#But every time I wanna do something I think

[reignpage]

He Gave Me The (Eww)

Content: things the jjk men do that give you the ick, hard read fr, brutally honest, second hand embarrassment, don't tell me they wouldn't...you know they would...they're just men after all

Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna

Satoru

Tells jokes he thinks are hilarious and repeats them when no one laughs. Even explains them. Looks to you to laugh too with manic eyes, begging, pleading. Might even throw in a, ‘Tough crowd, amirite?’

Gets ignored in the group chat and will keep spamming until he gets the attention he wants.

Tries to get discounts at any and every store by flashing a grin and using those baby blues to charm the sales assistant. Shoots his shot with men too. It rarely works and when he gives them his black AMEX card, the sales assistants always get a look in their eyes like, ‘Seriously?’

Sings the chorus too early and plays it off by trailing and then coming in at the right part. Goes, ‘Ay…ay….ay, YEA– oh… ahahah…ay…ayy… yeahhhh…’

Suguru

Spits when he talks. He gets into these long rants about monkeys and whatever so he doesn’t even notice when the person he’s talking to discreetly wipes off the fat droplet. 

You’ve seen him going on spiels to random people, gets so into it that he also doesn’t realise they’ve walked away. Would play it off by taking his phone out and going, ‘Alright, talk to you later.’

Or, he'll say a snarky comment to someone out of nowhere and they didn't even hear him, caught by surprise, so they just awkwardly laugh and hope he doesn't follow up.

Super rude to servers at restaurants you take him to. Clicks his fingers. Confronts those moody teenagers working part time and says, ‘Why don’t you smile? You’ll look so much more friendly if you do.’

Wears open toed sandals everywhere. Dawgs out for free, toenails unclipped and ever so slightly yellow. Could probably cut a bitch.

Choso

At a group setting, a picture might be getting shown around and he isn't being shown the picture. He will say, ‘Can I see? Hey, you missed me. I wanna see. What’s so funny? Guys, come on, I didn’t see. Hey!’

When everyone else is in pairs or groups talking, he’ll go on his phone and open the Weather or Calculator app to pretend he’s doing something important. His phone is on full brightness so everyone can see he’s not actually texting anyone.

Gets left on read quite often. Will double text anyone and everyone. Triple texts even. Asks, ‘You aren’t ignoring me, are you?’ 

Invites himself to functions. If someone mentions a party or a visit to a museum, for example, with their friends, he’ll say, ‘That sounds fun. That’s at 3pm? I’m free. See you there!’

Toji

Boy oh boy where to begin…

Does the broke boyfriend hug. Swings you side to side too and gives you a kiss on the head, talking bout, ‘I’ll get the next one on payday, ma.’

Flashes his ass crack when he climbs out of the car. 

Might even have skid marks.

Asks to remove the service charge off the bill, doesn’t tip no matter how great the server is, and probably puts his own hair in the food to comp the meal. Will even flash you a wink like he’s finessed the system.

Will fart and burp in front of you unashamedly. Doesn’t care how stinky it is. Laughs when you cover your nose. Won’t lie, he probably loves pulling a Dutch Oven on you. Peak comedy for him. 

Shows up to his kid’s school events in his bum ass outfit and goes straight to the food table. It could be his university graduation and everyone’s in their pretty dresses and sharp suits, he will be in a Uniqlo heattech and grey joggers with a stain on it. 

Finds a crumb on his shirt, doesn’t know what it is or how long it’s been there. Will eat it anyway.. 

You point to a bouquet of flowers or a cake you want, excited and wanting to buy it. He'll look at the price and very loudly complain, 'That's how much? The hell? Nah, we're not getting that. If you want flowers, I can pick some up from a park for free.'

Kento

Still gets embarrassed about farting or taking a shit around you. Will make a lame excuse to exit the room like, ‘Oh, sweetheart, I think I left a light on in the next room.’ Doesn’t realise that the walls aren’t that thick and you can hear his adorable toot. If you ask him if he’s okay because he’s taking a while in the bathroom, he’ll lie and say, ‘No, dear, I’m alright. Just fixing a light bulb in here. I’ll be out in a minute.’ The type to not realise you can quite literally smell the evidence after. 

Will throw random slang and use it wrong. ‘You already ate? That’s slaying me.’ Or, ‘She cheated on her boyfriend? That’s so cunt of her. Please don’t entertain her anymore.’

Has built up a reputation to you as being all-knowing. Likes that you ask him first before Google. But when you ask him a question he doesn't know the answer to, he make some sort of distraction so he can go on his phone, find out the answer and give it to you like he knew all along.

Reads so much but often comes across words he knows the meaning of but has never heard anyone actually say. Mispronounces them. Says 'studious' as 'study-yus.' Or 'albeit' as 'al-bayt.'

Sukuna

Crashes out so often that he sometimes mistakenly gets upset for no reason. A servant will ask if you want a drink, assumes they’re talking to him and gets grumpy. ‘I already said no. Can you hear?’ When informed, he’ll tsk to cover up he’s ever so slightly embarrassed but everyone can see his ears going red. If he hears a single snicker though, he’s airing out the room.

Even when you tell him it’s okay and he doesn’t have to, he’ll join in on group dates just because he gets FOMO lowkey. Will stand there menacingly and so super out of place he actually looks like he’s stalking the group. Makes everyone feel awkward and tense. 

Children get so scared of him that he’s been escorted out of premises before. You have to join him, apologising to everyone, otherwise he’ll kill all of your friends. Like children will full on start sobbing and hyperventilating and you’re ashamed to tell your friends he’s actually not allowed within a certain radius of a school. Their mind goes to the worst places.

[hearts4hughes]

ೃ࿔:･ giving s1!rafe the silent treatment

he finds you at the party.

of course he does.

you’ve been avoiding him for three days. ignoring his calls, his texts, his knock at your window last night. now you’re here, at a kook party, in your cut-off denim skirt, lipgloss, and sipping from someone else’s red cup like rafe never existed.

he comes up behind you like he owns the place, like he owns you. his hand finds your lower back, his lips find the shell of your ear. “you mad at me or something?” his voice is that lazy kind of amused. as if this is all foreplay. as if he’s missed you but not enough to say it.

you don’t look at him. you just take another sip.

“hey.” his voice is a little sharper now. “i’m talking to you.”

you hum and smile a little—still not for him. then you hand your drink to a girl you barely know, turn, and walk away. no warning. no goodnight. no fuck you. you take the front steps like you’re floating and head down the road, not even checking if he’s following.

but you know he is.

two blocks down, headlights stretch long across the pavement. rafe’s truck slows beside you like it’s stalking prey. his windows are down, his face is absent of any amusement. “get in.”

you keep walking, not even sparing him a glance.

he coasts beside you, wheels crunching against gravel. “don’t be like this.”

your arms fold tighter. your jaw’s locked so hard it aches. the night’s hot and thick and you can smell him in the air—cologne, weed, whatever coldblooded thing keeps him moving.

“fine,” he mutters. you hear the engine shift and the brakes click. the door swings open, and before you can think to react, he’s there, grabbing you around the waist, hoisting you up like it’s nothing.

“rafe!” you snap, hitting his shoulder, kicking your legs. “put me down.”

“you wanna ignore me?” he grits, voice in your ear, strained and hot. “then you don’t get to choose when we talk.”

he tosses you into the passenger seat—not rough, but not gentle either. the door slams. he rounds the front and gets in, hands tight on the wheel like he’s keeping himself from doing something worse. “buckle up.”

you don’t. you sit there, arms crossed, glaring out the windshield. steam comes off of your exposed skin.

“you done?” he asks.

you don’t answer.

“you don’t get to shut down and disappear every time something goes wrong.”

“something?” you bark. “you were off your face and throwing shit at the wall and screaming.”

his head drops back on the seat. with his eyes closed, his hands rake through his hair. “i didn’t mean to.”

“i don’t care,” you say, voice flat. sharp. “i’m not your punching bag.”

a beat of silence passes. rafe continues to drive, taking turns sharper than usual. you continue to stare out of the window like your head is locked in place.

“you’re right.” he says it so low you swore that you made it up. you blink, brows furrowed, not in confusion, but in disbelief. he’s staring out the windshield, jaw flexing, and eyes dark. then he looks at you, really looks. his eyes bloodshot and angry and honest in that way he only ever is with you. “you’re the only person in my life who doesn’t lie to me.”

your throat tightens, but you don’t speak. you just buckle your seatbelt.

his fingers twitch against the gearshift. like he wants to say more, but he’s scared to wreck everything. so instead he drives. he slows down, taking corners with more care, not stopping short. when he parks in his driveway, and you won’t get out, he scoops you into his arms like he found the missing puzzle piece. he carries you bridal style into the house.

“you can ignore me, even yell at me, but don’t leave me like that,” he murmurs, holding you tight against his chest, scared to lose you. “it’ll ruin me.”

you realize he’s not lying when he holds you that night. he pulls you into his chest, skin on skin, leaving no room for any other thoughts.

some people bruise the world when they break. rafe cameron just bleeds into yours.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Four

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — So, for reference, this fic is going to be "split-up" into sections of about 10 chapters per "era" of Oscar and Harper's lives. This is the Boarding School era. (YAY CONGRATS ON THE WIN OSCAR)

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

They sat cross-legged on the floor of Oscar's bedroom, backs pressed to the bed frame, the pregnancy test box torn open between them like the evidence of a crime. It felt different this time. Heavier. Too real. The plastic wrapper crackled in Harper's shaking hands, slick with sweat.

Oscar kept looking at her, barely blinking. His knees touched hers. His thumb made nervous little circles on his jeans, over and over like if he stopped, something bad might happen. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows — the arms she'd seen tense when he hauled his kart frame or when he wrapped them around her in the middle of the night, after nightmares.

"You sure you wanna do this right now?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"We have to," she said. Her throat was tight. "We need to know how pregnant I am, right?"

He shrugged a bit and then nodded. 

She got up and disappeared into the en suite, the test clutched like a weapon. The door clicked shut.

Oscar sat perfectly still.

One minute.

Two.

She came out without looking at him and sat back down slowly. Placed the test between them.

A blinking hourglass stared back.

The room went dead quiet. No words, no breathing, just the faint hum of Oscar’s laptop still open behind them, some paused video of a race breakdown he didn’t care about anymore. They didn’t look at it.

They stared at the test like it was a bomb.

The blinking stopped.

The screen cleared.

Then the words appeared.

Pregnant | 3+ weeks

Harper made a noise — something between a gasp and a laugh and a sob — and sucked in a breath like she’d been drowning.

Oscar just stared. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. That little crease between his brows deepened and didn’t go away.

She spoke first, barely audible. “That’s... okay. So that’s more than a month. Before Christmas.”

He nodded slowly, numb. "Before it snowed, probably. I think that's how it works but...”

She turned her head toward him, her face pale, mouth trembling. “What the hell do we do now? I mean, we — we used protection. Every time. We were so careful.”

But she already knew.

Oscar looked like he’d been punched. He picked up the test with shaking fingers, held it too close, like maybe it would say something different. “Not… shit. No. Not every time.” He swallowed. “That one time. In the woods. When — when it was raining.”

She made a strangled sound and curled in on herself, pulling her knees up and hiding her face. “Oh my god. Oh my god. We’re so stupid. We’re so fucking stupid.”

He set the test down like it might burn him.

And then they just… sat there. Hearts pounding in the quiet. Sam was still down in the common room, watching the football, thankfully. They weren’t gonna be interrupted. Not yet.

Harper finally whispered, so soft he barely heard her. “What do we do now?”

Oscar wiped his palms on his thighs, blinking fast. “I think— I think we have to tell someone. My dad. My mum. Or— I don’t know. Mark? Someone older. Someone who knows what to do. Because I don’t. I have no clue what the hell we’re supposed to do.”

She nodded slowly, but her head kept bobbing like she couldn’t make it stop.

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t either.”

She slumped against him, and he caught her, arms stiff at first like he was scared to touch her. Then he pulled her tighter, and she let herself melt into him, like if she stayed still enough, she could disappear.

“My mum’s going to kill me,” she whispered into his chest. “The only reason she even let me come back to Haileybury was because the school in Switzerland didn’t appreciate my disastrous STEM grades. But now... now she’s definitely going to send me away. Some girls’ home or something. She won’t even look at me. And you—” her voice cracked, “you won’t even see me again.” 

Oscar froze — then let out this breathy, shaky half-laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “No. No, she won’t.”

“She might,” she said, voice cracking. “She would. You don’t know her.”

“I won’t let her.” His voice was firm this time. Small but certain. “You’re not gonna be alone in this, okay? I swear.”

She didn’t answer.

But she didn’t pull away.

And for now, that was enough.

—

They hadn’t planned to tell him first — Mark.

But something about the little meeting room — the scribbled race calendars on the whiteboard, the faint stink of oil and track mud on Oscar’s boots — made it feel like the moment was already happening. 

Like they were mid-crash and couldn’t steer out of it.

Mark was talking logistics — camp dates, tuning sessions, Belgium travel — when he paused. His eyes flicked toward Harper, quiet in the corner.

She was usually mouthy. Annoying. Always poking at him with weird questions about tire compounds just to watch him groan.

Now she was silent. Her hands twitched on her pleated school skirt. Her face was way too pale.

Mark’s brow furrowed. “Everything alright, kid?”

Oscar hesitated.

Then Harper said, in this too-small voice, “We need to tell you something.”

Mark blinked.

Oscar turned to face him properly, his spine going straight like that would help, like he could fake being older than fifteen and three-quarters. “Harper’s pregnant.”

The silence hit like a gut punch. Not shock — Mark didn’t do shock — but something worse. Like the air got sucked out of the room and nothing had been put back yet.

Mark leaned back, slowly, eyes jumping between the two of them. “Right.” He rubbed his face, then let his hand fall. “How far along?”

"Three-plus weeks," Harper answered, quoting the test. She still didn't know exactly what that meant. Why couldn't the test just tell her exactly how pregnant she was? It was weird. "We took the test last week. I missed my period over Christmas. And, uh — I guess." She glanced at Oscar. "We don't know what to do." She admitted. 

 Mark nodded. He didn't yell. He didn't flinch. He just looked... gutted for them. 

 "Are you alright?" He asked Harper, his tone more serious than either of them had ever heard. "Have you talked to a doctor yet?"

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap with a shrug. 

Oscar answered for her. “No. We haven’t talked to a doctor yet. That’s what we do next then, yeah?”

Mark nodded slower this time. “Alright. I won’t sugarcoat it. You’ve both fucked up. Big time. This is a huge deal.”

Harper looked down fast, blinking too hard, eyes glassy.

“I’ll help however I can.” He said, but there was something tense on his face. 

Oscar’s voice was small. “We know we've messed up, okay? We know.”

“You’ve got to tell your parents. Both of you. You especially, Oscar. Do you have any idea how pissed they'll be if they find out I've kept this from them?”

Oscar winced. 

“We will,” Harper whispered. “Just not today. Not yet. I’m... I’m really scared of telling my mum.”

Mark leaned forward, resting on his elbows. “Okay. Shit. I guess I'm glad that you at-least told me, then.”

Oscar exhaled. 

Harper’s leg bounced like it had a motor of its own.

—

Harper ducked into the bathroom, saying something about needing a second. 

The office door swung behind her.

Oscar fidgeted with the edge of a packet of race notes, fingers trembling.

Mark hadn’t moved. The silence had turned tight. Awkward.

Then Mark stood. Crossed the room. Closed the door fully with a soft click. When he turned back, his arms were folded and his face was hard.

“Oscar,” he said. Quiet. Sharp. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Oscar looked up slowly. “I obviously wasn’t.”

“No. You weren’t,” Mark said, voice still low but like it had claws now. “You’re fifteen. You’ve got the most important season of your life ahead of you. And meanwhile, you’re—”

“I know—”

“No, you don’t know,” Mark snapped. “You think this won’t affect your career? You think that this is just going to be all fun and dandy? This isn’t a movie, Oscar. This changes everything.”

Oscar’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t change the fact that I can win races. That I want to be a world champion.”

“It changes how people see you,” Mark shot back, stepping in. “Sponsors. Teams. The press. You think the Red Bulljunior team is going to like this? You think Ferrari will look at you and not just see a teen dad?”

Oscar’s fists curled in his lap. “So what — I’m supposed to pretend it’s not happening? Tell her to— to get rid of it? Abandon her? Is that what you’re saying?”

Mark’s voice cut through him like a blade. “No. Don’t twist my words. I didn’t say walk away. I didn’t say abandon her. I’m saying wake the hell up. Because you’re not just going to be able to be a kart driver anymore. You’re a fifteen-year-old kid who’s about to be a dad.”

Oscar stared at the floor. His chest felt like it was full of wet concrete.

“I’m not leaving her to deal with this alone,” he said eventually. “I promised her that I'd stick by her, yeah?”

Mark paused, then sighed through his nose. “I know you’re not the kind of kid who'd do that. You’ve got a spine. But having a spine isn’t the same as knowing what you’re about to walk into.”

Oscar’s throat burned. “I love her.”

“I know,” Mark said, softer now. “And that’s why I’m so scared for you.”

Silence fell again.

“I’ll do both,” Oscar said. Quiet but solid. “If she keeps the baby. I’ll be present. And I’ll race. I’ll win.”

Mark just looked at him for a long time, eyes tired. “Then you’d better grow up fast, mate,” he said at last. “Because the second that test turned positive, you stopped being a kid.”

—

They sat on the floor again. Same spot as before — backs against Oscar’s bed frame, knees almost touching — but the silence was heavier now. Denser. Like the space between them was filled with invisible debris.

Outside, the sky was grey and close, clouds sagging low over the school grounds. It felt like the world was holding its breath — pressing down, waiting for them to crack.

Harper had one of Oscar’s karting hoodies on, her fingers buried deep in the sleeves. She stared at the wall like it might give her an answer if she waited long enough.

“So we have to tell one of our parents,” she murmured eventually.

Oscar looked over at her, then nodded. Slow, like the movement itself required effort. “Yeah.”

She didn’t look up. Just pulled her knees tighter to her chest and pressed her forehead to them. “I can’t tell my mum. Not yet.”

He didn’t push. He knew exactly what that meant — not just because of who her mother was, but because of what Harper became around her. Smaller. Quieter. Like she was always bracing for something that hadn’t happened yet. Like she lived half-flinched.

“I don’t even know what I want to do yet,” she whispered. “How can I tell her when I don’t even know what’s happening in my own head?”

Oscar’s voice was soft. “Okay. Fine. We don’t tell her.”

Her head lifted, eyes flicking to his in surprise. “Yeah?”

“I mean, you’ll have to eventually,” he added, a bit cautiously. “But I get it. I know why you don’t want to.”

She blinked slowly. “Right.”

He shrugged, staring down at his hands like they might tell him something. “So... I was thinking maybe I should tell my dad.”

Harper’s brows rose. “Really?”

Oscar nodded. “He’s solid. He won’t freak out. I think he already knows something’s off — I haven’t been calling as much.”

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause. A beat too long.

“Yeah,” he said. Quiet and real.

She reached out and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were cold. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Harper leaned into him, cheek resting against his shoulder. She didn’t say anything else for a moment, just breathed and listened to his heartbeat where her ear met his chest.

“We don’t have to do everything today,” she said eventually. “We only told Mark earlier.”

“No,” Oscar agreed. “I know. But I want to. I think I should.” He paused, then added with more urgency, “We have no idea what we’re doing, Harper. What if something’s wrong and we don’t know it? I don’t even know what kind of — like — appointments we need to make. Or what questions to ask. I tried Google, but it’s all medical and scary and confusing.”

Harper shut her eyes. “You’re right,” she admitted, her voice thread-thin. “You’re right. Okay. Call him. Tell him.”

—

Oscar paced the length of the empty common room, his phone clutched tight in one hand, thumb hovering over the contact that just read Dad.

Harper sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around a pillow like it was a shield. She was trying not to watch him too hard, but her eyes kept tracking him. Every step. Every pause.

“I hope he doesn’t get mad,” she said softly. “Just... be honest with him.”

Oscar nodded, jaw tight.

Then he hit call.

It rang twice.

Then — “Hey, mate.”

Oscar froze for half a second. Swallowed. “Hey, Dad. You busy?”

Chris’ voice came through the speaker, a little fuzzy with bad signal. “Bit of admin, nothing urgent. You alright?”

Oscar moved to the window, staring out across the rain-dark courtyard. “Um. Yeah. Kind of.”

A beat.

“You don’t sound alright.”

Oscar let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it cracked on the way out. “No, I’m... I need to tell you something. It’s — it’s a lot.”

There was silence on the line. Not confused. Just quiet. Just waiting.

Oscar inhaled, then forced the words out. “Harper’s pregnant.”

They hung there. Exposed. Like he’d cut something open.

He stared at the window so long that the reflection blurred.

The line stayed quiet.

One second. Two. Three.

Then Chris said, calmly, “I’m assuming the baby is yours?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said.

“Okay.”

Oscar blinked. “That’s it?”

“No. But that’s what I’ve got for now.”

Oscar turned from the window. Harper was sitting up straighter now, the pillow hugged tighter to her chest, chewing the inside of her lip.

Chris spoke again. “Is she alright?”

“She’s... scared. We both are.”

“You sure you’re alright, mate?”

“I think so.” It came out thin. Not very convincing.

There was another pause. Then Chris’ voice came firmer. “Right, then. I’m coming to England.”

Oscar’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll book a flight tonight. Be there in a few days.”

A breath.

“This isn’t something you two need to be sorting out alone. You’re just kids. Bloody teenagers — and this is a hell of a thing for you to be dealing with on your own.”

Oscar closed his eyes. His chest stuttered. “Dad, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” Chris said. “Because I’m your dad. And you’re my son. And because this, Osc, this difficult, rotten-part? This is when it's my job to show up, okay?”

Oscar pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Alright.” His voice broke. “Okay.”

“You make sure you’re looking after that girl, yeah?” Chris added, voice softer now. “I'll tell your mum; try my best to keep her calm, but expect a phone call, alright?”

Oscar turned to look at Harper.

She met his eyes, wide and searching.

“Okay. Thanks, Dad,” Oscar said, voice barely audible.

“I’ll call you when I land.”

The call ended.

Oscar let the phone drop to his side. He stood still, breath uneven.

Harper rose slowly and walked across the room to him.

“Well?” She asked, lip bitten red with anxiety.

“He’s coming,” Oscar said.

She exhaled — and then, for the first time all day, she smiled. Small. Tired. But real.

“Thank god,” she whispered, eyes wet and hands trembling slightly. “Was he mad?”

Oscar pulled her into a hug. “No,” he said into her hair. “Not mad. Just... disappointed.”

She winced. “That’s worse sometimes.”

“I know.”

He tightened his arms around her. 

—

Jane lay sprawled on her back across Harper’s bed, legs dangling off the side, face still half-covered by yesterday’s makeup. Somewhere beneath the duvet, her phone buzzed—ignored.

Harper sat curled in her desk chair, knees tucked to her chest, chewing the inside of her cheek.

She’d been quiet too long.

Jane cracked one eye open.

“Okay,” she said slowly, sitting up. “What’s going on? You’ve been suspiciously unfun for the past few days.”

Harper exhaled like her lungs were collapsing. “Promise you won’t freak out?”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “That depends. Is this about a secret sibling? Did someone die? Are you getting expelled?”

Harper stayed silent.

Jane’s face shifted. “Wait. Is this about Oscar?”

A nod.

“Is he okay?”

Another nod.

“You okay?”

A smaller, less convincing nod.

Then Harper looked at her. Eyes too bright. Lips pressed tight.

“You remember the other day? When I freaked out about my period?”

Jane nodded, slowly.

Harper gave a wry smile. “Yeah. Well — I’m pregnant.”

Jane stared. Blinked once. Twice.

Then she said, “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

A beat of silence.

Then Jane blurted, “What the actual fuck, Harper!”

And just like that, Harper laughed — wet, shaky, half-hysterical — and started crying at the same time.

Jane flew off the bed and dropped to her knees in front of her. “No, no, don’t cry—I didn’t mean it like that, I just—you?! I always thought if someone here got knocked up, it’d be someone named ‘Isobelle’ or ‘Jazmyne’ with a ‘y’.”

Harper choked on another laugh.

Jane grabbed her hands. “You’re like… the good one.”

“I was trying to be.”

Jane groaned, dramatically thudding her forehead against Harper’s knee. “You are literally the boarding school teen pregnancy stereotype. I feel like I’m in a Netflix original series.”

“Shut up,” Harper muttered, smiling through tears.

“I’m serious. You. The broody Aussie boy sneaking into the girls’ dorm. The secret makeout sessions on the astroturf. It was all leading here.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Jane corrected, standing and wrapping her arms around her from behind. “And I love you. And we’re going to get through this. Even if I have to punch your mum in the face. Because I just know she’s going to be a cunt about it.”

Harper leaned back into her best friend and finally let herself breathe.

“Oscar’s dad—Chris—he knows. He was... I don't know. Calm. He’s flying to England tonight.”

Jane nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

“I don’t want to tell my mum.” She whispered. 

Jane kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. We’ll save that one for when we’ve got riot shields and a legal team.”

They stood in the quiet, Harper’s hands finally still.

And even though nothing was fixed, she still had Jane.

—

The next morning, Oscar was waiting outside the girls’ dorm before breakfast. Hands in his blazer pockets, hair still damp like he’d barely slept.

Harper blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m here.”

She didn’t argue. Just fell into step beside him, shoulder brushing his.

—

He walked her to every class.

Even the ones they didn’t share. Even the ones on the far side of campus, through ankle-deep slush and biting wind. He waited outside Chemistry like a silent sentinel, tie askew, eyes down.

“You didn’t have to wait,” she said quietly as they left.

“I wanted to.”

—

At lunch, they sat side by side instead of across from each other. Oscar barely touched his food, but his hand rested on Harper’s knee under the table—steady, warm.

Jane raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Sam joked, “Why are you so clingy today, man?”

Oscar shrugged. “Dunno.”

—

In English, they shared earbuds while working on essays. Some soft indie track played low enough not to distract—just enough to fill the spaces between thoughts.

Harper rested her fingers on his wrist. He let her trace the rope bracelet on his arm without question.

—

Between classes, they didn’t say much.

Oscar carried both their books.

Harper tugged at his blazer sleeve while they waited for the bell.

They didn’t kiss. Didn’t hold hands.

But every part of them seemed magnetised; shoulders brushing, pinkies bumping.

—

After last period, she looked at him and said, “You really don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This. Following me around.”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “I don’t really know what else I’m supposed to do.”

And that was the truth—neither of them did.

But for now, being near her was the only thing that made sense.

So he walked her to the girls dorms.

Waited until she stepped inside.

And only then did he let himself walk away.

—

Dinner was loud—trays clattering, voices echoing, and the sharp, mysterious scent of the school’s chicken surprise wafting from the kitchens.

Harper sat between Jane and Oscar at their usual spot at the end of the table. Across from them: Matt, Sam, and Alfie, already halfway through their meals, locked in an argument about whether a pigeon could realistically steal a car.

“You guys are morons,” Jane muttered.

“I’m just saying,” Sam insisted, “pigeons in London are jacked. They’ve got gangs. Wing muscles.”

Oscar grinned. “If I see a pigeon with biceps, I’ll give you a heads up to lock your car, yeah?”

Harper smiled faintly. Not fully tuned in, but grateful for the noise. For the normal.

She picked at her food. Not much appetite—just toast earlier, a few crackers at lunch—but now, surrounded by banter and noise, it was easier to eat a little.

Matt was telling a dramatic story about nearly being run over by a golf cart when Alfie leaned across the table and stage-whispered, “Harpy-girl. You’re unusually quiet. Finally realised you're dating the wrong guy?” He wiggled his dark eyebrows at her. 

Oscar rolled his eyes and gave him a mighty kick under the table. “Shut up, Alfie.”

Harper played along, if only to wind-up her usual steady-headed boyfriend. “Yeah. You know...it’s been a lot to work through.”

The table cracked up.

“Babe,” Oscar said, frowning at her. 

“Well,” she continued, “your hair when you first got here was a choice.”

Jane leaned in. “The mullet was honestly the most traumatic part of the year.”

“It was a phase,” Oscar muttered, grinning.

Harper let herself laugh. 

Oscar glanced at her sideways, smile quiet.

Later, after trays were cleared and the boys snuck off to raid the staff kitchen, Harper lingered at the table.

Oscar stayed too, their knees touching under the bench.

She looked at him. “Thanks for today.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I’m always going to show up for you. I swear.”

Her eyes shimmered. But she nodded.

And he didn’t press.

Because sometimes, just sitting in the noise with your person was enough to keep the hard parts quiet.

For now.

—

They were leaving French when they saw him.

At first, Harper didn’t recognise him; tall, neat jacket, hands in his pockets, standing under the old oak near the science block like he didn’t quite belong.

But Oscar stopped cold beside her.

And Harper looked again.

Chris.

Her stomach flipped.

Oscar said nothing. Just started walking toward him, slow and sure, Harper tight beside him.

Chris looked up. His expression was unreadable—not angry, not cold. Just… quiet. His eyes moved between them.

“Hi, Dad,” Oscar said.

Chris gave a small smile. “Hey, mate.”

Harper shifted. Arms folded across her chest. Chris looked at her properly now, and something in his face softened.

She managed a tight, polite, “Hi, Mr. Piastri.”

Chris nodded. Looked at them both again.

Then said, “Right,” and pulled them into a hug.

Oscar was taller now, but Chris still held him like he was eight years old. Harper stood stiff for a moment, stunned—until Chris gently tugged her in too.

And then it was warm. Solid. Real. Arms around both of them. Tight, but not crushing.

No words. Just the kind of silence that grounded you.

Harper’s shoulders dropped. She hadn’t even realised how high they’d been. Her cheek pressed to Chris’s shoulder, and behind his back, she felt Oscar’s fingers brush hers.

Chris finally stepped back.

“You two must be scared shitless." 

Oscar gave a crooked, breathy laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Chris nodded once, his eyes crinkling. “Right. Let me call your mum, tell her you're okay and that I'm here. Then we'll find somewhere to talk." He told them, and then wandered a few steps away. 

For a second, they stood under the oak, wind tugging at Harper’s hair, the cold nipping at Oscar’s ears.

He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together without looking down. “You okay?” He asked softly.

Harper swallowed. “Not really.”

Oscar nodded like he understood completely. “Me neither.” A beat. Then, still not looking at her, he said, “But we’re going to be okay.”

She glanced sideways. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I think... if we stick together, and we let my dad handle the hard parts...”

Harper let out a breath. Not a laugh, not quite a sigh—something quieter, heavier.

He turned toward her then, gently squeezing her hand. “I don’t know what's supposed to happen now. But I’m not, like, going anywhere. Yeah? I promise.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, and for a second, she looked like she might cry again—but she didn’t. She just nodded.

Then, from a few metres away, Chris called out, “Alright, you two—come on. Let’s get somewhere warm before I freeze my arse off.”

Oscar gave her hand one more squeeze before they let go.

They started walking together across the frost-hardened grass.

NEXT CHAPTER

[himasgod]

ACE, DEUCE, LEONA, KALIM AND LILIA X READER

Where you have the habit of patting them on the head when they do something right

You made the mistake of patting Ace's head the first time after he barely passed a basketball practice match without cheating.

A small miracle.

You had smiled and ruffled his messy red hair saying,

"Good job, Ace. I’m proud of you."

Ace froze for a second. Blink. Blink.

Then— He grinned.

You could practically see the little sparkle light up behind his eyes.

"Ohhh?~ What's this? Little ol' me getting a reward, huh?"

He leaned down dramatically, tilting his head toward you like a cat demanding attention.

"Wanna pet me more? Maybe scratch behind my ears next time, Yuu?"

From that moment on, Ace treated your habit like his favorite game.

Whenever he did anything remotely successful—winning a card game, finishing a group project, even just carrying your bag for you—he’d shoot you the most obnoxious overly innocent look and announce,

"So, where’s my headpat?"

Sometimes he’d physically nudge your hand toward his head, acting whiny.

Other times, he'd dramatically flop into your lap pouting,

"C'mon, I worked so hard for this."

It was a bit of a monster you created, honestly.

But deep down you knew Ace loved it.

It wasn’t just the attention (though he definitely loved that too). It was you, loving him out loud.

Sometimes, after a rough day (when he didn’t feel like being annoying or bragging), Ace would just plop down beside you, resting his head against your shoulder wordlessly.

And you would smile and card your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, murmuring how proud you were of him.

Ace would close his eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips—and let himself be held by you.

Deuce wasn’t used to being praised. Not like this.

When you first patted his head, he’d passed a potion test he was convinced he’d failed.

The moment Professor Crewel handed him a passing mark, Deuce lit up like a sunrise. And when he turned around to share the joy with you—you just smiled and ruffled his hair.

“There you go! I knew you could do it.”

He blinked. Face froze. And then:

“What are you doing?!”

He turned bright red. Hands flailing. “I’m not a little kid!! You can’t just—!”

But despite the protests, he didn’t stop you. His cheeks glowed. His ears went pink.

And you could feel him slowly leaning into your hand, like he really needed someone to say “you did good” and mean it.

From then on, you made it a habit. Big things. Small things.

If Deuce gave someone without punching them?

Pat.

If he helped someone carry books or aced a quiz?

Pat.

At first, he would puff up every time: “Yuu! Come on, don’t do that in front of the others!!”

He got this tiny proud smile every time, like he couldn’t help but melt a little.

You started noticing he worked harder when you were watching.

“I’ve got to do it right,” he’d mutter under his breath. “Yuu’s gonna see this. I gotta make ‘em proud.”

Eventually, Deuce started earning your headpats on purpose.

He’d glance over with hopeful eyes every time he did something right, and when you stepped close and reached up, he’d bow his head, pretending not to smile—but you could feel it radiating off him.

It wasn’t about being babied. It was about you believing in him. And every headpat said: You’re doing great. I’m proud of you.

For someone trying so hard to walk the right path—that meant everything.

Leona hated it. ...At least, that’s what he said.

The first time you patted his head—after he actually bothered to show up to a Housewarden meeting on time—he let out a growl.

"The hell do you think you’re doing, herbivore?"

But you just smirked and kept scratching behind his ear in that one spot, and watched as the mighty lion prince immediately betrayed himself by leaning into it, just a tiny involuntary fraction.

"You did good today," you murmured.

And you saw it—the second when the tension drained from his shoulders, when he let himself lean just a little closer.

After that, it became a game.

Leona pretended to be indifferent whenever you pet him, acting lazy and annoyed, grumbling things like,

"You're such a pain."

But whenever he actually accomplished something (winning a Spelldrive match, helping a Savannaclaw student study even though he claimed he didn’t care)—he would position himself within reach.

Sprawled on the lounge couch?

Conveniently lying right where your hand would naturally fall on his head.

Sitting with you under the shade of a tree?

Somehow ended up leaning back so close you couldn't not pet him.

He never asked.

But every time you started to run your fingers through his hair and scratch gently behind his ear, that gruff lion would let out the softest rumbly purring sound against his will.

(And if you kissed his temple while you did it, his ears would flatten... but he wouldn’t move away.)

The first time you patted Kalim’s head, it was after he successfully hosted a big Scarabia banquet where no one got food poisoning, nobody got sunstroke, and Jamil didn’t strangle anyone.

High bar.

You reached up, giggling, and fluffed his snowy white hair between your hands.

"You did amazing, Kalim! You’re incredible!"

Kalim immediately lit up like a sunbeam.

"REALLY??" he cried, sparkling. "You think so?! Ahahaha!! You're the best, Yuu!!"

He immediately tackled-hugged you, spinning you around in circles, laughing so loudly and brightly that half of Scarabia heard it.

From that day forward, Kalim decided headpats were mandatory.

Every time he achieved anything—got a good grade, learned a new flying trick, remembered all his appointments for the day—he would come BOUNDING up to you like an excited puppy.

"Yuu! Yuu! Look!! I finished all my homework early!!"

And then he would immediately bow his head down toward you, waiting for his headpat.

If you didn’t do it fast enough, he would grab your hand and put it on his head himself.

Once, in front of the entire Scarabia dorm, he proudly yelled,

"I did all the event planning with Jamil without messing up once!! Yuu, gimme my headpats now!!"

The Scarabia students just sighed fondly. (They were used to it.)

Sometimes Kalim would fall asleep with his head in your lap, your hand stroking through his soft hair.

He would mumble half-dreaming praises:

"Yuu... the best... so nice... love you lots..."

No matter how rich, powerful, or loved he was by the world—there was something in Kalim’s heart that craved that warm reassurance. That he was seen.

That he was cherished just for being him.

And you gave it to him, every time.

Lilia’s reaction to your headpats was...

Well.

The first time you did it, he simply closed his eyes and smiled like a cat basking in the sunlight.

You had congratulated him for flawlessly performing an impossibly complex spell during Alchemy class (he's like 500 years old how is he not gonna do it)

— and without missing a beat, you'd stood on your tiptoes (he was short, but still a bit taller than you!) and fluffed his hair affectionately.

Lilia chuckled.

"My, my. How spoiled I'm becoming, but if it's coming from you, I suppose I could grow used to such indulgences."

Unlike Leona—who denied wanting headpats and melted when he got them—Lilia leaned into it shamelessly.

He treated it like a game.

Sometimes after pranking Silver he'd come sauntering up to you, grin wicked, and lower his head.

"Don't I deserve a little reward, Yuu?~" he’d tease. "If you're feeling generous, that is."

If you hesitated even a second, Lilia would pout, arms folded, pretending to be deeply wounded.

"Ohhh, how cruel! You encourage me to be mischievous and then deny me my rightful prize!"

He’d even throw in a fake sniffle for good measure.

When you did give in—giggling and running your fingers through his soft hair—Lilia would hum, closing his eyes, his whole person softening.

And sometimes he would rest his head against yours

"You’re too kind to an old fae like me, Yuu." A whisper of something bittersweet

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Never Been Kissed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.

A.N. - This one is for all my The Prophecy Girlies... also known as the most self indulgent thing I've ever written.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

"Come on," Sam coaxes. "Tell us or take a drink."

You swipe up the shot set before you, downing it without so much as a wince. You cross your arms, keeping your chin defiantly raised as you settle further into the couch, "I'm not telling you anything."

“Boo,” Sam playfully heckles, his drink sloshing in his hand. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. Just tell us.”

“Absolutely not, I already took the damn drink.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, refusing to back down, “Unless it was someone here?”

“Oh my God.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Sam, I did not hook up with anyone in this room.”

“Yes!” Sam teases. “That explains everything! That’s why you drank!”

“Or maybe I just don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’ve been drinking all night. And there’s only one reason you won’t tell us anything - because it’s someone in this very room!”

“Settle down, Sherlock,” Bucky cajoles.

You swipe the glass from Sam's loose grip, “You’re drunk, Sam.”

Sam boops your nose, swiping the glass back, “I’m not the one that’s been drinking for every question.”

“And yet, I'm still not nearly as drunk as you are," you shoot back, setting your drink on the table. You pat Bucky's shoulder, standing up from the couch, "And now, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, children.”

“Come on,��� Sam drunkenly whines. “Don’t be a sore loser!”

“I have a debrief first thing, and I’m the only one of you assholes that won’t need to be carried to my room.”

Sam shouts after you, “Boo!”

Not a moment later, you feel a warm hand tap your shoulder, “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh, sure.”

As you walk together, Bucky leans in conspiratorially, “So… now that it’s just us… Who was it?”

You groan, “Not you too.”

“Come on! It’s me! You can tell me!” Bucky cajoles.

“It’s none of your business.”

"I’m not asking for details. I just wanna know."

"You’re pushy when you’ve been drinking that Asgardian stuff, you know that?"

"Come on. It really can't be that bad. I probably don't even know the guy... unless I do?"

You hold his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to just drop it, "Bucky... enough."

"Was it Sam? Steve? Come on, I won't judge you if it was."

"Bucky, stop."

"Come on, just tell me!"

"No! Now drop it!" you snap.

Bucky freezes, his eyes widening, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

You start to storm off, tossing a sharp retort over your shoulder, "Maybe not to you."

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He jogs after you, resting his warm, gentle hand on your forearm to stop you, "Really. You don't have to tell me. I was just being a dick. You’re right, it’s none of my business."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach for yelling at Bucky. "I can't tell you."

His brows furrow, "What?"

This was it. This was when everyone found out your deep, dark, embarrassing secret. You take another deep breath, bracing yourself for Bucky’s laughter and ridicule, "I can't tell you... because it hasn't happened yet."

His worry and confusion only compounds. His neck cranes slightly, almost like he believes his super solider hearing failing him is more plausible than your complete and total inexperience, "What?"

You take another massive breath, your cheeks heating, "I've never - it never happened for me."

“Huh?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

"Wait, wait, but earlier - earlier Natasha asked you about your first time. You said - you said it happened later than people might think."

You couldn’t believe he really wasn’t getting it. It was something you had come to accept about yourself. There was just something fundamentally wrong with you. Something not quite right. Something unloveable - at least in the romantic sense.

Shame heats your face, and you have to clench your fists in some hopeless attempt to keep it together in front of Bucky.

You try to shrug as casually as you can, "It's not technically a lie. Most people don't think someone can make it this long without your first kiss happening."

“Wait, wait.” If he was struggling to understand before, this may have just broken him. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”

You swallow the knot in your throat, hoping the word doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, “No.”

Your shoulders sharply rise with a forced intake of breath as you wait for it. You wait for the litany of platitudes. The halfhearted consolations and excuses.

While you’d never told anyone about this missed rite of passage, you had mistakenly confided in a select few. You never said too much. Never said that you hadn’t ever been kissed. You usually offered something offhanded about not really dating much.

They didn’t need to know just how deep your inexperience ran. It didn’t matter anyway. The response was always the same. Some surface level words of comfort or dismissal.

You could practically hear the words falling from Bucky’s lips.

'It'll happen when you least expect it.'

'You just have to stop looking.'

'Put yourself out there.'

'You should lower your standards.'

'You're not missing out on much.'

The words you know all too well never come.

He chews on his bottom lip, his own mental turmoil as clear as day on his face. He didn’t know what to say and that was clear. He opens his mouth and your brace yourself for impact.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You freeze, a little shocked by his response. “Don’t be.”

“No, no, I was being a dick and pushing you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with. I should understand that better than anyone else here.”

“I just - I don’t really tell people. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” you scoff, a little too defensive. “It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a grown ass woman that’s never been kissed. I’m a grown woman that no one’s ever show the least bit of interest in.”

His hands stop mid air, “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”

He quirks an incredulous brow, “No one’s shown interest?”

“No…”

His entire head twists with disbelief, “No one? Really?”

“I’ve never even been asked on a date before,” you confess.

“What?”

“Will you quit saying that?”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just a little hard to believe.”

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because it’s you! Look at you! Someone must’ve shown interest at some point.”

You try to shrug it off again, desperately hoping that Bucky doesn’t see how much this actually does hurt, “No. It’s always just been me.”

“Not even like a schoolyard crush or something?”

“Well, I had crushes, sure. That doesn’t mean that anyone had them on me.” Bucky’s face remains frozen in that confused, disbelieving grimace for a beat too long after you’ve finished speaking that you feel desperate to paper over the emotional cracks. It’s fine. That’s what you’ve told yourself your entire life, and that’s exactly what you’ll tell him, “Listen, I’m fine with it now. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m content. Maybe romance just isn’t in-“

“Can I kiss you?”

Now, it was your turn to look confused and taken aback, “What?”

“Can I?” he offers again, his eyes flicker to your lips so quickly you can’t be sure you didn’t just imagine it. “Kiss you?”

You immediately begin to backtrack, taking a half step back to put some distance between the two that seems to shrink with every passing moment, “Bucky, you really don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?”

Your eyebrows pull together in disbelief. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His answer is so immediate and reflexive it’s hard not to believe him. “I want to. Please.”

His whispered ‘please’ is your undoing. You nod ever so slightly, your voice nothing but a choked whisper, “I won’t be good at it.”

“I don’t believe that.” At this point, he’s staring at your lips more than anything else. His flesh hand raises to your cheek, softly cupping it. “Just relax.”

Your breathing comes faster as his breath dances across your cheeks, “Bucky…”

“I want you to remember this.” You’re not sure he meant to say that out loud, but the words sent a pleasantly unfamiliar shudder down your spine.

And without another word, his lips gently brush yours. For a long moment, you just stand there, not moving an inch. Until your hand moves of its own accord to rest on his chest. It slowly trails up his shoulder and down to the nape of his neck. Your mouth hesitantly moves against his, slowly becoming more relaxed with each little breathy sound he pulls from you.

It feels like forever and a split second all at once. Especially when he slowly drags his lips away from yours. As he pulls away, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you while it still lingers on his lips.

He rest his head against yours for a long moment. His lips are puffy and glistening under the low light of the Compound hallway, “There. Now, you’ve been kissed.”

AnonymityIsFun MasterlistBucky Barnes Masterlist

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[kxsagi]

“𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭”

a/n: started listening to diet pepsi again and i’m horny– uh what who said that 

you don't mean to look at him like that – head tilted, tongue grazing your cherry lip gloss while your heel taps against the dashboard like it owns the car. but isagi's staring like he could drink you in faster than the condensation slipping down your can of diet pepsi. 

“you’re not even listening to me,” he says, voice low, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. his knuckles are tight, his jaw tighter. poor boy’s been trying to talk soccer schedules for the past five minutes. 

you blink, feigning innocence. “i am listening,” you lie, dragging a straw past your lips, letting it pop free. “you said something about… lineup changes?” 

he laughs, dry, running a hand through his hair. he’s already so tired, poor thing – muscles sore from practice, freshly showered hair to his skin, and then you, all pretty and smug in the passenger seat like you’re not thinking the dirtiest things about him. 

"what?" you ask, eyes wide, smile sugar-sweet. “am i distracting you, yoichi?” 

he exhales sharp through his nose. “you’re doing it on purpose.” 

your diet pepsi bottle lands somewhere near your feet as you unbuckle your seatbelt, slow and deliberate. “doing what on purpose?” 

but the way you climb over the console like you’ve done this before, straddling him in the driver’s seat with knees pressing against his hips, leaves nothing to question. 

his hands hover, hesitant, before settling on your thighs. “this is a public parking lot.” 

"mmm," you hum, brushing your nose against his. "but no one's watching." 

he tastes like adrenaline when you kiss him. like warm summer sweat and soda bubbles, tongue flicking hot against yours. your hips shift forward and you can feel how tense he is, how much he’s holding back. 

“yoichi,” you whisper, dragging his name out like a secret. your hands are under his shirt now, tracing ridges, heat building. “i wanna be bad.” 

his breath stutters, and his grip tightens. “you already are.” 

you giggle into his neck, teeth grazing skin just to hear that shaky little sound he makes. “what if we moved to the backseat?” 

you’re teasing. mostly. but your fingers are already tugging at his shirt like you’re halfway there. 

“you serious?” he asks, voice hoarse, eyes dark with something greedy. 

you lean in close, lip brushing the shell of his ear. "losing all my innocence in the back seat,” you whisper-sing, quoting the song that had been playing earlier. “you gonna help me with that, yoichi?” 

that’s all it takes. 

the next second, you're laughing breathlessly as he shuffles out from beneath you, hand catching yours, tugging you to the back like he can’t get there fast enough. 

clothes shift in a rush of fabric and kisses that taste like diet pepsi and something far more dangerous. your hands in his hair. his mouth on your collarbone. the windows fog over with every stolen breath, and there’s nothing innocent left about the way you say his name anymore. 

outside, the world keeps spinning. inside the car, it’s just you, him, and the soft creak of leather under bare skin. 

and when it’s over, when your heart’s still racing and your lip gloss is long gone, isagi presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “next time, i’m bringing a blanket.” 

you grin, fingers tracing lazy shapes on his chest. “next time,” you echo, smug. “you’re so lucky i like diet pepsi.” 

he groans. “you’re gonna be the death of me.” 

but he doesn’t let go. and he doesn’t stop smiling. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[writeriguess]

I think you wrote CEO Bakugo x secretary reader fic once? Could you write another please? Plot can be whatever but please include smut 😝

Insubordination

The click of your heels was sharper than usual when you stormed into Bakugo’s office.

"You rescheduled my vacation time again," you said without preamble, tossing the printed memo onto his desk. Your jaw was set, eyes flashing. "That’s the third time."

Bakugo didn’t even look up from his monitor. "Your vacation doesn't matter if your department's falling behind."

You scoffed. "You mean your schedule’s falling apart because you refuse to hire a second assistant."

Now he looked at you. Slowly. Like a predator sizing up the one thing stupid enough to challenge him in his own den.

"You’re my assistant. You don't get to dictate shit."

"And you don’t get to keep pulling this control-freak crap every time you feel—threatened," you snapped, voice low. "I’ve kept your world spinning for three years. If I vanish for four days, the company won’t burn."

He stood so fast his chair scraped back across the floor.

“You wanna find out what happens when you vanish?” His voice was a growl, each word dripping threat—and something else.

You stared, breathing heavy, defiant. You wanted him to break. You wanted something to break, because god, it had been building for too long. The late nights. The friction. The glances that lasted a second too long. The silence that buzzed with things unsaid.

He crossed the room in three strides.

"You think you can talk to me like that and walk away?"

Your back hit the glass wall of his office. “What are you gonna do about it?”

His hand slapped the glass beside your head. The other gripped your chin, tilting your face up to his. His breath was hot on your cheek, his gaze fierce and unreadable.

“I should fire you.”

“You won’t.”

"Why?"

"Because you like it when I talk back." Your voice came out rough. Shaky.

He didn’t answer. He crushed his mouth to yours like he was starving for it.

And fuck, you kissed him back like you’d been starving longer.

Bakugo shoved everything off his desk with one violent sweep — your planner, his laptop, even a framed plaque with his name on it crashed to the floor — and hoisted you onto the wood like he owned you. Like you were just another part of his empire to bend, conquer, ruin.

"Been waiting for a fucking excuse," he muttered, tearing open your blouse with both hands, buttons flying.

"You're such a goddamn control freak—" you gasped, arms around his neck, thighs tightening around his waist.

"And you're a pain in my ass." His mouth found your throat, biting down hard. "But you're mine."

The word should’ve made you flinch. Instead, you pulled him closer.

He gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You walk around this place like you don’t know what you do to me. But I see how you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re always watching.”

“Damn right I am.” His voice dropped to a low, possessive rasp. “Watching you bend over my desk. Watching you talk back in that tight-ass pencil skirt.”

You reached down, fingers fumbling at his belt, but he swatted your hand away.

“No. Hands on the desk,” he ordered. “You started this with your mouth. Now keep it shut unless you’re begging.”

He pushed your skirt up roughly, tugged your panties to the side. The air hit your soaked heat and he froze, growled.

“Fuck. You’re already this wet?” His thumb slid between your folds, drawing a sharp moan from you. “All that attitude today—you just wanted me to snap, huh? Wanted this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He unzipped his pants, pulled himself free. Thick, hard, flushed at the tip. The sight of him made your hips shift involuntarily.

“No condom,” he warned, voice ragged.

“Don’t care.”

That was all he needed.

He lined up, grabbed your hips, and buried himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

Your cry echoed off the office walls, half-shock, half-relief. The stretch was obscene. You felt every inch of him.

He didn’t wait. He fucked you like he was claiming territory — one hand braced against your lower back, the other tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth to his. His pace was punishing, all gritted teeth and panting curses against your lips.

“Always giving me that look—like you’re better than me,” he snarled, pounding into you. “Say it. Say you want me.”

You gasped, nails digging into the desk. “I want you—Katsuki, please—”

He groaned like the sound of his name on your tongue split him open.

“You feel that?” he growled, slamming deeper. “No one else gets this. No one else gets you like this.”

Your orgasm hit fast and hard, ripping through you without mercy. You bit your own wrist to muffle the scream.

“Fuck—fuck, I can feel you coming—” His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering. “I’m gonna—shit—”

He came with a broken growl, burying himself to the hilt, his whole body trembling against yours.

Silence settled thick after. Just your ragged breathing, your shared sweat cooling on skin.

Bakugo pulled back, still braced on the desk, chest heaving. His forehead dropped to yours.

“This doesn’t change shit,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Still your boss.”

You let out a breathless, shaky laugh. “Yeah. And I’m still your problem.”

His smirk returned, slow and wicked.

“Damn right you are.”

[potatodemon-beesensible]

Personal and deeply emotional rant incoming. Unrelated to ai but very much so related to identity, trauma, and harassment. Also a vent. Not everyone would wanna read this kinda thing so here’s a markdown. To specify, I’m doing alright and am vibing. It’s just healthy to express this stuff.

This is my attitude with many things tbh. Even if ya can’t win, make it incredibly inconvenient for whoever you despise. Not in a petty way, if I can leave something and vibe happily I will leave it. HOWEVER. If a statement must be made a statement must be made. Fingers may be bitten off. If someone doesn’t take no for an answer and they’re harassing me… submitting to it brings back too much trauma. They will get hurt. I’m a very controlled person, and I’m not losing that control again. I will almost always make the choice to leave something and deal with it. I’m just… very earnestly terrified of going through all that again for no good reason.

To specify, this is also if I can’t simply avoid them and a higher up won’t do anything about it even after I bring it up with how much it’s impairing me. Oftentimes with harassment… you can’t really avoid it. It’s usually in areas you either HAVE to go to or simply enjoy going to. If something’s important enough to me, I’m not ‘sucking it up’ as some idiots like to say. I know what it’s like to give up… and just- no. Not again. I don’t even think I’m capable of giving up at this point. I just… want a job and I wanna chat with my friends. That’s basically it.

My dad does actually piss me off at times… just with some things he says in response when I try explaining this. He struggles to wrap his head around it. I genuinely respect and admire him but… I guess someone who hasn’t lost their entire sense of self before wouldn’t get it. It is frustrating to try explaining to him. I’d mainly relate it to coming out of the closet with being lgbt for the first time, being shoved back in, then coming out again much more firmly being EXTREMELY averse to not presenting as your true self/gender.

Like- it feels like he doesn’t believe me when I explain it to him. Like the concept of me having THAT extreme of an aversion to being dehumanized/harassed is insane to him. And that hurts.

I have been to family gatherings in fem clothing, seen some of the looks people give me, and immediately go into fight or flight mode basically. If they approach me about to say something, I will take in every bit of their body language to try and get a read on them. And I am actively thinking about the nastiest most hurtful possible thing to say to them if they try putting me down for wearing something ‘not fitting for a guy’. If I don’t know anything about them I’ll just grin from stress and tell them to “Stop talking and leave”. But if I do have any knowledge on something personal and emotional to them, I absolutely will not hesitate to say it. To me, it doesn’t even matter how they take it. Just that I said the worst possible thing I could think of and did not take any bullcrap. If I downplayed and degraded them for their pain and personal experiences, good. That was a proper response.

To specify, this is only if they actually say something horrible. Doesn’t matter if they put it nicely. Like- obviously I have self control. I don’t get so pissed off that I can’t help myself. I very much so have the self control to CHOOSE not to say something back. And I won’t if I’m actually in a dangerous/unpredictable setting. I value my safety above all of this and I refuse to let myself get hurt if it can be prevented, I’m not worrying my friends for that.

It’s just that the point is that I CHOSE to say something absolutely cruel and horrendous to someone else when I did not have to. I will literally say anything in response to “You shouldn’t be dressing like that”. Anything. I will make them cry if I’m able to. And if they run off that’s a breath of fresh air.

Like… I feel like my dad’d just get upset with me in this scenario. When really now the reason why I’m like this is because no one stood up for me when it mattered. And this is the raw, genuine product. There is one Chara comic I relate to quite a lot… I genuinely feel it and it hits for me. But not fully. Like- it’s more on the lines of “Chara makes an outright death threat” whereas I’m just… not that. I’m not what one would call aggressive. I’m always going to be passive in any situation, it’s just that I know when to rev it up when necessary. Funnily enough I think I also get Bruce Banner’s line of “I’m always angry” before he turns into the hulk. Once you have that trauma… it’s just there. Even when you’re not feeling it it’s in some part of your mind. I guess that’s why I can get so intense at times. It’s just… always there to tap into when something actually matters to me. I work much better under stress, yes. I’m much more productive. But I don’t WANT to use that side of myself for that. Just… no. It’s part of why I’ve taken so much time for myself after I graduated. I… didn’t want to move forward tapping into that part of me for work. So I think that a Nurse job’d be really good for me. I have caring and nurturing instincts separate from my trauma. So… I figure I won’t have to revert to a lotta my coping mechanisms when under stress for that kinda job. I can just nurture and care about what I’m doing, letting that get me through the day.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Smut, p n v, first time together, "cute" boners, dry humping, making out, praise kink, very smutty lmao...

A/N: Is this 10 pages of basically teasing and smut? Idk go find out...

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Part 29: "Cute" Boner Touching

“How are you feeling?” Chris asks, pulling me closer into his side and planting a swift kiss on the crown of my head. 

The mattress below us shifts as I shrug my shoulders, one of them digging into the plush material as the other glides under Chris’ hand. His arm wrapped around me is tight—no doubt falling numb, but he refused to let me move.

A brief sigh leaves my lips, I close my eyes and inhale his familiar scent. “I’m okay.” I breathe. 

My eyelashes flutter as I lean further against him. Chris hums, tugging me impossibly tighter and letting the tip of his nose rest against my head. 

Something about him makes my heart feel like it’s coated in a thick layer of honey—soothing and healing, but it’s also warm. 

The type of warmth that transfers from his touch and penetrates my energy in every possible way.

I love it—I crave it. However, things have been a bit…distant. He’s not scared to touch me anymore or have sleepovers, but he won’t really touch me. And it’s not that I just want the pleasure, I want the intimacy with him. 

“What’re you doing, baby?” he puffs, laughing dryly. 

“Oh, um…” A blush covers my cheeks as I realize just how much my leg across his lap is tensing from just the mere thoughts of him being inside of me. “-yeah…fine, sorry.” 

God. I want that.

I want it badly. 

But he won’t touch me—not like that. 

“Chris?” I ask, my bottom lip getting caught between my teeth as I try to suck in a heft breath of air. I need to ask. It’s starting to make me anxious, giving me thoughts I know aren’t true, but sometimes it’s hard to just brush them off. 

I mean, why doesn’t he wanna touch me like that anymore? Was I undesirable now? Did he think I didn’t want it? Does he not want it?

Ugh. Too many questions that I’m sick of trying to answer myself. 

“Hm?” he hums, rolling over to lay on his side while pulling me even closer into his chest. I laugh as my nose smushes against his chest, placing my palm on the fabric of his shirt as I push off enough to pull back and be able to look at his face. 

He looks…peaceful. I almost don’t wanna ruin the calm aura with a question, but my heart aches in my chest at the thought of another restless night of overthinking. 

“I, uh—I feel like you’ve been…I don’t know…distant?” I murmur, my eyes trailing down to my hands on his chest as I fiddle with the material of his shirt. My body tenses as I feel Chris rumble with a soft laughter, the noise making my heart weigh a bit heavier as I try to take a deep breath. 

“Distant? Baby—” he keeps one of his arms cradling around me, the other shifting as he pets the stray hairs out of my face. My eyes flicker to his as he lightly holds my chin in between his thumb and his pointer finger. “-we’ve been having sleepovers for the past however many days, how have I been distant?” he huffs, a playful smile plastered on his face. 

My heart thumps in my chest. I swallow thickly, gnawing on the inner part of my cheek. “No, like…I don’t know…you haven’t like…touched-touched me. Am I…did something change? Do you not want to do those kinds of things with me anymore?” I ask, my voice cracking with humiliation. 

“What?” he asks, an airy chuckle making my body tense from embarrassment. “Baby, no—I…it’s not like that, I just…I don’t wanna push you. Trust me, I—fuck, I want those things really bad, but I just don’t wanna rush you.” 

A warmth crawls behind the back of my ears, flooding into my cheeks as Chris pinches my chin between his fingers to guide my eyes to his. He spares a soft smile, leaning down and placing a swift kiss on my lips before resting his forehead against mine. 

God. I love how it feels when our lips touch. It’s some sort of comfort that’s exciting—a feeling that makes everything seem so effortless, so carefree. 

“I love you, ya know that, right?” His tone is devious, the grin on his face growing as my eyes narrow playfully. 

“Guess so. I love you too.” I mention, my throat feeling tighter as I focus on the heat radiating between our bodies. “-I’d…I’d also love it if you'd touch me.” 

His eyes widen, squinting as his lips curl more. “Yeah? Now? You sure?” he asks, his voice making my stomach flood with butterflies as my lips seem to be plastered shut. I nod, unable to get any words out.

Chris brings a hand upward, brushing some of my hair behind my ear while licking over his lips. “Gotta tell me with your words, sweetheart. I wanna hear you say it—”

I don’t let him finish. My hand wraps around the back of his neck firmly, pulling him to meet my lips. The second our mouths crash together, he hums against me, his hand sliding down to my waist and giving a light squeeze. 

“Chris–” I gasp, pulling him closer by wrapping my leg tighter around his waist. 

He grunts, a low noise that makes an electric sensation crawl up my spine, forcing me to arch myself against him. There’s a slight hardness prodding at the heat pooling between my legs. I feel him swivel himself against me, a sharp moan erupting from my throat as I break the kiss out of shock. 

“See? See how bad I want you?” he husks, pushing himself harder against me as I grasp onto his shoulder with one hand, the other twisting in his hair. “-you’re insane for thinkin’ I didn’t want you, baby—fuckin’ crazy.” 

The dampening material of my underwear slides against my folds as he ruts himself against me. It’s slow—hard. Everything feels like fire and ice as his lips start to trace down my neck, nipping at my sweet spot, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. 

“Hey,” a voice sounds, the bedroom door shaking with a couple firm knocks, “-could you guys come help make dinner? Mia fell asleep and I don’t wanna wake her up, but I don’t know how to fucking do all this shit at once.”

Matt. 

Chris relaxes, panting and gasping for air as he holds me a bit tighter. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me.” he spits. 

Noticing his frustration, I pet my hands through his hair, watching as he melts against me, huffing in annoyance. 

“Um, hello? I’m kinda about to burn shit so like…can you guys—”

“We’ll be out in a minute.” I answer, letting out a brief laugh as Chris groans against me. 

I should be upset. My body is on fire, a desperate need for relief making my skin itch for more. But I’m not annoyed—well, maybe a little bit, but nothing compared to what Chris is feeling by the looks of it. 

“C’mon,” I urge, trying to get up, laughing as he holds me flush against him, shaking his head with his face in between my breasts. 

“Why…why…why…” he murmurs. 

It’s hard not to laugh. A swift giggle leaves my lips, my eyes bulging as Chris looks up at me with an offended expression. 

“This is funny to you?” he asks, his lips slightly pouting with disbelief. 

Shrugging, I give a slight nod. Chris unravels his hands from around me, standing up and offering me a hand. “Sorry, just…you’re cute.” I mention, shrugging while biting back a smile. 

His jaw falls, his lips puffing with a heavy puff of air. “I have a boner and you’re calling me cute? Wow. Okay…just—wow.” 

“Let’s go,” I say, shaking my head while tugging his hand in mine towards his bedroom door. 

It’s hard to be upset when my heart feels so full. He loves me, he wants me—he wants everything just as much as I do. 

It feels good. 

___

Helping Matt cook was fine. Jimmy was usually the one giving us directions in the kitchen, so it felt a bit odd, but overall it worked out. 

Pasta, some garlic bread, and even some cut up fruit. We were all pretty impressed with the end result—especially Mia. She felt awful for falling asleep, waking up in a panic that the house might be burnt down.

Jimmy would be proud seeing the end result. He was at a friend’s place, drinking and watching some sports game. He wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. It kinda felt a bit empty without his presence at dinner. I love his stupid dad jokes.

After eating, we all settled on the couch. Mia wanted us to all watch a movie together and honestly it’s hard to say no to her, she’s just so sweet—she wanted to watch a movie to watch it with me even though she’s already seen it. 

But, that didn’t last long. Mia was still tired, she fell asleep on Matt—and Matt fell asleep only minutes after her. 

And then it was like some sort of switch flipped. 

Chris pulled me onto his lap, shushing me as I gasped from the feeling of a bulge underneath me. I looked over to Matt and Mia, feeling guilty, but letting Chris drag me back to his room. 

Every item of clothing had been discarded. The heat between our bodies is making me feel dizzy, the tension in the air resulting in some sort of electricity that makes me absolutely palpable under his touch. 

And he was really touching me—the way I had been craving.

“Oh—” I gasp, clinging onto his shoulder as he hovers above me, his length sliding over my sensitive clit over and over again. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he coos, leaning down and placing his lips onto mine to shut me up as he repeats the actions, bringing his hand down between our bodies to press his dick firmly against my sobbing folds. 

My eyebrows knit together, my hips lifting off the bed in a desperate attempt to feel more. He’s been teasing me for what seems like hours, wanting to get me as wet as possible so there would be no discomfort—but it’s fucking torture. 

I can feel the slick leaking out of my entrance, sticking to my inner thighs and making everything echo with soft wet squelches. Even through the condom, I can feel the veins on his dick, the ridge of his tip as he uses my slick to coat his length meticulously. 

“Please, Chris—” 

My brain falls numb as I feel his tip prod directly against my entrance. I claw onto his shoulders, letting out a whine as I desperately try to roll my hips. 

“Are you—fuck, are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks, wincing as he slides in just the slightest due to my movements. 

Nodding dumbly, I swallow the saliva building up, my mouth watering with anticipation. “Yes—please, I—please.”

“You just…just tell me if you wanna stop, alright? We can stop anytime you want—shit,” he hisses, my legs clamping on either side of his hips as he just barely pushes into me. 

“Relax for me, okay? Ca–can you do that for me?” he asks. 

My body complies before my mind can even comprehend what he’s said. A brutal moan erupts from the back of my throat, hitching as my mouth falls open with silence.

Fuck, he’s big. 

The stretching sensation makes everything feel viciously coherent—his breath fanning across my neck, one of his hands planted on my waist, rubbing his thumb comfortingly along my skin as he slowly pushes himself further inside of me.  

Oh god. 

“Chris—” I whine, crying out as I feel his pelvis push against mine. I feel brutally full, the sensation overwhelming and intoxicating at the same time. 

“There you go, fuck—good girl, takin’ me so good, baby—oh—,” he hisses, his words making me clamp around him as I feel my bundle of nerves twitch from the stimulation of his pelvis slightly grinding onto mine. 

Holy fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good in my life. It’s not even just the physical aspect—it’s how connected I feel to him, how reassuring it all seems. 

I’m his, he’s mine. 

“Please—move,” I urge. 

My legs tremble as he pushes even further inside before sliding part of his length out, slowly starting to thrust in and out of me. “Oh—oh god,” I breathe. 

Opening my eyes, I’m met with a heavenly sight. His eyes are squinted together, his lips parted while small moans puff through his lips. I claw onto him harder, his eyes opening and peering into mine. His hips twitch, a harder thrust making a sharp noise echo from my lips. 

“Ohmy—my god, feels so…” he shakes his head, biting on his lip as he drives himself into me with more intention. 

Oh.

Oh.

It feels fucking amazing. I can’t help but let my knees bend, my feet planted on the bed as I left myself to meet each of his movements. 

Chris groans at the sight of me so desperate to feel him—to feel more. His hand on my waist trails down to one of my legs, pulling it to hook around his waist as he lets himself rock against me faster. 

“Chri–chris,” I cry out, my mouth open as loud whines escape. I hear the subtle noise of him trying to shush me, his lips planting over mine as his tongue darts into my mouth while he tries to swallow all the noises from the both of us. 

My head jolts back into the pillow as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust. “Yes—yes—harder, I—fuck!” I screech, the embarrassingly loud noise accompanied by a loud, wet slap of our bodies meeting. 

It feels so fucking good. My body writhes underneath him, my thighs tensing as my stomach knots with pleasure more and more. 

“Fuck—please tell me your c-close, I–not-not gonna last—not gonna last much longer,” he seethes, his jaw tightening as he tries to keep himself at a steady rhythm. 

I nod, unable to say anything as I let out moans that get louder and louder. His hips start to move erratically, but the falter of pattern doesn’t make the bubbling euphoria any less apparent. 

“Shhh–fuck—gotta be quiet, baby, please—just—oh shit, gonna—cum,” he hisses, my teeth sinking into his shoulder as I try to muffle the noise into his skin, a tear of pleasure falling from the corner of my eye as a wave of pure bliss crashes over me, my body twitching and convulsing as I feel a warmth pool inside of me with his thrusts getting sloppier as we both ride out the highs. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, relaxing as he slowly comes to a stop. “Are…are you okay? Was that okay?” he asks, reaching a hand upwards and brushing the hairs sticking to the light layer of sweat on my forehead. 

“Mhm,” I mumble, exhausted. I wince as I feel him try to pull out somewhat. 

Chris halts his movements as he hears the noise of displeasure. “Hey, look at me,” I follow his directions, staring up at him as he spares me a sympathetic smile, “I love you, I…I really love you. I’m gonna pull out so I can clean us up and we can cuddle, okay?” he offers, smiling as I nod tiredly. 

My back arches as he slowly removes himself, the stimulation unpleasant and leaving me feeling empty. 

He stands up from the bed, peeling and tying off the condom with a confused expression scrunching into disgust as he accidentally dips his fingers in his own cum. 

“The fuck?” he tuts, his brows knitting as he hears me giggle from the slight mishap. He glares at me, clearly holding back a smile—and failing—as he tosses the condom in the trash. 

My eyes bulge, my jaw dropping as I watch him reach for a clean T-shirt folded on his desk, grabbing his water bottle and pouring it on the fabric. “Chris?!” I screech.

He looks at me with a shrug, “-I don’t wanna go to the bathroom and try to not get caught. Plus…I just really don’t wanna be away from you right now.” he mentions, stalking over to me, gently nudging my knee. 

My face floods with warmth, the endearment of his statement overpowering the disbelief. I shift as he tries to gently wipe between my legs, feeling refreshed after he pulls away to find the stickiness is gone. 

The T-shirt was probably softer than a washcloth anyhow. 

Chris wipes himself off, looking at his laundry hamper before his eyes drift to the trash. “Just wash it,” I huff, rolling my eyes as he nods, hesitantly bundling up the shirt and sticking it on top of the hamper

He turns around with a smile, coming back over the bed and crawling in without a second thought. I let out a laugh as he pulls me into his chest. 

“I missed you.” 

The statement from him makes me let out a small huff of disbelief, my lips curling into an unbeatable smile as I feel one of his hands comb through my hair, the other tracing patterns on my back. 

“You missed me for the two minutes you had to stand up and not touch me?” I question, laughing as he hums with affirmation. 

“I mean yeah,” he mentions, kissing the crown of my head before pulling me impossibly closer, “-I really like touching you. Thought that was clear by now.” 

My nose scrunches, my chest feeling lighter as my stomach swirls with warmth. “Well, in that case—I missed you too.” 

He clutches me closer, his breath  evening out as I feel his limbs relax. “I love you—s’much,” he mumbles, his voice groggy with sleep. 

I smile. “I love you.” I mention, my heart returning to a calm pattern as I feel him hug me even closer, focusing on how his skin makes my body fall into a state of bliss—pleasure and peace. 

“Hmmmmm, love you so…” he yawns, nuzzling against me as he struggles to stay awake, “-so much…s’much…” 

It’s hard to keep my eyes open. I let them flutter shut as I sink into the comforting sensation. Chris hums against me, attempting to mumble the words again. 

I can’t help but let myself drift off into my subconscious, a smile etched onto my face as I feel his hands mindlessly caress me while he struggles to stay awake. 

God, I love when he touches me.

[azzifuddfanpage]

Azzi’s shower breaks so paige tries to take a look at it and fix it but tells her she should probably just call a plumber and she can use hers until it’s fixed. What paige didn’t anticipate was running into azzi, fresh out of the shower with wet hair and a towel, and she is seemingly very okay with it…

broken pipes

note: lowkey thinking about coming out of retirement so keep the requests coming. Sorry it’s been so long 😭 also sorry this is kinda horrible I was so distracted while writing this

word count: 1.5k

————

“Paige? I need help.” Azzi shouts from a few rooms away. 

Paige barely hears her over the sound of the guns blazing in the background of her video game. After the second time Azzi’s voice called out, she very reluctantly pulled off her headset watching her character get gunned down unattended. 

Paige sighed and turned her head towards the younger girls voice. 

As much as she hated to admit it, no matter what she was doing she would always drop everything for Azzi. I mean what that’s what being best friends is for… right?

In all honesty, paige, though she would deny it to anyone who even mentioned it, was 100 percent in love with Azzi. There was no doubt about it, anyone who had eyes could tell, their teammates, their families, even coach had begun to pick up on it, the way paige looked at Azzi like she was the sun in every room. 

“Ya? Watchu need Az” paige said from her rather comfy spot on the couch. 

“The water stopped coming out in the shower!” Azzi shouted back, her voice muffled by the door. 

Paige huffed and stood up from the couch and made her way over to the door. 

“I mean I can try and look at it, but you might wanna call a plumber.” Paige said through the bathroom door. 

“Ugh I didn’t get to finish washing my hair.” Azzi whines. Paige can’t help the soft smile that forms on her cheeks as she could hear the pout in Azzi’s voice. 

“I’m sorry Az you wanna finish in mine?” 

She could hear Azzi thinking through the door, she could almost see the way she cocked her head, and the way her forehead scrunched as she came up with a plan. 

“I guess so, but can u call the plumber for me?” 

“Pleasseee” Azzi begged.

Paige let out a breathy laugh, she knew that Azzi would do anything to be antisocial, so when given the opportunity paige made calls for her, even ordered for her at restaurants, she new Azzi was more than capable, but part of her liked getting to treat her like the princess she was. 

“Alright princess fine.” Paige mocked, a grin forming on her face as she stepped back a bit so Azzi could leave.

When the door to the bathroom swung open, steam escaped and the smell of lavender body wash swarmed paige’s senses. 

Her eyes found Azzi immediately, her jaw clenched as she noticed the clothing, or lack thereof, that Azzi was in. A towel, a small white towel that contrasted with the warm milky chocolate of her skin. 

Her breath hitched as she watched a drop of water slide down her chest and slide beneath the towel. 

Before she realized what she was doing Azzi let out a slight cough. Paiges eyes immediately froze as she brought her attention back to the present. 

“Like what u see paige?” Azzi asked with a smirk as she stepped closer to her. Paige felt her chest tighten and could feel the blush heating her cheeks. 

“Huh- i- uh- “ paige stuttered searching Azzi’s face for something to say. 

“Erm what did you say about the uhm shower? It’s broken?” Paige stumbled over her words but finally managed to recover that small sense of self awareness as her eyes stayed glued on a flaking piece of paint on the wall. 

For paige’s sake, thankfully Azzi didn’t continue to tease her about her obvious lack of conspicuousness when it came to ogling over Azzi’s minimally clothed body. 

Paige could feel a soft warm hand brush her shoulder gently. “Ya wanna just see if u can fix it? I know ur good at stuff like that.” Paige's whole body tensed as her eyes finally looked up. Azzi was already walking away and in the direction of paige's bathroom.

 Paige just stood there unable to move watching as Azzi walked away. She shook her head trying to snap herself back into reality once she realized she was literally staring at a closed door. 

————

Azzi, though she would deny it to everyone who even looked at her funny after they saw her and paige’s “strange” friendship, was in love with paige, and had been since she was 16. The minute she saw her on team USA. 

At first Azzi tried to stuff down her feelings, she had watched paige with other girls before, supported from the sideline as she flirted, she had always thought her feelings were one sided, but for the past couple months things had begun to change. 

Azzi couldn’t quite put her finger on it, maybe she had finally just opened her eyes a little more, but she started to see things in the way Paige looked at her. 

When Azzi was across Ted’s, leaning up against the bar talking to a guy or girl, she could suddenly feel paige’s eyes boring holes into the back of her neck, she started to notice the way anytime someone got a too close to her, laughed a little to loud, brushed their arm up against her in a way that was anything more than friendly, Azzi found paige appearing at her side and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

Eventually Azzi stopped going up to the bar at all, they blamed it on the drinks- the way that they would sit- thighs pressed together, hands brushing each other. It was a sort of unspoken connection between the two. But Azzi new it was just the start of something, paige was just to scared to see it.

 Azzi smirked to herself as she turned on paige’s shower. If paige wasn’t going to be the one to cross the unspoken line first, well then I guess Azzi would. 

————

After a couple of failed attempts Paige finally managed to get the shower to work again. 

Paige smiled confidently to herself as she shut the cabinet. 

She briskly walked back to her own bathroom to tell Azzi the good news- a sense of pride radiating off of her at her accomplishment. 

“Hey Azzi, I fixed it, u wouldn’t believe it I literally just had to tighten the pipe!” Paige said a smile beaming on her face. 

Azzi smiled from the other side of the door, she could hear how proud paige was- and as a good best friend she wasn’t about to ruin her high. So she did what any good friend would do…

“Oh that’s awesome paige! I knew u were the one to ask- hey do u uhm- think u could help me with something else.” Azzi asked, her voice sounding a little smaller as she finished her sentence.

“Course what’s up?” Paige said immediately. 

Azzi was silent for a minute before she said, “Can u come in here.” 

Paige opened the door a bit confused.

Her eyes found Azzi’s immediately, Azzi didn’t say anything, she just walked over and reached to lock the bathroom door. 

“I need help paige.” Azzi said with a smirk. 

“U think u can help me. Did so good already.” Azzi said her lips brushing paige’s neck as she whispered into her ear. 

Paige felt goosebumps spread along her neck from where Azzi’s breathe had lingered. 

Azzi leaned back trying to silently judge paige’s reaction from the way her face looked. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open a little, and when she opened them, there was nothing but pure love in them as she leaned in and connected their lips. 

It was a kiss of passion, and years of lost time, paige walked her backwards until her back was up against the wall of the shower, their lips meshing together methodically. Azzi sighed into paige’s mouth as she felt her tongue slide against her own. 

When they finally pulled apart, a little breathless, Paige just shook her head in amusement.

“Took you long enough.” Paige said. 

Azzi smacked her teasingly, “at least I finally did something.” Azzi said. 

Paige cocked her eyebrow. “So what was it u needed help with.” Paige said with a smirk, letting her eyes scan down Azzi’s body that was covered only by a small towel. 

Azzi matched her energy leaning back in, pulling her in by her shirt so she could feel paige’s breath on her lips. 

Without saying anything Azzi kept her eyes on paige’s lips and let her towel drop to her ankles. Paige’s eyes stayed on Azzi’s. 

“U sure pretty” paige whispered her hand falling lower on Azzi’s waist. 

Azzi said nothing, just let herself begin to strip off paige’s clothes, telling her to lift her arms so she could rip off her t shirt and sports bra, so they were both completely bare. 

“How bout you show me how well this shower works huh?” Azzi whispers against paige’s lips. 

“Say less.” Paige says connecting their lips again and turning the shower on before finally making up for all the lost years. 

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Given the World

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x GN!Reader

Summary: You like to bring little souvenirs for Bob whenever you travel for a mission.

Marvel Masterlist

You and Bucky were assigned as security detail for a senator in Hawaii. Being part of the new Avengers, you expected various kinds of missions, especially when Val was the orchestrator of the group. Being part of security was the tamest mission you could receive and you were gonna be in Hawaii for a month? Easy.

What wasn't going to be easy was leaving Bob.

You and he were in this weird kind of limbo. You two started off as friends, then the more you hung out with each other, you became best friends. Then, on a random night where you two were cuddled up and watching a movie, you two kissed and confessed your feelings for each other.

You two never put a label on it, but you were together. You didn't say you were exclusive, but you were. There were times you wanted to have the "what are we?" talk but every time you got close to it, you chickened out.

Yeah, you can punch, stab, and kick your way out of any situation, but feelings? Fuck. Feelings were hard and you didn't know how to navigate that.

But still, you tried to show Bob your feelings through other means, and that was through gifts.

Bob still wasn't cleared to go on missions, so he had to stay at the Watch Tower while you and the others travelled all over the world, helping people.

You brought him various keychains, mugs, plushies, books, etc.. You'd take pictures and send them to him. Anything to show that you thought of him.

Now with the Hawaii mission, you started thinking of what little things you could potentially bring back for him.

Even now, as you pack and Bob watches you do so from your bed, you think of him.

"Maybe a book? You said you liked history so maybe I can find a book about some of the local history? Oh!" you look at him with bright eyes and a smirk, "What about a coconut?"

He snorts, "You wanna bring me back a coconut?"

"I'm trying to think out of the box here! I'm trying to stray away from all the keychains, mugs, and magnets-"

"I like all of my keychains, mugs, and magnets."

You sit at the edge of your bed with a pout, "I wanna try to get you something different."

He softly smiles at you and scoots closer to sit beside, "I'll love whatever you bring back for me. Even if you don't bring back anything at all, knowing that you want to bring me back something is enough. You know I appreciate you regardless."

You nod and let out a deep exhale, "I know, but I always feel bad about leaving you here. I want you to experience everything I do."

"I will eventually. Once I get my powers in control and don't let the other guy out, I'll be out there with you, defending senators and civilians alike."

You snort and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, "At least I'm going with Bucky. Aside from you, he and I get along the best." You then move away, heading back to your open suitcase on the floor.

"A month long mission with a handsome super soldier in paradise. Yeah, that's the dream right there," Bob says it with a playful smile, but you see it in his eyes: the insecurity.

You look at him with a sad frown. You hate how ingrained his self-doubt is in him.

"I promise you, nothing will happen."

He clears his throat and nervously rubs his hands on his sweatpants, "No yeah. I know. It was just joke."

"Robby," you say his nickname softly as you approach him again, sitting on his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and you stare into his eyes, "I'm interested in no one but you. I have feelings, really strong feelings, for no one, but you."

"I know," he replies softly and he looks away in shame, "I'm sorry." He takes hold of your hips to help ground himself.

"I understand. It's okay," you give him a quick kiss on the lips, "I got you."

"I got you," he repeats back to you.

You both rest your foreheads against one another and sit in silence. You listen to his breathing, you feel his fingers dig into your hips.

"I love you," he whispers, "and if you don't feel the same, it's okay. Because I'll still love you even if you don't love me."

You chuckle, "How can I not love you, Robert Reynolds, when you're all that I think about? Is your collection of souvenirs not proof of how much I care about you? Doesn't matter if I'm one mile away or one thousand, you're on my mind and being away from you for a month is going to be hell for me."

His lips perk up into a small smile, "Is it bad that I kind of find it comforting that you'll be as much as a wreck as me when you're away?"

You throw your head back in laughter, "Absolutely not."

His laughter joins yours and you feel yourself feel lighter. You suppose feelings aren't that scary after all.

____________________________

Bucky smirks at you as you and he follow Senator Collins and her husband around Aloha Stadium. It's a free day for the senator and he and her husband wanted to do some touristy things around the island.

You and Bucky follow her along with her regular security detail. However, your attention is divided between work and all the different trinkets you can buy Bob. Already your tote bag is filled with some funny t-shirts and a hat woven from palm leaves.

Bucky found it amusing and adorable how often you were straying from the group to buy something new for yourself or Bob.

"We're supposed to be working."

"I'm paying attention!" Your bag looks even heavier now.

Bucky snorts, "You trying to bring the whole island to him or something?"

"Gift giving is one of my love languages. Leave me alone."

"Love, eh?" he cocks a brow at you, "So you two made things official official?"

You nod, "He said it first. He was feeling insecure about me being here with you for a whole month. I reassured him that I'm not interested in anyone but him and then he told me he loves me."

Bucky grimaces, "He thinks you and I-"

"I know, right. As if you're not madly in love with Sam."

"...I'm not madly in love with him."

"Suuuure, Buck. Anyway, all of this," you pat your tote bag, "is just me bringing back some of the world to Bob, because he deserves it."

The super soldier chuckles and shakes his head, "You two are disgustingly cute."

_________________________

You dump out two tote bags filled with gifts for Bob. He looks at the pile on his bed and then at you, "Honey-"

"I was on an island for a month and they had cool things! Look," you hold up a palm tree figure, "I know you don't smoke anymore, but this is a palm tree bong and I thought it was hilarious. So I bought it for you."

Bob looks at you in confusion and amusement, "I-Well alright then."

"I swear that's the weirdest thing I bought for you. Everything else is pretty tame."

Bob grabs a t-shirt and unfolds it. He snorts and reads it, "'I got lei'd in Hawaii'?" He laughs and tosses the shirt onto the bed, "You're lucky I love you, because that's horrible," he says pulling you to sit on his lap, "Thank you though. I appreciate all the gifts and I'm happy you're back."

"You're welcome and same. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but here with you," you peck his lips and hold him tight.

Bob will never tell you, but he thinks the best thing the world has given him, was you.

[natalianovnas]

༄ `. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 4

summary : raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.

genre : country!au, wlw, countryside life.

warnings : smut (only in the beginning), baby talk & that's about it. (i think?)

words count : 4.4k (-ish??)

an : this took very long to come ik and i'm sorry. writers were right about writers block not being funny. also, not nicely proofread so if this chapter doesn't make sense idk anymore T-T

𖦹 part one 𖦹 part two 𖦹 part three 𖦹 part four 𖦹 part five 𖦹

HORSES & ROMANCE:

— Sweet As Sin

📍The Langford Ranch House

Clare Valley, Southern Australia

The night air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, blooming roses, and fresh soil — a proper summer evening on the ranch.

Dinner, the usual you had every Fridays at the main house with your grandmother, your dad and now Nat joining you, had gone surprisingly well. Georges, ever the stoic cowboy type, had talked about fencing issues and cattle prices, while your grandma insisted on feeding Natasha an extra slice of peach pie she “clearly needed.”

You’d caught Nat’s eyes more than once across the table — dark green glinting with mischief every time she stole a glance down your tank top or let her boot press lightly to your ankle beneath the table.

And now, in the quiet hush of the kitchen, the others settled outside by the firepit, you were at the sink washing dishes, sleeves of her worn over flannel pushed up, cheeks warm from the wine, the heat and all her teasing.

You didn’t hear her come in.

But you felt her.

Strong arms slipped around your waist from behind, grip firm and possessive. Her hands slid just under your tank, warm against your skin.

“You know,” She murmured, breath brushing hot over your ear, “watching you being all domestic like this? Kinda drives me wild.”

You chuckled softly, hands scrubbing the soapy sponge over the porcelain plate. “Because I’m washing dishes?”

“No, because you look so damn good doing it.” Her lips grazed the shell of your ear. “That, and I’ve been waiting hours to get my hands on you.”

You leaned back into her, heart already picking up pace. “They’re right outside,” you whispered, knowing her intentions, the thrill of it crackling between your legs.

"Mm," The Russian hummed in acknowledgement. “Then keep quiet.”

Her hands slid lower, fingers toying with the waistband of your shorts, making your breath hitch in the slightest. “You wore these on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked. “You knew what they’d do to me.”

“They’re just shorts, Romanoff.”

You'd breathed out, your eyes almost fluttering close. You almost allowed yourself to get lost in the moment but you couldn't fully.

“They’re absolute torture,” She muttered, and then kissed down the curve of your neck, slow and lingering, her hands finally slipping inside — knuckles grazing over lace and skin.

You gripped the edge of the sink.

“Tasha—”

She smirked against your skin. “I’ve been thinking about something. All evening, really.”

“Mm?”

Her hand cupped you gently, just enough pressure to elicit a little whimper out of you. “What if I put a baby in you?”

Your entire body went still — except your heart, which leapt like a startled colt. You turned your head slightly, caught her gaze. She was smiling, sultry and serious all at once.

“I’m not joking,” She whispered, nose brushing against your jaw now. “I want that with you. You, barefoot and pregnant on this ranch. Belly round with our kid.”

You swallowed thickly. “You sure that’s not just the excess of pie & wine talking?”

“Nope,” She grinned. “That’s all me, love. You’ve got me so gone I wanna give you a baby and build you a damn crib from scratch.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.” Her fingers dipped lower, just enough to make your knees buckle.

You let out a quiet gasp, biting your lip hard. “Tash, my dad—”

“Is right outside,” She purred. “And you’re gonna stay put and quiet while I make you say yes to everything.”

She gently took ahold of your jaw and turned your face toward hers, lips already claiming yours in a searing kiss — her hands still tucked inside your shorts, slow and purposeful. She devoured you right there, against the sink, soft moans swallowed between kisses, until your hips rolled and your fingers clawed her shoulders, your whole body taut with the want she'd built all evening.

Outside, the fire crackled. Grandma Elise laughed at one of your dad’s dry jokes.

Inside, you came apart for Natasha — silently, breathlessly, pressed between her body and the scent of soap and sin.

And when she finally pulled back, she didn’t let go of you.

“Think about it,” She murmured, kissing your temple. “You, me, and a little one running wild on this ranch. I’d kill to see you like that.”

You weren’t sure if it was the orgasm, the wine, or the picture she painted — but the thought didn’t scare you. It made your chest ache.

And when you kissed her again, slower now, you realized something: you already belonged to her.

. . .

It had been three days since the dinner.

Three days since Natasha whispered about babies in your ear with her hand beneath your waistband, her mouth grazing your neck like a promise.

Three days since you laid in bed beside her in the quiet hours after, tangled in limbs and morning sunlight, and realized that maybe, for the first time in your life, the idea of forever didn’t scare you.

But before you could even dream of forever, you knew you had to face the man who raised you. The man who taught you to ride, to fight back when you were right, and to shut up when it mattered.

He was out by the chicken coop when you found him. Feeding the hens, straw hat shading his sun-weathered face, boots deep in the dirt. A cigarette hung from his lips, unlit — he hadn’t smoked it since your mother died, but he still liked the feel of it there.

“Dad?” You said, stepping just close enough that he glanced up from the feed bucket.

“Hey, kid,” He grunted. “You eat that leftover pie, or did Grandma sneak it home again?”

You gave a weak chuckle. “She took it. Of course.”

He nodded, going back to tossing seed like the world wasn’t about to shift on its axis.

You rubbed your hands together, nervous. “Can we talk for a sec?”

That got his attention. Slowly, he set the bucket down and turned to face you fully. His brow furrowed just a bit — not angry, just… aware.

“I’m listening.”

You took a breath then let it out.

“It’s about Natasha.”

His silence was telling. He didn’t nod, didn’t blink — but something in him stilled.

“She’s… not just a neighbor. Or a friend. We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

“And by seeing,” He said, voice gravel-dry, “you mean…?”

“That I’m in love with her.”

His jaw ticked. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

He glanced away, toward the pasture, the breeze catching the brim of his hat. You stood still, heart thudding, waiting for something to fall apart — for the silence to stretch into disappointment.

But instead…

“I figured.”

Your breath hitched. “You… did?”

He shrugged. “You’ve been smiling more. Not just the polite kind. The real one. Like your mama used to.”

You blinked hard, warmth rising in your chest and eyes at once.

“I didn’t know when you were gonna tell me, but I figured you’d get there.”

You stepped forward, a little overwhelmed. “You’re okay with it?”

“Hell,” He muttered, tugging off his hat to rake a hand through his hair, “I ain’t some fool who thinks love looks one way. All I ever wanted was for you to find someone who’d ride through storms with you. Who wouldn’t leave when things got rough. And Romanoff ? She sticks.”

You laughed, more relieved than you could ever say. “Yeah. She does.”

He looked at you then, eyes a little softer than before. “You planning on telling Grandma?”

“One step at a time, old man,” You said, nudging his arm.

“Well,” He muttered, grabbing the bucket again, “when you do, better make sure you’ve got something stronger than sweet tea on hand. That woman’s sharper than a rattlesnake in July.”

You grinned. “So you’re not mad?”

“No, sweetheart, of course not.” He said, then paused. “But if she ever hurts you…”

“She won’t,” You cut in, serious. “I trust her.”

That seemed to be enough. He walked up to you and pulled you in his arms, the grip familiar and soothing.

“You know I love you, right? I only know what's best for you and I trust you're old enough to decide what's best for you.”

“I know. Thank you, Daddy.”

. . .

You found her on the porch swing just after sundown — boots kicked off, legs curled up, her flannel unbuttoned halfway over a black tank top. The sky behind her bled peach and rose, and the fireflies had just begun blinking into the dusk like scattered sparks.

Natasha looked up from her book when you stepped out. “You’re smiling.”

“I talked to my dad,” you said, closing the door behind you. “Told him about us.”

She sat up straighter, eyes searching yours. “And?”

You walked toward her, barefoot across warm wood. “He figured it out already. Said you make me smile the way my mama used to.”

Her expression softened, just a little — like something in her uncoiled.

You settled beside her on the swing, pulling your knees up as her arm slid easily around your back, fingers spreading over your hip like she was anchoring herself.

“I didn’t know how it’d go,” you admitted. “But he was calm. Real calm. Said he just wanted me happy.”

Natasha let out a breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Your dad’s a good man.”

“He is.” You leaned into her. “But you’re a good woman.”

Natasha smirked. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to her jaw. “Mostly.”

Her lips brushed your temple. “So, how are we celebrating this little coming-out party?”

“Quietly,” you said, dragging your hand up the inside of her thigh, “just the two of us.”

The way her breath hitched wasn’t subtle.

You climbed into her lap, straddling her on the swing, your fingers running up the back of her neck and into her hair. Her hands found your waist like it was instinct — like she was made to hold you.

“You know,” you whispered, teasing her ear, “he said you stick.”

“Stick?” she repeated, amused.

“Yeah. That you ride through storms. Don’t leave when it gets hard.”

Her voice dropped to something low and smoky. “It always gets hard with you around.”

You laughed against her throat. “We’re supposed to be celebrating quietly.”

“Oh, I am quiet,” she said, hands sliding under your shirt, calloused palms dragging heat across your skin. “You’re the one who gets noisy.”

Your hips rocked just once against her, teasing, and her mouth found yours — slow and claiming and sure. No urgency. Just heat and sweetness and years of ache melting away into one soft, perfect kiss.

She pulled back just an inch, lips brushing yours. “I’m proud of you.” You blinked, surprised.

“For telling him,” she added, one hand cradling your jaw. “For letting me be seen. For us.”

You leaned in again, kissing her harder this time, until her hands were fisting the back of your shirt and you were both breathless.

“Let’s go inside,” you murmured, lips ghosting her cheek.

“Mm. We could,” she said, eyes glinting, “or I could take you right here on this swing.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, blushing and laughing all at once.

“And you like me this way.”

You kissed her again, grinning into it.

Because she was right. And for the first time in your life — with the stars rising above the fields and the air sweet with summer — it all felt right, too.

. . .

The porch creaked under Natasha’s boots as she stepped outside with two mugs of coffee. Sunlight was low and golden, catching the edges of the wood grain, the dust, the worn ridges of old family tools stacked by the side of the house.

Georges Langford sat on a rocking chair near the edge, his hat pulled low, gaze fixed out over the land like he’d been born to guard it.

“Thought you might want some,” she said, holding out one of the mugs.

He took it without looking at her right away. “Appreciate it.”

Natasha leaned against the porch railing beside him, quiet for a beat. She wasn’t always good at stillness around other people — but she’d learned that with your father, silence wasn’t something to rush. It was something to earn your way through.

They sat like that for a while. A soft breeze stirred. Somewhere out in the barn, the cows shifted.

“You work hard,” he said finally.

She glanced sideways. “I’m used to it.”

“You like it here?”

“I do.” Her voice was honest, low. “Peaceful. Good kind of quiet.”

He nodded. “That’s why I built this place the way I did. Thought maybe I’d scare the fast ones off.”

She let out a short, amused breath. “And did you?”

“Some.”

He looked at her then — not harsh, not unkind, but direct. Like a man who had carried the weight of a family and wasn’t about to hand pieces of it over without looking someone square in the eye.

“I don’t know everything about you,” he said.

She met his gaze. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“But I know the way my daughter looks at you.” He sipped his coffee. “That ain’t nothing.”

A pause. The wind rustled the trees.

Natasha shifted slightly, straightening her shoulders. “She’s the best thing that’s happened to me.”

He studied her.

“I mean it,” she added. “I’ve seen a lot. Done more than I probably should’ve. But she… she makes me want to stay.”

The man gave a quiet hum. “You’re not running from something, are you?”

“No.” She said it firmly. “I’ve already done enough of that.”

He nodded slowly. Looked back out over the fields.

“She’s my only daughter,” he said.

“I know.”

“I don’t care who she loves. But I care how she’s loved.”

Natasha swallowed, jaw ticking just slightly. “She’s loved safe. And full. And real.”

That made him go quiet.

She added, more softly, “I didn’t plan for this. But I’ll stand by her. Wherever this goes.”

He glanced at her again. “You ever think of settling? For real?”

Her mouth twitched. “Depends what you mean by ‘for real.’”

He raised a brow. “Do you want a family, Romanoff?”

She blinked. That hit a little deeper than she expected.

“I’ve thought about it,” she said carefully. “With her… it doesn’t seem so far away.”

A beat passed. He exhaled. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I can’t pretend I know everything about your past, and I won’t pretend it’s not hard for me, having my little girl in love with someone like you.” He smirked faintly. “But I see how she glows when you’re around. And how you soften when you look at her. So… yeah. Alright.”

Natasha stared at him, a little stunned.

“I appreciate that,” she said, genuinely.

He stood, stretching his back, and tipped his hat back just enough to meet her eyes again. “You hurt her, you’ll see how fast I stop being calm.”

She smiled. “Fair enough.”

Then, to her surprise, he reached out — not quite a handshake, but a squeeze to her shoulder. Solid. Approving.

“Come help me chop some wood before it gets too hot.”

She blinked. “You want me to—?”

“Consider it a trust exercise.”

Natasha laughed, taking off her flannel and rolling up her sleeves. “Alright, old man. Don’t slow me down.”

The sharp crack of splitting wood echoed through the open air, birds scattering up from the fence post as Natasha swung the axe again. Her shoulders gleamed with sweat under the midday sun, muscles flexing with every strike. Your father stood nearby, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched.

“You weren’t kidding about not slowing down,” he muttered.

Natasha leaned back with a grin, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “You’re lucky I like you.”

He chuckled, nodding toward the stack. “You got rhythm. Must’ve done this before.”

“Not quite,” she said. “But I’ve broken a lot of things.”

That earned a raised brow. Natasha didn’t elaborate. She bent, picked up another log, and placed it on the stump.

“You ever think of taking her with you to where you’re from?” he asked, almost casually.

Natasha hesitated only a second before lifting the axe again.

A swing then a crack.

The wood split clean.

She exhaled, watching the pieces fall. “Yeah,” she said, voice lower, softer. “I have.”

“You think she’d want that?”

“I don’t know.” She set the axe aside, resting her hands on her hips. “But I want her to see it. The parts of me that still live there. The city wasn’t all noise and ghosts. It was… home, once.”

He eyed her curiously. “That life still part of you?”

“Always.” Natasha looked out toward the horizon. “But so is this place. This farm, this porch, her hands in the earth. I never thought those two things could exist in the same world. But now…”

She trailed off, lost for a second in thought.

He leaned on the fence, keeping quiet.

“I want to take her,” she continued after a beat. “Not forever. Just for a few days. Let her see the apartment I used to live in. The rooftop where I used to think about running. Let her walk down the same streets I did, but hold her hand this time.”

Georges didn’t answer right away.

Natasha added, more quietly, “I’d bring her back, of course. She belongs here. I just… I want her to know all of me. Not just the version that chops wood and drives the truck.”

“You think she don’t already?”

A faint smile. “She does. But I still want to give her the whole picture.”

Another beat of silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustling wind and the soft crackling of leaves.

“She’d follow you to hell and back, you know,” he said finally. “But just make sure you’re not trying to take her somewhere to run. She was raised with roots. She ain’t built for drifting.”

“I’m not running anymore,” Natasha said. “I want to take her because I finally have something worth bringing with me.”

That silenced him. And then — with the faintest twitch of approval — he nodded.

“Go clean up. I’ll take over from here.”

Natasha raised a brow. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

He just smirked.

She grabbed her flannel off the fence rail and made her way back toward the house. And as she crossed the dirt path toward the back porch, she saw her — You, hair in a loose braid, barefoot in cutoffs and an old tee, standing by the sink through the window, singing softly to yourself.

. . .

The crickets had started their nightly song as the sun dipped low behind the barn. Inside, the only light came from the soft glow of the kitchen lamp and the flickering from the fireplace they’d left burning low.

Natasha sat behind you on the couch, legs spread comfortably as you nestled between them. She was brushing her fingers lazily over the inside of your arm, chin resting lightly on your shoulder, the scent of lavender and earth clinging to her skin after a full day in the fields.

“You tired?” Natasha asked, lips brushing against her neck.

You only hummed. “Mm. Not with you doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you touch me like you don’t know you’re doing it.”

Natasha grinned and did it again, slower now, letting her fingers trail all the way to your wrist.

They stayed like that for a while — comfortable, quiet, until Natasha whispered, almost casually, “What would you think about the city?”

You shifted slightly. “The city?”

“Just for a few days.” Natasha’s voice was smooth but unhurried. “You and me. I’d show you around. Not the tourist stuff — the real parts. My places. My past.”

Youvleaned back enough to glance at her. “Your past, huh?”

Natasha gave her a crooked smile. “Only the parts that matter.”

You studied her face, reading the weight behind the offer — the invitation tucked inside it.

“I’d take you to my old neighborhood,” Natasha continued. “We'd grab coffee from that place with the terrible service but the best damn pastries. The streetlights there buzz like bees — it’s annoying as hell, but it’s home. Was, anyway.”

You turned fully to face her now, legs folding up on the couch. “You miss it?”

“Some days.” Natasha’s eyes softened. “But it’s not about missing it. It’s about wanting you to see it. I’ve seen so much of your world. Felt it. I want to share mine with you too. Just a few days. Just us.”

Your thumb brushed against the edge of Natasha’s jaw. “You really think I’d survive city traffic and overpriced coffee?”

“I’d protect you,” Natasha smirked. “Like a good little farm girl bodyguard.”

“You're my bodyguard now?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You both laughed, the kind that curled under the skin like warmth. Then you rested your forehead against Natasha’s.

“I’d go,” You answered quietly.

Natasha blinked, eyes searching yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nodded. “But only if you promise to make fun of me every time I get excited over stupid city things.”

“I will mock you relentlessly.”

“And I get to see what you looked like before flannel and cowboy boots.”

Natasha grinned. “You’re not ready.”

You leaned in and kissed her — soft, deep, like sealing a promise with her lips.

And later, as you two climbed into bed, Natasha whispered, “Thank you,” just against her neck.

“For what?”

“For letting me have you — in every place I’ve ever been.”

[worlds-we-write]

Hii, I adore your writing. Can you please do one where Joelxreader had a fight, he didn't feel good enough, old and went to sleep angry. He woke up in the middle of the night, didn't see you there and even noticed your side was cold, which meant you hadn't been there for a while. He panicked and thought you left him.

In the end he did find you in the house and you made up. Some fluff please, smut if you want. Thanks :)

Only You

Word Count: 1,830

Tags: Angst, insecurity, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, soft making up, light smut (mildly descriptive, f!reader, oral f receiving), age-gap themes, language

AN: Thank you so much for this request! Hope you like it! As always, my inbox is always open for requests for anything specific you wanna read <3

My Masterlist

“You can’t just shut me out every time something scares you, Joel!”

Your voice cracked as it bounced off the walls of the cabin. Joel didn’t flinch. He stood near the table, arms crossed, face like stone.

“I ain’t shut you out.”

“You have,” you insisted, eyes shining. “For days. You’ve been in your head, pushing me away, barely talking, barely looking at me. And when I try to ask—when I try to love you through it—you act like I’m the one hurting you.”

Joel’s jaw flexed.

You took a step closer. “What is going on?”

His voice was low. Bitter. “What’s goin’ on is that you’re finally seein’ me for what I am.”

You blinked. “Joel—”

“I’m tired, baby. Tired of pretendin’ like this is easy. Like I ain’t constantly waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. You’re young, you’re kind, you got a whole damn life ahead of you, and I’m just—” He shook his head. “I’m just some old man clingin’ to somethin’ that don’t belong to him.”

Your heart shattered right in your chest.

“Don’t do that,” you whispered. “Don’t take what we have and twist it into somethin’ ugly just ‘cause you’re scared.”

“I ain’t twistin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ the truth.”

“Well, it’s a shitty truth,” you snapped, tears brimming. “And it isn’t mine.”

Joel stared for a beat—then turned. “I’m done talkin’.”

He walked out.

Not a slammed door. Not a final word. Just silence. Like he’d already decided.

You stood there in the stillness, breath shaky, limbs buzzing with frustration. He didn’t even look back.

You didn’t go after him.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed a blanket from the closet and curled up on the couch. You couldn’t cry again. You were too angry. Too heartbroken. Joel had this way of building walls and convincing himself he was protecting you by doing it. But all it did was make you feel like a stranger in your own home.

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, blinking up at the darkened beams as the clock ticked on. He didn’t come back out. You didn’t go in.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed you.

Joel’s eyes snapped open.

The room was pitch black, save for the faint glow of moonlight through the curtains. His body was still warm with sleep, but something felt wrong.

He reached out instinctively for you—cold sheets. Empty space.

His hand searched again, heart beginning to race. Your side of the bed wasn’t just empty—it had been that way for a while.

“Fuck,” he muttered, bolting upright.

The fight came rushing back in pieces—your voice trembling, the look in your eyes when he said you deserved better. The way he walked away like a coward, thinking silence would protect you both.

But now?

Now all he felt was dread.

“Baby?” he called into the dark, voice rasping from sleep and guilt. No answer.

He got up fast, pulling on the first hoodie he found and moving through the house, bare feet padding softly across the wood floor.

No sign of you in the kitchen.

Bathroom light off.

Coat still hanging by the door, shoes untouched.

His chest clenched.

Maybe you left anyway. Maybe it had taken a few hours to decide, but you realized he wasn’t worth it after all.

He deserved that.

But it would ruin him.

The fear took over, clawing up his throat as he stumbled into the living room—and stopped.

There you were.

Curled into a ball on the couch, blanket twisted around your legs, a crease between your brows even in sleep.

His knees nearly gave out with relief.

He moved slowly, crouching beside the couch and brushing a piece of hair away from your forehead.

You stirred at the touch, eyes fluttering open.

“Joel?” Your voice was groggy, confused.

His face was crumpled in guilt. “I thought you were gone.”

You sat up a little. “Why would I leave?”

Joel looked down. “’Cause I gave you every damn reason to.”

There it was—cracked and raw. All his worry, all his anger, all his fear that you were too good for him, poured out like floodwater from a broken dam.

You reached for his hand. “I needed space, Joel. I wasn’t leavin’. I was hurt.”

“I know,” he rasped, voice thick. “I—fuck—I didn’t mean any of it. You were right. I pulled away and then got mad when you noticed. That ain’t fair.”

You squeezed his fingers gently.

“I didn’t want to sleep without you,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Woke up and you weren’t there and... I lost it.”

His eyes were glassy. The vulnerability in them made your chest ache.

“Come here,” you said softly, shifting over to give him space on the couch.

He settled beside you, slow and careful like he didn’t think he deserved to. You pulled the blanket over both of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice barely audible against your temple. “I feel like I ain’t enough sometimes. Like you’ll wake up one day and see what I see.”

You looked up at him, gently guiding his face to meet your gaze.

“You wanna know what I see?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“I see a man who has survived things most people wouldn’t. I see someone who carries so much pain but still chooses love. I see someone who protects what he loves with everything he’s got.”

Joel’s eyes shone in the low light.

“I see someone I want. Someone I love. Exactly as he is.”

A shaky breath escaped him. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” you whispered. “Stop sayin’ that.”

You kissed him then—soft and slow, mouths moving like they’d missed each other all night.

Joel deepened it, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat. His hand settled on your waist, pulling you closer.

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling him beneath the blanket, hands cupping his face.

He kissed you like he was trying to make up for all the words he didn’t know how to say.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You didn’t.”

“Never wanna go to sleep mad again.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his. “Then don’t be an ass next time.”

That earned a breathy laugh from him. “Fair.”

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms skimming the soft skin of your back. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his touch still made your stomach flutter.

You rocked gently against him, your forehead resting against his, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

Joel kissed down your neck, warm lips lingering at your pulse point. One hand slipped between your thighs, fingers teasing gently through your sleep shorts.

You let out a soft moan as he touched you, his name a breath on your lips.

“You always so wet for me, baby?” he murmured, fingers stroking slow, deliberate.

You whimpered. “Only for you.”

He slid a finger inside, then another, curling them just right. His thumb circled your clit with practiced care, watching your face the whole time.

“You’re perfect,” he said, voice gravel and reverence. “Every part of you.”

You bucked against his hand, breath catching. “Joel—”

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, kissing you again, slower this time. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your body trembled as he worked you open, fingers stroking deep until your thighs shook around him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said against your neck. “Let go.”

You fell apart with a soft cry, clinging to him as the wave washed over you.

He held you through it, murmuring sweet nothings as you came down, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your lips.

When your breathing slowed, you looked up at him. “Can we go to bed now?”

He smiled. “Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Joel carried you back to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, setting you gently under the covers before crawling in beside you.

You curled into his side, his arm wrapped tight around your waist.

This time, the sheets were warm on both sides.

[meiguicha]

Sugar Talking (Your Eyes Only)

Phainon x Reader - Modern AU

Lace and applique, garters and stockings, what he likes most is the person wearing them

Note: suggestive ending, mild sexual content (boaner), mentioned sexual activity and general semi-nudity

//i know i literally just posted about what might be the next soul-sucking series for me but this idea is tossing me in a wok and cracking an egg over me like im day-old rice. oh and my ten million exams ig. you can kind of think of this as like a preview into the dynamic for the series.

The best part about the mid-year months is definitely when stores go on their end of season sale and you can walk in and pick up a bra for less than the price of a paperback book, a steal in this horrid economy.

Of course, this only works under the assumption that you find your size, which is why you always pray to anyone willing to listen to your selfish prayer to always find your size no matter the cost.

Safe to say, you return with the spoils of your conquest. Triumph is too light a word to describe what is blooming in your chest, this must be what cheetahs feel like when they actually get a kill.

"You're looking excited, did something good happen?" Your boyfriend's hums amusedly from his seat, his eyes sweeping over your form to glance at the shopping bag hanging off your shoulder and the large cup of tea in your other hand.

With a prideful look, you set down your cup on the counter before approaching him. Giddily, your delight is barely disguised by a lilting giggle, "5-dollar sale for selected bras and underwear."

"Aaand I just so happen to find my size~."

Digging through the bag to retrieve what you've bought, you present them to him with a wide smile pulling at your lips.

Phainon only tilts his head, dumbly noting, "They look nice."

"Do you wanna see them on me?" You wait for him to respond.

The answer he gives you isn't verbal, rather it seems like he's dumbstruck at the idea. A rosiness tinges the tips of his ears, and perhaps due to his natural features, the blush that spreads around his cheeks is extra noticeable, his whole face almost engulfed in shy flush.

You tilt your head too, mimicking him. Only then does he seem to catch on, incoherently sputtering out this and that before settling on simply nodding his head, the enthusiasm of which also seems to cast an excited sheen in his eyes.

But when he looks at you like that, it's pretty hard to not let it affect you.

In a swift move, you remove your shirt and unclasp the bra you were wearing to slip on the first bralette, your boyfriend's scandalised gasp peeping out the first moment a bit of waist came to display.

"You've literally been inside me," Your voice is muffled by your shirt, yet it's clear he can hear you well and fine.

Once more, as if a Victorian man seeing a little bit of knee for the first time in his life, he murmurs behind his hand, "I know! That doesn't mean I was expecting you to strip right in front of me."

Just that pulls a bark of laughter from you, and as you finally adjust the band around your chest, you make an experimental twirl, trying to catch every detail through the full-sized mirror by the two of you.

"I saw this and thought it looked pretty comfortable you know? And I have so many shirts that are too low cut so at least now I have something lower to wear beneath them."

The patterns on the lace really does look nice against your skin, you made a good choice to pick this colour.

"That looks..." He chokes out, "...good."

Whipping back to face him, you once more find your boyfriend peeking through the gaps of his fingers, covering his eyes and mouth as if whatever you're showing him is truly so violating.

"Do I look that ugly?"

"No! No, no, no. Of course not, you're—"

His sputtering is only interrupted when he looks up to your horrible suppression of your amusement, your features scrunched together in vain attempt. In the face of your clear humour, those eyes that you've grown so weak to, grow glassy as that aggrieved glint shines within them.

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, a fluttering feeling enveloping your chest. All you can do is ruffle up his hair, messing with that cute little cowlick of his before you step outside his reach.

"Wait here, I think you'll like this one," Humming, you glide to your closet to look for something, eyes scanning a certain pile of folded up fabric as your hands reach for silky white frills and mesh stockings. When you find it, you disappear into the bathroom to put everything on.

If you'll be honest, you bought a pair of suspenders long before you even got with him and it was more of a practical reason than aesthetic. Your love for thigh-high socks was only decremented by the fact that they kept slipping down and, in your desperation (and your stinginess), you ended up buying a white pair with frills at the waist. You're certain it was a part of some bridal set, but you'll never know.

It was weird wearing it at first, almost felt like you were doing something illegal, but it did its job really well. You walked for hours in these things and your socks didn't budge an inch. Naturally, it became a part of your usual wear.

And now with your new additions, you suppose they can finally fulfill what they were made to do.

As you buckle the waistband of the suspenders behind your back, you tentatively open the door to approach Phainon, who was now sitting a little straighter than before.

The weight of his gaze lays on your neck, along the curve of your clavicle and the cut of the bra. He goes further down, to your waist decorated with soft frills, gaze trailing to the waistband of the matching panties whose waistband dig into the plush of your hips, and to your thighs hugged by semi-opaque stockings.

Each step forward almost feels like you're walking further into a trap of your own design, but you can't find it within yourself to escape.

"Does it look good?"

"Yeah," Breathlessly, he reaches out but just before his hands can rest on your skin, he stops, as if unsure where to put them. Yet, the awe in his eyes, the way he looks up at you, when you return that ardent gaze through the mirror, you find nothing but yourself reflected within them. You look away, like staring into the bright daylight for too long, and in your inattention, he places his hands on your hips. "Yeah, it is."

" 'd you like it?" Through your own sudden shyness, your voice hums low and cautious.

And now that you manage peeks of yourself in the mirror, you're not quite sure whether it was a good idea to put so much effort into this. "I thought it looked a little too bridal but oh-!"

Pulled firmly onto his lap, you find yourself securely straddled atop of him, to bask in the full attention of your reverential partner. You never noticed it but, when you're so close like this, you can see how blown out his irises are, how that sky blue are mere rings compared to the gold of his regard.

His voice is soft, the sound coming not from his throat but elsewhere, "I do. I really do."

"You look so pretty with this lace and—" His touch dances along your skin, and beneath air-conditioning and his warm fingers, he coaxes a shaky exhale from your lips. Still, he continues his admiring, lays fleeting touches along the seams of elastic and your sensitive nerves. "—white suits you perfectly."

As if shedding his previous modesty, he leans forwards to press his face into your chest, looking up at you once more with that innocent look. In this context, with his actions, its less than innocent, it's more than clear he likes it.

"Honestly, you could be wearing a potato sack, and I'd still think you would be the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

A smile, one that you only briefly fight against, tug at the corners of your lips. "Don't say that. Burlap's too rough."

"I should come with you next time," His breath is warm, fanning over your lace-veiled skin as he sighs, almost melancholic in dramatics.

"And let mr mustard yellow and purple decide?"

"Heeey, it's not that bad. You look great in yellow."

Your amusement comes out in a humming breath, crinkling your eyes before placing a hand atop of his wandering one.

"If you can find something in yellow, and it actually looks half decent," "I'll wear it for you," You muse, trying to recall any stores that actually offer anything of your criteria.

He holds you a little tighter. "Is that a challenge?"

"That depends on you and any designer with more than three braincells."

You pat his hand, shift your weight to get yourself up. "Come on, I need to change out of this."

Instead, Phainon drags you back down onto his lap, back to straddling him, to feeling the most physical evidence of his 'liking' throb against you.

"I think..." Bringing a hand to cup your face, he takes advantage of your momentary shock to bridge the minute gap between you two. "...you should keep it on for a little bit, at least until we're done."

Gentle, you feel his breath against your lips before anything else. And as he presses further into the kiss, coaxes a pathetic noise from your throat, your head swims from just this simple act.

If something as simple as this could get him so riled up, you only wonder how he'll react when he sees the other sets you have.

[madsxyins]

Talk back, Get Wrecked

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: sexual content, rough sex, strap-on use, degradation, spanking, hair pulling, power play, light choking

synopsis: After being bratty and talking back to paige you finally get what you deserve.

anon req

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The door slammed so hard the picture frames rattled.

You didn’t even flinch. You’d heard the crowd’s reaction. Watched her flinch after every missed shot. Saw the way her eyes darkened as the game slipped out of her hands. You’d known the second she left that locker room, something inside her had snapped.

And now that she was home — shoulders taut, jaw clenched, eyes dark and mean — she was a storm ready to tear through everything.

You stayed lounging on the couch, one leg hooked casually over the back, watching her pace. She hadn’t said a word yet. Still in her gear — sweat-dampened jersey clinging to her frame, shorts riding up over the curve of her hips, wrist tape frayed and clenched in a fist.

“You played like shit,” you said, casual but clear.

That stopped her.

She turned slowly, predator eyes locking on you.

You raised your eyebrows, fighting a smirk.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Her voice was low and dangerous.

“I said you played like shit. Missed free throws, sloppy passes — what was that?” You stretched out lazily, body loose. “You really wanna talk about it?”

Her jaw tightened. “You want me to lose it on you right now?”

You shrugged. “You’re already pissed.”

You smiled—just enough to push her.

She closed the distance in three fast strides, grabbing your jaw with one hand, tilting your face up. Her other hand braced on the couch, caging you in.

“Smartass timing, huh?”

You smiled wider, voice dropping. “And what, you gonna do about it, baby?”

That broke the dam.

She shoved you back against the cushions and yanked your shorts down in one swift move, tossing them aside. Before you could catch your breath, she was on you, straddling your hips, her jersey riding up, thigh pressing between yours.

“No warm-up,” she muttered. “You wanna run your mouth? Fine. I’ll fuck you till you’re too tired to talk.”

You grinned, breath hitching. “Big promises.”

Her hand came down hard on your thigh. The sharp slap echoed, heat blooming.

“You don’t talk.” Another slap, grazing your ass. “Only when I say.”

You bit your lip, moaning softly. Her roughness sparked fire inside.

“Still think I played like shit?” she growled, pulling your shirt off. “Let’s see how much you can handle.”

She stripped fast — shoes kicked aside, jersey peeled off and thrown to the floor. Her sports bra hit the carpet next, sweat-slick skin and muscle taut. Her eyes never left you as she pulled out that harness

Your mouth went dry.

She strapped it on like she’d done it a hundred times, sliding the thick silicone through the ring, tightening it low on her hips.

No tease. No slow build.

She was here to wreck you.

“You’re not coming until I say,” she said flatly, stepping close. “You ask me first. If you don’t, I’ll keep you on edge until you break.”

You blinked, lips parted. “Yes.”

A wicked grin. “Good.”

She didn’t get back on the couch. Instead, she pulled you up and shoved you over the back of it, face down.

Your knees hit hard. She kicked your legs apart roughly, exposing you.

“You already this wet?” she scoffed. “From mouthing off? Pathetic.”

Her fingers slid between your folds, testing you.

“Oh yeah. Dripping.”

Two fingers plunged in without warning. You jolted forward with a moan.

“Say something.” Her voice low, dangerous. “Where’s that smart mouth?”

You whimpered, clutching the couch. Your body trembled, clenching around her fingers.

“Too late.” She pulled out, wiped her fingers on your thigh.

No time to miss them.

She lined the strap up—cold against your skin.

Then slammed into you.

You cried out, arching forward, eyes wide. No second to adjust. She pounded hard and fast, one hand in your hair, the other locking your waist.

“That shut you up quick.” Her voice a growl. “All that sass, now just a hole.”

Each thrust stretched you deeper.

You moaned, caught between pain and pleasure. Her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back.

“Louder.” She hissed in your ear. “I want the whole world to know.”

You gasped, moaned louder. She slammed deeper, pace vicious.

“You’re taking all of it. Every inch. Every second. Until you break.”

She dragged you upright, still deep inside you, holding you tight. One arm around your throat, the other rubbing your clit with hard, cruel strokes.

Your moans turned desperate. You squirmed, voice ragged.

“Please.” You choked out her name.

Her grip on your throat tightened.

“What did I say about talking?”

You whimpered, hips twitching, eyes rolling back. So close, muscles clenching, mind fuzzy.

“Not yet.” She warned. “No cumming without permission.”

She let go and pushed you down hard. You hit the couch, knees catching the carpet. Her strap drove in slow, deep.

She fucked you like she meant it.

“Stupid little brat.” She growled. “Thought you could run your mouth and get away with it?”

Tears leaked — not from pain, but overwhelming pleasure. Your body a wreck, shaking.

She slapped your ass hard enough to make you scream.

“Say it.”

“Y-your slut,” you gasped.

“Damn right.”

She sped up, pounding you with everything. The couch creaked, skin slapping, your moans high and ragged.

“Beg.”

“Please,” you sobbed. “Please, Paige, I need it—please let me cum, I swear—”

Her fingers rubbed hard, slow circles on your clit.

“Cum for me.”

You did — hard and violent, body locking up, scream muffled.

She kept going, no mercy.

Not when you begged.

Not when you whimpered.

Not when you gave out.

She pulled you up again, threw you over the armrest, lifted one leg, kept going.

“You get two more.”

You barely made sense. Tears streaming. Drool at your lips.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes…”

When she finally stopped — sweat dripping, hair damp, breath ragged — you were spent and shaking.

She pulled the strap free, hand trailing soothing over your back.

“Still think I played like shit?” Her voice low and dark.

You shook your head, dazed.

“Didn’t think so.”

She kissed your shoulder — soft, warm — then pulled you close, blanket wrapped tight.

You were half-asleep when she climbed in beside you, arms locking around your waist.

“Next time you talk back,” she whispered, “be ready to pay.”

A small smile tugged your lips as you drifted off.

You would.

You absolutely would.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: lowkey would’ve made this longer but i’m too lazy😭 THANKS FOR READINGGG

[siawritez]

Sophia as your long distance girlfriend also lob your writing hehehe!!!!🌹

The voice note comes in just after midnight. You’re already half-asleep, wrapped in the quiet hum of your apartment, phone dim on the nightstand. But her name lights up the screen — Sophia 🌙 — and suddenly your pulse spikes like she’s here, like she’s whispering right into your neck.

You press play.

“Hi, baby.” Her voice is low, breathy. That sweet rasp you miss more than anything. “I’m in the hotel bathroom. The girls are asleep. I didn’t wanna wake anyone but… I needed to hear your voice back.”

You smile, heart clenching. God, she sounds tired. But still soft. Still hers.

“Today was crazy. Photoshoot ran late, I forgot to eat again, and our manager confiscated my matcha. Total war crime.”

You can picture her clearly — damp hair curling at the ends, oversized tee hanging off one shoulder, lips pink,shiny as always and parted from sleepiness or maybe wanting. You imagine her sitting on the cold bathroom floor, knees drawn up, talking to you in secret.

“I kept thinking about you during the fitting,” she murmurs. “How you’d tease me for wearing heels again. You’d say, ‘You know you’re already taller than me, right?’ And I’d pretend to be sorry.”

You snort, because that’s exactly how it goes. She towers over you in heels, grinning down like she’s not the cutest menace alive.

“I miss you,” she says, quieter now. “I miss… your hands on my waist. I miss your laugh when I do that dumb dance in the mirror. I miss how you tuck my hair behind my ear when I’m rambling.”

Your throat tightens. Distance has its own kind of ache — not sharp, not screaming — just that slow, steady throb of empty spaces only they can fill.

“I know it’s hard.” Her voice wavers, then steadies. “But I’m trying so hard. For us. Every airport, every camera, I’m thinking of you. Of coming back to you.”

You blink fast. The ceiling fan spins overhead. You want to touch her — even just her fingertips. You want to hold her in your tiny kitchen and kiss her until the time zones don’t matter.

“Anyway… send me something back when you wake up, okay? I wanna fall asleep to you.”

The message ends with a breath — like she’s exhaling your name. And you lie there, phone against your chest, chest against a silence filled with love. A real, messy, beautiful kind of love.

You hit record.

“Hey, Sophia. You’re the last thing I think about every night. And the first when I wake up. So yeah… I miss you, too. But we’re gonna make it. I swear.”

Send.

And somehow, you feel closer.