy grin. “That, my friend, is your surprise.”

“My what?”

“Her name’s Y/N. She’s not like the others. Not in the industry. Just… pretty, sweet. Bit shy. Friend of a friend of someone I may or may not have bribed.”

Harry exhaled smoke. “You got me a girl.”

“I arranged a vibe,” Jeff said smugly. “She doesn’t know much. But she said yes.”

Harry looked at you again. Still waiting. You shifted your weight, glanced nervously at the yacht. You looked like you didn’t belong.

And he fucking loved that.

“Send a boat,” he said. “Bring her to me.”

You stepped carefully onto the yacht’s lower deck, arms pulled in close, trying not to stare at the half-naked, stiletto-clad girls brushing past with champagne flutes and white powder smudged under their nostrils. The music was louder here. The floor vibrated.

You didn’t drink much. Didn’t party. But you’d said yes when Jeff’s friend asked if you were free for “an exclusive gig” that paid well and involved “just hanging out with a celebrity.” You thought it was a modeling job. Babysitting some rich DJ’s dog. Something harmless.

Instead, it was this.

You were about to ask to be taken back when you saw him.

Harry Styles.

Standing at the top of the stairs, shirt open, chains gleaming, curls wild, and eyes — those famous green eyes — locked straight onto you.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t smile. He just nodded once, and you followed like a string was tied to your chest.

Harry didn’t speak until you were alone — his private lounge, top deck, doors shut behind you, music muted by thick glass. There was only the soft rush of the sea and the clink of ice against crystal.

He poured you a drink. You didn’t touch it.

“You nervous?” he asked, sinking into the velvet couch, legs sprawled wide.

You nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Means you’re real.”

“I think I’m in the wrong place.”

“You’re in exactly the right place.”

He gestured for you to come closer. You hesitated, then sat at the edge of the couch.

Harry reached for a silver tray on the table. Two lines of white. Neat. Waiting.

“You ever done it?” he asked.

You shook your head.

He leaned in, close enough to smell your skin. “Wanna watch me first?”

You nodded.

Harry dipped his head. Snorted one line in a clean motion. Exhaled slowly. Then looked at you again.

“You’ve got nice tits,” he said softly.

Your brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Just saying,” he said. “I like ‘em.”

You laughed. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

He grinned. “I wasn’t trying to be charming.”

Then he stood.

“Take off your dress.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not—like—I didn’t come here to—”

“I won’t touch you unless you say yes,” Harry said, voice low. “But if you do say yes — I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, you lifted your dress over your head.

No bra. Just cotton panties. Your skin flushed in the air.

Harry whistled low. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”

He dipped a finger in honey sauce left on the tray. Traced it across your chest. Then bent down and licked it clean.

You gasped.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded shakily.

Harry smirked.

Then he picked up the tray — and carefully poured the second line across your breast.

Your eyes widened. “Harry—”

He leaned down.

And snorted the line right off your skin.

You let out a shocked moan, half pain, half pleasure, from the sting of his nose against your nipple — and the way he licked you clean, slow and greedy.

The room blurred into heat and honey.

Harry was insatiable.

He carried you to the king-sized bed. Laid you down on your stomach. Tied your wrists with silk scarves — not too tight, just enough to hold you still.

“You trust me?” he asked.

You nodded.

He looked wild — curls a mess, shirt gone, chest rising and falling like he was holding something back. He didn’t. Not for long.

He dipped into the sauces again — chocolate now — and poured a dark line down the curve of your spine, between your cheeks. Then bent down and licked every inch.

Your hips bucked.

“Still think you don’t belong here?” he murmured against your skin.

You didn’t answer.

He kissed the back of your thigh.

Then spread your legs wider.

“You ever been taken like this?” he asked.

“No,” you whispered.

“Good.”

He snorted another line from the small of your back. Then one from the dip of your lower spine.

And finally — one between your thighs.

When his tongue replaced the burn of the powder — slow, deliberate, hot — you cried out.

He sucked your clit like he was starving. Bit down gently, just enough to make your knees shake.

Then he slid two fingers inside you.

“You’re dripping,” he muttered. “You fucking love this.”

You did.

And when he flipped you over, eyes gleaming, cock hard and heavy in his hand — you didn’t resist.

Harry gripped the base of his cock and rubbed it through your folds.

“Beg,” he said, voice like smoke.

You whimpered. “Please, Harry. Please—”

He pushed in.

Deep. Thick. Stretching you full until your eyes rolled back.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so tight.”

He started to move. Brutal, deliberate strokes. The headboard slammed into the wall. Your wrists strained against the silk. Your thighs trembled as he drove into you, over and over.

You came first — hard. Clenching around him until he snarled and slammed into you even deeper.

But he didn’t stop.

He pulled out. Flipped you onto your knees. Slapped your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Want more?” he growled.

“Yes,” you sobbed.

He spread your cheeks. Spat. Rubbed it in with his fingers.

Then — slowly — pushed into your ass.

You screamed. Not from pain, not really — from how it felt. The pressure. The stretch. The way he held your hips and kissed your spine.

“Taking me like a good fucking girl,” he whispered.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking.

He came with a low groan, pulsing inside you, buried to the hilt.

And stayed there. For good.

It was sunrise.

Your legs barely worked. You were lying flat on your back, Harry between your thighs again. Soft kisses now. Fingers stroking up and down your belly.

Then he said it.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you.”

Your heart stopped.

“What?” you breathed.

He didn’t smile.

“Don’t act like you didn’t feel it,” he said. “I came inside you three times. You let me.”

“I’m not on anything,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t pull out.”

Your breath caught.

“I want you full,” he said. “Want you pregnant. Want to see your belly round from me.”

You shivered — not in fear. In something darker. Deeper.

He slid his cock into you again. No protection. Slow, steady, all the way in.

“Let me knock you up, Y/N,” he whispered against your ear. “Let me make you mine.”

And you didn’t stop him.

You pulled him deeper.

[mainstreamangel]

Hi! Not sure if u write for georgia amoore or if u write smut, but could i request a fic in which reader gets flirted with at a mystics home game, georgia gets a bit jealous and takes her home?

TOO SWEET

summary: while courtside at your girlfriend’s game, a brave soul dares to flirt with you.

warning(s): slight angst, hurt/comfort, reassurance sex, smut—minors dni.

masterlist / washington locker room

you were courtside at your girlfriend, georgia amoore's game. though she wasn't actually playing (due to her acl tear and recovery), you still showed up to support her teammates. you wore her jersey anyways, of course.

when you first walked in with her, the media documented both of your appearances. you politely waved and posed for cameras, showing them your game day fits. and even before then, you made georgia make a tiktok with you showing your outfits and lip syncing to 'the alchemy' by taylor swift.

now here, you were chatting with one of the girls next to you. she claimed to have flown from florida to come see the mystics in their mystics-wings matchup. she said she had been a fan of georiga's for a while and watching your relationship through social media always brought her joy on days she felt down.

you felt honoured that you could bring a smile to young fans' faces, and that georgia continued to inspire despite being out for injury.

you've definitely helped her through a lot of the recovery and encouraged her through the hard moments.

the seat on your right had been empty right up until tip off. a woman, about the same age as you, maybe older, sat down in that seat. she looked out of breath.

"hey, you alright?" you whisper towards her.

"yeah, thanks. traffic sucks though...coming this way." she tosses her bag under her chair and gives you a quick smile. though she takes a double take and stares at you for a bit.

"what? is there something on my face?" you ask, starting to touch around lightly to avoid smudging your makeup.

"no, i just- uh nevermind." she turns her head away from you to look at the court. wings have the ball.

georgia glances behind her just quick enough to catch that girl staring. she watches as the woman snaps her head away from you, their eyes meeting for a split second.

she shook it off thinking it was nothing. georgia stood up and smacked her gum, yelling: "GET THEM."

later into the game you sat back down after cheering for a 3. the woman next to you struck up a conversation again.

"you a big fan?" she asks.

"huh? oh yeah." you casually wave at her, yelling when a foul is drawn.

"you uh you come here often?" she asks again.

this time you don't hear her. georgia turns back around when she hears your cheers. she sends you a smile, her gum stuck between her teeth. you give her a thumbs up and make a heart with your hands before looking back to the court. georgia shifts her gaze ever so slightly and sees the woman looking at you again.

she furrows her brows trying to read the girl's facial expression. it was like... lovingly awkward. but then, georgia watches as the woman keeps taling to you, you seem uninterested and quite frankly a bit annoyed. but it didn't help that she was feeling a little jealous. with her injury she hasn't been able to show off to you or impress you and the fans.

she didn't know when she was going to be back on the court, and certainly she was out for the season. you catch her eye again and mouth 'i love you' to her which makes her completely light up. she gives you a goofy grin and a sly smirk towards the girl.

the girl seems to have given up for now and as half time comes around, georgia is nominated to throw out t-shirts to fans and sign autographs. georgia grabs a couple bundles of shirts with rubber bands, chucking them to fans of all ages. she snaps her head to the sound of your voice. she sees you waving her over, and before she knows it her legs are carrying her over with a smile on her face.

"hey love, this is caroline. she's a huge fan of you. she came all the way from florida." you tell georgia, wrapping an arm around her.

georgia smiles and hands her a shirt bundle. "hey, thanks for your support. washington is a long way from home huh?" she asks, accent thick.

caroline looks in awe as if she can't believe that georgia is actually talking to her.

"you're my favourite player, i admire you so much. i- i can't even explain how much you've inspired me and changed the game for me." she rants.

georgia just laughs and extends her arms to give her a hug. she gratefully accepts the hug and starts to feel tears falling down. you pull a tissue out of your pocket and wipe away some of her tears. caroline's parents are recording every interaction and the arena coos at the interaction too when it's shown on the big screen.

you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see the woman again. you're starting to feel quite annoyed but you think maybe she just wants to make friends here.

"hm?" you ask.

"i was just wondering if maybe i could get your number? you're really pretty and i'd love to take you out some time." she fiddles with her fingers a bit.

before you could let her down easy, geogia thanks caroline, handing her, her sharpie back and strutting over to the both of you. georgia isn't as tall as most basketball players so she was about the same height as the woman.

"nah she's not interested." georgia stretches her body to make her look a bit bigger.

you side eye her antics and internally laugh at her slim figure.

the woman looks at georgia with a questioning look. she turns to you and asks, "does she speak for you?"

you nod, leaning your body against georgia's. "yeah, sorry. she's my girlfriend." you look at georgia and give her a loving smile.

the woman displays a horrified expression. "i am so sorry." she turns around and grabs her belongings before rushing out of the arena. you laugh nervously.

"uh, okay.. that was weird." you say, distancing yourself from georgia.

she stays silent for a moment before looking at you. "you weren't interested right? i just don't want to seem like that decision wasn't yours." she says just above a whisper.

you shake your head. "i promise you i was not interested. i love you and only you." you walk closer to her and get close to her ear. "when we get home i'll show you how much i'm interested in you." you graze your lips against the shell of her ear before watching halftime come to an end.

the moment you get back to your place you slightly pressure georgia into walking backwards while you sloppily make out with her.

"fuck, [name]. i felt like i wasn't able to show off and show you that i could be better than that girl today...because of my acl." she breathlessly states in between kisses.

you halt your movements and place your hands on her face. "babe, you listen here. i want you and only you. you're going to come back from this and you'll come back better than ever. right now just let me show you how perfect you are for me." you place one last kiss on her lips and guide her to your shared bedroom.

everything was left from this morning and you gently sit georgia on the edge of the bed. you get down on your knees and look up at her with vulnerablity in your eyes. "may i?" you ask softly.

georgia tilts her head back to let out a shaky breath. "fuck, please."

the corner of your lips quirk as you guide georgia's shorts down, her bucking her hips up slightly. you toss her shorts somewhere random and kiss the inside of her thigh. then you lay your head on the side of one of her thigh's and close your eyes.

"what're you doing?" she asks quickly.

"just taking in that i get to worship my absolutely perfect girlfriend." you open your eyes and give her a loving look.

she shakes her head and reaches one of her arms to guide your head towards her centre. you gently kiss her clothed cunt, eyes fluttered as you watch her exhale sharply. you lean up and leave kisses on different parts of her lips and leave sloppy kisses on her neck.

"stop teasing already." she whines.

you smile and leave one last kiss on her collarbone before sinking back down to her core. "may i?" you ask, again. she nods and assists you in removing her boxers.

once she's exposed to you, you let yourself take in the sight. she's dripping. you take a finger and gingerly swipe it through her wet folds. she lets out a quiet moan, causing you to smirk at her.

"you're so perfect, i promise you. there is no one else for me, no one. not another basketball player not a courtside fan. georgia, please let me taste you.. fuck." you plea. she quickly nods and guides your head to her pussy.

you shift one of your hands to circle her clit slowly while kissing the inside of her thighs. she starts to let out louder sounds, trying to stifle them with her free hand. you let go of her and bring it to grab her wrist. she whines at the removed contact, looking at you with a glint of frustration in her eye.

"let me hear you. let me hear how perfect you were created." you kiss her quickly before attatching your lips to her bud.

the grip on your hair tightened as she pushed you further into her soaking cunt. you let out a muffled moan, letting your eyes droop. if this was how you went, you'd thank georgia in every universe.

"fuck georgia." you let go of her and move your hand. you look at her and she nods. you insert one of your fingers into her slowly, letting it curl at the spongey part. she lets out a sharp moan at the new sensation, your name falling from her lips like a religious prayer.

"i can't tell you how perfect you are georgia, even past a phenomenal baller, you're kind, you're beautiful, you were made—crafted by some higher power, georgia i love you so damn much. no one could ever take me away from you." you smile, cheek squishing against her thigh.

you hold open her legs every time she tries to close them. "please don't shut me out, baby." you pout.

"fuck [name]. i'm so close." she whines. "faster please."

who were you to deny her? you insert another finger and pump her at a faster pace. you wrap your lips around her clit and start to gently suck, stimulating her as much as possible to bring her over the edge.

"you're so perfect baby, let go f'me." you mutter with a sloppy kiss.

georgia's eyes roll to the back of her head as she lets out a soundless breath. you help her ride out her high, still encouraging her with reassuring words.

"i love you." you give her one last sweet kiss before heading to the bathroom and retrieving a warm wet cloth.

running it through her folds and around the area, you gently clean her up and toss her some of your clothes, which she greatly accepts. she clothes herself and grabs you, bending you down towards her sat figure. she gives you a long sweet kiss, and when she releases you, she says: "thank you, i really needed that. and i know you wouldn't intentionally flirt with anyone i just, haven't been myself since the tear." she gives you a saddened look.

you peck her nose and smile. "you're going to come back from this. i promise you."

she nods and smiles too. "what's for dinner?"

you shake your head and kiss the top of her head before walking back into the bedroom. "whatever you want babe. i already ate."

@spideygoop @numberonepartyanth3m @phoenix32711 @we2222 @sevikasleftbicep @em-nems @addymmt @swiftie4evr @fandoms-bythedozen @pathecat14 @victoria149796 @fiction67

[rainrot4me]

hey its the number 1 lj fan here! That was the most toe curling amazing fanfic of my life oh. my. god. THE LORE??? i wanna see us living with jack peacefully ilysm for this

YESS!! omg omg omg my little family

This post is based off my Laughing Jack fanfiction: It’s Just Your Imagination!

── .✦

The front door creaked open with the familiar click of Mrs. Dalton’s lock, and the scent of cinnamon and crayon wax greeted you immediately—a pleasant alternative to the constant lavender and lemon scents that had been scrubbed down these halls before. Otherwise, Oliver’s house hadn’t changed a bit.

Except now, Jack wasn’t just creeping in behind you.

He was living with you. Sleeping in your bed. Hogging your bathroom. Eating your ice cream (and laughing about it through a mouthful of sprinkles). But still…

He lingered in the doorway, his tall body pressed into the shadows like an awkward teenager trying not to knock over the coat rack with his massive shoulders and twitchy limbs. His striped legs folded like a slinky, hiding him halfway behind a lamp that definitely wasn’t big enough to cover him.

Oliver was already running to you, little socked feet pattering against the floor as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re back!”

You smiled, ruffling his hair gently. “Of course I am. You think I’d miss out on hearing about your new friend Ellie?”

Oliver beamed up at you.

Behind you, Jack’s feathers rustled. He shifted—long limbs twitching with restrained energy. You could feel his excitement barely contained. Still hiding. Still unsure if he was allowed to be part of this home again. Still a secret part of him that felt the need to hide between the shadows of these walls.

You turned over your shoulder and said gently, “Jack.”

A pause.

“…Come out. You don’t have to hide around here anymore.”

That was all it took.

FWOOOSH—

A gust of feathers exploded behind you like a dramatic stage reveal, and suddenly Jack was flying into the room, cackling with glee as he scooped Oliver right off the floor, spinning him through the air like a ragdoll.

“Ollyollyoxenfreeeee!!” Jack cried, twirling Oliver by the ankles upside down. “My favorite little human! Did you miss me?! Huh?! Did you?!”

Oliver squealed with laughter, legs flailing in the air. “Jaaaaaack!!! You’re gonna drop me!!”

“Never!” Jack gasped, scandalized, flipping him into a princess cradle instead. “I’m offended. Mortally wounded! I would never drop my favorite friend.”

You had to lean against the wall, laughing at the scene: Oliver breathless with giggles, Jack circling around like a maniac, only to drop both of them onto the living room rug in a pile of crayons, limbs, and laughter. Jack’s sharp grin softened as Oliver grabbed a marker and pointed at the coloring book already spread on the floor. “I wanna show you my new friend! Her name’s Ellie, and she’s got this sparkly unicorn backpack, and she’s funny—like you!”

“Oh?” Jack’s eyes sparkled with delight, lying on his stomach beside the boy like a noodle. “Funny like me? Does she throw glitter bombs and hide dead rats in people’s shoes?”

Oliver blinked. “…No. But she gave me her chocolate milk.”

Jack placed a long, delicate hand over his heart. “A girl after my own heart.”

You sat cross-legged beside them, content just to watch the two draw—Jack doodling an absolutely deranged unicorn with vampire teeth and six legs, while Oliver scribbled big pink hearts around it. Every so often, Jack would look up at you, eyes half-lidded and warm. His smile would soften. He’d reach out with one long arm and drag you a little closer until your knee was pressed against his hip, and he’d hum softly through his nose, feathers twitching in contentment.

This was home now. Not the physical place, of course, but in every other way. You, Jack, Oliver—and a unicorn named Ellie.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was okay.

── .✦

Headcannons!

At home…

Jack sleeps in your bed. Always. It was never even a discussion. The closet? Too dark. Under the bed? Too cramped. No, no, he’s tucked around you every night, gangly limbs wrapped tight, fluffy feathered collar like a plush cocoon. And if you move, he whines softly and pulls you tighter.

He leaves feathers everywhere. You’ll open the fridge and one flutters out. You find them in the shower drain, your boots, even your favorite mug. Jack insists it’s just his way of marking his territory.

Jack refuses to be out of touching distance. When you’re on the couch, he slinks up behind you and tugs you into his lap. When you’re cooking, he wraps his arms around your waist, humming softly into your shoulder. He is so touch-starved and now? He’s completely spoiled.

“You always smell like strawberries,” he’ll mumble, nosing along your jaw. “My favorite treat.”

He doesn’t sleep often—he just watches you. Not in a creepy way (okay… kind of creepy), but in awe. He doesn’t understand how something can be so soft and safe and his. Sometimes you wake up to find him gently brushing your hair behind your ear, studying you like he’s trying to remember every detail.

He lives for physical affection now. Laps it up like it’s air. Kisses all over. Back of your hand, your cheek, the inside of your wrist. He especially loves when you kiss him first. Makes him go all fluttery and giggly.

“Careful now, sweetheart,” he’ll purr, voice gravelly and thick with want, “I might start thinking you like me.”

At the Daltons’…

Oliver has adjusted beautifully. He’s happier, lighter, and even more talkative. Jack shows up on occasion (when he’s not being seen by everyone else, of course), perching on the roof or slithering through the walls just to peek at Oliver’s smile.

You both go visit once or twice a week. Mrs. Dalton now greets you with warm hugs and often coffee already made. She’s grateful. You saved her son and her sanity. There’s no doubt she can feel the shift in the atmosphere.

Jack pretends to be grumpy about being passed around like a family pet, but the second Oliver throws his arms around him, Jack melts like sugar.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get bigger than me?” Jack teases, picking Oliver up with ease.

“You’re still taller,” Oliver snorts, giggling.

“Only because I cheat,” Jack whispers, growing an extra inch for show.

Jack absolutely adores when Oliver calls you both “his favorites.” He’ll puff up, nuzzle into you proudly, and whisper things like: “See? He loves me and he loves you. We’re basically meant to be.”

You and Jack help Oliver with school sometimes. Jack is awful at math but makes it fun—turning subtraction into a “clown magic trick” that ends with Oliver cracking up.

Favorite traditions…

Ice Cream nights. The three of you pile onto the couch, Jack somehow always managing to spill sprinkles everywhere. He always gets some on your nose just so he can lick it off.

Bedtime Stories. Oliver insists on one from each of you. Yours are soothing and soft. Jack’s are bizarre and involve candy kingdoms, giant bugs, and chaotic heists. Oliver falls asleep happy every time.

Art Days. Jack loves when Oliver draws him. Sometimes Oliver gifts them to you, proudly declaring: “Jack told me you’re his favorite person ever. So I drew you both!”

Relationship…

Jack doesn’t get the concept of dating. He understands possession. Attachment. Obsession. But actual human relationships with communication, comfort, and mutual boundaries? Yeah… he’s gonna need help.

“Wait—you mean I can’t just crawl into your closet and live there forever? But we’re in love.”

You have to explain things like “being overwhelmed,” “just cuddling instead of trying to lick my face off,” and why you can’t always kiss when you’re trying to cook dinner and prevent the house from burning down.

Clingy. Like, dangerously so. Jack is all twisted limbs and endless affection. He doesn’t just hug you—he wraps around you like a possessive feathered python.

“I missed you,” he’ll whimper, when you’ve only been in the shower for five minutes.

Jealous and possessive to the point it’s dangerous. The poor mailman has been scared away by a horrifying face over your shoulder more times than you can count. He doesn’t understand why people linger around you for too long, he doesn’t like it. You have to explain that it’s just them being nice. He doesn’t care, he thinks only he should be able to have you.

He trails you everywhere in the house. If you’re on the couch, he’s coiled around your back like a weighted blanket. If you’re cooking, he’s behind you, chin on your shoulder, muttering compliments and licking your neck just to fluster you.

Flirting? Oh he’s a natural—when he doesn’t know he’s doing it. Jack is accidentally filthy. Like unhinged.

“Why are you making that face?” He smiles.

“You cannot say ‘you look delicious today’ while licking your lips like that.” You scowl back.

He doesn’t know what’s inappropriate and what’s seductive. You have to coach him through being soft. Teach him how to flirt without terrifying you at the same time.

Jack is so inexperienced he has to ask questions constantly. But he’s also desperate to learn. He wants to do it right. For you.

“Did I do that part right? The tongue thing. Do you like it when I do that?” Meanwhile, you’re panting so hard and your eyes are so blurry you can hardly nod your approval.

He memorizes every sound you make. Every flutter of breath. If you gasp, he’ll repeat the same movement ten more times with a grin that stretches just a little too wide.

Afterwards, he gets clingy and smug, purring like a cat. “You’re gonna let me do that again, right? Say yes. Say it now.”

Jack doesn’t understand why he feels what he feels. It confuses him. You’ll catch him sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at you with those spiraling eyes.

“I used to only care about Oliver. And candy. But now… when you leave a room, I get cold. That’s weird, right?”

You teach him how to talk about it. He learns how to say “I missed you” without getting frantic. How to kiss you on the forehead instead of shoving his tongue down your throat every time he’s touched emotionally.

But he always wants to be touching you. He’ll pull your hand into his lap just to trace your fingers and murmur, “This one’s my favorite. No reason. It just is.”

He tries to help around the house, but forgets what he’s doing halfway through. “I was gonna fold the laundry, but I saw your bra and started thinking about how it looks on the floor. Can we kiss now?”

He puts your photo on the fridge with glitter glue and googly eyes. There’s one of Oliver’s Kindergarten graduated right next to it.

And finally…

One night, after a long day of Oliver playing with his new friend, Jack curls around you in bed, chin on your shoulder. “You know,” he murmurs, voice soft and rough, “I’ve been around for a long, long time. But nothing’s ever felt quite like this.”

“Like what?” you whisper, brushing back a black lock from his cheek.

He nuzzles into your palm, eyes closing. “Like home.”

And down the hall, Oliver sleeps soundly. No monsters under the bed. No fear in the dark.

Because the monster is in your bed now—and he only has eyes for you.

꩜ .ᐟ

[manonsmartini]

sophia flirting with bodyguard reader me thinks 🙂‍↕️

sophia doesn’t flirt like it’s a game. she flirts like she’s writing poetry, like every compliment is a verse, every glance is a metaphor, every passing touch a soft stanza she’s reciting just for u.

“you have the kind of presence that makes a girl feel like she’s being written into a poem,” she says, watching you in that way that makes you flustered, “like if anyone even thought about hurting me, the wind would shift in your favor.”

and then you blink at her, confused, “i’m just doing my job.”

“hm,” she hums, smiling, “you’re doing it beautifully.”

she comments on your watch once, telling you it’s sleek and reliable. that it’s worn like you’ve had it for years. then she hits you with, “do you like things that last?” and you’re still thinking about it two days later. she leaves you notes sometimes, scribbled on the corner of her script, tucked into your back pocket like it’s casual, “don’t let anyone steal your warmth today. i’m borrowing some of it later.”

you try not to fall for it. keep your hands at your sides. stay neutral, unreadable, unmoved. but she speaks like she’s setting the stage for a love story. like she’s already written the ending and it’s soft, slow, and inevitable.

“you always look out for me,” she says one night, voice low, words careful. you nod in agreement, “always.”

she smiles triumphantly like she knew you’d say that, like she’s already memorized the line.

[snail-day]

TW: Soft Yandere, Captivity, Reader is a little freak, brief smut, choking, unedited, mdni

Now imagine asking your yandere! outlaw to put you in a chokehold.

You must be ovulating or the heat is finally getting to your head because what other reason could there be for you to look at your kidnapper and think, yeah, I wanna see if he can squeeze the breath right outta me.

But Lord help you, there’s just something about the way he moves.

You’ve been following him all morning, trailing behind like a pup in heat while he does his rounds. And it ain’t like there’s much else for you to do. Not when you’re tucked away out here in the middle of nowhere, ranch-bound and leashed to him in every way that matters.

So you watch. You sit in the dry grass, chin propped in your hands, trying not to squirm while your outlaw works shirtless in the sun, haulin’ hay bales with thick, roped forearms, shoulders flexing beneath sun-slick skin, veins standing up along his hands like the roots of an old tree. Every time he bends over to fix a latch or check a hoof, his jeans pull tight across his thighs and your breath catches. You can feel your body reacting, core clenching, nipples brushing against the inside of your dress, needy for friction and attention he hasn't given you since sunrise.

He doesn’t even notice at first. Just tips his hat back, all casual-like, and tosses you a look over his shoulder. “You doin’ alright, sugar?”

You nod too quickly. “Mhm,” you hum, legs crossed tight, voice nearly a whimper. Not really. You’re hot and itchy and aching, and watching him do ranch work is somehow worse than any teasing he’s ever done.

Once he finishes, before noon, like always, he stalks toward you, knife in one hand and a ripe peach in the other. You sit up straighter, mouth already watering. But not for the fruit, no, you want that giant thing tucked in his pants.

But a good girl like you shouldn't be thinkin' like that.

He slices it without a word, just a grunt when he sits beside you, juices dripping down the blade, and feeds you the first bite right off the tip of his knife. Fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face just so as he slides it past your lips. You suck the juice off his fingers, and his brows twitch, jaw ticking when you press your tongue against the pad of his thumb.

You look up at him, sunlight glinting off his pretty eyes, scruff shadowing his sharp jaw, that cold-eyed gunslinger stare softened just a little, and you can’t help it.

“Can you…” your voice comes out breathy, almost shy, “put me in a chokehold?”

He stills for a moment, all you can hear is the buzz of cicadas and the wet, juicy drip of peach onto the grass. And finally in a gravely tone laced with heat, “…What the hell did you just say?”

“I said…” you crawl into his lap, thighs brushing his, heat pooling low in your belly, all sweet like candy, “Can you put your hand around my throat?”

He stares. Long. Hard. “You feelin’ alright?” he mutters, voice low and rough, “Ain’t been drinkin’ the shine, have you?”

“No,” you whimper, fingers curling into the rough denim of his jeans, pressing your mouth to the stubble along his jaw. “I just… want it. Please.”

He grunts, more sound than word, like it physically pains him to admit how much he likes you beggin’. That’s what finally cracks him.

“Alright then,” he drawls, shifting beneath you until your back hits the dirt, doesn't pay any mind to the way you’re looking at him.

Knowing better than to trust easy sweetness. Knows you’ve been quiet lately. Been watchin’ him too close while he works. Legs crossed tight in that little dress he bought you, eyes all glassy and lips all pouty. He ain’t stupid. He sees it. The heat clingin’ to your skin, the squirm in your seat when he flexes just right.

And when you crawled into his lap and ask, so soft and sugar-slick, for him to put a hand around your throat?

Oh, he don’t trust that one bit.

“What’re you plannin’, darlin’?” he mutters, even as his hand curls just beneath your jaw, his thumb brushing your pulse like he’s takin’ inventory of every thought racin’ through that pretty head. “Tryin’ to distract me? Make me soft on you so you can slip off when I ain’t lookin’?”

You shake your head, whimperin’ no. But that only makes him more suspicious. More obsessed.

Because he knows how smart you are. He’s seen the way you eye the fence line. The way your fingers twitch when you hear the sound of boots approachin’ like maybe you’re still hopin’ someone’ll come for you.

You’re still tryin’ to run.

That pisses him off.

So when he grabs you, strong hands locking under your thighs and tossin’ you over his shoulder, it’s not gentle. He storms into the barn like a thunderhead rollin’ in, muttering under his breath the whole time, “Think I don’t see what this is? Think I don’t know what you’re doin’, sugar? Tryin’ to make me come undone so you can sneak out while my seed is still buried inside you? You forget who you're dealin’ with?”

The barn door slams behind him, and next thing you know you’re flat on a pile of hay, the skirt of your dress hiked up, lips trembling. His hat’s discarded on the floor, eyes burning wild above you, like some rabid dog ready to sink his teeth in.

He yanks his belt free with a harsh snap, looming over you like a stormcloud during monsoon season.

“You wanna be choked?” he growls, hand gripping your jaw, “You wanna be roughened up a little?”

Then he’s between your legs, nudging them apart with his knee, shoving your pretty white panties aside, dragging two rough fingers along your slick folds and groaning at how wet you are. “Goddamn, you’re drippin’. What the hell am I supposed to do with a girl like you? You’re not right in the head.”

His hand returns to your throat. This time, a little tighter, claiming your breath. Feeling your pulse quicken as he lines himself up, his thick head already breaching past your fluttering lips. You've never been this sweet to him before.

So when he finally thrusts into you, hard enough to make the hay rustle and the air leave your lungs, it’s not just lust. It’s punishment.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he snarls against your neck, biting down hard enough to bruise, for your screams to echo against the walls. “You don’t get to play me. You don’t get to fuckin’ leave.”

You cry out, not sure if it’s from the force of the bite or the way he’s splitting you open like he wants to ruin you for anyone else, and he laughs wicked in your ear as he pounds into your slick cunt. Perhaps you shouldn't have tempted the bull just because you were feeling a little needy.

“You thought you could use this? Thought you could get me so pussy-drunk I’d forget to lock the door behind me? I’ll make sure you can’t walk by the time I’m done,” he hisses, voice trembling at the edge, slick obscene sounds bouncing off the walls in the barn. His pace quickens even more while his words come out in a hushed groan, “I’ll fuck the thoughts right outta that schemin’ little head.”

He doesn’t stop until you’re babbling, hands weak against his chest, legs twitching around his waist, your voice raw from cryin’ his name and beggin’ for more, for less, for anything. And even then…he doesn’t let go of your throat.

Not until he’s sure.

Not until he’s pressed so deep inside you that he swears he can feel your heartbeat around his cock that's pressed right up against your womb.

Only then does he lean down, kiss the corner of your mouth, and whisper, too soft to be safe: “You’re mine now, sugar. You don’t get to make me love you just to run off. Not ever. Now be a good lil' filly and take what I give you.”

[immaqulate]

mall meltdown | m.s & c.s

— chratt x fem! reader

— warnings: fluff, bit suggestive, brat tamers! chratt, sweetheart!reader, public teasing, established relationship

You’re their sweet girl—until you don’t get what you want. One pouty meltdown over something you've been eyeing and suddenly, Chris and Matt are not amused. The mall might not be the place to teach you a lesson… but home? Oh, home is waiting.

gif by @vxnitra | dividers by @kodaswrld

“Baaabe,” you pout, holding up the soft blush-toned top in your hands like it’s a newborn puppy. “Feel this. It’s literally whispering my name.”

Matt glances at it. “Didn’t we already get you, like, three tops today?”

You blink. “Okay yeah.. but not this one.”

Chris raises an eyebrow from where he’s leaning on the railing, arms crossed, watching you sway on your heels like you’re trying to charm your way into a yes. “Didn’t you just say you were saving money?”

You smile innocently. “I was… but then I found this.”

“No,” Matt says simply, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Baby,” Chris says, gentler but firm. “We love spoiling you. But sometimes you hear ‘no’ and just choose violence.”

You frown. “Violence? I just want the top.”

“You just got a bag from Sephora and made us carry that candle from Anthropologie,” Matt says, tilting his head. “You’ve hit your limit.”

You cross your arms, stepping closer, turning to Chris with a pointed expression. “But you said I looked cute in this color.”

“I did,” he says easily. “Doesn’t mean you get to buy it just because I like it.”

That’s when the shift happens. The brat spark hits your eye.

“Fine,” you mutter, brushing past them both. “Guess I’ll go ask someone who actually wants to see me happy.”

Chris’s head snaps up.

Matt’s jaw twitches.

You don’t see it. You’re already marching to the mirror, tossing the shirt over your arm dramatically.

They don’t say a word. They just follow.

Matt’s voice is suddenly right behind you—low, close to your ear.

“You wanna try that again, sweetheart?”You freeze.

Chris steps in on your other side, leaning down to murmur, “You throwin’ attitude now? Over a shirt?”

You pretend not to be fazed, but your knees wobble a little when Matt takes the top from your hands and sets it on the display table without breaking eye contact.

Chris’s hand lands gently on your lower back. “We spoil you because we love you. But don’t get cute in front of other people and think we won’t handle it later.”

Matt adds, “You’ve got one more comment like that, and I swear to God, baby—”

“I’ll be good,” you whisper quickly, eyes wide now.

They both smile, like you just confirmed exactly what they already knew.

“Good girl,” Matt mutters.

“But we’re gonna talk about that little attitude back home,” Chris adds, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “And I promise you won’t care about that shirt by the time we’re done.”

i loveee writing for chratt omfgggg 😛

click here to be added to my taglist and here for masterlist <3

taglist 1 ✎ @chrisissobabygirl @sturnzwrld @strnilolover @sweetshuga @mattslilies @sirensdollesque @slxtarchive @heartsonlyforchris @sturns-mermaid @bluessturniolo @pasteldreams @endereies @solarsturniolo @drewswife @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @ivytthew @blushsturns @surprisecurlyfriess @mazzystarrysky @eclipsturns @riasturns @mattsgirl4ever @elisesturnz @ribbonlovergirl @chrisslut04 @pair-of-pantaloons @obxfansstuff @poppetbaby02 @bgfshai @kalel2005 @sturniszn @leahfaith @rafespuppyy @babciaala13 @whump-loverz @chrispycremedonut @mattsdivaa @sturnsblogs @chrisissos3xy

[sophia-barnes]

Chapter 1: Static

Summary:

Working as the Thunderbolts’ logistics assistant isn’t glamorous, but it’s never dull—especially when Bucky Barnes is around. You’ve had a quiet crush on him for months, but lately he’s been distant… or maybe you’ve been avoiding him. And that rumor about him dating someone on base doesn’t help.

Content Warnings:

Light angst, mutual pining, subtle emotional miscommunication, reader is self-conscious but confident, Yelena is suspiciously observant, soft tension.

⸻

You knew taking a job with the Thunderbolts would be chaotic, exhausting, and possibly involve a lot of yelling. What you didn’t expect was Bucky Barnes. And definitely not… this.

This thing—whatever it is—where his eyes seem to find you when the room gets too loud. Where he hovers near your desk without ever saying much. Where you pretend not to notice when he walks in, like your heart doesn’t hiccup just a little.

But lately… something’s shifted.

You hear more about him than you see him now. He’s gone for longer stretches, showing up to briefings late, eyes shadowed and far away. He still looks at you—but it’s different. Harder to read. Distant. Like there’s a wall there that wasn’t before.

Which is fine. Totally fine.

You have your own walls.

You’re the team’s assistant—not a handler, not a field agent. You’re the one who makes sure the transport arrives on time, the comms are synced, the right files are printed, and someone brought food that won’t give Alexei indigestion. You coordinate the chaos.

You do not get crushes on super soldiers.

Or at least, you’re not supposed to.

⸻

“You’re thinking about him again.”

Yelena’s voice drags you back to the present like a hook behind your ribs. You look up from the mission tablet and raise a brow.

“No, I’m thinking about how we’re going to fit six people in a four-person jet with weapons and zero personal space.”

“Same thing,” she says, smirking. “Your Bucky obsession is getting louder.”

“He’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m Russian. I can hear lies.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s halfhearted. “I’m over it. Seriously.”

Yelena stares at you like she’s trying to X-ray your soul.

You sigh. “I was over it… until I overheard a couple agents saying he’s seeing someone. One of the medtech girls.”

There’s a beat of silence. Yelena leans forward on the bench outside the hangar. “He’s not.”

“Okay, but you don’t know that.”

“I do know that. Because I know Bucky, and he hasn’t smiled in like two months. Trust me. He’s the opposite of getting laid.”

You snort. “I didn’t say he was getting laid. I said he was dating someone.”

“Same thing . But even if he was, why does it matter to you? You said you’re over it.”

You press your lips together and hand her the tablet. “Can you check the evacuation routes again? The last GPS pull had Ava landing twenty clicks south of where she’s supposed to be.”

Yelena gives you one more narrow-eyed look before dropping it. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

With anyone else, you’d redirect easily. But Yelena sees too much. And worse—she cares.

⸻

The mission debrief is exactly as chaotic as you expected. Bob knocks over a chair. John complains about the jet seating. Alexei tries to light a cigar inside the building again, and Bucky

Bucky’s already there when you walk in. Sitting at the far end of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes flick to you for the briefest second. You don’t meet them. Instead, you slide into your usual chair between Ava and Bob, pulling your tablet close like a shield.

“Let’s keep this short,” you say briskly. “Ava, your reentry coordinates were twenty clicks off. Did the terrain shift?”

“No,” she says, frowning. “My altimeter was glitching.”

“I’ll flag it for diagnostics,” you nod, typing. “Alexei, your comms—”

“Dead for fifteen minutes,” Yelena cuts in. “He tried to reroute through the satellite dish on top of a grocery store.”

“You said it was smart,” Alexei argues.

“I said it was ‘not entirely stupid,’ which is different.”

A quiet chuckle comes from the end of the table.

You glance up—he’s smiling.

Bucky. Just barely. But it’s real.

And for some reason, that smile hits you like a bruise. Warm. Deep. Fading fast.

You look away.

⸻

By the time the meeting wraps, you’ve already packed up, ready to bolt. You make it halfway to the door when Bob blocks your path with a big, dumb grin.

“Hey! You promised to help me with my personal file thingy.”

“I said I’d help you learn how to open it. Not fill it out for you.”

Bob looks vaguely betrayed. “That’s not what I heard.”

“Do you want your bio to say you’re an ’accidental weapon of mass destruction with mommy issues’ again?”

“…You typed that?”

“You dictated it. I just formatted it.”

Yelena snorts behind him, and Bob groans.

“Fine. I’ll rewrite it. But don’t abandon me, okay?”

“I’ll be in the comms room,” you say, brushing past him. “Just knock.”

What you don’t see is Bucky watching you the whole way out.

⸻

It’s not like you meant to pull away from him. It’s just… safer this way. When you thought maybe he liked you too—maybe something was there—it felt electric. Now, it just feels like static. Like you were wrong.

And being wrong hurts worse than you thought it would.

So you keep things professional. Friendly with everyone else. Distant with him. It’s not a punishment—it’s protection.

Even if it makes your chest ache.

⸻

Later that night, you sit alone in the staff dorm rec room, legs curled under you, scrolling through logistical reports with a lukewarm tea balanced on your knee. You hear the door open and close behind you, but you don’t look up.

Until a voice says, “Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

Bucky.

You freeze.

Then force a smile and glance over. “Night owl perks.”

He hesitates, then walks over, hovering at the end of the couch.

“Mind if I sit?”

You shrug. “Free country.”

He sinks down beside you, but not too close. You can feel the tension radiating off him like heat. You focus on your tablet.

He watches you in silence.

After a minute, he says quietly, “You’ve been different lately.”

You blink. “What?”

“Quieter. Not with everyone. Just… with me.”

You grip the tablet tighter. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not it.”

Your jaw tightens. You don’t look at him.

“Did I do something?” he asks, softer now.

That question almost breaks you.

“No,” you say. “You didn’t.”

But it’s not the whole truth. And you know he hears it in your voice.

“Then what changed?”

You finally look at him.

The worst part is, he looks genuinely confused. Like he doesn’t know. Like the idea of you caring at all hasn’t even occurred to him.

And maybe it hasn’t.

You swallow. “Nothing. Just… life.”

“Right,” he says, leaning back, eyes clouding over.

You stand up before he can say more. “I have to finish reports.”

He watches you go without another word.

⸻

You don’t cry. Not really.

But that night, as you lie in your bunk staring at the ceiling, you let yourself feel it. The slow ache of wanting someone who doesn’t—can’t—want you back.

You remind yourself of everything you are. Everything you’ve built. You’re confident. You’re sharp. You’re respected. You like who you are.

But you’ve never been kissed.

Never been loved.

And when you imagine what it would be like—just once—for Bucky Barnes to want you the way you want him, it hurts like a secret you’ll never tell.

⸻

Pt.2 coming soon

It’s my first ever fic; hope you guys like it 🫶

[matchpointfaist]

that lovergirl x Stanford art story was so good and cute! Idk if it was just a one off but if you’re up for it, could you do maybe like a part two of after they finally start dating and what that might be like? no worries if not, the first one was just sooo good and cute- fellow lover girl lol❤️🫧

accidentally in love <3

lovergirl! reader x stanford! art part two

tw for very very slight angst, mostly just fluff and apologies

you let him in that night. physically, emotionally, all of it. the next morning, he’s still there, asleep on your pillow with his hoodie bunched at the neck, his mouth slightly open and his arm still around your waist. you’re not sure what it means, not yet. he doesn’t say anything when he wakes up, just kisses your forehead like he’s been doing it forever and helps you make coffee without being asked. you think maybe it’s a one-time thing, a closure thing. like maybe he didn't mean everything he said that night. but then he texts you good morning the next day, and the day after that, starts calling you more often, just to hear your voice. starts showing up to your lectures with a coffee, waiting outside after your lab like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "what are you doing here?" you ask one day, holding a half full iced chai and trying not to smile too hard. he shrugs, grins, "felt like walking you home," "you don’t even live in this direction," "guess i got lost," he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek, "guess you’ll have to show me the way," you pretend not to be giddy for the rest of the walk back.

eventually, it really shifts. you’re at another party, but this time you’re not alone on a couch, trying not to cry. you’re standing beside him, a drink in one hand and his in the other, your fingers laced lazily together. someone passes by and calls him by name, "donaldson, nice win this week!", and he nods, tight lipped, but doesn’t let go of you. you glance up at him, "you sure about this?" you ask, quietly, voice barely above the music. "what do you mean?" "people are looking," you say, even though you’re not sure if they actually are. it just feels like it, like everyone can see the way his hand is on your waist now, how close he stands to you. "good," he says, his hand squeezing your hip gently, "they should see," you feel it then, undeniable and real; the difference. the way he doesn’t hide anymore.

he starts doing this thing where he introduces you, everywhere. parties, practice, even the smoothie place he swears has the only good protein shakes in the whole city. "this is my girlfriend," he says once, offhanded but warm, like the word doesn’t terrify him anymore. you blink, try to play it cool, "girlfriend?" he flushes a little, but he doesn’t take it back. "yeah," he says, simple, "unless you want a different word," you beam up at him, "no, i like that one," he’s not perfect at it. he still goes quiet sometimes when you talk about feelings for too long, still gets a little tense when he doesn’t know how to say something right. but he tries, and that matters more than anything. he kisses you in public now. not like, full rom com spins (unless you ask, which you do, dramatically, in the middle of the quad, just to see him groan), but soft things. a kiss to your temple when you’re talking too fast. a press of his lips to your knuckles while you wait in line at a taco truck. sometimes you catch him just looking at you, and when you notice, he doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t.

he takes you on dates, too. real ones. not just "come over and watch a movie," but things with plans and effort. a bookstore cafe on a tuesday. a farmers market on a sunday. one night he shows up outside your dorm and says, "wear something warm," and takes you to a lookout spot above the city where he spreads a blanket and shares his favorite snacks. "i’ve never seen you like this," you whisper one night, head tucked into his chest as you lay under the stars. "like what?" "open," you say softly, "real, safe," his hand curls around your shoulder. "i’m learning," he murmurs. "you make it easy," sometimes he still fumbles. you still get scared. you’re still you, messy and big hearted, writing him dumb poems and leaving them under his door just because. he still pretends to roll his eyes, but now he kisses you after and says thank you. he keeps the new notes in the same shoebox. adds to it, actually. a pressed flower from your first real date, a movie ticket stub, a polaroid of you asleep on his chest that he claims is just because the lighting was good. you still cry during commercials. he still doesn’t always know what to do with that, but now he pulls you into his arms and lets you cry. he doesn’t run. he just holds you, and listens, and stays.

[theapollochronicles]

BACKWARDS LOVING.ᐟ ⎯ NATALIE SCATORCCIO

✧ summary — after a messy breakup with travis, she shows up at your door tear-stained and puffy eyed.ᐟ 📻

tw — (slightly) toxic travnat & implied breakup! angst, some fluff (if you squint), and mentions of ‘slut-shaming!’ (not a tw) but mentions of taivan!! #modernau

authors notes — (credits to @hyuneskkami for the dividers!!) based of another great request from anon!! y’all are paying for my therapy bills—also, don’t come for me. travis is one of my fav characters and i love him sm 🥹 it was for the plot!!

The air in the apartment had been thick for weeks.

It wasn’t anything obvious—not yelling, not slammed doors or broken dishes. Just a kind of quiet that stuck to the walls. Conversations that ended too soon. Touches that didn’t linger. Eye contact that flinched away.

Natalie had been feeling it in her chest every night when she lay down next to him, eyes wide open, pretending to sleep. She knew Travis felt it too. The way he’d linger at work, or the way he’d choose his words too carefully, like they were standing on a frozen lake and one wrong move would send them both crashing under.

That night, it was humid again. She’d kicked off her boots by the door, dropped her bag on the floor and rolled her neck like the day had been heavier than usual. Travis was already home, sitting on the edge of the couch with a beer in his hand, staring blankly at the muted TV.

“Hey,” she said softly, peeling off her jacket.

He barely looked up. “Hey.”

She tossed her keys into the dish, rubbed her eyes. “Anything to eat?”

“There’s leftovers from that Thai place.”

She made a noise that wasn’t quite a yes or a no and wandered into the kitchen. The light flickered when she opened the fridge. Something about that—the little buzz it made—itched under her skin.

They ate in silence. Not even the TV filled it. Just the clink of silverware, the creak of old floorboards, the scrape of Travis’s thumb against the label on his beer bottle.

Halfway through the meal, he set the bottle down harder than necessary and said, voice low and a little hoarse, “Do you ever think about how many people you’ve been with?”

Natalie looked up slowly, blinking. “What?”

He didn’t meet her eyes. Just leaned back in the chair, arms crossed loosely. “Like… before me. Do you think about it?”

She swallowed. “No. Not really.”

He nodded once, like that confirmed something. “I do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I think about how easy it is for you to act like it doesn’t matter.”

Natalie didn’t answer at first. She carefully set her fork down and sat back, her gaze on him now, full and unblinking. “What are we doing, Travis?”

He shrugged a little too quickly. “Just talking.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not just talking. You’ve been weird for weeks. You come home late, you barely touch me, and now you’re throwing out these half-assed questions like you’re trying to start something without admitting that you are.”

He stayed quiet for a long second. Then he said, quieter, “I’ve just been thinking. A lot. And I feel like I don’t really know where I stand with you anymore.”

Natalie let out a slow breath through her nose, rubbed her palms down her thighs. “Where you stand with me? You think I don’t see how hard you’ve been pulling away?”

He shifted. “Maybe I’m pulling back because I don’t know how long you’re planning to stay.”

Her chest tightened. “You think I’m gonna leave.”

“I think,” he said carefully, “you’ve always had one foot out the door.”

There it was.

The thing he’d been dying to say.

Natalie stood up slowly, arms crossed now, her weight shifting from one foot to the other like she was bracing herself.

“Is this about that night we saw Bobby at the bar?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the table, jaw working.

She nodded. “Yeah. That’s what this is. You saw me say hi to someone I haven’t thought about in three years and suddenly I’m the girl who’s gonna bail.”

“It wasn’t just that,” he muttered.

“Then what?” she snapped. “What is it, Travis? Is it the fact that I don’t cry every time I talk about my past? That I’m not embarrassed about who I was before you?”

“It’s not about being embarrassed.”

She cut him off. “Then what is it about?”

He stood now too, tone rising. “It’s about how I feel like you treat everything before me like it didn’t leave marks. Like you’re made of stone, and I’m the only one who gives a shit about any of this.”

“Because I had to be made of stone!” Her voice cracked at the end, and her hands were shaking now. “You think I don’t feel things? You think I didn’t bury stuff just to keep my head above water? You want me to bring it all up every time we sit down to dinner?”

Travis took a step back. “I want to know if I mean more to you than they ever did.”

Natalie stared at him, chest heaving, throat tight.

“You want the truth?” she asked.

He looked at her, and something in his face looked scared now.

“I don’t remember most of them,” she said. “Not because I didn’t care. But because I had to forget. I didn’t grow up with the luxury of clean slates and safety nets. I burned through people like matches because I didn’t know what it meant to be held. And then you came along, and I tried. I really, really tried.”

Travis didn’t say anything. Just stood there, eyes glossy, lips pressed tight like he was holding something back.

Natalie’s voice dropped. “But maybe you don’t want to be loved by me. Maybe you want to be the guy who saves me from myself. And when I don’t fall apart in your arms, that makes me broken in a way you don’t know how to fix.”

He looked like he might break, right then and there.

But she was already stepping away. Already pulling on her hoodie, grabbing her keys.

“You don’t have to chase me,” she said, hand on the knob. “I’m not walking out because I don’t care. I’m walking out because I’m tired of proving that I do.”

She opened the door, and the summer night met her with warm air and silence.

Natalie was halfway through the doorway when Travis finally found his voice again—shaky, caught somewhere between a plea and a defense.

“Don’t do that. Don’t walk away like you always do.”

She froze, one foot over the threshold, her knuckles whitening around her keys.

Slowly, she turned back toward him, eyes burning. “Like I always do?”

Travis stood still across the room, arms limp at his sides now, but his eyes were sharp. “Yeah. That’s your move, right? When it gets too real, when someone actually pushes back, you throw your hands up and bolt.”

“You’re not pushing back, Travis,” she snapped. “You’re throwing my past in my face like it’s ammunition—like it disqualifies me from being loved the way you think I should be.”

“I’m trying to talk to you, Natalie. For once. I’m trying to fucking talk to you and not pretend everything’s fine while we sleep with our backs to each other every night.”

“I didn’t pretend,” she said, her voice breaking around the edges now. “I waited. I waited for you to say something. To show me that you still wanted this. But you didn’t, so don’t turn this around like I’m the one who shut down.”

Travis rubbed the back of his neck and turned away for a second, pacing toward the window. “You make it impossible to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“Like what? Pissed off that you ambushed me with some half-baked guilt trip about shit I can’t take back?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, still facing the window. “Jesus.”

She bristled. “Don’t fucking laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said quietly. “I’m just—” He turned around slowly, his expression pulled tight, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something cruel but didn’t trust himself to. “I’m just tired, Nat.”

She took a step closer, eyes wide, breath shallow. “You think I’m not? You think I haven’t been dragging this dying thing around like a leash, trying to pretend it’s still a goddamn relationship?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes darted toward her, then away again.

“Look at me,” she said.

Still, he didn’t.

“You can’t even look at me,” she whispered. “Because deep down, you know I’m right. You’re mad at me for the people I slept with, but the truth is, you never trusted me. You liked the idea of me, and then you resented me for not being some version of myself you built in your head.”

“I never asked you to be anyone else.”

“Yes, you did,” she shot back. “You just weren’t honest about it.”

He scoffed—soft, bitter—and crossed his arms, hugging them close to his chest. “No. You just don’t like when someone finally holds a mirror up to you.”

Natalie’s jaw clenched. Something in her snapped right then—not loud, not violent. Just final.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she said, voice shaking.

“I know enough,” he muttered.

Her heart thudded once, hard, in her chest.

And that was it.

She stepped back toward the door, grabbing the handle. “I can’t do this with you, Travis. I won’t.”

“Natalie—”

“No,” she said sharply, not turning back this time. “I’m not gonna stand here and beg you to see me for who I am. If you can’t, then that’s your problem. Not mine.”

He stayed still. Shoulders locked up, face stony, like whatever softness had existed between them was now buried under miles of disappointment.

And Natalie didn’t wait for another word.

She yanked the door open and stepped out into the warm, suffocating night, the screen slapping shut behind her.

No footsteps followed.

No apologies.

No last-minute reach for her hand.

Just the hum of the fan still going inside, and the sound of her own breath as she walked down the stairs, fists clenched, fury and heartbreak burning like fire in her chest.

It was almost two in the morning when the knock came.

Quiet, almost uncertain—three soft raps against the wood. But you felt it in your chest like a signal. Like a feeling you’d been waiting on all night without knowing why.

When you opened the door, Natalie stood there in the faint yellow glow of the hallway light, hoodie pulled up over her head and sleeves stretched long over her hands. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy and swollen from crying, though she was clearly trying not to show it. You didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped back, holding the door open wide.

She didn’t hesitate.

She walked in with the kind of silence that spoke louder than any words, shoulders slightly hunched like the weight of the entire night was pressing into her spine. You closed the door quietly behind her, locking it out of habit, then followed her to the kitchen.

You knew this version of her. Not the firestarter, not the loudmouth, not the untouchable girl who never needed anything from anyone. This version of Natalie—quiet, frayed at the edges, skin pulled too tight over her grief—only ever showed herself to the few people she really trusted.

And you were one of them.

Always had been. Since long before Travis came into the picture.

She didn’t even need to ask—you pulled out the stool at the kitchen counter, and she climbed up onto it like it was the only stable ground left in her life. You moved quietly, grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet, filling it from the tap. Your eyes flicked to her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still holding it together.

But the truth was, she wasn’t.

She looked like someone trying not to fall apart in a stranger’s home—even though she’d sat in that exact stool a hundred times before. She rubbed at her face like she was trying to scrub the evidence away, hands trembling slightly as she curled her fingers around the cold glass you placed in front of her.

You leaned against the counter, close but not crowding her. “How bad?”

She gave a half-shrug, eyes downcast. “Bad enough that I don’t think we’ll come back from it.”

You nodded, slowly. No judgment. No assumptions. Just listening. That’s what she needed right now.

Natalie drew in a shaky breath, exhaled slowly, her fingers pressing to her brow. “It’s been coming for a while,” she said, voice scratchy and raw. “We’ve just… been avoiding it. Pretending like things were still working even though we both knew they weren’t.”

You didn’t interrupt. Just watched her. Let her keep going.

“I loved him,” she said softly. “God, I fucking loved him. And I thought—maybe that would be enough. Maybe we could figure out the rest if we just kept trying.”

Her shoulders slumped forward. Her voice grew quieter.

“But we weren’t really trying anymore. Not really. We were just coexisting. Walking around each other like we were afraid to say the wrong thing. Holding our breath all the time.”

You swallowed hard, heart tightening at the way her voice trembled.

“Even tonight—it didn’t start as a fight. He just said something, and I wasn’t expecting it. It was like he’d been waiting for the chance to make me feel small. Like he wanted to see me flinch.”

You crossed the space between you and set a hand gently over hers. She didn’t pull away. If anything, her fingers curled toward your palm.

“I don’t think he ever forgave me for not being who he imagined I was,” she murmured. “He kept saying we were equals, that we were friends first. But the second we argued, it was like he pulled rank. Like he wanted to remind me of all the reasons he thought I was lucky to have him.”

Your jaw tightened at that—but still, you didn’t say what you wanted to. Didn’t tell her how you’d seen this coming. How you always knew Travis had a way of loving people when they were easy to hold, but not when they were messy, scared, or hurting. That could wait. That wasn’t what she needed tonight.

“I tried to be good to him,” she said. “Even when he shut down. Even when he iced me out for days. I tried to be patient. I wanted to love him the right way.”

You squeezed her hand gently. “You did.”

She blinked quickly, like she might finally cry.

“I want to cry,” she whispered. “I want to just fucking sob. But I’ve already wasted so many tears on someone who could never see past my flaws. And if I start now, I don’t think I’ll stop.”

Her voice cracked at the end of it, and your heart twisted. You reached up and pushed her hoodie back gently from her face, brushing a thumb just beneath her eye.

“You don’t have to cry,” you said. “Not if you’re not ready. But if you do… I’ll be right here.”

She looked at you, really looked at you—for the first time that night. Her bottom lip trembled, and she gave the smallest nod. Her eyes brimmed again, but she blinked them clear.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said, so quietly it was almost a breath.

“You’re not,” you told her. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

You watched as she looked down at your joined hands, gripping just a little tighter.

And even though the tears didn’t fall—not yet—you knew she was right there on the edge.

But for now, she had you.

And that was enough.

It was late—well past three—by the time Natalie’s breathing finally steadied.

Not asleep. You could tell that much just by the way her hands kept fidgeting in her lap, the way her eyes would drift to the window, then the ceiling, then back to the same spot on the wall like she was tracking something only she could see. But calmer, at least. Less frayed.

After she’d gotten up from the counter, you’d helped her wash her face, offered her a fresh towel, one of your old T-shirts to change into. She didn’t speak much during that—just nodded, moved quietly, her movements mechanical. She kept brushing her hair back behind her ears even though it wasn’t in her face, like she needed something to do with her hands.

You stood outside the bathroom while she changed, leaning against the wall, listening to the soft rustle of fabric. When she opened the door again, she looked a little less like the wreck that had shown up at your door and a little more like the Natalie you’d always known. Still fragile, but less breakable.

“I made up the bed for you,” you told her softly, motioning toward your room. “Take it. Couch is all mine.”

She rolled her eyes faintly, just enough to hint at that old teasing spark. “Still the perfect host, huh?”

You gave a small smile, shrugging. “Can’t help it. My mom would kill me if I let a guest sleep on the couch.”

Natalie let out a breath, something like a half-laugh, and padded into your room. You followed a few minutes later after locking up, pulling the comforter off your bed to take to the couch, but she was sitting up now—legs curled under her, back resting against the headboard.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you for a long second.

Then, quiet but direct: “Can you stay?”

You turned in the doorway, hand still on the comforter. “What?”

She hesitated, looking down at her fingers. “Not like… I don’t mean it weird. I just—” Her voice faltered. “I don’t really trust where my head’s gonna go tonight. I’d just feel better if you were close. You don’t even have to—just the floor, the side of the bed, I don’t care.”

You nodded before she even finished. “Yeah. Of course.”

She relaxed slightly, shifting over to make space, and you returned the blanket to the bed, settling down on the edge nearest the floor. You didn’t climb in beside her—didn’t want to crowd her. Just sat on the edge, then slid down until you were seated on the floor, your back resting lightly against the side of the mattress.

The lamp stayed on for a while. Neither of you said anything. You could hear the faint buzz of the streetlights outside, the occasional car rolling by, the low hum of your building’s heater cycling off.

Eventually, Natalie laid back against the pillows, her arm tucked under her head. She wasn’t facing you, but her body curled subtly toward where you sat.

You thought she’d finally dozed off when you heard it—quiet, barely there, like someone breathing too carefully.

You heard the first few sniffles and didn’t hesitate.

The second her breath hitched—soft and uneven like she was trying to force it down—you moved without thinking. You rose from your spot on the floor and eased into the bed beside her, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. She didn’t stop you. She didn’t even move. Just lay there, her back still to you, breathing quietly through the tail end of another crying spell.

You didn’t reach out. Not yet.

She was curled toward the far side of the bed, her hoodie sleeves still tugged down over her hands like armor. She stayed that way for a moment, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to want comfort, then—slowly—she turned to face you.

Even in the low amber wash of the nightstand lamp, you could see the evidence of every tear: red-rimmed eyes, a pale flush on her cheeks, tear tracks clinging to her jawline. She didn’t speak. Her eyes just met yours, and for a second it felt like the room got smaller—quieter. Like nothing else existed outside this bed.

So you were the one to speak first.

You didn’t bring up Travis. You didn’t mention what had happened hours earlier, or how broken she looked when she showed up at your door. You just let the silence pass gently before reaching into a memory you’d kept tucked away—one that still lived somewhere soft behind your ribs.

“Do you remember the state fair?” you asked quietly.

Her eyes flicked to yours, unsure. She didn’t say anything, just gave a barely-there nod.

You smiled faintly, eyes on the ceiling now, letting the memory warm your voice. “It was the end of summer. Taissa and Van were thinking of going to the state fair together and you and Travis were still together. So it was me… fifth-wheeling like a pro.”

Natalie let out the tiniest huff through her nose. Her eyes stayed on you, heavy with quiet attention.

“I remember you texting me that day,” you continued. “Asking if I wanted to come. Said the fair wasn’t worth going to unless I showed up. Thought you were joking.”

“I wasn’t,” Natalie murmured.

You looked at her—really looked at her for a moment—but didn’t let yourself linger too long on the shape of her mouth, or the way her eyes softened.

“Yeah, I figured that out by the end of the night,” you said, voice low, steady. “Travis dipped early. Got called in for a night shift or something. You were bummed, even if you didn’t say it out loud. But I promised you cotton candy, remember? Told you I’d win you the biggest stuffed animal there just to make up for it.”

Natalie’s lip twitched slightly. “You spent thirty bucks trying to knock over three milk bottles.”

“And didn’t knock down a single one,” you added, smirking.

“Still made the carny guy feel bad enough to give me the sloth anyway.”

“I was very persistent.”

She sniffed again, but this time it came with a ghost of a smile.

You let the quiet settle again, the weight between you shifting, something softer curling up in it.

“I remember how your hair looked that night,” you said, slower now. “You had the bleach fading out toward your roots. The blonde had gone kind of gold near the top, and I swear—under those dumb fair lights? You looked like you belonged to the night, as corny as that sounds.”

Natalie blinked, eyes wet again, but she didn’t look away.

“You were laughing at something Van said—something so stupid, I don’t even remember it. But you were sharing that Oreo fudge cake with me, fork in one hand, your other hand holding mine for balance while we leaned on that rickety railing near the Ferris wheel.”

Your throat tightened slightly, but you kept your voice even.

“I didn’t tell you then, but I don’t think I looked at anything else for the rest of the night. It’s one of those memories that just… stuck with me. That version of you. The joy in your face. How free you looked.” You paused, voice softer now. “It was the best part of that summer.”

Natalie’s breath hitched again. But she didn’t cry this time.

Instead, she whispered, “That was one of the best nights of my life.”

“I know,” you murmured.

She shifted closer then, barely enough to touch, her arm brushing yours beneath the blanket. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I only had that much fun because you were there.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Because even though you had always been her best friend—had always been the one to show up when she needed someone—there had always been something else too. Something unspoken that lived just beneath the surface, bubbling there in the warmth of memories, in the silent glances, in every almost-confession you’d swallowed back over the years. But she was with Travis then. And you weren’t the type to steal something that hadn’t been offered.

Even now, you stayed still, eyes on the ceiling, one breath at a time.

But you could feel her watching you.

You could feel the way her body tilted closer.

And even though you didn’t touch her yet, she didn’t move away.

She didn’t say anything when she shifted closer—just a soft rustle of the sheets, a subtle brush of cotton against skin. One second she was lying there beside you, still and quiet, and the next she was moving—slowly, deliberately, like she wasn’t sure what her body was doing but couldn’t stop it either.

Her cheek found the slope of your shoulder, settling into the warmth of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. A small, intimate thing. Something wordless.

You didn’t move at first. Just blinked, your heart catching in your chest, breath still. But then your hand lifted gently, finding her wrist where it laid across her body—just a light, careful touch. She folded into it like a sigh, her arms curling around your forearm, hugging it to her chest as she pressed further into you, seeking more comfort than space.

You could feel the tension then—something not quite sharp, not quite obvious. But rising.

You thought it might stop there. That maybe she’d fall asleep like that, wrapped around your arm, close but still tucked away in the safety of best-friend borders.

But it didn’t stop.

She moved again.

One leg shifted over yours. Then the other. And then—slowly, almost uncertainly—Natalie climbed into your lap.

Your breath hitched.

She sat above you now, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of your hips, hands ghosting at your shoulders. Her thighs bracketed your waist as she settled carefully into place, like testing the weight of it. The quiet gravity of it. Her hoodie hung loose off one shoulder, her eyes searching yours, wide and puffy and rimmed in pink.

You still hadn’t touched her—not beyond that one hand still curled around her wrist. Not until your palms lifted, hesitant, and found her hips. Your fingers rested there like they’d been waiting their whole life to remember that shape.

You didn’t speak. Neither did she.

Your thumb swept gently across the curve of her waist. Her breathing slowed—not calmer, but deeper, more purposeful. She was still crying, barely. Quiet streaks down her face. But her gaze never wavered from yours.

Then, softly, she spoke again—her voice no longer trembling, just low, reverent. “That night at the fair…”

You blinked slowly, your eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah?”

She nodded faintly, her hands lightly resting against your chest now. “That last ride. The Ferris wheel. You remember?”

You swallowed. “Of course.”

“I wanted to kiss you,” she whispered. “At the very top. Right when the air got quiet and it felt like we were the only two people in the whole damn world.”

Your fingers tightened slightly at her hips, but you didn’t speak.

“I wanted to feel what it was like to be loved by you. Even for a second,” she murmured. “Because you always made me feel that way. Like I was seen. Held without asking.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

She continued, voice hoarse now, worn from the night, but unshakably clear: “Travis didn’t look at me like that. Not even when things were good. But you—” she broke off for a second, then found it again. “You never needed a reason to love me.”

You shifted beneath her just enough to sit up straighter, eyes wide, heart loud in your ears.

“Natalie,” you said quietly. “You just got out of something. I didn’t bring that up tonight to… to get in your pants. That’s not—”

“I know,” she interrupted, not harshly. Just certain. “I know. That’s why I came here.”

Your lips parted slightly, words caught behind your teeth.

She leaned in then, so close you could feel the heat of her breath against your cheek. Her hands slid up to the sides of your neck, feather-light, as if afraid to hold too tight.

“I trust you,” she whispered. “I want this.”

Her forehead touched yours. You closed your eyes.

The pause stretched out like a held breath. Like the world balanced itself on this one moment, waiting.

“Yes,” you murmured finally. “If you’re sure… yes.”

And then she kissed you.

She kissed you like she’d been holding her breath for years.

Feverish—but not rushed. Slow, like she was tracing the shape of you with her mouth, learning the rhythm, memorizing every soft give, every pull, every exhale between kisses like it meant something. And it did.

Her lips moved against yours with intent, unspoken but loud in every way that mattered. There was something trembling beneath it—grief, want, relief—something sharp and sacred that burned through the quiet.

Your hands stayed steady at her hips, thumbs brushing up beneath the hem of her borrowed T-shirt as if to ground her, to remind her you were there and not going anywhere. You kissed her back with that same depth, with that same quiet ache. But when you felt the slight hitch in her breath, the subtle shudder of her chest pressed to yours—you pulled back just enough to look.

Fresh tears.

She didn’t try to hide them. They slid down her cheeks freely, mixing between the soft edges of your kiss, catching at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were squeezed shut, brows pinched together like something inside her cracked too wide to hold in.

“I’m—” she tried to breathe the word into your mouth, tried to apologize between the sob breaking up in her throat.

But you shook your head gently, cupping her jaw, and pulled her close again—closer this time, until her face was tucked into the curve of your neck.

And that was when she broke.

Not from guilt. Not from regret.

She sobbed like her body couldn’t hold the weight of it anymore—like she’d been trying to stay upright all night, and now that she was finally being held, the dam burst clean through. Her arms folded around your shoulders, locking tight, her chest heaving as she wept into your skin.

You didn’t let go. Not once.

You held her like something sacred, like she was something precious and wrecked and beautiful all at once. Your hand cradled the back of her head, your other arm wound tightly around her waist, anchoring her to you as she clung on like you were the only thing keeping her from floating away.

The scent of her—shampoo and salt, the faint warmth of your T-shirt wrapped around her frame—filled the space between you. Her skin was warm, her breathing staggered. You could feel every part of her pressed into you: the bend of her legs on either side of your hips, the trembling grip at the nape of your neck, the way her mouth brushed your collarbone with every sob.

You pressed a soft kiss just below her ear. Then another to her temple. Then to the damp skin near her cheekbone.

“Shhh,” you whispered, lips against her skin, voice steady, patient. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

She held tighter.

Another kiss. Another breath drawn deep into your chest. You could feel her pulse racing against yours, a rhythm shared, vulnerable and raw.

“It’s alright,” you murmured again. “I’m right here.”

She didn’t say anything back—not with words—but the way she melted further into you, the way her fingers fisted the back of your shirt, the way she let herself cry without apology—it all said enough.

It was everything at once. The unraveling. The reckoning. The comfort.

You didn’t move. You just held her as long as she needed—her legs still curled around your waist, her face hidden in your neck, your fingers stroking through her hair in slow, calming lines.

And though the tears didn’t stop for a while, neither did your arms around her.

She’d come to you when she had nowhere else to go.

And you would’ve waited forever.

But tonight, she didn’t need waiting.

She just needed to be held.

[spenceragnewfics]

Spencer x chubby reader maybe? About him helping them feel comfortable about their body

I love this one so much!!!

EXACTLY AS YOU ARE | Spencer Agnew x Plus Size F!Reader

Summary: You’re used to loving the little things about yourself, but some nights, the insecurities get loud. When an old sweatshirt doesn’t fit the way it used to, Spencer reminds you that you’re not too much, not a placeholder, and never anything less than exactly what he wants.

Word Count: 933

There are things you love about yourself.

Your laugh. Your sense of humor. The way you can turn any awkward silence into a joke. But your body? That’s always been harder.

Even in your relationship with Spencer—kind, thoughtful, endlessly loving Spencer—there are moments when the insecurities creep in. Quietly. Ruthlessly.

Like tonight.

You’re getting ready for bed, ready to relax after a long day of editing social media posts for your job at a local non-profit. The organization has a big event coming up, and so you’ve been spending more hours in the office and at home making sure all the materials are as perfect as possible.

As you exit the warm shower, you dry your hair and grab one of Spencer’s sweatshirts. It’s one for the gaming channel that you like to wear to sleep because of its smell. As you slide on the sweatshirt, you look in the mirror. You are only wearing your underwear and Spencer’s sweatshirt, but your imagination of looking like a girl in a movie where the sweatshirt swallows her is killed by reality. His sweatshirt seems to have gotten tighter on you.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, blinking back the burn in your eyes, frustrated that this is what’s getting to you after a long, exhausting day.

Spencer walks in a few minutes later, freshly showered, hair damp and curling at the ends. He stops mid-step when he sees you hunched over, shoulders drawn in like you’re trying to shrink. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just walks over, kneels in front of you, and gently takes your hands in his. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asks softly, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

You let out a breathy laugh, one of those I-know-I’m-being-ridiculous-but-I-can’t-help-it laughs. “I was just thinking… that this sweatshirt used to fit looser.”

He tilts his head, not in pity, but in full attention. “And that makes you feel…?”

You look down. “Gross. Bigger than before. Like I’m trying to be one of those girls in movies who wears her boyfriend’s hoodie and looks tiny and cute, and instead I just feel… like I’ve outgrown everything.”

Spencer doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to fix it right away.

Instead, he reaches up and gently rests his palms on your hips, grounding you. “You didn’t outgrow it. You just grew. There’s a difference.”

You scoff. “Not a good one.”

He looks up at you, eyes full of something so fierce it startles you. “It is. Because now, I get to see you in my hoodie and see you. Your curves. Your body. My girl.” He kisses your thigh, then leans his head against it. “You think I ever cared how tight or loose it fit? I care that you’re in it. It smells like us. That it’s wrapped around the person I love.”

You blink fast. His words settle in deeper than you expect. “All this does is make me feel like I’m holding you back. I see the looks we get on the street, people wondering how the hell or why the hell we’re together,” you say, looking down as the memories come back, some as recent as today.

Spencer doesn’t rush in with a “don’t be silly.” He doesn’t brush it away like it’s irrational. He takes a breath, deep and steady, and shifts closer.

“Those people don’t know me,” he says firmly. “And they sure as hell don’t know you.”

You look down, fiddling with the edge of the sweatshirt. “Sometimes I just think… if I looked different—if I was different—then maybe we’d make more sense to the world.”

Spencer cups your face, tilting it gently so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “Who gives a fuck about what makes sense to the world? We make sense to each other, and I love being with you and how you make me feel. I love being able to talk to everyone about my amazing girlfriend, who has the biggest heart in the world. Those people aren’t in this relationship; it’s just us.”

The words echo in your chest like a heartbeat. You blink hard, trying to keep it together, but your voice wavers anyway. “It’s hard to shut them out sometimes.”

“I know,” he says, brushing his thumbs under your eyes as if he can wipe away the doubt just by touching you. “But if I have to remind you every day, I will. You are not too much. You are not a placeholder until I figure something else out. You are it for me.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He kisses it away without hesitation. “I’m proud to be with you,” he continues, his voice lower now. “Not just in secret, not just when no one’s looking. I want to show up with you. Laugh with you. Love you out loud.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s fine. I’ve got tissues and really strong boyfriend arms.”

You giggle through your tears, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him closer. He holds you like he’s anchoring you to something solid, like you’re the most important thing he’s ever been allowed to keep.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his chest.

Spencer presses a kiss to your hair. “Always.”

And somehow, even in a body the world keeps telling you to question, you feel things you haven’t in a while, safe, wanted, and loved.

Exactly as you are.

[cherrysweetink]

fratboy!roomate!gojo x fem!reader

suggestive, mdni <3

You should've known what you were getting into the second you signed the lease. Gojo Satoru. You'd heard of him, of course. Everyone had. Tall, loud, impossible to miss. Half the campus either wanted to punch him, fuck him, or both. The moment you walked into the shared apartment and saw him shirtless, sprawled out on the couch, wearing sunglasses inside, and eating straight from a Costco-sized tub of cheeseballs, you knew living with Gojo Satoru would be a problem. Not a “he’s messy” problem (he is). Not a “he throws parties every other night” problem (which he also does). No, it’s the way he looked up and said, “You’re my new roomie?”, lips already quirking into a grin. “Oh, we’re gonna have fun.”

And he meant it. Fun, to Gojo, includes (but is not limited to) weekly keggers, drinking games, stripping shirtless every time he loses, blasting music at 3 a.m., and somehow always ending up in your personal space. Like the time you were doing yoga in the living room and he sprawled out on the floor next to you, chin propped on one hand, sunglasses still on. “Downward dog looks real good from this angle, angel.” You hit him with a throw pillow. He winked.

You’ve developed a sixth sense for his presence. You can feel him behind you before he says a word; tall, warm, always standing way too close. In the mornings, when you shuffle into the kitchen in nothing but his oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, you can feel his eyes trailing over you like it’s the first time. Every time. “G’morning, sunshine,” he purrs, coffee mug in hand, white hair sticking up in every direction. “You always wake up this pretty, or is that hoodie just magic?” You never give him the satisfaction of an answer. Just sip your coffee with a flat stare and ignore how your pulse jumps.

Except it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the way Gojo really looks at you when you’re walking around in your big T-shirt and tiny shorts. The way he suddenly gets quiet when you’re laughing at something on your phone, biting your nail. The way he leans a little too close when you’re cooking. 

His room is a mess. Protein shake powder dusted on the floor like it’s seasoning. Two different girls' earrings left on the nightstand (he swears he’s going to return them). Your room is off-limits. You made that rule clear on day one. “No parties in here. No girls in here. No you in here.” He’d raised his hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel. Unless you invite me, of course.”And weirdly… he’s honored it. Even when he's drunk. Even when he's sleepwalking. “Sacred space,” he shrugs. But his eyes linger when your door is cracked. The one time you fell asleep with it open and he caught a glimpse of you curled up, wearing one of his old shirts you 'borrowed', he stood there for a full ten seconds, silent, before backing away like he just witnessed a crime.

Parties are weekly. sometimes his, sometimes Geto's down the street. You never intend to go. But he always pulls you in. “Just wear that little black top,” he says, leaning on your doorframe like it’s his full-time job. “You know, the one that makes all the other girls at the party mad.” “Because they think I’m trying to steal their man?” “Nah,” he grins. “Because you’re already have me.” (You don’t answer. But you wear the top.)

The teasing is constant. You argue about laundry, over his collection of identical, stupid sunglasses, about why he keeps using your expensive shampoo. “It smells like you,” he shrugs. “I like it.” One day, the arguing gets heated. Voices raised, faces inches apart. You’re glaring up at him, and he’s leaning in, chest heaving just a little. The air between you shifts. “You done?” he asks, voice lower now, eyes flicking to your lips. “Are you?” you fire back. He doesn’t kiss you. But he almost does. You feel it in the curl of his fingers at your hip. The way his jaw clenches like he’s physically holding himself back.

Sometimes you catch him staring when he thinks you’re not looking. But it’s not casual, it’s hungry. Like he’s imagining exactly what you’d sound like moaning into his pillow, or what you’d do if he slipped his hand between your thighs instead of the blanket you share during movie nights. He’ll tilt his head, tongue poking his cheek, blue eyes sliding over your lips like he’s already kissed them a hundred times in his mind. “What?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. He smiles, slow and shameless. “Nothing. Just... trying to remember if you always look this good when you’re ignoring me.” You throw a pillow at him. He catches it, still smiling. Later, you hear him groan through the paper-thin wall. You tell yourself you imagined it. But you know you didn’t.

One night, you almost say it. You're buzzed after a party, warm from the inside out, barefoot in the kitchen, eating cold pizza from the box. Gojo strolls in, shirtless again, hair wet from a shower, sweatpants slung low on his hips. He watches you for a moment. You're wearing one of his t-shirts with no bra underneath, and he knows it. You swear his gaze burns through the cotton. He corners you in the against the counter, hands braced on either side of hour hips. The scent of his cologne, rich and citrus-y, envelops you.“You keep looking at me like that, angel,” he whispers, voice rougher than you've ever heard it, “and I’m gonna stop pretending this is friendly." You swallow, hard. “Who says we’re pretending?” That’s when he touches your waist. Large, warm hands with enough pressure to make your breath catch. "You gonna let me kiss you yet?" He murmurs, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. And you want him to. But you stop him. Barely. Fingertips curled into his shirt like a warning. “Not like this.”

He makes pancakes the next morning. No shirt. Just low-slung sweats and sleepy eyes. “Didn’t even touch you, and I’m still wrecked,” he mutters, flipping a pancake like he’s trying not to look at you. You’re standing there in your tiny shorts and one of his old hoodies, arms crossed, pretending to ignore the way his gaze keeps dropping to your legs. “You always cook for the girls you don’t fuck?” He grins, devilish. “Just because I didn’t hit doesn’t mean I’m not a gentleman." You tell him he’s insufferable. He tells you that you look really good in his hoodie. 

You leave the hoodie folded on his bed later, along with a note that says: if you’re gonna touch me, do it right next time. And that night, you swear you hear him groan again, louder.

divider by @thecutestgrotto

[camficdiner]

☕️cam’s fic diner — order 127

🍒thank you! this belongs to a very sweet soul who’s always down for a bit of chaos, emotional tension, and Hughes family meddling. Thank you for trusting me with your ideas — and for always coming back for more. You keep this diner running, and I’m so damn grateful for you. 🤍

💬 “Yours, Kinda”

✨ description & prompts:

character: Jack Hughes

prompt: you finally take time off work — Jack invites you to Montauk with his brothers. you and him aren’t dating, technically… except he’s been introducing you as his girlfriend to everyone.

tropes: friends with benefits, fake dating but not really fake, friends-to-lovers, big soft boy in love

type: fluff-smut

🧁🛼🍒✨

You finally have a break.

After two months of back-to-back shifts, emergency calls, and pulling more weight than your job pays you for, you’ve clocked out, thrown your bag in the back seat, and made your way out to Montauk. It’s not a vacation, not really, but Jack said he had a few days off and invited you out — just a few quiet days by the lake with his brothers and some of their friends.

You didn’t really ask who else was going to be there. You were too tired to care.

He opens the door barefoot when you arrive, a beer in one hand and the biggest grin on his face. “Took you long enough,” he says, before pulling you into a hug — long, familiar, and a little too tight for just friends. His lips brush your temple before you can think, and he mumbles, “Missed you.”

You hum, resting your head against his shoulder. “You’re warm. I’m gonna sleep for ten years.”

“Not before we eat,” he says, nudging your side. “Come on. Everyone’s outside.”

He leads you through the house and out to the dock. Quinn’s there, feet in the water. Luke’s making some game out of skipping bottle caps. A few other guys you don’t recognize turn to look. Jack doesn’t say anything, just walks right up to the group and says, “Hey, this is my girl. Be nice.”

Your heart stutters.

No one questions it — not Luke, not Quinn, not the guys. They just wave, introduce themselves, ask if you want a drink. As if you’re really his.

You don’t correct it. You don’t want to.

⸻

That night, he finds you brushing your teeth in the guest bathroom, wearing nothing but a tee and the tiniest sleep shorts you own. He knocks once on the door and steps in without waiting. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”

You smile at him through the mirror, toothpaste foam and all. “Night, Hughes.”

But he doesn’t leave. He lingers in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching you finish up. There’s a nervous energy about him — like he’s going to say something, then doesn’t. You turn to face him. “What?”

“You know when I said you’re my girl?”

Your eyes narrow, but you nod.

He breathes out a quiet laugh. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but… I do. Mean it.”

You blink.

“We’ve been doing this thing,” he says. “And it’s great. I love it. But I also hate it when I don’t know if I can touch you in public. Or if I have to guess if you’re seeing someone else. I keep telling people you’re mine like maybe if I say it enough, it’ll be true.”

“Jack—”

“I’m not trying to corner you,” he says quickly. “I just needed you to know.”

You pause.

And then step forward, slowly, slipping your fingers into the collar of his hoodie. “So when you said it in front of your brothers…”

“Yeah,” he admits, smiling shy. “Wanted them to get used to the idea.”

You kiss him.

It’s slow at first, then not. His hands are on your hips, then under your shirt. You back him up until his knees hit the bed, and he pulls you down with him, laughing against your mouth until it turns into something heavier.

⸻

Jack’s lips are all over you, tongue hot against your neck, and his hands tremble just slightly where they touch your thighs. He takes his time — no teasing, no games. Just worship.

“Let me,” he whispers, pulling your panties down your legs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

You moan when his tongue meets your heat, hands in his hair, gasping as he eats you out with single-minded focus. He’s mumbling something into you — “my girl,” “so good,” “can’t believe you’re mine” — over and over again until you’re shaking under him, thighs clenching, back arched.

He doesn’t stop until you’re begging.

And when he finally pulls you onto his lap, slides in slow, kisses your jaw as you gasp his name — it’s the most tender you’ve ever felt.

He moves slow. Deep. Lets you feel every second of it. He holds your waist like he’s afraid you’ll leave. His voice cracks when he moans, “Fuck, I love you like this.”

You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck. “Me too.”

⸻

You wake up tangled in his sheets the next morning. Luke knocks once before barging in. “Hey, Jack, you left your—oh my god.”

You and Jack both yelp.

Luke groans and walks right back out, muttering, “Why do you hate me.”

Jack flops back into bed, face buried in a pillow. “So… that’s how he finds out.”

You laugh, curl up against his side, and say quietly, “I guess it really is true now.”

He turns to face you, brushing your hair back gently. “Yeah. It is.”

And he kisses you, soft and slow.

[dilfluvrgirllxoxo]

temptation - o.t

summary: your youth pastor, owen, finds himself outside of your cabin window at summer camp, even though he knows it’s wrong.

pairings: darkish!owen taylor x fem!reader

warnings: reader is of age!! i was imagining 18-19 but honestly you do you, slight degradation (owens thoughts go crazy), voyeurism (reader isn’t aware), masturbation, owen lowkey gives joe goldberg vibes, teeny little corruption kink, id say he’s out of character but he’s not really…?

A/N: this was so rushed and is lowkey terrible but i needed to write it because the idea would NOT leave my mind

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

owen doesn’t know how he ended up here, he really doesn’t. he was walking through the trees, on his way back to his cabin because he finally finished choosing verses to go over tomorrow, when something, no, someone, made him stop in his tracks.

he heard something coming from your cabin, loud, shaky breaths. normally, if it was any other day, owen would pretend he didn’t see it and just carry on walking, but for some reason he couldn’t. his feet stayed planted on the muddy ground, concern beginning to creep into his head. what if you were in pain? he couldn’t have his best helper hurt, right?

after what felt like an eternity, he finally managed to get himself to move, shuffling over to the side of your cabin, peeking in through the slightly open curtain. it’s okay, he kept telling himself, it’s okay, you’re just making sure she’s okay. but when he focused his eyes to the dim light in your room and saw what he did. owen knew he was done for. he knew that he should walk away from this sin, this depravity that he was witnessing, he was your pastor for crying out loud!

but even as he reminded himself how wrong, how disgusting this was, he found himself inching closer to the window, getting a better glimpse into your room.

he let out a groan at the sight before him, you, shirt pushed up over your tits, hair stuck to your forehead, fingers in your pussy as you shifted your face to the pillow to muffle your sounds. who knew his favourite church girl was actually just a little slut? what in the world? why was he thinking like this? he shook his head, trying to tear his eyes away from you.

he told himself it was the devil, that satan himself had to have been tempting him, keeping him stood here to test his faith. but really? he knew it wasn’t the devil, it was the hand he had wrapped around his cock as he watched you.

he kept telling himself it was against his ways, that it was wrong even as he tugged at his aching cock. but all those thoughts came to an end when he heard you, crying out loudly and babbling a ‘ ‘m cummin’, owen, fuck!’

and holy shit, the fact that you thought about him when you were knuckle deep in your cunt? that was enough to push him over the edge, his fist coming up to rest on the wooden wall as he came into his hand with a strangled moan.

he quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and took one last glance at you before he walked away, already planning the next time he’d ‘accidentally’ see you. he’ll take a video next time. not only so he can get himself off when he’s alone but so he can blackmail you, corrupt you into being his good little bitch whether you like it or not…so what if he loses his faith in the process?

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

[rafespresso]

dealer!rafe x aphrodite!reader

WARNINGS— fluff, not proofread, one use of ‘y/n’, rafe asks reader to be his gf ♡

your dress is short. the thin, white lace material clinging onto your curves tightly with your slender legs exposed. rafe can’t take his eyes off of you.

jesus, focus.

he’s trying to. he really is. but god, he can’t when you’re talking his ear off with that sweet, soothing voice of yours and the occasional hand touching.

you’re also energetic as fuck. running around the whole garden he had privately reserved just for this very special occasion. one second you’re admiring the tulips, then you’re ten yards away urgently calling out to rafe to come look at the swan lake. yes, swan lake.

an hour of roaming the never-ending stream of flowers and plants of the garden had passed. you’re still intrigued by the beauty of your surroundings, wandering around in excitement and picking out your favourite ones.

and rafe? he was still mentally pissing himself. he hadn’t just brought you here without a reason— he was gonna ask you to be his girlfriend. he’d planned out the whole thing a week prior, to make sure everything went perfect— but god, he didn’t realize how anxious he was going to be on the actual day.

i mean, seriously? rafe cameron and girlfriend in the same sentence? no girl ever went above the fling or arm candy stage. no girl except you. and the thing was, you haven’t done anything more than a make-out sesh with him before.

so yeah, he was freaking out.

he follows your happy self from behind, eyes darting over to the high-arched wooden gazebo in view to the right.

now was his chance.

“hey, close your eyes.” he speaks up suddenly, interrupting your little rant about not getting the one cherry blossom sunny.... or sonny devil you wanted badly. whatever the hell you were talking about.

you turn around, confusion written over your pretty little face. “why?”

“close your eyes.” he repeats.

you sigh, your eyelids reluctantly fluttering shut. he almost smiles— almost.

“oh, are you surprising me with something? i love surprises!” you quirk up, going back to yapping nonstop as he takes your wrist, gently guiding you towards the gazebo.

“you could say that.” he replies blankly.

you gasp loudly. “are you getting me a puppy?”

rafe makes a face at that, shaking his head. god, you were adorable. “no, baby.”

you pout, whining along the ten second walk before he makes you stand in the centre of wherever he had taken you. “can i open my eyes now?”

“no.” he snaps sharply.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, letting out a dramatic exhale as you begin to ramble on about how you really wanted a dog. you wanted a lot of things. rafe could easily give you that if you said yes to his proposal.....

he lets out a shaky breath before finally telling you to open your eyes. you do as you’re told with a smile forming on your lips before it falters.

rafe’s standing infront of you, mixed flower bouquet in one hand and the cutest pink teddy bear in the other. you take in the scenery before you; a large, arched gazebo with dark green vines growing out the ceiling and walls of the interior. the bottom is lined up with an army of flowers all over the place. it’s gorgeous. everything is.

“y/n, will you be my girlfriend?” he finally asks the question, a subtle hint of fear in his voice, yet his expression looked hopeful.

you freeze, staring at him in shock. he wants to die. oh fuck. maybe this was a bad idea. jesus, he was so fucking stupid for thinking you’d actually want him as your partner.

but then, you smile. you actually smile. his lips part, almost like he wants to say something— but he doesn’t get to, because you’re already leaping into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“yes— yes i’ll be your girlfriend!” you squeal like a little girl and he catches you, arm wrapped tightly around your waist.

you tilt your head back, a sweet look on your face. his knees nearly give in as you press your lips against his— a soft, warm kiss which he returns back.

finally. you were his. his girl.

and god, did that feel good.

[gentlelovingsiscon]

unfortunately, by the time the next morning rolls around, you'll have to put all that out of your mind. you'll do your best when you go into work to not think about the taste of cum in your sister's mouth. Lena went to bed in her own room, leaving you alone for a while. sometime in the wee hours of the morning, though, Sarah slips into your bed with you.

you're faintly aware of the dip of the mattress and the shift of the covers as her hands start wandering. you groan, rolling over in bed absently to allow her better access. “good puppy,” she whispers. there's a click, and you flinch happily. “it's okay, sleepy puppy. you can go back to sleep.”

“mmm… Sarah… please…”

“hm?”

“my- my collar, please…”

“good ask, puppy,” she grins, and there's another click. you flinch happily again. she pulls away for a second; you hear the drawer of your bedside table rattle open and then closed before Sarah returns. “you were so good last night. waiting like a good girl until i told you you could go and fuck your sister.”

you wake up by a fraction, “no, i-"

you're interrupted by the feeling of your collar fitting around your neck. you go quiet and crosseyed, and Sarah continues, “it's okay, babygirl. i know. just relax, and let me take what i need."

you nod to her, the feeling of your collar comforting. Sarah clicks the clicker twice, “rest,” and you start to fade away. it's not quite sleep, but to your brain it may as well be close enough.

you feel Sarah grab your cock, tugging on it gently until it starts to get hard. she slides under the covers and takes you in her mouth, her tongue working against the underside of it as she bobs up and down slowly. you moan absently, and she hums with satisfaction. then, like the way a dream skips ahead, she's riding you. you whimper into her mouth as she kisses your almost-sleeping form. “good puppy,” she moans into your mouth.

your brain goes blank. all the worries about Moss and Lacy finding out, about being able to afford your sister living here, about your sister and her health, about mom and dad finding out. it all disappears into Sarah's words, into the feeling of Sarah clenching down on your cock, writhing against you, skin against skin, slick with sweat as she uses your body.

Sarah whispers directly into your ear, “i love you, little sister.” quiet, rapturous tears flow down the sides of your face into your hair. Sarah wipes them away unbearably gently, and whispers--

>-<

you wake up to the sun shining in your eyes, once again having forgotten to close the blinds last night.

you feel satisfied, loose and happy. you don't have to check your phone. you know it's three minutes before your alarm, like every day. you lay there, gradually waking up, until it goes off. you're quick to get up after that, trying your best to put last night out of your head. a cold shower helps.

after getting dressed, you sit at the kitchen table absent-mindedly shoveling breakfast into your mouth. Moss and Lacy drift in and out of the kitchen, making themselves breakfast and getting ready for their days. you and Moss are working on a job together today, a bathroom renovation for some rich couple in the city. Lacy will be across town at the tattoo studio, and Sarah…

“hey babygirl!” she says with a happy grin, draping herself over you and kissing the side of your head. “how're you feeling this morning?” she teases.

you growl at her, and Moss laughs from her spot by the fridge. “she get you good last night?”

“shut up…” you grumble, unwilling to admit that they're right.

“hey, next time don't wear your collar at the breakfast table and make it so fucking obvious,” Moss grins.

you flip her off, reaching up and tugging at the collar. Sarah clucks her tongue, enough of an approximation of the sound of the clicker that you stop immediately. “let me…" she murmurs, reaching up gently to pull at the collar until the belt-like clasp comes loose. a second later, Sarah is holding your mellow pink collar in her hand and smiling gently at you. “good puppy.”

“fuck, that's hot,” Moss mutters breathily. you flip her off, flushing, and she holds up her hands in a show of surrender with a laugh.

you flip her off with your other hand, for good measure. Sarah pulls away, frowning down at your collar in her hands, “did you forget to take this off before you showered?”

you abandon the birds and go back to eating your cereal. “yeah, 'm sorry,” you slur between bites, “i forgot i had it on when i woke up.”

“hm. surprised you didn't notice the fluff was wet," she comments. “should be fine if we let it air dry. anyway. i gotta get going, got a big meeting today. see you when you get home.” Sarah leans down to kiss you, hops over to kiss Moss on the cheek, and leaves.

once she's gone, you and Moss share a look. there's a twinkle in their eye and a line at the corner of their mouth like they're trying not to smile. your own mouth twitches and you splutter. the dam breaks, and you both start laughing.

once the giggles are gone, you both return to your breakfasts with smiles on your faces. before too long you're both ready to head out the door. you stop by your sister's room first, opening the door gently and closing it behind you. with soft steps, you make your way over to your sister's side, sitting down on the bed next to her.

she stirs, and you pull the covers away from her face to kiss her ever so gently. in the dark, you think it lands somewhere on her brow, maybe close to the temple.

“mm… whozat…?”

“it's just me, love. ‘m leaving for work. i’ll be back by 5. don't forget to take your meds and eat something, okay? help yourself to anything in the fridge."

“mmkay…”

“i- i love you,” you murmur. she's already asleep.

>-<

it's a long day before you can finally go home. as usual, you slump through the door tiredly and head straight for your room. you look at your bed, hoping maybe your big sister will be here waiting for you, but it's just your bed. no Lena hiding amongst the blankets and pillows again.

you shuck off your dirty clothes, tossing them into your hamper, and slink down the hall to the bathroom to take a quick shower. you actually almost forget about everything for a minute, too caught up in the feeling of finally being clean after eight hours of hard labor. you dry off and head back to your room.

you forgo any form of underwear, instead pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. the house's AC is running, so it's cool enough that you can justify a hoodie. you cast your eyes around the room in search of it, giving up once you don't see it. oh well.

your housemates won't expect to see you for a few hours, so you sneak out of your room and a few doors down the hall to Lena's room. she's still in bed, but she's sitting up scrolling on her phone. she looks up when you open the door, locking eyes with you and immediately grinning. “you're home!” she announces happily.

“mhm! took a shower and everything first, now i'm all clean for you,” you say with a smile. you climb onto her bed and fall into her, asking her “did you eat anything today?”

she averts her gaze, saying “a little bit. haven't really felt hungry, though.”

“hm. we can fix that later. right now can we just… lay together?” you plead, nuzzling closer into her.

“do you maybe wanna… get under the covers with me, babygirl?”

you nod excitedly, about to get under right away, but your sister stops you.

“hold on, Pen. price of entry. stand up for me?” she orders, the lilt at the end making it seem like a question, but her tone brooking no argument.

you scramble from the bed eagerly to stand at her bedside. she smiles wickedly at you, though you're not sure if she understands exactly the kind of sway she has over you.

“you got showered just for me, did you?” you nod at her. “good girl. let me see?”

you give her a confused look, unsure what she means.

“let me see. take off your clothes, Penny.”

you flush, suddenly unsure.

Lena, sensing your hesitancy, frowns at you. “i don't know what kind of leash Sarah has you on, but i'm your big sister, which means you do what i say, little sis. so take. off. your. clothes.”

your blush gets infinitely deeper; Lena finally smiles again as your bring your arms up, gripping the bottom of your t-shirt and pulling it up. Lena bites her lip as you slow down to let your shirt catch on your tits. after a tantalizing moment, they drop, and your t-shirt comes the rest of the way off.

you move your hands to start removing your pants, but your big sister tuts and tells you to “turn around. let me see your ass when you take those pants off.”

you turn around as instructed, bending over to take off your sweatpants, presenting your ass to your sister. you look back, getting enough of a glimpse of her to see that she's biting her lip again, and even leaning forward a bit. “oh my god,” she says, “babygirl did you- did you not have any underwear on?!”

you mumble “no…” uncertainly, half expecting some kind of ridicule or punishment, and your big sister's face shifts.

she goes from teasing you to reassurance in a split second, “you're so sweet and so eager, aren't you? what did Sarah call you last night? a puppy? so are you a good puppy?”

the word triggers something in you, and you snap up to a standing position immediately, still facing away from her. somewhere deep down you're thankful that she didn't see the way your cock sprang free.

“good girl!” she croons, then commands you to “turn.”

you do what she tells you. your dick is almost painfully erect now, throbbing in the air, desperate to bury it in something or someone. you want to pin your sister to the bed and fuck her again. but you're a good puppy, who knows how to wait. so you stand at attention, your girlcock throbbing in the open air. Lena admires it from her spot on the bed.

“hmmm… i can't wait to play with you later… for now, puppy, come here. i want to nap with my little sister.”

you whine, but you surge forward to bury yourself under the covers, pressed tightly against your sister. your hips buck, hoping maybe you can get away with grinding on her, but she grabs your hair and pulls you back a bit.

“not right now, babygirl. we can fuck later, but we're going to nap first, okay?”

you whine more insistently, “please big sis, can i just-- i wanna grind on you…”

she makes a sound almost like purring, a chuckle that vibrates her chest, “okay, okay. go ahead, puppy.”

you make an excited, happy noise, and start lazily grinding on your sister's leg. you bury your face in her hoodie, realizing through the haze of your body against hers that she's wearing your hoodie. the one you couldn't find earlier. it smells like sweat, two different kinds of smoke, and your big sister.

you twitch, grinding a little bit harder, and Lena tugs on your hair again. “gentle, puppy…” she rumbles, and you back off a little. only, somehow, pulling back, maybe the change in pressure, maybe the change in blood flow to your girlcock, maybe the change in temperature from being trapped against your space heater of a sister to the sudden cool of the bedroom, the tension reaches its peak and you tumble over the other side. you think you pass out for a second. at the very least, your vision goes spotty. your sister is petting you, murmuring in your ear, telling you that you're such a good girl…

a moment later, you come back to yourself. "i love you…” you whisper. your big sister kisses you so, so gently. you whine, because she clearly hasn't brushed her teeth and she still kind of tastes like your cum.

“i love you too, little sister.”

eventually Lena has to take her pants, now covered in your cum, off. she leaves your hoodie on, though, and shares a knowing look with you. you smile and bury your face deeper into her shoulder, taking another deep breath. maybe you'll let her keep your hoodie for a while.