#AND I'M KINDA ALL OVER THE PLACE TRYING TO GET AS MUCH HELP FOR HER AS POSSIBLE

[sweetpupii]

tw: non-con, somno, fingering & cunnilingus ( r!receiving ), reader cries just a little, praising, overstimulation, abby being the sweetest girl ever ( pretty ironic ) | 1.6k words.

having long nails is great.

they look cute, you can match them with your outfit and your makeup, you get some compliments, they're amazing at scratching and all that.

“wanna know what's frustrating though?” you start, mindlessly scrolling on your phone while abby looks at your new set of nails, her own unmanicured hand holding yours. “not to be, you know, nasty but I feel like I'm gonna slash my pussy open if I try to stick a finger in there the wrong way.”

only a low hum of agreement can be heard from the blonde as she leans back against the couch of your shared apartment, tracing the design that's beautifully decorating the nail on your middle finger. yeah, that looks like it would hurt real bad.

“then get a toy. there is more stuff you can use.”

“of course I know that, but I don't have time either. at this point I feel like a nun!” a ( kinda whiny ) sigh escaping your lips at the mere thought of all the weeks spent unsatisfied. coming home late and tired didn't give you much time to even grab a toy like abby suggested.

but luckily, you have a very thoughtful roommate!

this woman would do anything—and I mean anything—to see you happy because that's what friends are for. helping and supporting each other during tough times and, let me tell you, being sexually frustrated definitely counts as one.

“abby? what the fu—mhggm” her hand quickly went over your mouth to stop your protests to get louder and more panicked while the other worked to keep your legs and arms from pushing her face away. why are you acting so surprised to see her in between your legs when she's just trying to help? it's not like you would be able to push her away but jeez, didn't expect such an ungrateful response.

yes, she woke you up by making out with your pussy but you were basically asking for it earlier.

“gonna make you feel good.” she promised before she kept lapping at your cunt like a starved woman. slurping you up like you're her favorite dish. feeling the vibration of your desperate, muffled sounds against her palm made her speak again. “shh, I won't hurt you.”

taking off your underwear while you sleep, holding you down, forcing your mouth shut and your legs open doesn't hurt! not if you stay still, at least.

her plan was simple.

if she made you feel good by eating you out, using her own fingers to reach places you currently couldn't ( and probably have never been able to ) reach while you slept then you would surely wake up in a good mood and thank her with that precious smile of yours and maybe even a kiss.

but noooo, you decided to wake up in the middle of it and panic. ugh, just when your body was responding so well to her touch. she had seen the way your cunt was glistening when she started to slowly kiss it. the moonlight slipping through your curtains making the sight even prettier, and she'll be lying if she said the thought of taking a picture didn't cross her mind.

but a little crying from you won't stop her, even if she feels the hot tears against her skin.

she's still holding your legs open so she can continue to suck and lick at your clit, tongue tracing each fold and sensitive bit. your hips bucking into her face—but she's not sure if you're liking it and want more or you're trying to push her away.

“don't scream, okay baby?” she whispered against the soft skin on your inner thigh, peppering small kisses, while looking up at your watery eyes, “I'll be so gentle. trust me.”

actually, what other choice do you have? this woman can literally bench press 205 lbs. you get on her bad side and a single smack takes you back to your mother's womb. she has a mean right hook too, those punching bags stand no chance.

but again, it's abby who we're talking about.

the blondie that cuddles you to sleep anytime your bed feels too cold, who makes stupid jokes to cheer you up even if she cringes so fucking hard immediately after, who lets you try to count every freckle on her skin without even asking why, who can listen to you talk for hours and pay attention to every word, the one that drunkenly tells you how glad she is that you're her roommate and friend while kissing your shoulder even if deep down she wishes for more than that and stares at you as if you are the most important thing in the world—because to her you truly are.

so maybe she really just wants to make you feel good...

the second the fear and confusion in your eyes turns into something more calm, seeing the slow nod of your head, the small hiccup and your legs no longer struggling, she pulls her hand away from your mouth to trace the other set of lips, gathering the mixture of her saliva and your fluids on her fingertips before gently pushing one inside. “there we go…nice and slow.”

she might've been wrong for not asking first but how was she supposed to resist the feeling of your warm, tight walls squeezing her fingers just right as she curls them inside. soaking her knuckles in a shiny coat of stickiness that makes her want to dive in face first again and taste it until it becomes the only flavor she'll ever remember.

once she's sure that you're wet and comfortable enough, another thick digit slides in, the stretch earning a moan from you that has abby feeling like angels are singing and welcoming her to heaven. god, she has waited for so long to hear those sounds out of your lips—sounds caused by her, not your vibrator nor whoever you used to invite over thinking you two were quiet. ( she could hear you every.single.time… and honestly? it was so good to get a free show. )

even if her pace was somewhat slow, the thrusts of her fingers still managed to produce soft, wet noises that filled the room as they combined with your heavy breathing.

“told you I'd be gentle.” she cooed against your abdomen, trailing her kisses up your torso until she finally reached your lips. the same lips she has been dreaming of kissing since she moved in, since she first saw you smile, since you finally laughed at something she said, since the first time she saw them in a pretty shade of lipgloss. it's better than she ever imagined and she knows she'll ask ( beg ) for more from now on.

she's head over heels if you couldn't tell already.

“a warning would've been nice.” your quiet words bring a sheepish smile to abby’s face as she sighs, pulling her face away just a little, “sorry, you looked so stressed lately, I figured you wouldn't mind…”

abby aims to please even if she doesn't realize how bad her impulsive thoughts are before she acts on them. but look at the bright side; from now on you have a girl who's willing to drop to her knees and bury her face between your thighs at your own home almost 24/7!

after a bit, she starts to notice that the clenching and throbbing around her fingers gets more frequent and your moans louder, meaning she can finally speed up the pace. burying herself deep into your cunt to reach all the perfect spots she knows you've been missing. “fuck, you're so pretty. I wish you could see yourself…dripping all over the bed.”

she’s breathless as if she was the one getting touched, her own underwear damp just from seeing and pleasing you. can you blame her? she feels like a child on christmas morning.

“that's it, doing so good.”

oh, how she adores the way your hips tremble underneath her. making a mess on your bed sheets as you throw your head back—which she takes as an invitation and buries her face there. inhaling your scent like it's the only thing keeping her alive, like you're the oxygen she needs.

“gonna come? I can barely move my fingers with how tight you are.” liar. no matter how much you squeeze she's pumping them in and out without a single bit of effort. working out daily really pays off in the most satisfying ways. plus, you're too wet and it slides in and out very easily.

and god, her words make the flutter in your lower belly even worse. your hand gripping at her forearm, nails digging so hard she takes it as “it's too much.” when in reality she had fucked you so dumb with her fingers that reaching for abby was purely out of instinct.

she can't even understand the words ( babbles ) coming out of your mouth, all her pussy-drunk mind is able to register is the whiny tone tone in your voice because yes, she's as fucked out as you are.

the loud cry that escaped your puffy lips while repeating her name over and over definitely woke up a neighbor or two and just the thought of it makes abby's ego go up to the roof. who's making the prettiest girl in the building come? abigail motherfucking anderson.

her fingers continue their movements, a bit sloppier than before, but they keep going nonetheless. thumb circling your sensitive clit to add more stimulation.

she shushed your whimpers with soft kisses on your your temple and held you still to keep the overstimulated jerking off hips from pushing her away.

“you can take a little more, you're a big girl.”

and she's an insatiable woman.

masterlist ♡ taglist — @1ckyporcelainbunny @patronagrona

[dearlot]

Hey... So I'm gonna need more of baby demon/succubus Lottie 😅🥰

succubus!lottie headcanons 💭

lottie who keeps a special strand of your hair tied up in a bow. she likes to play with it when she's bored or sniff/lick it when she gets off to the thought of you. she's ashamed and feels perverted, but that fuels her to collect more of your things like used tissues when you go out with her to a restaurant, your used panties, your used anything really.

she really doesn't mean to seduce you, really! it just happens. she can't control it. and she doesn't know how, anyway. it's not her fault that her body secretes this hormone that makes you horny for her :( and it's not her fault she finds herself jerking off in your window while watching you sleep because she could smell your heat from her house. she can't help when she mind controls you into thinking about her. she can't help it when she accidentally makes you feel pleasure down there.

Succubus!lottie who kinda accidentally marks you....so now whenever she thinks of you, you feel this faint pulse in your neck.

once she starts to get more comfortable with being a succubus, she gets sooo much bolder. lottie taking you to the lake as a friend date. you sit back eating those bologna sandwiches you made (you're a little upset at the fact that she didn't even try to eat one) and watch her dip her feet into the lake until she starts stripping o_O you kinda just let her do her thing and try not to stare at her naked body as she skinnydips but she's unknowingly secreting those hormones that make you wanna hold her down and ride her. making eye contact with her as she swims back toward you and you're just in a trance.... unabashedly looking down as her wet body comes out of the water, and you can feel this strange heat coming from her. and you can almost smell it too? anyway, she just ends up fucking you raw and leaves you there all sore.

that scene in jennifers body with the lighter.....thinking of lottie burning her tongue and then eating you out @__@ using her hot tongue to trace down your body to make you feel extra good.

jealous!ex!succubus lottie who likes to manifest herself in your room whenever you have girls over to mess with you because she's pissed that you left her.

think it'd be interesting to see succubus!lottie who feeds on boys with a transmasc!reader.... especially if you just started T because your hormones would be all wack and she'd have the most trouble controlling herself from ripping you apart with her teeth <3 she goes absolutely ham on that tdick before your shot day too because that's when ur T is at its lowest. or maybe a needy/chip/jennifer situation where you're dating jackie (anything to include jackielot SORRY!) and after you come out as transmasc, she becomes obsessed and tries to seduce you. she's hungry and follows you to jackie's place, waiting until you walk home because she knows you guys just fucked and your blood is rushing. her food is best when they're like that. idk she successfully seduces you and leads you to the abandoned pool to fuck. or at least thats what you think you're doing. she's annoyed that you're not as into it because she can tell you're thinking of jackie and decides she needs to have her fun now and roughhouses with you. something something she takes a SMALL chunk out of your neck before realizing she can use you for food for, like, ever. she can drain your blood when she's hungry. not too much though, she doesnt wanna kill you.

pain play with her.........she wants you to use a knife. nuff said.

but ughh...baby succubus!lottie who doesnt understand what she's doing 😞 she always comes to you after she gets out of her trance, covered in blood and looking at you with teary eyes, and asks you to help her. she tries to resist the hunger at first but she just gets so weak and sick ;( you've tried to help her find alternatives like drinking pigs blood or seeing if she could regain her strength from eating animals, but she needs flesh. thinking of offering her some of your blood just until she can.....find...someone to feed on. she looks up at you with such teary brown eyes it's adorable 😭😭 she constantly asks if you're alright and takes the best care of you after she cleans you up :( ugh. just thinking of her tapping on your window and you get surprised at the amount of blood covering her chin...and she's still so cute.

[thetiedyedwitch]

Ok. So very THIS, but. Back story. When I was probably 6, I didn't know it, but Mama's mom had been diagnosed with terminal emphysema from complications of asthma, living with wood stoves almost all her life. There were other little bits, but idt the doctors knew much of how to care for her at that time. (Almost 40 years ago, medicine has vastly grown since then). So grandpa used to walk across the street with me to buy something small and have some bonding time with me, to the corner market. One time when I didn't know anything about what was wrong, we walked as usual. But when we got there, I saw a crane machine with stuffed animals (all stuffies and dolls and such I've always called Babies). So I looked at it and found out it took 50¢. I asked grandpa for the two quarters. He and the nice lady at the counter tried to gently let me know in a little kid version of :that game is rigged and it's almost certain you won't win anything'. They were all heavily skewed towards cheating at that time, including the crane claws not physically made strong enough to hold most of the prices inside. I adamantly told them with complete surety that I'm going to get that bear for Mama. Grandpa gave me the quarters. I took a minute to assess the way the Babies were squished together, then carefully got the crane in place and released the claw. I got the bear on the first try, shocking my two person audience. When we got back home, I gave him to Mama, telling her 'this is Bear Bear. He will help you not be sad, and be happy instead ". He became her buddy for then on. He was deeply beloved by Mama until she died. I call him my "little bro". I also had gotten a new store bought Baby around that time, a little later. We were pretty poor. All my babies came from yard sales. I knew this, and actually love that fact. I knew that the kids didn't want the babies, and I wanted to give them a new home, with love. But there was a specific baby I wanted called Magic Nursery Dolls. granny and grandpa would save a bit of change to give me sometimes when I came over. They started saving the change up for the doll (with my knowledge and appreciation). I finally got to go get one. It was November 24th, 1994. I believe it was thanksgiving day. O bought one that Mama many years later told me that the box was kinda messed up and I remember them all trying to get me to get a different one, but as soon as i saw that baby's face i Knew they were mine. (They had a gender reveal of sorts when you got home.) It ended up that someone must have got that baby, cut her hair, then returned her. The company repackaged her to resell. I didn't care, she was MY baby, Kathlene (spelling on purpose to match a middle name that ran in my family's women). She has been my heart friend ever since. Mama and I had actual WTF experiences to do with Kathlene turning over from facing the wall to facing the hallway when we were in the bathroom doing my hair or something. Mama verified it all the way through her life. I have a witchy belief system that basically some Babies are alive, because we love them so much and put love and energy into them, they get a soul. When I go, I'm going to ask to bury them with me. I've talked to Bear Bear and Kathene about this. I told them that when I die, there will be no reason for them to stay attached to their bodies. And that they can release, and come with us to the afterlife. I believe that⁰ Babies can stay or go soul wise, to the degree we can when we die. I have sat with this belief and point of view for years, examining this belief for holes in the reasoning. I don't feel like they will be alone. I feel like they will release the tethers on their physical bodies like I will. (Like humans).

Ever since I was a child, and up to now, I’ve had an intense love of and empathy for stuffed animals. As an awkward and shy only child, they were my very best friends, and I fully ascribed feelings and souls to them, which I still kinda do today (how tf did my autism *not* get discovered sooner?? Did it really have to take 30 years?), I also sleep with a good number of them.

I’m a mortician (I’m dual-licensed as a funeral director and embalmer, but I’m a lab rat and exclusively keep to the back embalming the bodies), and along with embalming, I also dress and put people in their caskets. Very few things bother me about my work, I love it very much. I can deal with just about any disgusting form the aftermath of death takes, but my heart. Fucking. S h a t t e r s. When a stuffed animal is being buried with the deceased. I know it’s ridiculous, but I just can’t stop thinking of how lonely they’ll be, with their only companion dead and rotting, forever. I like to think the “spirit” of the stuffie moves on to a new vessel to be loved again to soothe these thoughts.

This lady I’m taking care of today is being buried with a stuffed calico cat (it’s one of those heating pad bean plushies you microwave). The cat is held in her folded hands, facing her.

My fucking heart. 💔

[softbabybelle]

CORRUPTION𓍯𓂃 r ֶָ֢cameron 003.

rafe cameron x shy!reader

 𝜗𝜚 summary : rafe has been trying to get you alone for far too long and now that he finally has, he won't give the moment up for anything.

𝜗𝜚 words : 2.3k

𝜗𝜚 c!w : smut, humping, thigh riding, public!sex, finger sucking, risk of being caught, praise kink, kinda degradation kink.

part 1, part 2.

days had passed since the incident with rafe cameron and the boy who's name you didn't wish to remember.

this time, you hadn't gone out of your way to avoid the boy but instead went back to normal, almost as if nothing had happened between you two at all. you sat on the couch of tannyhill, giggling at something on sarah's phone with your legs crossed.

now, that simply wouldn't do.

rafe had been eager for a minute alone with you which seemed almost impossible when his sister was hanging off your side every minute you spent at tannyhill.

he was sitting on the living room couch, the one across from you both, scrolling on his own phone, a finger to his mouth as he gnawed at the completely bitten down nail.

his eyes kept travelling over to you, skimpy little summers dress clinging to your form while the skirt part began to ride up your thighs as you moved against the couch.

dirty thoughts swarmed his head, thoughts that shouldn't be repeated out loud. thoughts that shouldn't have been in his head to begin with.

he thought he was sure to be damned to hell for the things he was thinking.

and then, ironically enough, the gods seemed to smile down on him. it was as if all of his prayers had been answered and every beg and grovel had finally been listened to by an angel.

the angel who's name was wheezie, standing in the living room door frame. "sarah." wheezies hair was a mess, thrown into a bun with loose strands of hair sticking out every which way, she looked tired, so awfully tired and dreadful as she stared forward at her sister who's head instantly snapped up. "please help me. i'm trying clean out my wardrobe but it's too much."

a laugh fell from sarah's mouth. "no way. it's your mess, clean it yourself."

but that was when wheezie's arms crossed over her chest, cocking a brow. "I'm sorry, who covered for you and topper last night?"

"wheezie!" sarah exasperated, glancing out into the hallway. ward and rose were upstairs but sarah still didn't wish for them to hear about the late night activities she'd been getting up to with her boyfriend.

defeated, she turned her head back to you, who was sitting so sweetly on the couch, that same sickly sweet smile crawling up on your features. you liked watching the cameron siblings interact, even if it wasn't always so pleasant, there was something oddly homely about it. "'s okay, sarah, 'm fine down here."

"okay." she sighed, getting up from the couch. "okay, you just―just hang out for a while and i'll be down soon, okay?" she watched you nod. "okay, come on, let's get this over with."

and suddenly, tension ran thick through the air.

it was you and rafe, alone.

his legs were spread apart on the armchair he was seated on, eyes running up and down your body. you seemed to notice your dress riding up and instantly tugged it down with pink cheeks. you swallowed thickly. "I, uhm―i wanted to say thank you." your eyes finally looked up to reach his.

the minute he heard your voice, his phone was turned off and tossed away. his head cocked to the side. "what for?" teasing. for he knew exactly what for.

you squirmed in your place. "for everything you did with max."

"didn't seem too grateful when you ran away, hm?" he didn't mean the bitter words that slipped from his lips. he watched the way you hung your head low, eyes glassing over. instantly, a kind of guilt washed over him and he leaned back further into the chair. "c'mere." and he patted his thigh, watching your eyes flicker down. you glanced out to the hallway and he had to roll his eyes. "'s okay, nobody'll see you. they're all too busy."

you did as you were told, crossing the room and landing in his lap.

there was something so sensational about being in his lap again.

memories flooded your head, pictures and images of you and he, in this same predicament inside his bedroom, his lips tainting yours. you couldn't help but latch your eyes onto his lips.

"you wanna tell me why you keep runnin' away, hm?" you don't answer, eyes searching anywhere but his face. he doesn't allow it, turning you slowly towards him once again. "asked you a question, sweetheart."

you fought words inside your mouth, all threatening to come tumbling out. "was scared." is all he's met with.

"scared of what?" his head dips, his eyes trying to reach yours, trying to look in and gauge your emotions. "scared of me?"

you shook your head, fingers reaching out to trail across the fabric of his sweater. "i... liked it when you kissed me." you admitted and he watched as a blush fell across your face, red reaching the tips of your ears. "i liked it a lot but 'was scared that sarah would find out 'n i don't―"

"sarah doesn't need to know anything." he answers quickly. "besides, who you kiss..." his fingers trailed across your bottom lip, sucking in his own bottom one between his teeth as he gazed down at them, sweet like honey. "is none of her business, yeah?"

you nodded too quickly, too eagerly, too convinced by his words too quickly. "'m sorry, rafe, 'm really sorry."

"think i know how you can make it up t'me." his fingers left your lips and placed themselves against your hips. "you wanna make it up to me?"

"yes, please." came out too swiftly.

he couldn't help but smirk at your eagerness. "'m gonna kiss you again, okay?" and suddenly, you could feel heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. he leaned in, his breaths falling hot against your face, his scent filling your senses. and just as his lips brushed against your own, he whispered. "you gotta promise me something first, 'kay?"

you licked your wet lips. "anything." wanting nothing more than for rafe to lean in and seal the kiss. you'd do anything he ever asked.

"no runnin' away this time." his fingers pinched at your jaw, holding it so your eyes could reach his. "you want this? you take it 'n you don't go pushin' me away again, alright?" a curt nod. "words, princess."

"promise." you spoke quickly. "promise, rafe, please."

his lips quirked.

but he didn't keep you waiting.

when his lips crashed into yours, you were very aware of the fact that you were sitting on the couch of tannyhill, the living room door wide open. all it took was for ward or sarah to come down the stairs and they'd see what you'd been up to.

they'd see that you weren't such a good girl after all.

but you couldn't seem to care.

you were too focused on his hot hot lips, tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss, hands pinching at your waist, holding you in place.

your mind began to unravel, all you could think about was him. rafe cameron. you were sitting on his lap, kissing him, again. and you swore it was a feeling unlike any feeling you'd ever felt in your entire life. it was making you so desperate, so messy, so wet.

and you were sure he could feel it too. he tugged on your waist, rolling your hips against him.

you let a whimper be swallowed by his mouth.

his lips finally broke from yours for air but he didn't allow himself enough to fully regain his breath before they were latched beneath your jaw, sucking and kissing harshly.

again, he rolled your hips. you weren't sure if it was him moving you or you doing it by yourself now. you could feel him growing hard beneath you, you could feel him pressing himself up against your clothed pussy and all you could think about was how much you needed everything off.

you needed to feel him, skin to skin.

it seemed so close yet stretched so far away.

his hands ran up the skin of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress up as he went. "r-rafe." you whimpered out, head turning to the door. "someone could see―"

"'s what you asked for, isn't it?" his hands were rough against you, tugging the dress upwards, not caring for the family who remained upstairs. "isn't it?"

you swallowed thickly. "yes." you stammered out. "b-but―"

"you still wanna make it up to me, don't you?" his brows knitted together in this false sense of sadness, as if you'd done something awful to the poor man. you'd felt suddenly guilty for even suggesting that you stop.

you felt yourself ease against him, your own brows pinching together. "'m sorry, rafe, swear 'm sorry. i'll do anything, jus' please don't be angry―"

"'m not angry." he assures you, fingers brushing up and down your thighs, inching too high. "jus' need you to do something f'me, can you do that, sweetheart?" you were nodding like a puppy, eager to do anything he would ask of you. he maneuvered you so you were situated on one of his spread thighs and not his lap anymore. "y'gonna rub yourself on my thigh like the pathetic good girl you are, okay?"

you'd never done anything like this before.

suddenly you began to panic. "rafe, someone'll hear 'n―"

"nobody'll hear you, baby, jus' gotta be nice 'n quiet, yeah?" you still looked hesitant, top teeth clamping down on your bottom lip. "would make me feel so good, princess 'n you jus' wanna make me feel good, isn't that right? yeah, baby, jus' wanna make rafe feel good, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"

and you don't know how, why, or when but suddenly, you're doing just what he told you.

your hips are stuttering as they move against his jeans, you can feel your panties growing wetter and wetter with every jolt of movement.

rafe doesn't appear to be doing much, hands skillfully moving your hips while he leans back against the armchair.

"there you go, good girl." his cock twitched in his jeans, watching your hesitant, shy face as you moved oh so slowly on his jeans. "lift your hips f'me, sweetheart." you did as you were told, pausing to lift yourself up from his thigh. his hand moved beneath you, tugging your panties to the side and rubbing gentle circles against your clit.

"oh." fell so sweetly from your lips that to anybody else, it would have appeared almost innocent. but rafe was well aware of how dirty you really were.

he landed you back on his thigh, letting you rub yourself against him, this time, it was your bare pussy that ran up and down his jean-clad thigh.

he groaned at the sight of you, free hand coming down to fix his situation that was suddenly growing in his pants. he pulled at the jeans slightly, trying to make his growing bulge less noticeable but there was simply too much to hide.

your eyes cast down to his hand, then to the bulge and you found a little whimper leaving your mouth.

his eyes studied your face, watching you lick your already wet lips and rubbing yourself against him a little quicker. sweet, poor, innocent, you was so turned on by his growing dick. and he could feel it by the dampness of his jeans turning wet hot

you really were filthy.

a particularly loud whine left your lips and rafe realised that perhaps it wasn't a smart idea to start this whole thing off while his whole family was home.

but he couldn't stop now. that'd be cruel. especially seeing how worked up he'd gotten you.

he trailed his fingers up to your lips and tapped on your chin.

you didn't even need to be told, you simply opened up. he stuck his digits right in, feeling your flat tongue against them and spit coating them.

"so filthy, baby." he uttered so softly, as if he were complimenting you. "what'll we do with you, huh?" you only whimpered around his fingers. "'s okay, sweetheart, gonna get that pussy stuffed jus' like you want. just gotta be patient, yeah? can you do that f'me?"

and you're sloppy against his thigh, sloppy against his fingers. you can feel juices rubbing against his jeans and dribble forming at the gaps between your lips and all you can do is not so dumbly.

a stutter of your hips.

a grin on his lips.

"you gonna cum, already, huh?" it didn't take long, but you were already approaching your orgasm. he wished now more than ever that he could take pictures with his mind. that he could frame this moment and pull it out every time his dick got hard. he slipped his fingers out from your mouth. "gotta ask like a good girl before you cum."

your hands pawed at his shoulders. "please, rafe." your mind was turned to mush. "please, please, please."

he shrugged so cruelly. "'m hearin' a lot of beggin' but i don't hear you asking me yet."

"p-please, can i cum?" your face was red hot, embarrassment flooding your features quickly. "please?"

he smirked, leaning back against the armchair and removing his hands from your waist. you were a big girl, you could finish yourself off. "go on, princess."

he watched as your hands pawed at him, hips stuttering and eyes rolling backwards, mouth falling open. it was such a pronographic, filthy scene. and yet, he knew by tomorrow, you'd be prancing around in the same little dress and everyone would see you as the same lovely good little girl that you pretended to be.

and rafe thought that was enough to make him cum in his own pants.

[cherrygirlfriend]

pairing: frat!rafe x tutor!reader synopsis: reader attends a frat party where the theme is to dress up as your type warnings: fluff! wc: 1.3k i got this idea from the wonderful @rafeyscurtainbangs and it had me dead because it's so funny and i can picture him wearing that… i also tried out a new kinda formatting for funsies ^_^ also i'm surprised i’ve never posted for frat!rafe? anyway first fic for 2025!

you'd never really been much into parties, your best friend constantly trying to get you to go to some of the various parties the social butterfly had gotten invited to, but you simply held up the book you were in the middle of and let out a soft hum as a way to say that you had your own plans. after some more pleading, lexi always gave up trying to convince you to come and left you in your own devices, returning in the early hours of the morning, trying to be as quiet as possible yet waking you up every time.

but this time, all the girl had to do was mention the frat party she was going to that night when you let out a sigh and told her you'd come with her. maybe there was a second reason you wanted to go, other than to just please your friend.

"we're having a party this friday."

you chuckled, turning your gaze from the book in front of you to the boy next to you, "you're in a fraternity, rafe. i'm pretty sure that happens every friday without exception."

your words caused the boy to roll his eyes, yet the small grin you'd grown to like still remained on his lips as he repositioned his backwards cap, "yeah, but it's a themed party. you should come."

"why?" you furrowed your brows in suspicion and confusion as to why he'd want you to attend, "what's the theme?"

"you're supposed to dress up as your type."

"and what are you going as? some kind of variation of jennifer from jennifer's body? or regina from mean girls?" you let out a small snort.

"guess you'll have to come if you wanna find out." the boy poked your forearm with the rubber end of his pencil, licking his lips, "i wanna see what kind of guys you are into. i bet it's some thrifty hipster dudes or some broody bad boys that secretly get hard for poetry and emily dickinson and shit."

you felt your cheeks warm from the memory as you placed the backwards cap on your head. you looked in the mirror, clad in loose jeans that hung low on your hips so it'd show off the calvin klein logo on your underwear, and a sweatshirt adorning the logo of your university. the outfit you wore looked just like something rafe would wear during one of your tutoring sessions. hell, he probably had.

lexi looked at you with raised brows, the muscular girl who usually wore dark, baggy clothes looked strange in the blue sundress she'd borrowed from you, her biceps basically protruding from the short sleeves, the girl's short black hair pulled up into a tiny attempt at a ponytail, wearing some simple makeup that you'd helped her apply.

"you're going as a frat guy? to a frat party?" she snorted, taking in your ensemble, "damn, you date so little that i had no idea that's the type of guy you were into."

you rolled your eyes, throwing her the handbag that she'd asked you if she could borrow, "and you're going as...?"

"a straight girl." lexi said, her usual shit-eating grin taking over her lips.

"in that case, you could've just worn like, a grey hoodie, those flared leggings, and a pair of white nike air force ones. most straight girls here do. i think you've failed at your assignment."

"shut up."

you were surprised by how many people actually dressed up according to the theme, especially over the number of frat boys wearing different types of skirts and dresses, some of them even sporting poorly done makeup looks on their faces.

having gotten separated from lexi almost the moment you arrived to the party, you were now leaning against the living room wall, hiding a part of your face behind a red solo cup half-full of some sort of concoction you'd found as you looked around. you'd always been better at standing aside, observing what everyone else was doing, rather than trying to join in.

you lifted the cup to your mouth and drank some of the nasty liquid, nearly spitting it out when you spot rafe chatting to his friends, just about managing to swallow it before you keel in laughter.

he stood confidently in a grey cardigan strewn over a white button-up that was so small on him it actually turned into a crop top, showing off the lower part of his abs, a faint happy trail as well as a defined v-line leading to a short black pleated skirt, his calves covered by black socks that ended just below his knees.

it seemed that your amusement had caught rafe's attention, as the moment you'd finally managed to straighten yourself up, the boy was strutting over to you, his hands on his hips in a way that almost caused you to go into another laughing fit.

"what's so funny?" rafe asked with lifted brows as he reached you, looking over your outfit with a pleased look on his face before gesturing to his own, "you don't think i look hot?"

"oh, definitely. the hottest." you snorted, bringing the drink to your lips and taking a small sip before pursing your lips in thought, "so, what's your type? britney spears?"

the boy's brows furrowed at that, "huh?"

"you look just like her in one of her music videos." you explained, your lips falling open in shock as his eyebrows continued to remain furrowed, "you don't know 'baby one more time'?"

"i haven't seen it." rafe shrugged, "what, you can't recognize who i'm trying to dress as?"

"i can't say i do. who?"

"i'm dressed as you."

you knew that if you were able to see yourself, your eyes would comically widen the moment the words left rafe's lips; and as you looked at him up and down, you realized, that his outfit was something you'd usually wear; just more lewd. "you're... dressed as me?"

"yeah. and clearly you're dressed as me."

"based- based on what?" you laughed incredulously, feeling your cheeks light up, bringing the cup to your lips and drinking just so you'd be able to hide a part of your face from the boy.

"well," rafe snatched the cap on your head, placing it on his instead, making his entire ensemble look even goofier, as he took hold of the front of your sweatshirt. "i'm pretty sure i've worn this exact same outfit."

"that doesn't mean anything… plenty of guys wear this." you mumbled from behind your cup, only to have rafe grab it from your hands, your eyes widening as you watched him finish it in one swallow, scrunching up the cup and throwing it on the floor somewhere.

cupping your chin with his finger and lifting it up so you were looking up at him, rafe brought his face closer to yours, his ice-blue eyes looking into yours in a way that made you feel like you were naked as his lips twisted into a knowing grin, "it doesn't?"

"n-"

before you could finish denying it, rafe's lips were pressed against yours; your eyes still wide open when his free hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

slowly, you felt yourself melt into the kiss, your eyes automatically closing as your lips moved against his. your hands were pressed against his chest, slowly moving down to feel his defined abs over the sheer button-up.

you could feel rafe's grin against your lips before he even pulled away, looking down at you with a knowing look on his face, the boy licking his lips causing you to bite down on your lower lip, your head spinning from just kissing him.

"so, that didn't mean anything, huh?"

[favefandomimagines]

loml (r.c)

SEASON 4 PART 2 SPOILERS!!!!

Request: @motherlanaenthusiast “So what if we do a Rafe x Maybank!reader where like maybe she was in morocco but she wasn’t with JJ when he died cuz she was doing smthn else so like they all have to break the news and that happens and then when like after when they’re back at Kildare Rafe like gets deja vu from s1&2 him because he sees reader going kinda crazy”

Summary: Rafe is the only person to save Y/N from a downward spiral.

AN: I will NEVER forgive the writers for this lol I went on a tangent with this one

The sun was blistering and casting a golden hue over the winding alleyways in Morocco. Rafe Cameron and Y/N Maybank moved through the maze of alleyways, their steps quick and purposeful, yet filled with a tension that spoke of something much deeper than their immediate surroundings.

Y/N was JJ Maybank’s twin sister, a spitfire with a wild heart who had once been the center of Rafe’s secret world. The two had shared a tumultuous fling, a secret affair that had started four years ago under the cover of darkness and ended just as abruptly. It was a relationship neither had ever fully acknowledged. Rafe was a Kook, while Y/N, like her brother JJ, was a Pogue, tale as old as time.

The shop was quiet, the group off to Charleston to follow the next clue. Y/N stayed behind to wait for her brother after he had wandered off “running errands.” The bell above the door jingled, and the soft sound broke through the silence.

Y/N was leaning against the counter, staring at her phone screen, scrolling through all the unread text messages to her brother.

"How can I help you?" she asked absently, not looking up from her phone.

She looked up and her breath got caught in her throat, the smile on Rafe Cameron's face grating against the air. He stood at the entrance, hands tucked casually in his pockets, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her tone even, though the familiar tension in her chest began to build. She’d never been able to shake the feeling of unease around him. Not since everything went down with Pope, the fight that ended whatever it was they had.

"Can't I just stop by and visit my local surf and bait shop?" Rafe said, taking a step inside, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You looking for Sarah?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Actually, yeah. I'm looking for Sarah."

She shook her head, setting the phone down with a soft click. "She doesn’t want to talk to you."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, the smirk still in place. "I think I can have a chat with my sister whenever I want."

"Not if she doesn't want to talk to you." Her words were firm, but there was a slight quiver in her voice that betrayed her more complicated feelings.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter as he took a few more steps forward, closing the distance between them. He placed his elbows on the counter, leaning in closer, the sudden proximity catching her off guard.

"I'm sorry about the drama at the beach the other day," he said, his voice lowering in an almost sincere tone. "With Ruthie and the turtles."

She didn’t respond right away, trying to keep her emotions in check. She could feel the weight of his words, but it didn’t change anything. Rafe was sorry—sorry for the mess he had created, maybe, but never for the things that had truly mattered.

"Don’t act like you care, Rafe," she replied, her voice steady despite the knot tightening in her stomach. "You only care about how things affect you. And I guess now Sofia."

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze growing intense. The years of tension between them seemed to hang in the air, unresolved and unspoken. Then he said, his tone soft but firm, "We used to be so close, Y/N. What happened?"

She sucked in a breath, trying to push down the anger, the hurt, the past. "The drugs happened," she said slowly, her voice low. "Ward happened. Your anger happened."

His eyes darkened for a second, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it just as quickly. After a long, weighted silence, he took a half step back, his expression softening, just a little.

"I’m on your side, you know," he said quietly, the words almost a whisper, as though they were too important to rush. "I always have been."

The words hung between them, charged and heavy with meaning. She didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t known what to say to Rafe since the day he’d walked away, leaving everything torn apart in his wake.

Before she could respond, Rafe straightened, brushing his hand across his forehead as if clearing his thoughts. He turned toward the door, his back to her now. "I’ll be seeing you around," he muttered over his shoulder, the door swinging open as he left without another word.

Now, as they weaved through the ancient Moroccan city, they were older, scarred by the years of treasure hunts, betrayals, and broken friendships.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Y/N said, stopping suddenly, her dark eyes scanning the shadowed alleyways. She had always been the one with the sixth sense, the one who could feel trouble like a storm on the horizon.

Rafe turned to her, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

But before she could answer, they heard Kiara’s voice, shrill and desperate, cutting through the noise of the bustling market.

“Y/N! John B! Pope!”

Y/N’s heart seized in her chest, and without another word, she took off in the direction of Kiara's cries, Rafe hot on her heels. They rounded a corner and found Kiara kneeling on the cobblestones, her face pale and streaked with tears. And lying there, motionless, was JJ.

“No, no, no,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees beside her brother. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch JJ’s face, his skin already growing cold under her fingertips.

“JJ, please,” she begged, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her face. “You can’t leave me. You promised.” She cried.

But there was no response, no flicker of life in those familiar blue eyes. It felt like the world had been ripped out from under her, like the ground had opened up to swallow her whole. Rafe stood behind her, his face pale, his fists clenched at his sides.

The group stood stunned, no one wanting to be the one to move. But they were in a busy, bustling city with a dead body. People would ask questions. “W-We have to get him out of here.” John B stammered. He moved to reach for Y/N, attempting to pry her off of her brother’s body.

Y/N fought against him, muttering things like ‘I’m not leaving him’ or ‘he can’t be alone.’ Rafe takes over for John B and has to use his strength to pull her up to her feet. He held her in his arms, close to his chest to avoid having to see her two best friends moving her brother.

At that moment, all he could really do was hold her.

||

Months had passed since that horrible day in Morocco, but for Y/N, time had ceased to exist. She was back in Kildare, but it was as if she was still stuck in that dark alleyway, kneeling beside her brother’s lifeless body.

Sarah Cameron was heavily pregnant, as she prepared for the birth of her first child with John B. It was supposed to be a time of joy and new beginnings, but the shadow of JJ’s death loomed over them all.

Y/N had fallen into a downward spiral, her grief consuming her. She drank herself into oblivion every night, stumbling through the streets of Kildare like a ghost. She would disappear for days, only to be found passed out on the beach or in the hammock outside her house. The Pogues tried to help her, but she pushed them all away, lost in her own pain.

Sarah had told Rafe about Y/N, how she was drowning in guilt for not being there when JJ had died. The words had hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, reminding him of his own spiral years ago, before his father had dragged him into the hunt for the Royal Merchant’s gold.

He couldn’t let that happen to Y/N. He wouldn’t. He loved her even if he couldn’t admit it.

So he found himself standing on the porch of the Maybank house, staring at the peeling paint on the front door. John B’s van was parked out front, and Rafe assumed he was there trying to talk some sense into Y/N.

A part of him thought ‘oh John B is here, I can come back later.’ But he couldn’t walk away, not this time.He’s walked away from her too many times.

He knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness of the early afternoon. John B opened the door, his face drawn and tired. “Sarah’s not here.” He told Rafe. “I’m not here for Sarah. I’m here for Y/N.” Rafe answered.

“She’s not doing well, man,” John B said, his voice low. “We don’t know what else to do. I think... I think she feels guilty for not being with JJ when it happened.”

Rafe nodded, his jaw tightening. “Let me talk to her.”

John B hesitated but finally stepped aside, letting Rafe through. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had always surrounded JJ.

Rafe walked down the hall to Y/N’s bedroom, the same room he used to sneak into all those years ago. All of the memories came flooding back as he stopped in front of the door. Nights that ended tangled up in her sheets. Other nights where she just wanted to be held after a fight with her dad.

Rafe pushed the door open to find her cocooned under the comforter, a bottle of vodka sitting on her nightstand.

“JB, please go away,” she mumbled, her voice raw and hoarse. Rafe assumed from a mixture of alcohol and crying.

“Not John B,” Rafe said softly.

Y/N stiffened, slowly emerging from under the covers, moving to sit up against her headboard. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale and gaunt. She looked like a shadow of the girl he once knew.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m worried about you,” Rafe said, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Apparently everyone is,” she muttered, her eyes flicking away from him.

There was a heavy silence, the kind that was filled with all the things they had left unsaid for so many years. Rafe took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“Y/N... I know what it’s like to lose yourself,” he began, his voice steady. “I know what it’s like to drown. I was there once, you know that. Hell, I’m still trying to crawl my way out.”

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears. “He was always afraid to be alone, and I left him alone,” she choked out. “I should have been there. I should have protected him.”

Rafe’s heart broke at the raw pain in her voice. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened, Y/N. JJ wouldn’t want that.”

“How would you know?” she snapped, her voice rising. “You never cared about him. About me.”

The words were like a slap in the face, but Rafe took it, knowing she was lashing out from a place of deep hurt. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I didn’t care about JJ, and I pushed everyone away. But I always cared about you. And I don’t want to lose you to this, Y/N. I can’t.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Rafe.” Y/N muttered. “No but you’re the person I love.” Rafe replied. “You can’t say things like that.” She practically snapped. “Why not? You used to beg me to tell you how I felt and I finally am. I’m sorry it came so late and it’s happening because of this but I’ll be damned if another person I love gets hurt because I didn’t do anything to stop it.” Rafe told her.

She stared at him, the anger draining from her eyes, leaving only exhaustion. “I don’t know how to come back from this,” she whispered.

“Let me help you,” Rafe said, his voice breaking. “Please. Let me be there for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

There was a long pause, and then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. It was a small gesture, but it was enough.

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll try to get better.”

“And I’ll be here,” Rafe promised, reaching out to take her hand. “Through it all. I’m not going anywhere.”

||

A year had passed since that day in Morocco. The sun was shining over the Outer Banks, the salty breeze carrying the sound of laughter and the distant crash of waves. The Pogues had gathered for a special occasion, a day of celebration and new beginnings.

Sarah and John B’s son, Jackson, was turning one today, and they were throwing a beach party in his honor. Y/N stood on the edge of the gathering, watching as Sarah bounced her son on her hip, his tiny hands reaching for the birthday cake.

Y/N was sober, clear-eyed, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe again. She had fought her way out of the darkness with Rafe by her side, and though the pain of losing her brother would never fully fade, she was learning to live with it.

Rafe approached her, a soft smile on his lips. “You doing okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I think I am.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

She leaned into him, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering shadows. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For not giving up on me.”

Rafe smiled down at her before she moved up on her toes and kissed him sweetly. “I love you, Rafe.” She spoke quietly. “I love you too.” He replied.

They stood there together, watching as their friends celebrated a new chapter of their lives, a chapter filled with hope and healing.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N believed that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

[vi-tamine]

Heyyyyy!!!

If you are up for it, I'd love to see you write a Silco x Reader Story🙏🏻

Reader was like an older Sibling to Powder, Vi, Mylo and Clagger, making sure the kids were always okay. So that day, when almost everyone died and Silco took in Powder/Jinx, Reader went with them to keep an eye on Jinx. They turn more into a Parental Figure over time for her. Reader and Silco hated each other at first but tried to remain civil for Jinx. Over time feelings developed and both are in denial. So basically Enemies to Lovers.

Also Reader takes care of like the Bar, since they have already worked there when Vander was still alive. [Either behind the counter as a Bartender or as like Security]

Idc if its Fluffy or Angsty or smutty or smth!

I just need more Silco x Reader🙏🏻😭

at home (silco x reader)

words: 1517

genre(s): fluff, angst (i think..)

warnings: none

n/a: im sooo happy!!! thank u so much for requesting me!! this is my first request and i'm kinda nervous about it! i hope you like it and enjoy it a little!! i did my best!! want to remember that english isn't my first language, so im sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes, but this also helps me to improve :]

You were twenty years old when it all happened. When Mylo and Claggor died and Vi ran away after all the tragedy trying to rescue Vander from Silco's hands. You were the oldest of the three sisters, always under your care, even though you allowed them some freedom for their “missions” you always kept an eye on your sisters, in case it was necessary to get them out of some trouble. 

That day, you went to help your brothers get Vander back, making Powder promise not to move from the basement. When the whole mess happened, you were barely aware of whatever was going on. One of your arms had been trapped under the rubble and you heard Powder's distant cries for Vi to come back for her. As best you could, you pulled yourself together, pushed away the debris over your arm and made your way to find the youngest of your sisters, the one that sounded closest. The crying seemed to be weaker, and when you looked up Silco had his arms around her as she hugged him, right next to Vander's lifeless body. You approached cautiously, brow furrowed at the whole unfamiliar situation. 

“Stay away from her” you addressed Silco with a firm voice and furrowed brows. He did so without complaint, looking at you, keeping his composure and probably waiting for a move on your part that never came.  Powder turned to look at you, her blue eyes brimming with tears. She hugged your legs, and before you knew it, you were both leaving with Silco and his people. 

Seven years later you decided to take Vander's place in “The Last Drop”. Silco “signed it over” to you while he took one of the rooms to be his office. You were a little grateful that he would let you carry on the legacy of the one he once considered his brother. 

You poured one last drink before Jinx sat down on one of the stools and rolled your eyes as you watched her turn in on herself. “Get your feet off the stool if you're going to be sitting here” you scolded her as you cleaned one of the glasses and poured her the juice she always asked for. “Thank you~” she thanked taking a sip from the straw. “I've been working on one of those grenades I showed you, and even though it explodes poorly, it's getting more and more powerful!” she explained somewhat excitedly as she looked at you with a slight smile. During all these years your sister had grown more than you would have liked. Sometimes nostalgia hit you, and all you could think about was how much older she had gotten and how rebellious and uncontrollable she had become.

 Mylo and Claggor's death and Vi's abandonment left some aftereffects on your sister. Jinx was the name she had decided to adopt after Vi called her that name before abandoning her to her fate without even knowing if you were alive. Together with Silco you had raised her, and although you always tried to take her on a healthy and untroubled path, she ended up paying more attention to Silco than to you. 

During all these years your vision of Silco was changing, and all the resentment and anger you had towards him, had been loosening when you saw the love and effort he put in wanting to take care of your sister. Your attitude towards him became more passive, and his attitude towards you became sweeter and more protective. You both had your sister, Jinx, as your priority. 

“Be careful with those gadgets or someday your finger will explode.” you joked with your sister as you leaned your elbows on the bar to look at her. “I do know how to build inventions, sis, not like you” she joked with you before getting a tap on her shoulder from you. You rolled your eyes letting out a light chuckle. “By the way, Silco wants to see you” he spoke as he rubbed his shoulder with a pout. You frowned and sighed. “You take care of the drinks for a while then” you stepped out from behind the bar, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Jinx hopped over the bar to tend to the customers and scolded her for it before walking up to Silco's office.

You felt your heart beating stronger and stronger as you got closer to Silco's office. Since a few days ago your vision of the man who had given (somehow) shelter to you and your sister, apart from starting to respect him, perhaps your feelings towards him had taken a different direction, a more romantic one. Every night you told yourself that it was wrong, if you thought about it, it was against your morals and principles to like Silco, so you tried to hold back that feeling as much as you could. 

You knocked on the door, and after hearing a low “Come in”, you entered the room, allowing you to see Silco in his chair as usual and Sevika next to him. They both looked at you, and with a slight gesture, Silco had Sevika leave the room, closing the door behind her. You sat down in the chair in front of the table, sighing and making yourself comfortable as you noticed how her gaze was fixed on you. 

“What is it this time, what has Jinx done to what-” you couldn't finish formulating the sentence Silco cut you off. “Your sister is out of jail” your back and your whole body started to bristle. “With the help of a Piltover enforcer.” You discovered that Vi had been arrested and sent to Stillwater. Seven years later she seemed to have gotten out. A confused feeling invaded your body. You were happy, your sister had been released. And at the same time you were filled with rage, she had abandoned you and your sister. Then came the feeling of guilt, you were the oldest, much older than them, and you had let your sister be arrested, you had not fought for her. You swallowed and immediately got up from the couch. “Don't let Jinx know. Not yet, at least.” you left the room without even looking or listening to what Silco would have to tell you.

. . . . . . 

Later that night, having just closed the bar and with only the music to keep you company, you finished putting the last chairs back on the tables and mopping the floor. Before you even went to sleep you decided to pour yourself a shot of whiskey. You sat on the freshly cleaned bar and, with your mother's favorite song playing in the background, you thought about everything. Your parents, your sisters, brothers, Vander, Silco, everything. The alcohol scratched your throat as you thought about how you were going to confront Vi at some point, what you would say to her, how she would be, how she would react to seeing who you were with. Maybe she would understand you if she realized you were doing it all for Jinx. Maybe she would martyr you if she knew about your feelings for Silco. 

“May I have some?” a voice from behind you shuddered. Turning slightly to grab a glass, you saw Silco planted behind you. You nodded wordlessly, pouring for him as well and watching as he took a long sip. He looked back at you. “Why the long face?” he asked. You laughed wryly. “As if you didn't know” you replied clicking your tongue. You didn't want to talk down to him, but your feelings at that moment were what they were. He seemed to understand, he didn't add a word.

 He set the glass down on the bar and one of your hands rested on your shoulder, lightly trailing down your arm. “She's going to understand.” he simply said. You shook your head, also dropping the glass and looking sideways at him. “She's not going to understand. She can't. I don't blame her. I'm a horrible sister.” you sighed. You felt like your eyes were going to release tears at any moment. You noticed Silco's rough hand touch yours, embrace yours with his fingers and with his thumb caress the back of your hand. You let yourself be touched. “We should have left, Silco. We don't belong here. It's not our place. I should have taken Pow-” you couldn't finish your sentence Silco had crashed his lips to yours. You couldn't even react when he broke away. You looked at him still dumbfounded. 

“If she doesn't understand, we're going to make her understand. But don't you ever, ever, ever say again that you don't belong here. You do. You belong by my side,” and when he finished speaking you couldn't help but kiss his lips back. Your heart had just exploded like a bomb, and Silco had detonated it. There were probably going to be repercussions, surely none of this was going to go well, but for the first time, when you were dancing in his arms, you felt at home again.

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

[impactrueno]

Beetlejuice clearly wasn't interested in Lydia when they met, so when do you think he actually fell for her? Was he so impressed by Lydia defeating him that he developed a little crush?

i think this might be the biggest thing i've been turning around in my head since the sequel dropped. how did bro get to this point. i need to know. you weren't like this where we left off, what happened during that huge time gap????

this is where canon ends and conjecture begins, you just have to theorize and fill in the gaps yourself with whatever makes the most sense to you, which is what i've been trying to do this whole time. so please bear with me here.

i don't know how much i want share or save for my comics because i don't know how much he would actually reveal about this but whatever we ball

edit: ok so i scrolled back up to this after finishing writing this and as it turns out i have no self control and i ended up sharing everything that crossed my mind. craziest stream of consciousness i've ever written down. strap on and keep your limbs inside the ride at all times. whatever. we BALL.

let's review their first encounter from his point of view:

you're hired to scare the deetzes, right? so you do just that. excellently you might add. just when you're about to terrorize their teenage daughter, barbara banishes you and the party is over. what fucking losers right? you get the sense that adam and barbara care about this girl so you make some remark about her and it pisses them off. haha. also whoa where did this place come from? damn adam, who could've guessed he had it in him. you forget about everything else and dance your way to dante's inferno room.

after spending a respectably tasteful evening with those ladies, you're chill now. relaxing under your little sun lamp to work on your tan.

someone walks in looking for adam and barbara. don't they know they're dead?

"are you a ghost too?"

"i'm the ghost with the most, babe."

hold on a sec, who's even—

...well hey. it's the girl.

the girl who can see ghosts, and she's talking to you.

target acquired. this one's your ticket out of this hellhole.

"you look like somebody i can relate to," you tell her. relate how? doesn't matter. you're ensnaring her with your affable demeanor like you always do, make people feel like you're pals with them first and foremost. she seems like a nice girl, so this should be easy. you tell her upfront that you want to get out of there and you need her help to do so.

"i want to get in," she says.

whoa there.

what? she wants to get in? she says that in response to you saying that you wanted out. she really has no idea what it's like on the other side, huh. but shit, that kinda stops you in your tracks a bit. this girl wants to die. this young? that's not right. makes no sense.

"...why?"

she just looks at you and says nothing. jesus. ok maybe it's none of your business so let's back it up. you're losing control of the conversation and you're on a mission here. you figure if she helps you get out, you might as well talk her off that ledge or show her how shitty it is on the other side or somethin'. frankly, you can't afford to care right now. you're not entirely sure why she thinks things would be better on the side you're so desperate to get out of, but alright. doesn't matter, right now you gotta get her to summon you. so you begin your little game of charades.

after she correctly guesses your name and almost says it a third time, she recognizes you as the snake that terrorized her family. god fucking dammit. you're losing her. you're getting impatient. your affable act is over. "nah...i want to talk to barbara," she says and now she's REALLY getting on your nerves because fuck barbara, fuck adam, you're SO CLOSE to getting out and you're not gonna let this go now, go go GO GO SAY IIIIIIITTTTTTT

adam and barbara walk in because of course they do. womp womp

ok well that didn't work, but you're not gonna give up so easily. sooner or later another opportunity will come and soon you will be free.

wait why are they moving the model— where are they taking it—

ooohhhhh. business meeting. get a load of these yuppies, trying to turn winter river into a town-sized Ripley's Believe it or Not. a talking marcel marceau statue? and you thought you were a con man. no wonder the deetz girl wants to die, it's bleak as hell here too. but if you get out...you can fix that. hell, you can fix anything.

these bozos are here to see some ghosts, but the girl says they're not going to show up unless the fleshbags stop making a mockery out of the whole thing and that maybe they can all live happy together in the house. ain't that sweet.

of course no one's taking her seriously. she's a kid, what does she know, right? they'd rather listen to the most obnoxious guy in the room (besides yourself) who has no idea what the fuck he's talking about, but somehow, he's got his hands on the handbook.

the girl panics, then immediately says completely deadpan "wait, what am i even worried about, otho, you can't even change a tire" and you're surprised they didn't hear how hard you cackled at that.

despite all that, they seem to have started a séance with their old wedding clothes. bad news for the maitlands. they're about to be dead-dead. the girl cries for them to stop, and these guys are just sitting there scared shitless. you're hearing everything. you knew a new opportunity would arise, so you wait, because this is the part where people remember how good at your job you are. they always do.

she knows you can help. you're the only one who can help. so here she comes. those wedding clothes give you an idea. plan B is now in motion.

well well well.

look who came crawling back.

she asks for your help, and you're happy to oblige, under one condition of course. after all, you don't do anything for free, and she's the only one who can help you with your problem. how serendipitous.

once again, you lay it on her, straight up. you want out. and a way to do it (thanks adam and barbara for the reminder) is through marriage with a fleshbag. you need to get married. a green card marriage, if you will.

she's immediately disgusted by the idea. you don't take that personally, of course, because it doesn't matter. she's just a kid and it's not a real marriage. she just happens to be unlucky enough to be the only one around who can assist you with this, the poor girl. it's a marriage of convenience—or rather, inconvenience—and you're not planning on sticking around because you will get the hell out of there as soon as you can. so there shouldn't be a problem, right? besides, does she know how many women would kill to be in that position? she gets to brag about it to her friends, what's not to like? it's a totally even deal.

the clock is ticking and the maitlands aren't getting any younger. she agrees to the deal. you win, at last.

she already knows what to do, so you sit there patiently with a shit-eating grin on your face, awaiting the three little B words. gloating.

Beetlejuice........Beetlejuice...........Beetlejuice.

it's showtime.

this is your favorite part. you love a dramatic entrance. you decide to show the deetzes and their greedy friends the circus they so wanted to turn this town into. horrible as you are, you're also pretty damn good at calling out other people's horribleness, and you do love an ironic karmic way of dealing with someone. for example tubby here thinks he can escape, but not before you change his sleek black suit into a tacky white leisure suit. the horror! this is why you're a professional at this.

you effortlessly end the exorcism and the maitlands are saved. a little pruney right now but they'll be fine. everything is taken care of, you have fulfilled your end of the deal like you promised. only one thing left to do.

"shall we?"

there's really no need to make a whole show out of this, but you're a showman first and foremost and as a 𝒥𝓊𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓊𝓂 you'll be damned if you're not gonna let yourself have a little fun with this. everyone looks terrified. this is why you're a professional at this.

witnesses and reverend in place, you can finally begin the ceremony. you're having fun, yes, but let's try to pick up the pace a bit, okay? the closer you get to your goal, the more impatient you get. the girl isn't finding any of this very funny at all and she protests. the maitlands butt in and are now kind of twisting your arm a bit, but you deal with them harmlessly, until they get on your last nerve so you send adam to the model and barbara to saturn. all of this after you honorably fulfilled your end of the bargain and saved the day. jesus christ, are you the only one with some integrity around here or what.

you forget the stupid ring. shit. you're pretty sure you have it on you somewhere, ever since you chopped up delores into pieces for poisoning you. you kept her ring finger as a trophy and as a reminder to never get married again, and yet here you are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. finally, you find the ring (still on her severed finger) and hastily tell your new bride-to-be that delores meant nothing to you. in case she even cares. she doesn't seem to. not even a chuckle? oh well.

almost done with the ceremony. almost there. you're holding the girl's hand with an iron grip to keep her in place as you're about to put that ring on her finger. "i now pronounce you, man and—"

a tiny car crashes against your foot and it catches on fire. you scream. a fucking sandworm crashes into the room through the ceiling. everyone screams. you scream LOUDER.

you're sent back to the afterlife waiting room.

not your first rodeo with a sandworm, but that doesn't make the experience any less shitty. the real annoying part is being in the waiting room again. this could take ages. you're number 9,998,383,750,000 and they're serving number 3 right now. you trick the guy next to you and steal his ticket (number 4) but he's not too pleased about that, so that didn't work.

a long time sitting here it is, then.

movie ends, credits roll.

for reference, that was 1988. winona ryder was 15 when they were filming in 1987 so while lydia doesn't have a confirmed age, i think we can safely assume that she was the same age as winona at the time.

36 years later, it's 2024. or 34 years later, it's 2022. we don't know the exact year because while bob's in memoriam credits scene says 2024 and all the interviews talk about how 36 years have passed in universe as well, there's this other one tiny detail.

jeremy's death passport says he died on march 11, 1999. jane butterfield says he died "23 years ago," putting the movie in 2022. they did film it in 2022 so the math is mathing correctly there. given that the in memoriam scene was more of a joke and jeremy's passport is a canon prop in the movie, i'd say 2022 is the canon year the movie is set in. (small sidenote; the passport also has the roman numerals DCLXVI which is 666. cute detail i loved it)

in the sequel, beetlejuice says lydia has been ignoring him for 30 years. i always thought that was curious because outside of this claim, they always specify how many years exactly have passed since. he doesn't say 34 or 36, he says 30. and for his degree of obsession (and the fact that he remembers exactly how many times he's watched The Exorcist) i think he would be counting even the days so i think he did really mean 30 years. so this would mean at least 4 years passed between getting sent back to the waiting room and the beginning of his stalking.

AND NOW that we established all that, we are finally getting to the answer to the question, "when and how did this all start?"

so okay, he spent a while in the waiting room. a lot of time to think. probably replaying the events at the deetzes' in his head over and over, how he got here, where he fucked up, what's he gonna do once he gets out. cursing the maitlands for ruining his plan when he was soooo fucking close. wondering what ever happened to lydia deetz.

lydia deetz, the young girl who told him she wanted to die.

...

is she alright?

i don't think he's capable of feeling guilt, but we can probably argue that he's not entirely heartless. what she said about how she wanted to "get in" must've stuck with him from the way he reacted when she dropped that bomb. she never showed up in the waiting room so he knows she didn't follow through with that. still, he used a vulnerable young girl for his own selfish gain. ironically enough, he knows exactly how that feels, because he also got tricked into marriage and got used for someone else's gain. the difference being that he dealt with that shit with an axe.

much much much to think about for mr. juice.

after years of ruminating in that waiting room, he's finally out and back to the regular day to day afterlife. definitely gets chewed out by juno, maybe forced to do community service or labor or what have you, he basically just needs to clean up his act now. this freelancing shit is becoming more trouble than it's worth anyway.

he's still wondering about lydia deetz. should he check in on her? maybe he should, he's too curious now.

at this point, lydia is now about 19-21 and in college. maybe he manages to sneak into the model one time she's back home for the holidays or something. and oh my god would you look at that, what a beautiful young woman she's grown into. she's radiant. she's happy. she's no longer that gloomy suicidal kid he met in the attic. seems like what she said about the deetzes and the maitlands sharing the house did come true after all.

that's nice. very sweet. good to know.

maybe he wonders if she remembers him and tries to get her attention somehow, give her a little scare for old times sake or whatever. for a brief moment it seems like she saw something and her expression changes, but she shrugs it off and continues on chatting with her two sets of parents. no such luck.

oh well. curiosity sated! and beetlejuice goes back home and doesn't return.

until the next time he returns.

and he keeps coming back to check in on her, telling himself he's just making sure that she hasn't killed herself or something. and he's not above admitting that with every year that passes, she keeps getting more beautiful. and to think they almost got married, huh.

he constantly tries to get her to notice him somehow, and sometimes she almost does, but ultimately he never really succeeds beyond making her do a double take. very rarely she does catch a glimpse of him. he's seen her mutter to herself that she's just seeing things and she seems a bit frightened every time this happens, but there's nothing to fear, honey, it's just good ol' beetlejuice. he won't lie, he gets a bit of a rush every time and it makes his dead heart beat faintly. he's gotten this far, he can't just stop now. in his mind, this has become their little private game of cat and mouse, where the mouse ignores the cat. but aren't they cute? he thinks they're cute. this is not creepy at all!

before he realizes, he's already learned everything about her. he knows about richard and even watched their wedding from afar like a loser. he knows she gave birth to a healthy baby girl named astrid. he knows they have a blast on halloween. halloween is lydia's favorite holiday, and his too. sometimes he can't help but see the three of them happy together and think it could've totally been him. even if he and richard are nothing alike (in fact could not be more opposite) and the circumstances of their unholy wedding were nothing short of grim and a farce. but in his mind, he's starting to convince himself otherwise.

maybe it's his jealousy speaking, but lydia doesn't seem to be that happy with richard despite everything. even though richard is like, the perfect guy. then one day his suspicions are proven correct: neither of them knows why it happened, but after having a long and emotional talk (that he watched with a bucket of popcorn) they decide to get a divorce. he pumps his fist, feeling victorious for some reason. sure he's a little sadistic at times, but why is this giving him so much glee?

the divorce is hard on lydia's kid, who was always more attached to her father, but they still spend a lot of time together. sometimes the three of them, since richard and lydia kept things amicable after the divorce. lydia tries to move on and see other people, but each relationship fails before it even starts. mostly because she keeps holding back and so fails to connect with anyone else, but also sometimes because, well, he can't help himself but to scare them away from her from time to time. it's fun. in his mind, he's just being protective of her, as a gentleman should for a lady.

then richard dies. fell into a piranha infested river from the looks of it (he saw him at immigration one day, don't ask what he was doing around there, force of habit after constantly making sure lydia hasn't killed herself yet.) it's devastating for both lydia and astrid, straining their relationship even more for the next few years as they both try to cope with the loss. the shock proves to be too much for lydia, so she goes to a survivors retreat to work through her trauma, both from richard's death and "unresolved feelings."

then lydia, at her most vulnerable, meets rory.

beetlejuice was able to clock him immediately. a textbook manipulative opportunist, he himself knows the tactics very well. swoop in to "help" someone in a vulnerable position, pull the wool over their eyes and begin taking control so you can get what you want out of that person.

he wouldn't admit it, but this really irks beetlejuice. you know when you see someone who reminds you of the worst parts of yourself, so you despise them? yeah. he's been there, and he's also been him.

but rory is somehow even worse than beetlejuice. see, rory is her manager, and boy does he manage to get on his nerves. he takes her phone. he controls what medication she takes. he blames and guilt trips her about every mishap that HE causes, making himself look like her benevolent savior and making her feel like she would be lost without him, confusing her with his psychobabble. on top of all that, he's forcing her to do this hacky show called Ghost House where she "hunts ghosts" or whatever. the houses he's been helping newly-deads with in his day job as a bio-exorcist (now with a fleet of employees,) she's "hunting" those ghosts now. it's so dumb. it never works. beetlejuice doesn't even know what the hell she's doing, she's phoning it in most of the time and she knows she's become a sellout. what happened to that "strange and unusual" girl who stood up for her ghost friends when those suits wanted to profit off of them back in winter river?

he needs to bring that back. he's the only one who can.

in his mind, beetlejuice has already rewritten the events that transpired. in his mind, lydia has been his wife this entire time, it's just, y'know, one of those open long distance relationships and she doesn't always remember him, but that's okay. in his mind, they share a psychic bond that allows her to sense his presence or see him in her dreams from time to time. he's got nothing to be jealous about, because other men can't compare. no one else can match what they have.

sure, part of him knows he's lying to himself a little bit. but he's already clung to this idea; these past 30 years wouldn't make sense otherwise. he's in love with lydia deetz. this isn't insane of him to say at all. and if it is, well, you know what they say, love makes you do batshit crazy things.

it's not that complicated, no matter what they say you'll never meet another me it's not that difficult to get my head around i'll never meet another you

the end

don't trick me into writing a fanfic again

[hjparisian]

white button up- harry j potter x reader

p: harry j potter x fem! reader w: unprotected SMUT (p in v, wrap before you tap), oral (fem receiving), fingering, kinda fluff, dom! harry, harry has a private dorm cause yea summary: after a long quidditch practice, harry enters his dorm to find his girlfriend wearing something of his. a/n: trying to write smut. sorry if its not the greatest. this has been sitting in the drafts for a good minute so i decided to get it out in honor of harry's birthday recently <3

Harry was returning to his dorm after a very long and tiring quidditch practice. The first game was right around the corner and it was against the Slytherins, so Harry had to make sure they were prepared.

All Harry was focused on now was seeing his girlfriend, who is currently waiting for him in his private dorm. They haven't been able to spend time together with Harry's quidditch practices, (Y/N)'s tutoring sessions with the younger years and NEWT classes.

Harry had finally gotten to his dorm room. He lightly knocked it before opening the door and entering.

"(Y/N) love, I'm here," Harry said as he sets down his stuff by the door.

The moment Harry looked up, he was graced with a stunning view, one he wasn't expecting.

(Y/N) sat on his bed reading her charms book. But it was what she was wearing that caught the boy off guard. She was in a white button up, but not just any white button up. It was one of his from his trunk. It was slightly big, hanging off one of her shoulders, exposing the soft skin.

"Oh, hey Harry," (Y/N) responded once taking notice of the boy.

The girl had set the book down on the bed before getting up to greet the boy. Harry stood still, mesmerized by the little clothing on his girlfriend's body. He could feel the blood rushing to his crotch.

"Is that mine?" He questioned, despite knowing the answer.

(Y/N) felt her face get warmer. "Oh, yeah. I just decided to get more comfy while I wait for you. I can change back if you want."

"No no!" Harry responded. "I was just a little shocked that's all."

"You sure?"

"Yes," said Harry as he placed his hands are her waist. "Besides, I think it looks better on you than me."

A small giggle slipped out of (Y/N)'s mouth. "Oh, you think so?"

"I know so."

(Y/N) begun leaning closer to Harry, much to his delight. He followed, meeting her in the middle as their lips touch. (Y/N)'s hands move up to wrap around Harry's neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss. His hold on her tightened a bit, not wanting to let go.

Unfortunately for Harry, (Y/N) was the first to break the kiss.

"So, what did you want to do?" She asked him. "I can help you with your homework since I already finished mine."

"I have a better idea," Harry said, rubbing her waist.

"Oh? What is it?"

"This."

The boy pulled her back into a kiss, his hands gripping her waist. Harry slid one of his hands down to her ass, squeezing it. The feeling made her gasp, allowing Harry to slide his tongue into her mouth. The two began fighting for dominance, but like always, Harry would win.

Harry broke the kiss, leading (Y/N) to lay on his bed. He climbs above her, one of his hands hovering over the buttons of her (his) shirt. He looks at her, gazing into her sparkling eyes.

"May I?"

"You may," she assures him.

Harry unbuttons the shirt on (Y/N)'s body. Once he buttoned the last button, he moves each side of the shirt, revealing what was underneath. His green eyes ogling at her breasts, he brought has hands up to cup them before he knead them.

"You like this?" Harry asked her, knowing she did.

Harry leans down and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking on it while his hand tweak the other one. A small noise falls from her mouth. He felt her hands move up to his dark hair, slightly tugging on it. Now that's how Harry knows that he's making her feel good.

He switches, making sure each one gets attention (as well as purple bruises). He began moving down towards her cunt, covered in lace panties.

Harry looks up at (Y/N), silently asking if he could continue. She nods. The boy hooked his fingers under her panties and slid them off her legs.

"Look at you," Harry groans. "All wet for me."

The boy stuck his tongue out, dragging it up her cunt. The taste of her had invaded his senses.

"And you taste so good."

Harry proceeded to stick a finger inside her and begins to suck at her clit. The feeling was all too good to (Y/N), who was starting to reach her high as Harry was eating her out.

"Harry, I'm gonna-"

But the boy pulled away before she could climax, which left her a bit frustrated.

"What'd you do that for?"

Harry smirked. "Can't let you cum yet. Gotta wait 'til I'm in you."

The girl whined as she pulsed around nothing. "Well what are you waiting for then?"

The boy climbed back over her, a mischievous grin plastered on his face as his green eyes examined her.

"Beg."

"What?" (Y/N) was confused.

"I want you to beg for it."

The girl huffed. "As if-" Her words were caught in her mouth as she left Harry's fingers plunge back inside her.

"Tell me what you want." Harry demanded as he slowly moved his fingers. "Or else I'll leave you be and you can make yourself cum."

(Y/N) pouted, deciding to swallow her pride for her pleasure.

"Please Harry." She says as she tugs on the waistband of his pants. "I want you to make me come. I want to feel you inside me."

"Yea?"

"Harry," she whines out. "Please."

"Help me take these off then," Harry tells her, referring to his pants.

The girl clumsily pulls down Harry's pants and boxers, the latter helping her in removing them entirely. He removed his quidditch sweater, returning to his position on top of her. As (Y/N) looked up at her boyfriend's green eyes, they seemed to soften upon her gaze.

"You sure you want this?" Harry asks her.

(Y/N) nods. "I do Harry."

He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the tip against her wetness before pushing in. (Y/N) winced at the slight pain, which caused Harry to stop and look up at her.

"You alright? We can stop if you want to."

"No! I'm alright, you can keep going."

After being reassured, Harry continue to push in until he was completely inside her. He lets out a groan as he feels her pulse around him.

"Bloody hell, you're so tight," Harry says to her. "Feels so good."

Harry begins to thrust into her, slowly but deep. A moan slips from (Y/N)'s mouth, boosting his ego. Harry grabs the back of (Y/N)'s legs, wrapping them around him before he started to move faster. The sensation causing (Y/N) to arch her back, her chest pressing against Harry's. Her hands were wrapped around his back, clawing against it.

(Y/N) brought one of her hands downward, playing with her clit. Harry took notice of this and grabbed her hand, pinning it above her head. The action caused her to gasp.

"Only I get to touch it this time." Harry said to her.

He kept one of his hands pinning (Y/N)'s above her hand as his other one went back down to where the girl originally had hers. The feeling had (Y/N) closer to her high. It was too good.

"Harry, I think I'm gonna cum."

"Shit, I think I am too."

Harry's movements became faster and sloppier as the two reached their climax. (Y/N) was the first to let go, cumming around Harry's cock.

Harry quickly pulled out, pumping himself and letting his cum spill onto (Y/N)'s stomach. He stayed above her for a moment, admiring the view in front of him. His girlfriend covered in his cum as she is recovering from her high. Such a pretty sight to see.

"You're alright?" Harry asks (Y/N).

She responds with a nod. "Yea, I'm alright."

Harry smiles, kissing her forehead. "I'll be back then."

He moved away to grab a damp cloth from his connecting washroom, helping to clean up the mess he left on her. Once the two were cleaned up, they laid back on Harry's bed, his arms wrapped around his girl as he kissed her lips.

"You know," Harry began. "You should wear my stuff more often."

"Oh really?" (Y/N) asked. "Does that mean we'll get more moments like this?"

"Maybe."

The girl giggled before a yawn slipped her mouth.

"You should rest now darling."

She nods, shifting herself to be more comfortable.

"I love you Harry."

"I love you too, (Y/N)," He said to her as he joins her in a much needed rest.

[ubeb0nes]

hiiii could you also do pitfighter reader with sevika next?? i loveee your writing!

HECK YEA, i was lowkey pulling for this one to win on the poll anyway (i'm definitely invested in bar owner!reader now that i've written for her, though!)

Silco goes through henchmen like water through a grater. And of course- like everything else- it falls on Sevika to keep his forces topped up.

She gets a lot of the dumb bruiser types from the Pit Ring. Easy to come by and even easier to hire once you wave just a little bit of money and status in their faces.

The higher in the rankings you are though, the less likely you are to take Silco's second's deals. Life as a Pit fighter is never easy, but the top percent definitely make more than they would as lackeys.

You were one such. Sevika had seen you a few times in the ring when she'd come down to pick up new blood.

You swung like somebody had taught you with intention. There was the charming roughness of Zaun ingrained in your style, but you had clear skill. Every time Sevika came back, your name was a little higher in the rankings.

She always got good seats due to her social standing. Close enough to see the look in your eyes. Controlled, if a bit empty.

You'd made eye contact with her once, right after toppling the second-ranked fighter. You'd given her a once-over that nearly offended her, like you wanted to get in the ring with her. Sevika scoffed at the very notion.

She couldn't lie though, even she felt the buzz of excitement permeating the crowd leading up to your face-off for the champion seat. This time, she was just here to watch.

It was the first time she'd seen you struggle. First time anyone had. She could tell from the moment you walked into the Pit, something was wrong.

The champion is killing you. Literally. It stirs something in Sevika as she watches him pin your head to the gritty ground with one hand, and beat on your skull with the other.

She jumps in before she even realizes what she's doing. What the hell was she doing?

The whole arena held its breath as someone who wasn't nameless, wasn't just some violent nobody presented themself.

Sevika knew what it looked like. She knew that word would get back to Silco and he'd ask her what the hell she was doing in the very center of a place like the Pit. But all she could do was spit on the ground, and square herself to the champion as if to say "Come try it with me, I dare you."

And he was about to, until he saw the whirring glow of her metal arm beneath her cape. The champ shrugged her off, taking his own leave while Sevika slung one of your arms over her shoulder.

It's not like he had anything to gain from fighting her. You were the only one he needed to beat.

"Why the hell did you do that?" You muttered out of a broken jaw.

"Yeah, it was no problem, don't mention it."

She starts to help you towards the locker room, until you tell her to take you to your apartment since it's only a little walk away.

It was definitely nicer than a lot of other units in Zaun. It looked untouched though, like you barely spent any time in there. She… lets you kinda crumple on the couch, before rummaging a bottle of alcohol from your pantry and removing a vial of Shimmer from her holster belt.

"Get that shit the fuck away from me."

"You done it in the past?"

"Hell no!"

"It's not gonna trap you after one dose. Trust me, you need it. You look like shit."

You give her some more shit, but eventually take the vial and the shot of vodka. Something about her is undeniably warm. Honest. You had no reason to give your trust out freely, but she seemed to have gained it without your knowing consent.

A part of your heart clung to it, the authenticity and honor she possessed that hadn't existed in so much as a whisper in the Pits.

Even as your entire nervous system seized the moment the Shimmer touched your throat, you were wholly conscious of her hand gripping the back of your neck with gentle, grounding firmness.

Her thumb subconsciously massaged into your trap muscle, and you heard her smoky voice urging you to "breathe, it'll be over soon". When had someone last touched you without the intention to hurt?

Still, after the Shimmer had passed through and you were feeling much better, you gave her a similar once-over to the one you once had before.

"Bet I could beat your ass."

"And I bet you'd die. Actually, this time." Yeah, that shut you up.

"So… what do I owe you for this?"

"Hm?"

"I still get a share even though I lost. C'mon, what percent's your cut?"

"I don't need your prize money. Or consolation, I guess."

"Rub it in, why don't you?"

She's ignoring you now though, electing to peruse the not so short row of books on your wall. "A well-read Pit fighter, huh? Well, you're number one in something in the Pits."

"Okay, what the hell do you want? Why'd you step in to help me?"

Her silence says she doesn't know, but you don't know that. You just think she's being an ass. Before you can tell her such though, she speaks up. "You know who I am, right?"

"Everybody in the Pit knows who you are. I saw the champ almost shit his pants."

"Then you know why I come to the Pits at all?"

"To play superhero, apparently."

"No. To recruit."

[smallestapplin]

Do you think Overlord from transformers would be type of guy "I love kinda of woman who can beat the sh t out of me"

Ok ok soo i imagine cybertronian reader who was able to beat the sh t out of Overlord who's now in love with cybertronian reader.

What would her team aka the lost light would react to this 😂😂

This had me cackling. Also I apologize I know you said fem but I don't know how to make the gender important to the story (I'm gender blind I'm so sorry.)

-

-

- you beating Overlord's aft was a miracle and a half. You utilized his pride and slowness against him, though struggling more than you'd like to admit, you managed to out pace him and put the large bot in his place.

- "I don't know what I did! I beat his aft and now he won't leave me alone! I even tell him off and that just seems to get him more interested!" Is what you cry to Rodimus about.

- "I'm gonna be real with you, I don't know how to help you with that. I mean, at least he's not going off the rails and starting fights?" It's all he's got. You know he's right, but it doesn't help you one bit, so yog end up groaning and slumping over in your seat. Roddy tries to pat your back and show you some cool earth thing he has, before Overlord finds you, and coos about how worried he was when you weren't in your habsuite, and glares at Rodimus.

- Overlord still tries to fight everyone, and by Primus Megatron gets it the worst, but he's happy all that's needed is for you to angrily yell Overlord's name and call him back like a dog. Megatron always breathes a sigh of relief when your enraged voice echoes through the room, calling for Overlord to "bring you aft over here right now, I swear to primus if I have to put down my report!-" and watch as the equally large bot instantly drops his fighting stance, rushing over to you, looking far too happy and pleased to be called by you (even if you aren't'.)

- You're tired, you just want to do you job and go about your day, not wake up from a statis to the large blue mech over you, holding a thing of energon for you and asking to spar.

- Ratchet and First Aid hear and see it the most, and believe Ratchet gives you high an audio processor full. You send Overlord to the med bay frequently, and he can't even scold the bot into being more careful cause he's not even listening! He has to deal with Overlord staring at you and not even hearing him.

- First Aid tries to help in that regard, explaining to you that this is getting out of servo, but Overlord nearly throws a medical berth at him for it, only stopping when you glare at him.

- "I fight him, he likes it, I ignore him, he likes that too! Nothing I do sends the massage home for him."

- Ultra Magnus wants to help, trust him he does! This is classified as harassment and he swore to always help his crew members....but....you are literally the only thing keeping Overlord docile, and First Aid and Rodimus have already reported that Overlord does try to swing at them for interfering.

It's safer for everyone to not, after all you seem to handle yourself just fine! You're a strong bot that can handle one of the strongest gladiators in history! He lets you vent as much as you need, but eventually has to tell you he can help once Overlord oversteps.

- Lucky you, you don't have to worry about that. Overlord is obsessed with beating you in battle, but also he loves fighting you, you carry yourself with such strength and confidence once against him, he's smitten. With your speed, to him, it makes your battles feel like a dance! Your movements and skill have him smitten, as does your attitude, your fire and sass have him weak in the knees.

- Prowl is somehow your only ride or die here, he's more worried about what Overlord could do but doesn't think before shouting at him to give you space or to frag off, the temperamental officer goes into protective mode when it comes to you.

- Overlord does not like Prowl because of this, but you cling to your friend in thanks.

- "It's every damn cycle, don't you have a hobby!? Frag I don'tknow, watch a movie, pick up blacksmithing, SOMETHING!" Prowl barely has time to dodge a swift punch, but he manages, and next thing you know there does the fourth table of the week, followed by more shouting, and you having to yell for Overlord to knock it off.

- Rung is definitely getting good use as a therapist, he's trying his best to give you coping skills to help ease your frustrations with your situation, and while they work, you just come back to tell him you came back to your habsuite to Overlord on your berth, and pulling you into his lap.

- "It's rude he didn't ask before doing so."

- "AND THEN HE ASKED TO SPARK BOND, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT!?"

- "Oh my, he asked to spark bond-"

- Even just trying to have a professional conversation with you turns into a chore, not because of you, but because of the angry look guard dog standing behind you, glaring down at anyone speaking to you.

[citrustan]

dating girl (jjk)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: you try to convince yourself that you're really okay with 'casually dating' your crush.

genre: college au, fwb kinda thing but more than friends ygm? angst!

"Are they allowed to cancel an entire day at college? That can't be good for anyone..." Your mother ponders out loud as you walk around the city hand-in-hand.

"There's not much you can do if someone decides to paint over every projector lens on campus." You nod.

"Lucky for me, I get to spend time with my little baby," she nuzzles her nose into your hair, squeezing you in a side-hug, "Still can't believe we have to schedule our hangouts now."

"Yeah, there's that..." You smile half-heartedly.

You stop near a flower stall, taking in the hustle and bustle of the city. It's especially crowded because of your university abruptly cancelling a bunch of classes.

After your day had freed up unexpectedly, you had invited your sorta but not really boyfriend, Jungkook, to go cafe hopping to find where all the good teas are because you knew he'd be available. But he never responded.

So your mood has been a bit damp all day.

You had just stepped out of this store that sold handmade sweaters and yarn balls. Not even a good shopping spree could lift your spirits.

What certainly doesn't help is randomly seeing said sorta but not really boyfriend who didn't respond to your texts out and about with some leggy blonde girl.

You've never seen her around.

Not that you know every single person on campus, but if they've crossed Jungkook's path, you know them.

They're dining together al fresco, at one of the cafes you had literally listed in your text to Jungkook.

Talk about a slap in your face.

For a second, you think she might just be his sister or something.

But that thought bubble is quickly shot at with a razor-sharp arrow when you see him kiss her knuckles.

Your eyes involuntary darken, and your mouth forms a pout. The kind one has when they're trying to hold back a cry or a sob.

All the while, your mother had talked about your grandparents' separation, the local diner having caught fire, and matching mother and daughter shoes she had bought for your birthday.

You were listening passively so you didn't quite catch everything.

When your mother notices the look on your face, she frowns, following the line of your vision.

Upon spotting Jungkook and mystery girl, she gasps angrily, "Oh, no, he sucks." She turns back to you, "Honey, I'm so sorry."

"No, mom, this is normal," you smile weakly, "And it's okay."

"You're still seeing him, aren't you?" She tilted her head in confusion.

"Yes." You nod, "I am."

"But then he's there," she points at the pair with her chin, "seeing her. How's that okay?"

"It just is, mom! Really," you attempt to convince your mother (and yourself) that you were 100% fine with witnessing Jungkook out with other women. "We're keeping things casual. Very... casual."

"And that's a mutual decision?" She confirms.

"We both agreed." You concur.

Your mother's still unsure about your choices. "Well. Okay then."

You glance at Jungkook and mystery girl one last time.

The picture isn't pretty. He's leaning into her ear and has his large hand placed over her bare thigh as she caressed his arm with her much smaller hand, thoroughly enjoying his attention.

Your mother watches your expression go stiff, "So, how does this work again?"

Snapping you out of your daze, she pushes a few strands of hair away from your eyes.

"Oh. Um..." You exhale, "Well, we see each other and we see other people, and that's that. We're cas-" - "Yeah, casual, I heard." Your mother interrupts your blabber.

When you frown at her she sighs, "Sorry..."

"It's ok." You look down at your feet, kicking a few stray pebbles out of the way.

"I just--- I thought you guys were sleeping together." She blurts.

"Mom!" You exclaim, looking around to see if anyone had heard her, "It's not that big of a deal. I want this too. And I need to learn to date too."

Again, you try to ease your mind about your decision.

"So who else are you dating?" She asks pointedly.

This is suddenly getting very exhausting.

You lightly cringe and look around, "Uh... Nobody yet. But this guy from one of my extras--- his name's Hoseok but we call him Hobi, or Hoba, depending on how close you are to him--- anyway, he asked me out to a halloween theme party next week."

Your mother gives you a knowing look, deciding to play along anyway, "Oh! You've never mentioned him before."

"Mhm. Because it's new." You hunch your shoulders nervously.

The party was hosted by the student body to raise funds for, you don't know, collegiate stuff.

You had imagined going with Jungkook, with matching Dentist and Tooth Fairy couple costumes. But he hadn't asked you yet and you definitely weren't going to bring it up first.

It's less than a week away, so you're not expecting anything from him either. He probably already has another date lined up.

You wonder if it's the blonde he's with now.

Maybe you can do the look with Hoseok instead.

"So, are you gonna do it?"

"Do what?" Was she in your head?

"Go with Hobi or Hoba." She makes air quotations for 'Hobi or Hoba.'

"Oh, yeah. Yep. Definitely." Suddenly remembering, you add, "Oh and can you make me my costume? I want to be the Tooth Fairy?" You softly ask her, knowing it's a little last minute, but also knowing she wouldn't deny you.

"Why of course! Does... Hobi need a costume too?" She asks carefully.

"Oh, no. Probably not." Well, you don't know. You don't know if his offer even stands now and you might end up not going at all.

Your mother rubs your shoulder, "Ask him and let me know, 'kay?"

You force out an uncomfortable smile and nod, "Thanks."

Although your mother's not convinced, she decides to drop the topic all together.

"Well, that's good," she smiles down at you warmly, "Do you want to get that sweater exchanged?"

It was vague, but you appreciated her attempt either way.

"Mhm. Back to the store we go." You narrate with an airy laugh.

Your mother was in the lead, already making her way to the store you had just walked out of.

Once again, your gaze falls on Jungkook and his date, and to your surprise he was staring right back at you.

You want to give him a little smile. To show him you're unbothered. But you couldn't seem to force one out this time.

So you settle with giving him a small wave, which he returns, mirroring your expression.

His date follows his line of sight and spots you too, giving you a tight smile. It's not passive aggressive, just... decent. Not polite either. But why should she be?

Jungkook blinks at you as you hurriedly leave trying to keep up with your mother.

Maybe you should focus on Hoseok for now.

note: nobody asked for this but i was feeling a little silly :p needed some angsty ouchie with the possibility of a favourable conclusion so i indulged!

hey bonus points if you can tell what inspired this! and if you read all this lmk what you think regardless :D

[sugarverse]

𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝙾𝚞𝚝, 𝚃𝚠𝚘 📖 📕

word count: 6.1k

mentions of: reader crying during sex, vulgar words like cunt lol, smut, calls the reader angel, baby, slut, other pet names I think. kinda dub-con? reader says stop in an overwhelmed way but not a genuine "get off me" way

authors note: the smut is right after the date finishes,  I'm sure no one needs reasoning on why he's a little ooc but heres it anyway. I like to believe as he gets older he has a degradation thing for others. yk you get bullied for fucking ever you'd like to be in control, and for christ sakes he's 25 in this, he's not gonna be the same stuttering beginner deku. kay thats all lmfao

part one! moodboard for the fic by @fizziedoodle

“Welcome back, Mr. Midoryia!” The older brunette said happily, she looked to be in her early 40s, standing tall as her eyes roamed down his body before searching down the list. “You brought a woman this time, Finally not a business deal?” She joked, smiling at you happily. “Your dress looks stunning,” She says to you before meeting eyes with Izuku. He was obviously flustered, a big hand going to rub his neck once more.

“Its for 6:30, Miss Jacklynn.” She waved him off, “Don’t get all proper because you have a cute date. You know the deal,” She grabbed two menus and silverware, walking you both around the corner where a live band had been playing. Music and echoes of laughter filled the dining room. It must have been muffled by the walls near the hostess stand because it seemed way louder than before. You squint slightly as you adjust to the noise, watching the hostess set the table accordingly. “Your waitress will be here shortly,” Izuku let you sit first, sitting across from you with a big grin on his face. “Hope you enjoy!” Jacklynn chirped, winking at the two of you before walking back to the hostess stand.

“Who’s that?” You ask, looking around and smiling under the bright lights. You were trying to hide the annoyed look you wanted to keep on your face, it was unnecessary for that chick to keep babbling after Izuku already looked flustered. But you knew not to overreact right away. You scooch into the booth, sitting onto the comfy red seats. You traced the designs in the dark wood table with your nail, looking up to see him again.

“She normally helps me get deals whenever we have big hero galas here.. She’s always helping my table and stopping by extra to help. She's a really good friend!” He opened  and closed the menu slightly, hearing the click noise it made. Your eyes trailed back to him, nodding and opening your own menu. You kept your thoughts to yourself, looking for the drink options. 

He already knew exactly what he wanted, opening his menu to the drink page and placing it next to you. "Do you like wine?“ He pointed to the list of wine bottles, then moved to the other side of the page. "They have good margaritas too, if that’s more your thing?”

You close your own menu, leaning over his slightly to read the top. “I.. don't know,” You looked over the drink sections some more. There was so much to try, it was hard to see anything new to try. Maybe you just wanted a fruit cocktail or something? You were tired of trying something new and not liking it. There had just been words to describe the drinks which really doesn't help, No pictures. It just seems easier to look at a drink and say you want that instead. You bite your cheek, trying to decide. 

“I was going to get a Cadillac Margarita.. Kacchan comes in and gets the fanciest he can- But the first few times we went drinking, he told me to try it and I havent tried anything else since. If you want, I can buy two and you can get whatever else you want if you don’t like it? If that sounds good?” He stared down at you, grinning ear to ear. 

You hummed softly in agreement, watching your nails as they tapped against the wood. “I was going to say a more confident yes, But I don’t like lime like that. I’m not gonna waste an entire drink because I'm picky.. I found a pineapple one I can drink!” You pointed to the menu, seeing the small description read something about it tasting like a fancier pina colada. “You get your fancy ass drink and I’ll take a sip. You can try mine too!” 

“I get sugar around the rim. You okay with that?” He asks, he hadn’t broken eye contact yet, watching you look at his lips then back to his eyes. You hummed a soft agreement once again, smirking a bit at his seemingly still flustered state. “Good Evening you two!”

A voice interrupted, causing you both to look over at the woman. “My name is Emilie, Do you know what you want to drink tonight?”

Izuku nodded, showing off that pro-hero smile he wore mostly for cameras. “Yes Ma’am! I wanted a Cadillac Margarita with sugar around the rim, In a fishbowl glass if you have it, Thank you!” The waitress looked at you, smiling and quickly scribbling down what Izuku had ordered.

“And for you miss?” You smiled. “A pineapple margarita on the rocks with salt around the rim,” You shot Izuku a teasing glance. “A regular glass is fine with me.” 

She nodded, writing that down as well. “Any appetizers for you two?” He chuckled, moving pages of the menu back and forth. “We’re still looking, But I’m assuming yes.”

“Perfect! I’ll be back with your drinks!” She left, looking down at her notepad. You open your menu to look as well, trying to find the section that looked the most appealing. It seemed like the menu went on for ages. 

“You wanna try the calamari?” Izuku suggests as he finally leans back into his seat to relax.

You rolled your eyes. “You know this stupid thing like the back of your hand. We can get.. Whatever that is. Don’t tell me until I eat it!” You finally found genuine entrees, hearing him laugh loudly at your statement.

“I wont, I wont. You want filet mignon? I know you said you like steak.. I wanted to get some Nigiri and Maki. So you can try both if you want?” Your eyes grew wide, nodding. 

“Of course I want filet mignon!” You said happily, shutting the menu. You already knew your sides were going to be asparagus and mashed potatoes. Nothing too complicated and food you know is hard to fuck up.

“I’ll order everything when she gets back. What else would you like?” He chirped, shutting his menu and setting it on the edge of the table next to you. You crossed your arms. “What makes you think I can’t do it myself?”

He laughed, knowing you were kidding. It didn’t take away from the dark look in his eyes. “Don’t be a brat, Tell me what you want to eat y/n..” Your eyes widened, going to retort to his comment before the waitress placed your drinks down. Izuku began telling her what you both had wanted to eat, glancing at you to see how you wanted it cooked. You were sorta still in shock, mouthing the way you wanted it cooked and your sides to him as he ordered. You sipped your drink, squinting at him and setting it down. He took a sip of his own before reaching over to take yours. 

The comment still rang in your ears, a smirk resting on your face as you grazed your tongue over your teeth. “You wanna swap spit with me already?” You joke, taking his glass with both hands. It looked like a genuine fish bowl with a stem.. There was no way he was finishing this whole thing. You licked a small part of the rim, taking a sip as your face scrunched up. You pushed the glass towards him, laughing and shaking your head a few times. “That’s fuckin’ strong Izuku- Oh my god-” You laughed, covering your cough before listening to your nails tapping at the glass.

The words fell from his mouth quicker than he could correct them, “I would gladly swap more than just spit with you.” You felt your face heat up, staring at him for a moment. He thought he had mumbled it, standing slightly to swap your drinks. He watched your manicured hand grab his tie loosely before he could sit back down. Your gaze stayed on his lips, hearing both hands be placed onto the table with small taps of your nails. He leaned forward, giving you a small kiss on your lips. It felt right. Was a kiss what you wanted?

You smile, kissing back and tugging his tie closer to you before he could pull away to give some lame peck. He felt his face burn, pulling away slowly and sitting down with a happy, almost woozy, grin on his face. He looked down at his drink, picking the glass up between his fingers and bringing it up to his lips. “You kiss like an angel. I thought I was in trouble at first..” He laughed to himself, bringing his drink to his lips once more.

You watched his facial expression change as he felt your heel creep up his leg and to his thigh. He didn't say anything, taking another big sip before setting the glass back onto the table. You watched his face turn cherry red, looking at you like he needed to speak. He opened his legs a bit more, feeling the tip of your heel rub against his inner thigh. You scoot down in your seat, heel now against his bulge. “The opposite of trouble, ‘zuku..” You flash an innocent smile, moving your foot side to side against him slightly.

He groaned, covering it with a small cough and another drink. A big hand suddenly grabs your ankle, yanking it towards his stomach so you slip downward in your seat. “You're playing with fire, honey.. Too many people around.” He leaned over the table to speak in a low voice, rubbing the soft skin of your calf before setting your foot back onto the ground. You smile, the tip of your heel slipping into his pant leg slightly as you rubbed against him.  

Malachite eyes watching your pretty lips sip at your straw, long eyelashes batting up at him. He couldn't wait to get out of here. The calamari came to the table, along with a few plates by someone other than your waitress just to scurry off. “I say try it with the sauce and then without..” He scooted closer to the table, adjusting himself in his pants as discreetly as he could.

“Ill try both just for you..” You tease, trying the calamari. It wasn’t half bad! I mean, It was fried but it was still kinda… squishy? You looked up from the plate to see him already munching on a piece. “What is it?” You grabbed your fork, poking around the plate to see if you could determine for yourself what it was.

“Squid.” He ate another piece, watching your face scrunch up. He let out a loud laugh, covering his mouth with one hand so he hadn’t spat everywhere. “You didn’t look like it was that bad!” He couldn’t help it, your face was very expressive and he knew you didn't like the sound of that.

“Squid makes it so much more.. gross.” You tried another small piece with your fork, watching the waitress visit the table. You looked over at her, seeing Izuku from the corner of your eye straighten up.

“You guys like it?” She asked with a smile, looking back and forth between the two of you. Izuku nodded, answering for the both of you. He knew you didn’t really like it. But he didn’t want to say no. Maybe he’ll finish it off later? “I’m glad! I checked on your food and it will be out in no time!” You smiled, nodding as she walked to visit another one of her tables.

“You can bring it home.. I don’t know if this shit warms up well- I’ll pay for it.” You grabbed your bag, huffing and feeling his scarred hand reach across the table to lay against yours.

“Don’t, it’s okay. I told you I got it, angel.” He pulled your hand up to his lips for a kiss. He didn’t mind whatsoever, it was good! You smiled, messing with the cloth napkin that your silverware laid upon. He is so sweet..

“I could get used to being called angel..” You murmured, pulling out your phone. “We should at least take a picture! First dates are important!” You smile up at the hero before earning a smile back. You quickly got up, plopping right next to him. You extend your arm out, taking the picture as the two of you shined your teeth at the camera. You then took another, this one had just been you kissing him on the cheek. His face turned a bit red, not expecting it, but not minding. 

You sent the two photos to him, going to get up until he slid an arm tightly around your waist. You then see a hot plate of food being placed in front of the two of you. You giggled, staying tightly against him and watching the steam rise from your food before he got his sushi and lobster. 

You beamed, thanking the person who had brought you the food before grabbing your silverware and setting it next to you once more on his side of the table. Izuku chirped in a thank you as well before digging into his food. He cut off a small bite off of what he had just to put it to your lips. “Try it, I bet you’ll love it.” You huffed, opening your mouth slowly. It looked.. wet. Slimy even. Although it looked like it wouldn’t taste as good as it did.. You liked it!

You begin cutting your steak, “It’s good! You want a bite of my food?” You hold the fork out in case he said yes. He thought for a moment, finishing whatever he was chewing on to lean down and eat the bite you had given him. Steak wasn’t his favorite, but it was good too! You two shared a few more bites back and forth, finishing your own food of course. You both were stuffed! It was delicious and you were glad you were having such a good time.

You two were still leaning up against each other when the waitress bought the check. She stopped in her tracks a moment, deciding to give it to you since you sat outside the booth, Just for Izuku to kindly take it from your hands. You attempted to look at the price, but he didn’t even look! He placed his card in and handed the check back.

He looked down at you, staring at those pretty, full lips. He wanted them around his cock. Bad. That wasn't just the liquor talking either. He couldn't stop thinking about in the limo, it had been awhile since he's been with someone intimately and you were just so warm and inviting. “Hey Angel, You wanna watch a movie after this?” He rubbed his hand up your arm, silently asking to play with your hair. You leaned into his touch, watching him twirl the ends of your hair between his fingers.

“Sure, I’d love to..” You tapped the table with your nails. “Your place?” You had been all dolled up, it wasn’t really.. movie theater appropriate? You’d rather go to your/his place to chill out.

He nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “My place. You wanna change at my place too? I’ll give you some of my old clothes. I know you want this dress off fast..”

“Not as fast as you want it off.” You teased, watching the waitress come back. She handed the card and receipt to Izuku who seemed to be trying to keep it together. 

“I hope you two have a good night!” She spoke, attempting to scurry off before Izuku started speaking. He took the receipt and tucked it into his wallet along with his card, pulling out a fifty and handing it to the woman. “Here, I know you’re busy tonight. Thanks for takin’ care of us.” He smiled, watching her squeal and take it. “Thank you so much!” She laughed happily, running off to go tell her friends or.. whatever she was going to do. She’s not relevant to the story anymore-

You scooted out of the booth, putting your hand out for him to help him up. He scooped an arm around yours, walking right out the door. The limo was right outside, waiting for you two to get in. Did he text the driver? Had they been there the whole time? You didn’t give it much thought, watching Izuku open the door for you. You smiled at your reflection, reapplying lip gloss before climbing inside as Izuku followed. 

Almost immediately after he shut the door, he starts to speak. “Can.. Can I kiss you? On the lips again?” You could tell by his face he felt a bit flushed. You nodded, leaning up just for his big frame to pull you up out of your seat by your hips. He sat you on his lap, pressing his lips against yours feverishly. 

You whimpered after feeling how needy he was for just a kiss. It was sloppy.. But it was so passionate at the same time. You began to sit up a bit more, feeling him place a hand onto your thigh. You were still much smaller than him, having to sit on his lap for a proper kiss. He is so fucking strong.. Picking me up like it wasn’t nothin’. You thought to yourself.

He slowly opened his eyes, staring at you with a cloudy, hazy look. He wanted to see if there were any signs of resistance.. But after you hadn’t pulled away, He closed them once more. He couldn’t stop tugging on the silky fabric of your dress, it was so soft.. He wanted to rip it off your body. Would you let him? He’ll buy you a new one. He swears by it.

You began running your hands through those pretty dark green curls. Hearing him letting out soft whimpers before mumbling something against your lips. The next thing you knew, the hero was shoving his tongue down your throat. You made sure to keep him close, feeling your poor clit rubbing against his bulge from his impatient movements. Despite not trying to, you let out a few moans as well. Tugging even harder on his curls. He groaned, letting his eye peak open slightly at the feeling of the limo arriving at his place. 

He pulled away from you, panting quietly as he planted another soft kiss onto your forehead. He had lip gloss smeared on his lips, they glimmered in the low light of the vehicle. “Come on Angel, We’re here.” He let you get out first, kissing your shoulder as he stood behind you. He shut the door and held your waist close to his hip as he walked up the steps to his home.

You stared up at the house, There was enough for himself and at least 3 extra rooms to hold. Why would he have such a big house to himself? You thought for a moment, hearing the door click in front of you. He held the door open, rubbing the small of your back.

“Go ahead angel,” He spoke softly, turning a few lights on as he followed you inside. He took his shoes off, locking the door behind him. He knelt to undo the clasp of your heels, sliding them off of your feet and setting them next to the door. “Are you ready to change now or do you want to wait?” He didn't want to rush you out of your clothes… Well, not yet at least. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable first.

Your eyes flicker to him, still soaking in the smell of apple and cinnamon from his home. It was beautiful.. Marble counters, a leather sofa, a 75in TV.. “Now is fine, You think I'll be able to fit your clothes?” You giggle, holding his hand as he guides you to his bedroom. Picture frames hung upon the walls, His family maybe? Friends and other pro-heros you’d seen on the news posed with him on his beige walls. His bedroom door creaked open, a king-sized mattress with silk pillowcases and a dark gray bedspread sat in the middle of the room next to a dresser. A small nightstand, alarm clock, and lamp sat on the other side of the bed. He had been pretty organized, more than you thought a pro hero would be. 

As you look around the room, he lets your hand go in search of comfy clothes. He found an old shirt from days where he'd train with All Might, the dingy yellow fading out from how much it had been washed. He sets it onto the bed, quickly finding a few pairs of pajama pants to set next to it. “I’ll go change in the bathroom, Let me know when you’re done!” He grabbed his hanger for his suit, looking for his own clothes to wear as he loosened his tie around his neck.

"Thank you, Zuku..” You watched his shoulders tense a bit. Did he not like the nickname? You just said it not too long ago.? You sat on the bed and began to take out your earrings.

“Of.. Of course y/n..” He liked the name, just not used to someone being nice to his name. You get called Deku all your life you forget your real name can be just as sweet. He leaned down to kiss your cheek before walking to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror, flustered and scrambling to keep himself together. You gave him butterflies with that honey-laced voice of yours. He froze for a moment, looking for any wipes so that you would wipe off your make-up. Were you spending the night? Did I even ask?? It might have been rude to assume.. Did you even want to take your makeup off? Was that stupid to assume too? He didn’t want to ask, whatever happens will happen. He’s not going to make you feel obligated to do anything. He looked all over for wipes, sighing when he realized he hadn’t had any. After hanging his suit onto the hanger, he knocked on the door. “If you aren't done, Take your time! I was going to go pop in a mo-”

You opened the door, cutting him off. His pants were too long on you but they fit otherwise! You looked up at him, “What was that sweetheart?” You stood to the side, watching him go to hang up his tux. What you hadn’t noticed was where his eyes went as soon as the door opened.

“Whatever you want. I have Hulu, Netflix, We can watch some movies on HBO or something?” So cute in my clothes.. Were you wearing a bra? God I bet your tits are so fucking pretty.. He thought to himself, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers. You shuffled your feet onto the carpeted floor with a smile, heading towards the couch and sitting down comfortably. He sat next to you, a bigger grin placed on his face as you scooted closer to him. He wrapped an arm around you, flicking through the movies on Netflix first. “Anything certain you wanna watch?” He asked, leaning his head onto yours.

You shrugged, taking the remote from him and looking for yourself. It didn’t really matter what movie was picked, Whatever would be good background noise right? You turned on some comedy movie, leaning over to snatch the blanket that had been thrown onto the arm of the couch. You put it over the both of you, leaning to set the remote onto the glass coffee table. He had little all-might too coasters.. How cute.

He grabbed his phone, using it to dim the lights in the living room before rubbing your shoulder. “y/n?” He asked softly, moving his head from yours to look down at you. He watched your eyes meet, leaning down for another kiss like earlier.

You kissed back without hesitation, cupping his face and letting his scruff lightly scratch at your palm. He wasted no time pulling you onto his lap again. His hungry state had been the most uncaring he’s been all night, shoving his tongue into your mouth and gripping your hips so hard they might bruise. He needed you. Grinding you against him like a hungry animal. Allowing his bulge to bump against your clit, feeling you moan into his mouth. You were intoxicating..

He dragged his wet kisses down to your neck, chuckling as you struggled to catch your breath. Did he make you feel that good? He ran his hands up to your chest, feeling you grind without his force. He bit your neck softly, feeling you lean in before he left a small red hickey on your shoulder. 

Staring down at your chest, his eyes flickered up to ask for permission to continue marking you. You gave a small nod before seeing his eyes light up, He proceeded to leave hickeys and love bites all over your naked torso. You gave a sharp tug at his hair before he lifted you into his arms. He looked up at your slacked jaw, taking a small bite onto your side as he carried you to his room on his broad shoulder. You let out a loud giggle or two as he laid you against his bed, lifting your shirt and swirling a tongue around your nip. He teased for a second, sucking on one and pinching the other between his fingers. He switched sides, wanting to give your entire body his attention.

“You really want me baby? You want me to ruin you?” He stood up properly to take his own clothes off, watching you strip under him.

“Yes, Please Zuku..” You muttered, letting your arms cross upon your face. The feeling his hands moving them away made you whine. He didn’t speak at all, but you got the message and kept your arms above your head. Your eyes traveled down his bare chest, shutting your legs around him in a failed attempt to close them at the sight of his happy trail.

“Can I fuck your tits first? Please?” He gave them a soft squeeze before taking his hard-on out. He tugged off the rest of his clothes for you, not breaking eye contact.

You nodded slowly, feeling him cup your face. You let your eyes drift down at his cock, feeling your jaw drop slowly at the sight before he shut it. “You just sit there and look pretty for me..” He mumbled before sliding his dick through the valley of your breasts. He pushed them together with your hands, letting out soft whimpers into the air. The noises he let out were heavenly.. You couldn’t explain it. You watched his face contort into pleasurable looks, drool pooling in his mouth. You smirked softly before licking his tip each time his head passed all the way through.

He went much faster. You were such a good girl.. You made him feel so fucking good. He already felt as if he’d cum all over your face already. You looked so pretty. Where had you been all his life? He practically had hearts in his eyes as he stared down at you. He imagined creaming inside of you, causing him to spill all over your face without warning. His hips gave a small stutter, pulling away and soaking in the sight of you.

You whimpered, swallowing the bit that got into your mouth before glancing up at Izuku. He had gone to grab a tissue from his bed stand, quickly wiping your face off. “My poor girl, I’m so sorry.. Let me make it up okay?” He slid his hand down, rubbing your clit in circles. Your back arched involuntarily off of the bed, eyes rolling back almost immediately. He had found it so quick. What a pro, Who else had he touched like this? You squeezed your eyes shut at the stupid thought. Who cared? He’s between your legs now, right? No one else mattered.

He hummed, switching to his thumb over your clit and easing a finger in. He knew his fingers had been pretty thick, calloused from all of his hero-work. He listened to you gasp and watched your lips quiver. He loved seeing you fall apart with a few touches.

You whimpered, wrapping your arms around him and pulling his body closer so you could hide the noises you made into his skin. He didn’t mind, shoving another finger in and curling them slowly. It was going to throw you over soon, hearing the wet sounds of your cunt and your gasps filling the room.

He stared at your eyelashes, watching your eyes shut tighter before cumming against his fingers. He kept your legs apart, feeling them start to close. “Its okay, Keep cumming baby..” He smacked your thigh with his free hand, keeping your legs wide open before shoving his fingers as deep as they’d go into your cunt.

You spasmed, scratching at his shoulders as he guided you through it. “Zuku.!” It was more of an oh my type of name call. He didn’t respond, pulling his fingers out of you to clean them with his tongue. You watched his eyes flutter, causing you to close your legs a bit embarrassed.

“We’re not done yet.” He finished sucking on his fingers, his cock twitching against your clit as he leaned your legs up to your ears. “I wanna fuck you. So stay still and take it for me..” He mumbled, looking up at you for any signs of wanting to stop. After he saw your little nod, he eased into you.

You smacked at the sheets, gripping them and shutting your eyes tight. Why was he so fucking big? You pulled your hips away only for him to grab them. He pulled you closer, shoving his cock deeper into you. “Don’t run now, Take it baby.” He growled into your ears, sending butterflies right to your tummy. 

He made sure you were alright, kissing your cheeks and mumbling soft praises as he shoved himself at his halfway point. It wasn’t slow at all. You had been so tight he might split you open. No one else ever made you so.. full. He wanted to try shoving in the other half so it would be quick and less painful, seeing some tears spill from your eyes. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. I'm right here..” He laid his hands next to your head, sighing softly. 

“I’m not cryin’..” You used your finger to wipe off some of your tears, ruining your makeup a bit. You hadn’t even closed your eyes fully before he slammed into you. “Fuck!!” You cried out, clinging onto him quicker than you ever had. You felt tears rush down your cheeks, your chest rising and falling quicker than before.. The full feeling in your tummy was just too overwhelming.

“Watch your mouth, Angel.” He kissed your shoulder, giving you time to adjust. He really was spitting you open. You were too fucking tight and he’d have to move soon. He tried to give you the time you needed, but he couldn’t wait that long. He started slowly dragging himself from your cunt, moving his hand to rest on the head board and the other to lay you down. “Let me take care of you..” He rubbed your clit with his thumb, watching his cock twitch inside of you.

You continued to pant like a dog in heat, letting out moans and leaning into his touch. “Zuku please...” You mumbled, tears starting to glue your lashes together. It felt so good but there wasn’t much to do but beg him to stop. It was too much, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t hardly handle it.

He didn’t listen, watching you cry and your mascara drip from the first and only thrust so far. “What? Adjust to me.. I know you can do it baby..” He put a bit more pressure on your clit, rubbing it faster. He heard you hiccup and moans get louder, thinking about how bad he wanted to just slam into you. 

You simply nodded, moaning louder as he made you cream once again. Your cunt disobeying you and closing against his cock only made you pull him back in. “It- hah-.. It hurts Izuku..” You mumbled, not that he was listening nor did he care. You let him poke at your cervix again as he really moved. You were seeing stars.

“It hurts baby?” He groaned, letting his chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. “Aw.. It's okay, I’m right here.” He gave long, irritatingly slow, thrusts into you. He watched you smack at the blanket next to you, crying and whimpering even more than before.. He wiped off your tears, chuckling a bit and rutting in roughly. He watched your body flinch, jumping back from the force just to suck him back in again. “Can I move now, Angel? I’ll be gentle..” He lied through his teeth.

“y..yes..” And you believed him. He started slow, but gradually began pounding into you at more than a gentle pace. You could feel your walls cling around his cock, threatening to drain him of all of himself into you. You shivered, hugging your arms around him as you cried louder. The make-up you wore now beautifully ruined by his roughness.

“Am I makin you feel like this? You cryin 'cause of my cock?” He teased, feeling a sense of pride as he went on and on about how much of a slut you were for him. He could feel himself bruising your hips, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt too good. He was too excited to even put on a condom.. Maybe he’ll trap that pretty pussy along with you. 

He leaned down, kissing down the valley of your breasts as they bounced near his head. He could feel your nails running through his hair and scratching at his scalp. Once you pulled on those green curls? It was over. His hips stuttered, letting out the loudest moan he had kept in his throat all night. He hadn’t stopped either, slamming into you harder as he broke his rhythm. “You’re mmm..mine, Mine, Mine.." 

You nodded as you continued to pull and scream out in bliss. You shivered, creaming onto his cock for the final time before feeling him pull out and make a sticky mess all over your stomach. You hadn’t minded one bit. You let your breath steady out as he went to his bathroom and warmed a rag to clean you off with.

Once he came back, cock clean and covering himself a bit as he wiped your body off. "You want me to wash you up, y/n?” He kissed your forehead, wanting to make sure you felt alright. After earning a nod from you, he carried you to the bathroom. It was huge. 

“Let me down!” You laughed, despite clinging around him. Once he let you down, you shoo’d him out so you could pee before hopping in the bath to start cleaning. He came back a bit later, washing you gently like he said he would. He didn’t want you raising a finger. 

He needed a woman like you all the time.

a/n: this is genuinely a draft before COVID that i posted on my very dead account. I rewrote and tweaked but it is still a very old concept. Idk i know I can write better than this but I felt like this needed more love first? sorry it's butt BAHAHAHA

side a/n: if you can't tell, i am ass at aftercare. mainly because I get too hot to lay together, I need weird me time after I have sex so I guess I've just never,,,learned?

[tan1shere]

I'm Sorry

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: saw this video on tiktok of this girl accidentally breaking a gift her bf got her and her being so apologetic, and I can just imagine how bill would be with you:(

Summary: Billie reassures you when you accidentally break her gift.

Warnings: none just fluff ! Kinda angst tho ??

Masterlist

It was time again. Your birthday, just another year of getting older. You were currently laying in bed, half asleep as the sun was shining through the curtains. You then feel hands on your shoulders. "Babyy, its your birthday!" Billie sings as she says that. You cover your face. "Does it have to be." She plops down on the bed. "Oh come on, it's not every day you're 21!" You open an eye to see she had a few gifts. Your other eye opens as you look at her. "Bubba, I thought we agreed on two at most." She puts her finger up to your lips. "I couldn't help myself."

You sigh with a bright smile, sitting up to prepare for her little gifts. She hands you the first one, some clothes you had been wanting. Next up, some skin care. She was always so thoughtful of the things you needed. And lastly, maybe your favorite. You open up the wrapping revealing a glass red rose. You marvel at it. "I know how much you love roses and how upset you get when they start to die, but this way you can have it all the time." She smiles at you. Your eyes meet hers as you almost have tears in them. You leap over to hug her tightly.

"Thank you baby! I love it so so much." She smiles. "Knew you would." Her hands grab your face, thumb swiping over your cheek. "Happy birthday angel." She leans in to kiss you softly, so glad you like the gifts. "Some of them came from your mother. I put them in a vase already for you." You then kiss her cheek, placing the glass rose down on the bedside table. "Thank you babe, I'll go smell them soon."

A few days pass and you honestly had the best birthday ever, Billie was spoiling you like crazy. Took you out for a nice meal too. Today you were working from home, doing some needed chores along the way. Bill was at Finneases working on some stuff in his studio. You did take a small break though. Getting into bed and scrolling for a glass case to put around your new gift. Just to make sure it's safe. You go to grab your water, but as you do. Eyes glued to your screen. You hear a shatter. Uh oh. Your head turns slowly.

Panic rising within you. "Fuck. No no no." You say frantically trying not to freak out. You get on the floor picking up the pieces. Shit. It was really broken. You cry. Cry because you broke the sweetest gift, given by the sweetest person and you broke it. You curse at yourself. You feel so stupid. You're an idiot your brain tells you.

How.

Could.

You.

You grab the pieces, but as you do you accidentally cut your finger. "Shit!" You winced. How could this get any worse. You pick up any remaining shards. Standing up and contemplating. She was gunna hate you. You thought. You don't blame her, you had only just got it. Your hands go to your hair, all these bad thoughts rushing through. You were going to have a shower after you got the case. But now you don't even need the case because you stupidly broke the rose. So. Stupid. Your tears still streaming down your face, you felt so awful. The image of Billie being so hurt right after she was so excited giving it to you.

You get into the shower, sliding down the wall. All you could think about was how she was going to react when she comes home. The hot water ran over your crying form. You hadn't even heard the front door open and Billie calling out like she always does. Until you hear faint footsteps and the bathroom door open. "Baby?" Had she seen it yet...

"Y-yeah.." You reply, she opens up the curtain to see you in the position you were in. Confused as anything. "What's going on love?" She always knew when something was bothering you. "I'm so sorry." You pathetically cry out. "Baby, talk to me." She says stopping the water from running. You just shake your head, lip quivering. "Sweetheart, please." You take a moment. "Don't hate me." You weakly say. "How could I ever?" Her bewilderment made your heart ache more for what you are about to tell her.

"Go look on my bedside floor." Your voice was hushed. So incredibly worried as she goes to do so. Her eyes land on the last little bits of glass, looking at the shattered mess on your table. Her heart breaks, but not because you broke it and most definitely by accident. It was because you were so upset, she hated seeing you upset. She comes back in the room to you still in tears. "Bub, hey. It's ok." - "it's not. Im so sorry I'm so-" She stops your apologies. "Baby. We can fix it. It's fixable. And if not I'll just buy you another. I swear to you. It's all ok."

Her voice was tender. So soft and reassuring. Your crying settles just a bit. "Are you sure?" She nods. "So incredibly sure. I'm not mad my girl, never ever would be." Her hand extends out for yours. You take it and get out of the shower. "Are you hurt?" You pout at how sweet she was, you loved this woman to absolute death. "What?" She chuckles. You just shake your head. "Youre just so kind, I love you." She brings you in for a hug, you wrap your arms tightly around her. She couldn't give a single fuck that your body was dripping wet.

It lasted for a long time, before she pulls back and looks at you. "I did just a tiny bit but I'm ok." You state. "Where abouts?" You show her the red mark on your thumb, she grabs it. Bringing it to her lips as kissing it gently. "Like I said before if we can't fix it I'll buy a new one, this time with a case."

"Great idea."

[itneverendshere]

you going to jj’s little graduation, and you’re giving proud mom. even if he’s towering over you in his cap, and you’re pinching his cheeks, and as always rafes in awe of how much of natural caretaker

i'm a sucker for these three dynamic 😭😭😭😭 so i also added a little kie bc jj deserves all the teasing in the world after he made rafe's life miserable the past year🤭 hope you enjoy!🩵🫂

you've got no reason to be afraid - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Rafe never wanted to go to this thing.

No, really. It wasn’t even one of those "I don’t wanna go, but deep down I actually care" moments. He genuinely didn’t want to show up.

Because honestly, why the hell was he going to JJ Maybank's graduation?

You dragged him here, and yeah, he was pretending to hate it every second of it, but...okay, maybe he was…a little proud of the guy for making it out alive. Sue him.

You’re buzzing around like a proud mom, and it’s almost hard to look at. Not because it’s annoying—okay, maybe it’s a little annoying—but more because it’s… god, he doesn’t even know. It’s just you.

You can’t help it. The whole natural caretaker thing, how you swoop in and take care of people like you’re born to do it. 

Rafe’s leaning against the wall while you’re annoying JJ, pinching his cheeks like he's still that scrappy little kid you saved from his old man’s rage. His stupid graduation cap keeps sliding off his head, and every time you fix it, he grins like an idiot.

The guy's taller than you, but it’s almost like it doesn’t matter. 

"You’re not gonna cry, are you?" JJ teases, standing there in his cap and gown like some kinda of scholar. It's hard to take it seriously, to be honest. 

You roll your eyes at him, "Shut up, Maybank. I’m allowed to be proud of you." You reach up again, smoothing down the collar of his gown, and it hits Rafe how much you care about this. 

He crosses his arms tighter over his chest, trying his best not to look too invested in the scene playing out in front of him. You’re still fussing over JJ, like some proud older sister at her little brother’s first big milestone, and Rafe… well, he’s trying not to roll his eyes for the third time in five minutes.

He pushes off the wall, just enough to glance at his phone, scrolling through his notifications to look busy, like he’s not watching this whole thing happen. He catches a glimpse of you laughing—JJ making some dumb joke about how he can’t believe he even graduated in the first place.

He didn’t get it at first. How could someone who’s been through what you’ve been through still have the energy to care about people like this?

Especially about someone like JJ? The scrappy, no-good kid from The Cut who spent more time getting into fights and drinking than actually passing his classes. But that’s the thing about you—you never gave up on people, even when everyone else had.

"You’re staring," you tease, glancing back at him with a grin, breaking his train of thought. "You okay over there, baby?"

Rafe straightens up, wiping the expression off his face before you can see too much. He’s quick to shrug, playing it off like he’s too cool to care about whatever’s going on. "Yeah, I’m fine," he mutters, locking his phone and slipping it back in his pocket. "Just wondering how long this is gonna take."

"Uh-huh." You’re not buying it for a second, but you let it slide. You know him better than anyone else, after all, “Get your ass here. We’re taking a picture.”

He sighs, letting out a dramatic huff like this is the worst thing he’s ever been asked to do. "You serious?" he groans, but he’s already pushing himself off the wall and walking over to where you’re standing with JJ.

“Dead serious,” you shoot back, giving him that look—the one that always gets him to do what you want, even when he’s trying to act like he’s above it.

JJ’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that says he knows Rafe’s just playing tough. He slings an arm over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Rafe’s eyes narrow, his possessiveness showing before he can even stop himself.

“Relaaaax, man,” JJ teases, catching the look. “You’re gonna burst a vein.”

He rolls his eyes but steps closer, standing right beside you as you hand your phone to some random kid to take the picture. The three of you huddle together and you pull Rafe in by his shirt, snuggling into his side like you always do, and despite himself, he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. Not enough for anyone else to notice—he’s too stubborn for that—but you feel it.

You always do.

The camera clicks, and just like that, the moment’s captured—JJ in his stupid graduation gear, you looking like a proud mom, and Rafe standing there like he’s not sure how he ended up a part of this weird little family, but maybe, just maybe, he’s okay with it.

“Alright, picture’s done. Can we leave now?” Rafe grumbles, already half-turned toward the parking lot.

You step in front of him to block his way. “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy. We’re going to the party.” Your voice has that no-nonsense tone, the one that makes him groan because he knows you mean business.

JJ laughs again, clapping Rafe on the back. “C’mon, man. You can survive a couple hours with us. Plus, there’s free beer.”

He arches a brow. “Free beer?”

“Yep. Keg’s already set up back at John B’s place,” JJ says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fine,” Rafe groans, but he doesn’t actually mind. Not when you’re looking at him like that—like he’s the only thing you want standing next to you, even if it’s at some ridiculous party in the Cut. In his little sister’s boyfriends house of all places. Sarah and John B’s on-again, off-again thing is enough drama for one lifetime.

 “But I’m not carrying your ass home when you get shitfaced.”

JJ smirks, patting his gown. “I’ll be fine, man. I graduated today. I’m an adult now.”

Rafe snorts. “Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts.”

You’re already pulling Rafe toward the car, glancing back at JJ with a grin. “Come on. Let’s celebrate while you still have time to pretend you’re responsible.”

JJ’s talking a mile a minute, the entire drive, from the backseat, already planning out how he’s going to "run the party" and bragging about the free booze like it’s the highlight of his life. Rafe tunes most of it out, too focused on you, the warmth of your hand lingering even after you’ve let go. By the time you pull up to John B’s place, the sun’s starting to set and the yard is already half full with the Pogues. Kie’s there, Sarah too, probably.

You park, and before Rafe can even make a move, JJ’s already jumped out, tossing his cap onto the grass as he heads toward the keg. "Let’s get this party started bitches!" he shouts, and the small crowd cheers in response.

Great.

He climbs out of the car, walking around to meet you on the driver’s side. “You sure about this?” he asks, glancing toward the crowd. He’s not exactly best friends with these guys, and parties in the Cut… well, they’re not really his scene.

But you smile up at him, reaching for his hand and threading your fingers through his. "Yeah, I’m sure. You’ll survive, baby.”

He huffs, but when you start pulling him toward the party, he lets you. He always lets you. You weave your way through the small crowd of pogues, most of whom nod or wave at him but don’t bother trying to talk to him. 

You glance back, grinning as you lead the way toward the makeshift party area. “You’re not gonna hide in the corner the whole time, are you?” you tease, giving his hand a playful squeeze.

Rafe rolls his eyes but follows you, his free hand shoving into his pocket. “No promises,” he says, though a small part of him is already resigning to the fact that you’re probably going to drag him into the middle of everything by the end of the night.

Everything's already in full swing by the time you both find a spot near the keg. JJ’s surrounded by a group of people, handing out beers like it’s his personal mission to get everyone drunk. John B and Sarah are off to the side, leaning against the porch railing, sharing a laugh. Disgusting.

You flash him a smile before heading off to grab drinks, leaving him standing awkwardly near the keg, trying his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

He’s mid-scroll on his phone again when he hears JJ’s voice call out, “Yo, Rafe!”

Rafe glances up, already preparing himself for whatever shit JJ’s about to throw his way.

“Don’t tell me you’re just gonna stand there like some grumpy old man. You’re at my graduation party, man! You gotta at least try to have fun.” JJ’s grinning from ear to ear, clearly already a few beers in.

Rafe snorts, shaking his head. “I’m here, aren’t I? That’s gotta count for something.”

JJ laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Just didn’t think I’d see Rafe Cameron at a pogue party, y'know?”

“Don’t make me punch you in the face."

JJ grins again, but there’s something a little more genuine in his expression this time. “For real though, man. Thanks for coming. I know this isn’t your scene.”

Rafe’s about to answer with his usual sarcasm, but he catches the sincerity in JJ’s tone and decides to let it slide. He nods, his voice gruff as he says, “Yeah. Congrats, Maybank. You deserve it.”

JJ’s grin widens, and he raises his beer in a mock toast. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

Before he can say anything else, you’re back with two beers in hand, nudging one toward him. “Here you go. Now you’ve got no excuse to look so miserable.”

Rafe takes the beer from you with a half-smirk, but his eyes are soft as he glances down at you. “I don’t look miserable.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Sure.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his beer. It’s cheap, of course, and not exactly his taste, but he doesn’t complain. Not when you’re standing so close, looking up at him like you can see right through all his bullshit. He watches you for a moment, the way you light up around these people, the way you float between them like you’re the glue holding everyone together does something to his heart.

Rafe leans back, his arm draped loosely around your waist as you chat with Kie and JJ, laughing at some dumb story JJ’s telling about getting caught sneaking into class late one too many times. He can’t help but wonder how you do it. The nights you spent bailing JJ out when his dad got too wasted and violent. How you’d sneak him into your place, covering up the bruises and making sure he had somewhere to crash for the night.

“Hey,” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “You okay? You’re staring again.”

Rafe blinks, realizing he’s been zoning out, watching you again. “Yeah,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Just thinking.”

You tilt your head, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “About?”

“How much I love you.”

JJ gags, “Shut the fuck up.”

Kie slaps him in the back, “Shut up, it’s cute.”

Rafe lets out a low chuckle, glancing over at JJ. "Jealous, Maybank?"

JJ takes a long swig of his beer, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Oh, please. I’m not jealous of your sappy shit.”

“Sure you’re not,” He drawls, leaning back with a smirk. “Not like you’ve been drooling over Kie all year or anythin’.”

Kie’s eyes widen, her face flushing just enough to make it obvious, “What the hell are you talking about?” She shoots Rafe a glare, but there’s no real venom behind it.

His grin only widens. “Oh, come on. You think I haven’t noticed? You two have been dancing around each other for what, months now?”

JJ chokes on his beer, coughing. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. That’s not—”

But Rafe’s not letting up. He’s enjoying this way too much. “Dude, just admit it. You’ve been into her forever, and honestly, we’re all sick of watching you act like you don’t.”

Kie crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You’re sick of it?”

“Yeah,” Rafe deadpans, “Everyone knows. Hell, even John B probably knows, and that guy’s oblivious to everything except Sarah.”

JJ groans, rubbing his hand over his face. “You’re seriously gonna make this about me?”

“Yep,” Rafe grins, “Payback’s a bitch, huh?”

He knows Rafe’s just messing with him. He’s been down bad for Kie for as long as he can remember, but every time he gets close, something stops him. The friendship, the fear of messing it up, maybe just the fact that he doesn’t think he deserves her. Rafe’s seen it all before.

Kie, for her part, just rolls her eyes. “Boys are so fucking dumb.”

You laugh, nudging Rafe in the ribs. “Stop torturing him. It’s his big day.”

Rafe huffs, a smirk still playing on his lips. “I’m just saying, if I had to deal with all the crap about you and me, it’s only fair he gets his turn.”

“Yeah, well, maybe JJ needs a little push,” you glance between the two of them. “You gonna make a move, Maybank? Or you planning on dragging this out for another year?”

JJ looks at you, then at Kie, then back at Rafe, who’s clearly enjoying every second of this. “You guys suck,” he mutters, grabbing another beer and stalking off toward the keg, leaving Kie standing there, cheeks still a little red, though she’s doing her best to look unbothered.

Rafe watches him go, then turns back to Kie. “He’s a mess, but you already know that.”

Kie sighs, shaking her head. “Yeah, I do.” Her voice softens,“But he’s my mess, I guess.”

You smile, giving Kie a knowing look. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

Kie glares at you playfully, but there’s no hiding the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, shut up.”