#I feel like I just shot myself in the heart

[s4svnn]

Shower

Your stubbornness is part of what brought you together—it’s a fire that keeps things passionate and exciting. But at times, it can also be exhausting, especially when neither of you is willing to admit fault because of your pride. Arguments can escalate quickly, with both of you refusing to back down each determined to prove a point, so when things heat up maybe the best way to cool off is together…in the shower.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: couples argument, egos, stubbornness, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink, possessiveness, hair pulling, boob play, fingering, mirror sex, back shots, orgasm denial, sub + dom dynamic, spanking.

Word count: 5k

The door slammed shut behind us with a force that rattled the walls, the echo reverberating through the tense silence. My heart pounded against my ribs, my breaths coming in uneven gasps still heated from the argument that had started long before we even reached his house.

The air between us was thick with unspoken words, the weight of frustration pressing down on my chest. The dim glow from the entryway lights cast jagged shadows across Jungkook’s sharp features, emphasizing the tight clench of his jaw and the flicker of something dark in his eyes. His fists were curled at his sides, his posture rigid, as his entire body radiated barely restrained frustration.

"He likes you. I can tell."

I spun around so fast my hair whipped over my shoulder, my blood boiling at the audacity of his words. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him.

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

Jungkook exhaled sharply, the sound more of a scoff than a sigh, his lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t entirely devoid of amusement either. His head tilted slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as if he was holding back the urge to laugh at my denial.

"You really believe that?" he asked, his voice slow and skeptical, every syllable laced with quiet challenge.

I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet firmly against the floor as I met his gaze with unwavering defiance, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Yes, because it’s the truth," I said, my voice steadier now.

Jungkook took a step forward, closing the distance between us just slightly, but enough for the air to shift, enough for the space between us to feel too small, too charged. The weight of his presence was suffocating, the intensity in his gaze making my pulse pound harder, though I refused to let him see the effect he had on me.

"People don’t look at their friends like that, Aylah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost like a warning. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you alive."

A sharp, incredulous laugh burst from my lips, my head shaking as I fought the urge to scream at how ridiculous this entire conversation was. "I told you, he doesn’t like me!" I repeated, my voice rising in frustration. "And even if he did, I don’t like him!"

That should have been the end of it. That should have been enough. But of course, with Jungkook it never was, he just had to get the last word.

Before I could take a step back and create even an inch of space between us, he moved faster, quicker than I could react. His arms came up in an instant, trapping me between them, his hands pressing against the couch behind me as my back met the soft fabric. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse spiking as my body suddenly became hyperaware of the heat radiating from him.

"You sure about that?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but somehow even more dangerous than before. His eyes flickered over my face, searching, watching, waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, a crack in my defense. "I see the way you smile at him."

I scoffed, forcing myself to hold his gaze even though my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "What, so I can’t smile at people now?" I shot back, my voice sharp, desperate to shift the focus away from the way his words made my stomach twist.

Jungkook exhaled, the sound rough, like he was trying to push down something simmering just beneath the surface. "That’s not what I’m saying," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "It’s just… I don’t trust that guy."

"Wow," I said, my voice dripping with disbelief. "So you don’t trust him, but you trusted Jade?"

His entire body went still. His grip on the couch tightened, his knuckles turning white as he processed my words, as they settled into the space between us like a ticking time bomb.

"What did you just say?" His voice was colder now—but I didn’t care.

I held my ground, refusing to flinch under the weight of his stare. "You trusted a bitch like Jade," I said, voice steady, unwavering, my eyes locked onto his. "But you draw the line at my harmless secretary?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, suffocating and heavy.

Then, Jungkook let out a dark, humorless laugh, one that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was empty, hollow, laced with something almost cruel.

"Like you’re any better," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. His gaze flickered with something dangerous. "You were friends with the guy that tried to kill me."

The words barely registered before my hand moved on its own. The slap echoed through the room, the sharp crack of skin against skin cutting through the heavy silence like a gunshot. Jungkook’s head snapped to the side from the force, his cheek instantly reddening where my palm had struck. My chest heaved, shock rushing through me, overtaking the anger in an instant.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper. "S-Shit, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to—"

Slowly, he turns his head back to face me, his gaze dark and unreadable. The tension in the air thickened as the sound of my pulse hammered in my ears.

Before I could fully register what was happening, his fingers tightened around my wrist, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled me forward. A startled gasp slipped past my lips, my feet barely keeping up as he led me up the stairs with a determination that left no room for hesitation. 

A strange mix of nervousness and excitement twisted in my stomach, making it impossible to tell whether I wanted to pull away or let myself be dragged deeper into whatever this was turning into. The hallway blurred around us, my focus narrowing to the burn of his fingers against my skin and the charged energy radiating off him in waves.

The moment we reached his room, he didn’t stop. With a swift motion, he shoved open the bathroom door and pulled me inside, the sharp sound of the lock clicking into place sending a shiver down my spine. Finally, his grip loosened, my wrist slipping from his grasp. I barely had time to catch my breath, to make sense of the storm raging inside me, before my eyes widened at his next move.

Jungkook reached for the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. My breath hitched as the dim bathroom light cast shadows across his toned chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing making the tension between us all the more unbearable. He took a deliberate step forward, his gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.

"You wanna fight?" he murmured, his voice low.

I swallowed hard, but he didn’t give me time to answer.

He took another step forward, and suddenly there was nowhere left to go, my back meeting the cool tile wall as his presence surrounded me once more. His eyes flickered over my face, watching, waiting.

"Then let’s fight."

“W-what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around the bottom of my shirt, the warmth of his touch burning through the fabric as he slowly, deliberately bunched it up between his fingers. The space between us was nonexistent, the heat radiating off him swallowing me whole, leaving me breathless as if I was trapped in the storm of his presence.

He leaned in, so close that I felt the ghost of his breath against my skin, the scent of him familiar and intoxicating as it pulled me under. His lips hovered just beside my ear, his voice low.

"Show me just how much you hate me."

His fingers loosened their grip on my shirt, releasing the fabric like he was giving me a choice, like he was daring me to move, to say something to stop him. But I couldn’t. My breath was trapped in my throat, my body rooted to the spot as I watched him.

Without breaking eye contact, Jungkook reached for the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with slow but steady movements, testing my reaction. The fabric slid down his legs, pooling at his feet before he stepped out of them, his confidence unshaken. Then, without hesitation, he removed the last barrier between him and the heat of the shower, leaving nothing between us but the charged energy hanging heavy in the air.

I stood frozen, my mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening, with what he was doing—what he was trying to prove. My mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.

Jungkook didn’t smirk this time, didn’t taunt me like I expected him to. Instead, he turned, stepping into the glass-enclosed shower without another word. The sound of the water turning on filled the space, the steam curling around him as hot droplets cascaded down his skin. And still, I stood there, unmoving, pulse hammering, thoughts spinning in every direction. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

My breath came in shallow bursts as my fingers curled around the door handle. My first instinct was to leave, to put as much space between us as possible before this fight spiraled into something I couldn’t control. But my grip hesitated, knuckles turning white as I stood frozen in place.

If I left now, nothing would be resolved. We’d still be angry, still be drowning in the same unresolved tension that had been building for too long. But if I stayed… I was throwing myself right into the fire, into whatever storm was waiting for me on the other side of that glass door.

My chest rose and fell unsteadily as I slowly pressed down on the handle, feeling the slight give beneath my palm. I could still walk away. I could leave before this went too far. But then my gaze flickered back. The steam clung to the glass, blurring the outline of Jungkook’s figure behind the shower door. Water streamed down his body in rivulets, his movements controlled, as if he was waiting—no expecting me to make a choice.

I swallowed hard, heart pounding in my chest. And then, without fully understanding why, I released the handle. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the hem of my shirt, dragging it over my head before letting it fall to the floor. One by one, each article of clothing followed until the cool air met my bare skin, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.

I took a slow step forward, my pulse roaring in my ears. Then another. My fingers brushed against the glass as I reached for the shower door, my breath catching as I pulled it open. There was no turning back now.

The rush of steam hit me first, wrapping around my skin like a second layer, thick and heavy. Water cascaded down Jungkook’s back, droplets tracing over every muscle, his posture relaxed yet tense in a way that made my stomach twist. He didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge my presence at first, as if waiting to see if I’d hesitate again.

But I didn’t. I stepped inside, my bare feet meeting the slick tiles as the heat of the water seeped into my skin. My pulse hammered in my ears, a steady rhythm that refused to slow no matter how deep of a breath I took.

Then Jungkook finally moved. His head tilted slightly, just enough for me to see the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his wet hair clung to his forehead. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. Neither of us spoke. Droplets of water rolled down his face, clinging to his lips, his chest rising and falling steadily despite the storm raging between us.

Then, slowly, he took a step forward. Before I could react, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist, and in one swift motion, he yanked me forward. A startled gasp left my lips as I crashed against him, my bare skin meeting his, the heat of his body searing into mine like a brand causing my nipples to harden. Water streamed between us, slicking our skin, but nothing could cool the fire igniting in my veins.

For a split second, we just stood there, bodies pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync. His breath was hot against my lips, his grip on me unrelenting.

Then his lips crashed against mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs, like he’d been holding back for too long and had finally snapped. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, as if he needed me like oxygen, like this was the only way to breathe. I didn’t think—I couldn’t. My fingers tangled into his wet hair, nails scraping against his scalp as I kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of frustration, anger, and something dangerously close to desperation into him.

The water pounded down around us, the steam curling between our bodies, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was him—his touch, his lips, the way he consumed me like he had no plans of stopping.

And, god help me, I didn’t want him to.

I barely had time to catch my breath before his mouth found my neck. A sharp gasp escaped me as his lips latched onto my skin, hot and unrelenting. He kissed, sucked, nipped, his breath ragged against my damp skin as he worked his way down, finding every sensitive spot with infuriating precision.

My hands clung to his shoulders, the muscles beneath my fingers tensing with every movement. His tongue flicked over my collarbone before he sucked at the delicate skin, teeth grazing just enough to send a shudder down my spine.

I tilted my head back against the tiled wall, my lips parting as waves of sensation crashed over me. The heat of the water, the steam curling around us, the feeling of his lips against my skin—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Without warning, Jungkook moved lower, his lips trailing a path of heat down my neck, past my collarbone, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. My breath hitched, my body tense with anticipation, but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

His mouth latched onto my right breast, lips wrapping around the sensitive skin as he sucked, hard and purposeful. A strangled gasp left me, my head falling back as my fingers dug into his shoulders. My legs threatened to give out beneath me, the sudden rush of pleasure making me feel weightless and unsteady.

At the same time, his other hand found my left breast, his fingers rough and demanding as they kneaded the soft flesh. He squeezed, thumb flicking over my nipple before tugging, sending another sharp jolt of sensation straight through me.

My stomach clenched, heat pooling low, my body betraying me completely. The contrast between the warmth of his mouth and the firm touch of his hand had my mind spinning, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of him, of the way he was taking his time, dragging this out like he wanted to unravel me piece by piece.

I tried to suppress a moan, but it slipped out anyway, soft and breathless. Jungkook groaned in response, his teeth grazing over my sensitive skin before sucking harder, like he wanted to hear more, like he wanted to push me past the point of reason.

I clung to him, nails scraping against his damp skin as the heat of the shower wrapped around us, steam curling in the air like a haze, thick and suffocating. My heart pounded wildly against my ribs, my pulse a frantic rhythm in my ears.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, his breath warm against my skin as he murmured, voice low and rough, "Look at you… shaking already."

I barely had time to glare before his tongue flicked over the spot he had just abused, soothing the mark he had left behind. The smugness in his voice should have irritated me, but my body had other ideas, betraying me completely as another shudder ran through me. Jungkook's hands gripped my waist firmly, and in one swift motion, he spun me around. A soft gasp escaped me as my back collided with his chest, the warmth of his damp skin pressing against mine, his every breath sending a shiver down my spine.

Now facing the glass shower door, I was met with our reflection—our bodies slick with water, our skin flushed from heat and something far more dangerous. Steam clung to the glass, blurring the edges, but not enough to hide the way he towered over me, his dark eyes locked onto mine in the reflection, filled with something raw and unreadable.

His hands slid slowly up my sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before settling at my waist, his grip possessive, unyielding. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, every inch of him pressed against me, making it impossible to ignore the tension crackling between us.

Jungkook lowered his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he let out a low, satisfied hum. "Don’t look away," he murmured, his voice dripping with something that sent another wave of heat through me.

I felt his hand trace a slow, deliberate path up the inside of my thigh, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. I refused to look down, knowing that if I did, I would completely unravel. But I could feel everything—his warmth, the steady pressure of his touch, the way he moved with agonizing patience, as if savoring every second.

Then, without warning, his fingers entered me, firm and unrelenting. A sharp gasp tore from my lips, my body jolting at the sudden contact. My hands shot out, pressing against the fogged-up glass in front of me, seeking something, anything to steady myself.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted, but my body had already betrayed me. My legs trembled, my breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers moved at a maddening pace, pushing me to the edge of reason. My reflection in the glass was barely visible now, steam curling around us, blurring the lines between where I ended and he began. His free hand skimmed up my side, grabbing my left breast tightly, a stark reminder of who was in control.

"Tell me," he breathed, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "Tell me how much you hate me."

"I-I hate you so much," I stammered, my voice barely above a breath. "You n-never listen… you just assume."

Jungkook let out a low, satisfied hum, but instead of slowing down, he did the opposite. His movements grew quicker, more insistent, tearing another sharp gasp from my lips.

"What else?" he murmured against my ear, his voice a deep, dangerous whisper.

I clenched my jaw, trying to fight against the flood of emotions surging through me, but it was useless. The frustration, the anger, the undeniable pull between us—it was all too much.

"Y-you think the world wants m-me," I managed between ragged breaths, my body betraying me with every shudder, every involuntary movement that pressed me closer against him. "But you never l-listen to what I want."

 "Then show me," he said, his voice low, steady. "Slap me."

I froze, staring at him in disbelief. "What?" My heart raced, unsure if I had heard him correctly, the air between us thick with tension.

"Slap me, take your anger out on me, do whatever the fuck you want to me." he repeated, his voice unwavering, though his jaw tightened as if bracing for my response.

I hesitated. The words lingered in the air, a challenge I didn’t know how to answer. My fingers twitched, my heart still pounding. I looked into his eyes, searching for the meaning behind the request, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, I raised my hand.

With one quick motion, my palm met his cheek, the sound of it sharp in the stillness of the shower.

At that, his pace quickened. His fingers explored with newfound urgency, reaching places that made my breath hitch and my body tense. A sharp gasp escaped me, my forehead pressing against the fogged-up shower door as a deep, twisting pressure coiled in my stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every second. My fingers trembled against the slick glass, my entire body caught in the storm he was pulling me into, leaving me powerless to do anything but hold on.

Then, with a firm grip, he spun me around to face him once more, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. Before I could catch my breath, his hand slid down my thigh, strong and possessive, fingers digging in just enough to make me shudder. In one swift motion, he lifted my left leg, hooking it over his shoulder with effortless ease, his body pressing even closer to mine.

His face hovered near mine, so close that our breaths mingled, the space between us reduced to mere centimeters. His other hand never faltered, continuing its relentless pace moving in and out of me.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips as the sheer intensity of it overwhelmed me, my body jolting against his hold as I felt myself near my release. His dark eyes stayed locked onto mine, watching, no devouring every reaction, every unguarded moment of surrender as my mouth fell open, a broken sound escaping me.

Before I could even gather myself, he released me abruptly, spinning me around once more. The sudden movement had me slamming against the cold tiles, the impact sharp but oddly grounding. His grip on my hair was fierce, yanking me back so that my ass arched into him, his hardness of his length evident.

His other hand shot out with sudden force, capturing my wrists together, then in one swift motion, he yanked them behind my back the pressure on my arms leaving me vulnerable and completely at his mercy. 

His voice came low and dangerous, a growl against my ear. "You know what I hate about you?" he said, his fingers tightening in my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look at him. "You don’t fucking listen."

I tried to respond, but the words died on my tongue as he closed the distance between us, entering me in one go. I gasped, my mind going completely blank as I struggled to process the overwhelming sensation.

The fullness was intense, dizzying, and my body tensed in response, fighting to steady itself against the intrusion. Every thought scattered, replaced by nothing but the raw intensity of the moment, leaving me breathless and suspended in a haze of confusion and heat.

Jungkook began to move against me aggressively, the severity of his actions causing my ass to clap against him as he plunged into me harder and harder, "You think these guys want to be friends with you?" His words were sharp, filled with something darker, something that stirred the heat between us even further.

"You really believe they have good intentions?" he asked, his words laced with frustration. His grip on me tightened, before his hand came down on my ass with a firm slap at my lack of response, once, twice, three times.

I mewled at the stinging sensation as I stared up at him, his anger evident in his expression as he continued to move against me. “They don’t care about you,” he said, his tone edged with something sharp and almost desperate. “They just want to know how to get to you. How to tear you apart.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, the rawness in his voice drawing my attention. It wasn’t just anger I heard, but a deep, underlying fear. 

His movements became more frantic, each thrust more urgent than the last. The heat between us surged, my body igniting under the intensity, every touch sending a jolt of electricity through my veins. My skin tingled with an intense, overwhelming mix of sensations as he gripped me with a force that left its mark. Red and purple bruises bloomed across my body, a testament to the desperation in his touch.

Each one felt like an imprint of something raw, something unspoken. I could feel myself nearing the edge, the tension coiling tighter inside me, my heart pounding with both anticipation and fear—afraid that, just like before, he might pull away again, leaving me suspended in that agonizing space of uncertainty, proving his point at the cost of everything we shared.

His grip tightened further, and his breath was hot against my ear as he spoke, his words laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

“They just want to fuck you," he murmured, his voice low and strained. "They want to know how it feels to be inside you, but I won’t let them. You’re mine."

His words lingered in the air, the weight of them pressing down on me like a heavy storm cloud. There was no mistaking the intensity in his voice, the conviction in the way he held me. 

“I won’t let them near you,” he muttered, his voice dark, almost possessive. “They think they can have a piece of you. Touch you. Know you. But you’re mine, Aylah. No one else gets to claim you. Not ever.”

He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the side of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “I don’t care if they smile at you or talk to you,” he continued, his breath hot against my skin. “I don’t care what they think they can do. I’m the only one who gets to touch you. You belong to me, and I won’t let you forget that.”

I stood there, frozen for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. The possessiveness in his voice wasn’t just about control; it was about fear. Fear of losing me. Fear that I might slip away, as if I were something fragile, something worth holding onto with everything he had.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, this time softer, but with an intensity that sent a fire through my chest. “No one else matters. You don’t belong to anyone but me.”

At the realisation that I was lost in the moment, completely absorbed by his words, he abruptly released himself into me gasping against the back of my neck as he remained inside me. I gasped sharply, my breath coming in ragged bursts as my chest rose and fell with the intensity of my own release, each inhale shaky, every exhale heavy. 

As his grip finally loosened, I turned to face him, my heart pounding in my chest, still reeling from the intensity of everything that had just happened. Without hesitation, I reached up, cupping his cheek gently in my hand, feeling the warmth of his skin under my touch.

"You need to stop worrying," I said softly, trying to steady the emotions that still swirled between us. "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment as if my words were a quiet comfort, but when he opened them again, the concern was still there. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and almost vulnerable. "But I just...I don't want you getting hurt."

My heart ached at the tenderness in his voice. Slowly, I pressed my forehead to his, grounding us both in the moment. "I know, baby," I whispered. "But you just need to trust me. I promise, I'm not like Jade."

For a moment, his eyes faltered, as if my words had struck something deep inside of him. He let out a shaky breath, the weight of his fear still present. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Then, almost instinctively, he leaned into me, his head resting gently against my chest. "I know you're not like her," he whispered, his words full of quiet regret. "But I can't help but be scared. These feelings...they're all I'm used to."

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, running my fingers through the back of his hair in a soothing motion. "I know," I said softly, the understanding in my voice steady. "And it's okay. It's going to take time, but all I can ask from you is to put faith in us."

He pulled back slightly, lifting his head to look into my eyes. There was something different in the way he looked at me now, a tenderness, a deep honesty. "I do," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you."

My chest tightened at his words, the love between us palpable. And before I could say anything else, he closed the distance, kissing me deeply. I reciprocated, pouring everything I felt into the kiss—relief, love, and the silent promise that we'd face everything together.

Then, without warning I pushed him down so that he was sat on his knees. He looked up at me, startled by my sudden movement, his eyes wide with confusion as he stammered, "W-what...?" I didn’t dignify him with a response and instead threw my leg over his shoulder, pulling him closer with a determined tug so that his face was against my heat.

I looked down at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, but there was a sharpness to my tone. "You love me, huh?" I said, the words dripping with sarcasm as I raised an eyebrow, daring him to defend it. "Then finish me properly like a good boy."

He was taken aback by my words, clearly caught off guard, but he quickly tried to mask his surprise, forcing himself to regain control. After a brief pause, he let out a strained "Yes, ma’am." 

I gripped his hair tightly, yanking him closer as I guided his movements with a firm, unrelenting pull, pushing him further into my heat until he had no space to breathe. He slowly ran his tongue along my folds, savoring each movement. His eyes flickered up, watching me as he gently sucked on my clit, the rhythm of his actions drawn out, each flick of his tongue creating a subtle tension between us. 

I couldn't help but smirk, the playful edge to my voice matching the energy in the air. "Good boy," I teased softly, my words laced with a hint of approval. "You like that, don’t you?"

As he quickened his rhythm, he gave a soft murmur, “Yeah,” the word rolling off his tongue. Without warning, his hand grasped my other leg, lifting it and tossing it over his shoulder to mirror the first. In one swift motion, he stood, leaving me perched on his shoulders, my body leaning slightly forward as I tried to steady myself.

He stepped forward, pressing me firmly against the tiles, the cool surface sending a shiver through me as he resumed his movements with even more intensity. He sucked harder and harder causing my feet to curl behind his back as I felt myself release into his mouth, but he wasn’t done, instead he kept his mouth in place taking in every last drop of me as I watched it trickle down his chin.

His eyes closed for a moment, "I can’t get enough of you," he murmured.

I smirked, watching him enjoy the moment. “Good thing you’ve got forever to experience this,” I teased, the playful tone in my voice adding a lighthearted edge to the moment.

He met my gaze, his eyes intense, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'll make sure to savor every second of it then."

[bu3ck3r]

wrapped in you

paige bueckers x reader

summary: you’re having an off day and paige is the sweetest and cheers you up

You weren’t sure when the heaviness settled in your chest, but it had been there all day—pressing down, making everything feel dull and overwhelming. It wasn’t one specific thing, but a mix of small disappointments, stress, and exhaustion stacking up until it felt like you were sinking.

And no matter how much you tried to hide it, Paige noticed.

She always did.

It started in the morning when she caught you staring off into space at breakfast, your spoon lazily stirring your cereal until it went soggy. Then at lunch, when you barely touched your food, only offering a half-hearted smile when she asked if you were okay.

By the time you were curled up on the couch in the afternoon, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, she had seen enough.

Paige plopped down next to you, resting her chin on your shoulder. “Alright, what’s up?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Paige poked your side gently. “You’ve been in a funk all day. Talk to me.”

You sighed, shrugging. “It’s nothing.”

Paige wasn’t buying it. “Baby, you can’t fool me.”

You chewed your lip, debating whether to just brush it off again. But the way Paige was looking at you—soft but serious, like she wasn’t going to let this go—made it hard to keep up the act.

“I just feel… off,” you admitted finally. “Like everything is too much, and I don’t even know why.”

Paige was quiet for a moment before shifting closer, putting your legs on her thighs. She reached for your hand, running her thumb over your knuckles in slow, comforting strokes.

“That’s okay,” she said softly. “You don’t have to explain it if you don’t know how. But you don’t have to deal with it alone either.”

Something in your chest loosened slightly. Paige always had a way of making you feel understood, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

But the heaviness was still there, lingering like a storm cloud.

Paige studied you for a beat before standing up abruptly.

“Okay, we’re fixing this,” she declared.

You frowned, confused. “Fixing what?”

“Your mood,” she said matter-of-factly. “Stay right there. I have a plan.”

Before you could protest, she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving you sitting there, bewildered. A few minutes later, she returned, her arms full—blankets, her hoodie, a bag of your favorite snacks, and even her laptop balanced precariously on top.

You couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you doing?”

“I want to cheer up my favorite person ,” she announced proudly. She draped the hoodie over your lap first. “Put this on.”

You rolled your eyes but slipped the oversized hoodie over your head anyway. It smelled like her—like fresh laundry and vanilla, warm and familiar.

Paige grinned when she saw you relax slightly. She threw a blanket over both of you, pulling you close so you were practically in her lap. “No escaping. You’re officially trapped.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good at making you feel better? Yeah, I know,” she said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but Paige caught the way your lips twitched into the tiniest smile.

She handed you a bag of your favorite chips before opening her laptop. “We can watch a movie, or I can show you funny TikToks, or we can talk about something completely random. Your choice.”

You hesitated before murmuring, “Can we just stay like this for a bit?”

Paige’s expression softened. “Of course.”

She wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as you rested your head against her shoulder. She didn’t try to force you to talk or pretend everything was fine. She just stayed there, warm and steady, letting you take whatever comfort you needed.

After a few minutes, she started absentmindedly running her fingers through your hair. “You know,” she mused, “whenever I have a bad day—like when my shots aren’t falling, or I feel like I’m not doing enough—I try to remind myself of the good things. The little things that make everything worth it.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “Like what?”

Paige smiled, her fingers still tracing soothing patterns in your hair. “Like how my dad always texts me before every game. Or how the team hypes each other up even on our worst days. Or…” She paused, her smile turning softer. “Or how you always wait up for me, even when you’re tired. And how you steal my hoodies but somehow make them look better than I do.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your chest feeling just a little lighter.

Paige nudged you playfully. “See? Smiling already. My plan is working.”

“You’re something else i swear” you murmured.

“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot,” she said dramatically. Then, in a softer voice, “But seriously… I love you. And I’m always gonna be here, even when you’re feeling off.”

Your throat tightened—not with sadness this time, but with gratitude. Paige didn’t need grand gestures or fancy words to make you feel loved. She just knew you. Understood you. And that was enough.

You squeezed her hand. “I love you too.”

Paige grinned. “I know.”

You groaned, nudging her. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before turning her laptop screen toward you. “Alright, since you didn’t pick a distraction, I’m putting on a rom-com, and you have to deal with it.”

You shook your head but didn’t protest. Paige hit play, and soon enough, the movie was filling the room with cheesy dialogue and over-the-top romance.

But your focus wasn’t on the screen. It was on Paige—the way she absentmindedly played with your fingers, the way she laughed at all the dumb jokes, the way she kept sneaking glances at you like she was making sure you were okay.

And somehow, without you even realizing it, the heaviness that had weighed you down all day didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

It didn’t fix everything. But sitting there, wrapped up in Paige’s warmth, her heartbeat steady against your ear, you realized something important.

Even on the hardest days, you weren’t alone.

And that was enough.

@melpthatsme hope u like it!

[andy-15-07]

Could you please write a pedro pascal x reader, where the reader has the flu/fever and she's acting like she's fine and Pedro takes care of her even if he's a terrible cook? 🥺

Flu Season with Pedro

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 654| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Pedro had been watching you like a hawk all day.

It started when you woke up with a slight sniffle, your forehead warm to the touch, but you brushed it off, claiming it was nothing. He wasn’t buying it.

“You’re sick,” Pedro stated firmly, arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“I’m fine,” you replied, waving a dismissive hand as you sipped on some lukewarm tea.

Pedro narrowed his eyes. “You’re literally sweating and shivering at the same time. That’s not fine, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to stand up and make your way to the couch, but the moment you did, your vision blurred, and you wobbled slightly. Pedro was by your side in an instant, steady hands on your waist.

“See? Not fine,” he murmured, his brows knitting together in concern.

You sighed, leaning into him just a little, your body betraying you. “Okay… maybe a tiny bit not fine.”

Pedro let out a soft chuckle and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.”

You groaned. “Nooo, I wanna be on the couch. I��ll be bored in bed.”

“You’ll be bored wherever you are because you feel like shit,” he pointed out. “At least let me make you something to eat.”

That made you perk up, but not for the reason he’d hoped. “Oh no,” you said, deadpan. “Pedro, last time you ‘cooked,’ you almost set the kitchen on fire.”

Pedro scoffed, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. “That was one time.”

“It was last week.”

“Details,” he muttered, guiding you toward the couch anyway. “Now, sit. I’m making you soup.”

You opened your mouth to protest but gave up. Your body was too exhausted to argue, and honestly, the thought of him fussing over you was kind of sweet.

From your spot on the couch, you watched as Pedro banged around in the kitchen, muttering to himself. He read the back of the soup can like it held ancient secrets, turned the stove on with the careful precision of a bomb expert, and nearly dropped the pot twice. You couldn’t help but laugh, weak as it was.

“This is very stressful,” he called out. “How do people just… cook?”

“Some would argue that soup from a can isn’t really cooking.”

Pedro shot you a playful glare before dramatically stirring the contents of the pot. “You’re lucky I love you,” he grumbled.

You smiled, watching him struggle but knowing his heart was in the right place. “I know.”

Eventually, after a few more mishaps (including but not limited to nearly adding sugar instead of salt), Pedro approached you with a steaming bowl of soup. He sat beside you, carefully blowing on a spoonful before holding it up to your lips.

“Alright, open up,” he instructed.

You quirked an eyebrow. “Pedro, I can feed myself.”

“Oh, I know,” he said with a smirk. “But I’m already in caretaker mode. Let me have this.”

You sighed dramatically before obliging, letting him feed you. The soup was… well, edible. Barely. But the way he was looking at you, all warm brown eyes and soft smiles, made it taste a little better.

After a few spoonfuls, you leaned back against him, exhaustion creeping in. Pedro immediately wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You know,” he murmured against your hair, “I hate seeing you sick.”

You nestled closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I know. But you taking care of me almost makes it worth it.”

Pedro chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “Almost?”

You hummed sleepily. “If the soup was better, maybe.”

“Rude,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “Go to sleep, troublemaker.”

You closed your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. With Pedro holding you, whispering soft reassurances, you let yourself drift off, knowing you were in the best hands.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Dancing with a Stranger

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: she’s got you dancing with a stranger and she’s not liking it one bit

🏷️: @yailtsv , @paxaz535 , @sitawita , @authentic-girl03 , @vamptizm

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

The club pulsed with bass, neon lights casting streaks of color across the crowded dance floor. Bodies moved against each other, heat rising in the air like static before a storm. I hadn’t even planned on going out tonight. But sitting alone in my apartment, staring at my phone, waiting for a text from Paige that wasn’t coming? That was unbearable.

So here I was.

With someone else.

A stranger’s hands rested on my waist, pulling me in closer as we swayed to the music. I barely caught his name when he introduced himself, not that it mattered. He was a distraction, a temporary fix for the ache in my chest. My fingers toyed with the rim of my glass before I drained the rest of my drink, the burn of liquor doing little to numb the feeling I was trying to shake.

Paige and I were done.

At least, that’s what she had said.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

The words replayed in my mind, cutting deeper every time. I hadn’t even fought her on it. I had too much pride for that, even though every part of me had wanted to beg her to stay. Instead, I had let her go. And now, I was here, dancing with someone who wasn’t her.

The stranger leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You good?”

I forced a smile, nodding, even though I wasn’t. “Yeah. Just in my head.”

His hands squeezed my waist in reassurance, but it wasn’t comforting. His touch wasn’t right. His body didn’t move like hers. His scent wasn’t the one that used to cling to my hoodie after late-night drives with Paige.

I closed my eyes, trying to let go, to disappear into the music.

But then, my stomach twisted.

A feeling—no, a presence.

I turned my head slightly, and there she was.

Paige.

Standing by the bar, eyes locked on me, her jaw clenched tight.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, strands falling around her face. A fitted crop top and jeans hugged her frame, and if I weren’t so bitter, I might have admitted she looked good. Too good.

But her expression?

That was a different story.

She was pissed.

Her grip tightened around the glass in her hand, knuckles white as she watched me. My body tensed, every nerve hyper-aware of the weight of her gaze.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Or maybe, I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Dancing with someone else.

Her lips parted slightly like she was about to say something, but she didn’t move.

Fine. If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a show.

I turned back to the stranger, letting my hands slide up his chest as I leaned in close. I didn’t care about him—I barely even saw him. But I wanted her to see. To feel what I felt when she walked away so easily.

Her chair scraped against the floor, and I knew she was coming before I even looked.

A second later, she was there, grabbing my wrist, yanking me back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I ripped my hand away, heart hammering. “What does it look like?”

Paige’s eyes darkened, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “You’re seriously out here with him?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

The guy beside me cleared his throat. “Uh, do you two need a minute—”

Paige’s glare shut him up instantly. “Yeah. We do.”

I rolled my eyes, stepping away from both of them. “You don’t get to do this, Paige.”

She followed me as I pushed through the crowd, the heat of her presence burning into my back.

“Do what?” she shot back.

“Act like you care.”

“I do care.”

I whirled on her the second we reached a quieter corner, away from prying eyes. “Then why did you leave?” My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it.

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

I laughed bitterly. “Bullshit. You made that decision all on your own.”

She exhaled sharply. “I was scared, alright?”

“Of what?”

She hesitated.

“Of us?” I pressed. “Of actually trying? Because you’re really good at running, Paige. Really fucking good at shutting people out when things get real.”

She flinched, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

“Well, congratulations. You did anyway.”

A tense silence settled between us.

The music pulsed in the background, distant, muffled.

Paige took a step closer, voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have left.”

I didn’t move. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

She swallowed hard. “And I sure as hell shouldn’t have let you think I didn’t want you.”

My breath hitched.

Because that was the thing—Paige had always wanted me. But she had never been good at showing it.

She reached out, hesitating for a second before her fingers brushed against mine. “I miss you.”

I closed my eyes. “Paige—”

“I miss everything. Us. You. Your stupid movie nights where you force me to watch rom-coms. The way you steal my hoodies even though you have your own. The way you—” She exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “I miss the way you love me.”

I looked away, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

Paige reached for my hand fully this time, lacing her fingers with mine. “I don’t wanna be alone tonight,” she murmured, echoing the song playing in the background.

I sighed, leaning my head back against the wall. “I don’t either.”

Her thumb brushed against my palm, gentle, hesitant. “Come home with me.”

I exhaled sharply. “Paige—”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” she admitted. “I know I fucked up. But let me fix it.”

I studied her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all I saw was sincerity.

I wanted to be mad.

I was mad.

But I also wanted her.

Always had.

So, I made a choice.

I sighed, squeezing her hand. “You’re lucky I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

Paige let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

A slow smile spread across her lips as she pulled me closer. “Then let’s get out of here.”

I let her lead me out of the club, the stranger long forgotten.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how hard I tried—

Paige was the only one I ever wanted to dance with.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[sturniololuvz]

Could you do a fic where Chris and Matt got into a fist fight and Y/N was trying to get them to stop and Chris was just so mad he ended up hitting g Y/N and every time after that when he raised his hand she would flinch and she would always ignore him and in the end they make up

“I Didn’t Mean To”

Sturniolos x sister

The house was filled with yelling. It wasn’t the usual playful arguing or petty bickering that Y/N was used to. No, this was real. This was heated, voices raised in anger, fists clenched.

Chris and Matt were at it again, only this time, it had escalated past words.

“You’re such a selfish asshole, Chris!” Matt shouted, shoving his brother back a step.

“Oh yeah? At least I don’t act like I’m better than everyone!” Chris shot back, shoving him just as hard.

“GUYS, STOP!” Y/N pleaded, stepping between them as they both lunged at each other.

She barely had time to react before fists started flying. She shoved against Matt’s chest, trying to hold him back, but Chris swung before realizing she was in the way.

His knuckles collided hard with the side of Y/N’s face, sending her stumbling back in shock.

The entire room went still.

Chris’s face paled as his hands dropped to his sides. “Y/N…” His voice cracked. “Oh my God, I—I didn’t mean to—”

Y/N clutched her cheek, eyes wide in disbelief. Her breathing was shaky, her heart racing. Matt stood frozen, looking between them in horror.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and took a shaky step back.

“Don’t,” she whispered, turning on her heel and walking away.

Chris stood there, motionless, as guilt crashed over him like a tidal wave.

—

For the next few days, Y/N barely spoke to Chris. She avoided him at all costs, never meeting his eyes, brushing past him like he wasn’t even there.

But what killed Chris the most was the way she flinched.

The first time it happened, he had reached up to scratch his head during a conversation, and Y/N had immediately tensed, her body recoiling as if expecting him to hit her again.

Chris’s stomach dropped. “Y/N…”

But she was already walking away.

It happened again when he reached across the table to grab something. She instinctively jerked back, eyes flickering with the briefest hint of fear before she masked it with indifference.

Chris felt like absolute shit.

—

One night, he found her sitting on the couch, curled up under a blanket, watching TV but not really paying attention. He hesitated before sitting beside her, keeping a safe distance.

“Y/N,” he said quietly.

She didn’t look at him.

Chris exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t even know how to explain how bad I feel. I swear on everything, I would never—never—hurt you on purpose. I just…” His voice wavered. “I hate that I scared you.”

Y/N stayed silent for a long moment before finally speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. “You hit me, Chris.”

“I know,” he choked out. “And I hate myself for it. I swear to you, Y/N, it’ll never happen again. Ever. I don’t care how mad I get. I would never want to hurt you.”

She swallowed, finally turning her head to look at him. His eyes were glassy, full of guilt and regret.

“I don’t want to be scared of you,” she admitted.

Chris’s face crumbled. “You won’t be,” he promised. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to feel like that again.”

Y/N studied him for a long moment before finally sighing, shifting closer, and leaning into his side.

Chris hesitated for a split second before carefully wrapping an arm around her, holding her close.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes. “I love you too.”

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 30

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to save the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 4k

TW: 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well), she/her pronouns

Diaclaimer: So the beginning of this chapter may seem a bit sensual, because the reader and Arthur have an intimate moment while naked, but nothing sexual happens or is being described. It's not being directly hinted at them having sex, so you can decide for yourself if it happened or not <3

As the sun slowly begins to set and drowns the camp in a deep orange hue, you pick up a fresh pair of clothes to take with you. There's still dried dirt stuck to your skin and hair and you don't feel like riding all the way to Annesburg just for a bath. So you take a bar of soap and make your way to the nearby river.

"And where do you think you're goin'?", a male voice calls out to you and you turn around on your heels, slightly startled by the sudden appearance.

Arthur has his thumbs hooked into his belt and strolls over to where you're standing. At the sight of him, all tension immediately leaves your muscles and you let out a relieved sigh.

"Thought I could head to the river and wash off properly.", you answer, pointing with your thumb behind you. Much to your surprise, he shakes his head and takes the stuff you're carrying from you.

"You ain't goin' there alone.", he says, his tone making it clear that he won't tolerate any protest. Not that you care though.

"I think I'm pretty capable of washing off by myself.", you argue and follow him down the small path, that leads away from camp.

"I ain't doubtin' your skills, sweetheart." There is a heavy pause. "It's just...lately you've been gettin' shot at everytime I look away."

His concern warms your heart and you reach out to touch his arm. You can't blame him for feeling that way. If the roles were reversed, you also wouldn't be comfortable letting him go out by himself. Even if it's just a few minutes walk away.

"And here I thought, you were just trying to catch me naked.", you tease with a mischievous smirk beginning to take form on your face.

He let's out barking laughter and shakes his head with an amused huff.

"That ain't the case."

"Sure. Whatever excuse makes you feel better."

Once you arrive at the river, you sit down on the shore and start to take your boots off. As much as your remark was only meant to be a joke, the prospect of being completely exposed to him still makes you nervous. Maybe you could ask him to turn away or something? While you contemplate, you come up with an even better idea.

With the speed the sun is setting at, it will be dark by the time you're undressed and then he won't be able to see much anyways. Besides, he did say that he doesn't want to leave you alone, right?

"Do you wanna join me?", you hear yourself ask, before you can even properly process the thought.

Arthur's head snaps in your direction and he awkwardly clears his throat.

"Why? Do I smell?"

His reply makes you groan in feigned annoyance. As you go to open up the first couple of buttons on your blouse, he quickly looks the other way. Respectful as always.

"That's not what I meant and you know it.", you answer, letting your blouse slide off your shoulders. It falls to the ground without producing any sound.

Once you've removed every piece of clothing you were wearing, you tiptoe over to the outlaw and intertwine your fingers with his. You don't want to push him to do something he doesn't feel comfortable with, but you're also aware that he's more on the shy side.

It's both kind of silly and endearing to see a man like him this bashful about seeing a naked woman. Though when you think about it, it makes sense. From what you've found out, Arthur hasn't really had what you'd call an adventurous love life. He rarely shows his vulnerable side to others.

As you stand up on your toes to plant a soft kiss on his jawline, you hear his breath getting caught up in his throat.

"I won't force you into the river, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.", you say in a hushed voice and make your way into the water.

At first it doesn't look like he's planning on moving from his spot at all, but then he begins to unbuckle his belt. It takes everything within you not to stare at him, so you distract yourself with brushing the dirt out of your hair.

When Arthur finally enters the cool water, he creates small waves and you notice how nervous you're becoming again. The outlaw keeps a respectable distance between the two of you and you turn to face him entirely. It's impossible to fight off the excited grin on your face.

"Hey.", is all you're able to muster up and he clears his throat again.

The awkward silence between you two hangs heavy in the air, until he takes the brush out of your hands and runs it through your hair. You can't imagine, that he's doing any progress with how gentle he is, but you don't complain. It feels too nice for it.

"Sadie wants to break into Sisika tomorrow.", he starts and you hum in acknowledgement. You know, that they won't let you join, so you don't even try to argue. "We'll need you to keep an eye on Abigail."

"Why?", you ask, throwing him a puzzled look over your shoulder.

"Seems like she wants to come with us."

That would be dangerous and she most likely already knows it. It must be tough. First she looses Jack and shortly after he comes back, John gets put behind bars. All that makes you wonder why some people willingly choose the outlaw life.

"What about Hosea?", you say.

"He said he'll make sure, that Dutch doesn't notice our plan."

It's still so strange that the leader isn't taking any actions to save John, but then again he has Micah whispering God knows what into his ears. Thinking about that man has you recall the way he stared at you after you got broken out of the police station. There was something off with the look on his face, but you can't quite place your finger on it.

"Listen.", Arthur starts, ripping you out of your thoughts. His voice sounds hoarse. "I got a bad feelin' about all this. If things get bad out here...then I need you to run."

It's like he has touched you with hot iron and you spin around, splashing water all around you.

"What are you saying?"

The look on his face is contorted in pain and something else. You can't decipher it with how dark it is.

"Hosea and some of the others think the same. The gang won't last much longer with how it has been goin'.", he explains, brushing loose hair strands out of your face. "Promise me to run when it goes to shit."

"I'm not running anywhere without you, Arthur.", you quickly argue. "You wouldn't leave without me either, so don't even try to fight me on this."

In one swift motion, you find yourself scooped up in his arms and his forehead is pressed against yours. His eyes are fluttered shut as if he's aching and he whispers your name like a plea. It's so sweet and tender, but at the same time you feel like a sharp blade is piercing your heart, when you hear it.

"How 'bout this." He pauses to take a deep breath. "If you run, I'll come find you like I always do and then we start over."

Finally he opens his eyes and you stare at him in disbelief.

"Start over?", you repeat in bewilderment.

"Yes. As honest people."

But can you even do that? Can I even do that anymore?

That question is laying on the tip of your tongue, but you don't voice it out loud. Tonight, you want to allow yourself to be delusional. Mental images of you and Arthur living together in a cozy house, flood your mind and you relish in it.

"I think I quite like that.", you answer after a while and the corners of his mouth curl up.

Arthur's fingers trace your collarbone and run down the curve of your back. His touch leaves a hot trail, leaving you longing for more. Your hands cup his cheeks and you quickly pull him closer for a kiss.

As your lips move in sync together, you press your chest flush against his. It feels like your bodies fit perfectly into each other like two puzzle pieces. One of his hands is nestled in the crook of your neck, while the other is holding onto your hips as if you're his lifeline.

Gasps and pants fill the peaceful quiet around you, mixed together with the rustling of leaves and the rushing of water. He kisses you more, until your lips are red and your face is burning.

It takes the two of you longer than it should to wash off and by the time you're back in camp, most of the people have gone to bed. You're holding hands, hair dripping wet and an unwavering grin plastered on your face.

Together you sneak to Arthur's tent, where he drapes a thick blanket of your shoulders and pulls you down to lay next to him. Your fingers are tracing the outlines of his face and you watch him drift off into a deep slumber.

As you observe the way his chest slowly rises and falls and listen to his light snoring, you can't help but feel blue.

If things go bad I will run, but not to where you want me to go.

---

Arthur is taking you with him to the spot Sadie will be waiting at. At first it came to you as a surprise when he woke you up early in the morning, telling you that he has prepared the horses. Then said surprise got replaced by understanding, when he mentioned that Abigail is nowhere to be found around the camp.

As you approach the shore, you can hear the two women bickering about something serious. Sadie is busy getting the rowing boat ready, while Abigail is closely by her side and flailing with her arms.

"Arthur tell her!", the blonde woman yells, as you slide off your horses and walk up to them.

"Tell her what?", he asks.

"That she ain't comin' with us to collect her husband."

Abigail opens her mouth to protest, but Arthur cuts her off.

"Abigail, you ain't comin' and that's the end of the matter."

Quickly you rush to the woman's side and gently guide her away from the water. You shoot her a reassuring smile.

"Leave it to the professionals.", you say and weirdly enough, she doesn't fight you.

Sadie points her finger at you. "Make sure she doesn't swim after us."

Without saying anything, you simply nod and watch them row towards the small prison island. The thought of letting these two break John out all by themselves scares the shit out of you, but you can't show that now. Instead you put on a brave mask and walk Abigail to your horse.

"We should go back to camp and then we will wait with Jack there.", you suggest, as the both of you mount Penthesilea. "Trust me. Around afternoon or evening, you'll have him back."

Throughout the ride, you keep talking about this and that to get Abigail's mind off of things. She only ever replies with short hums, seeming to not even listen with one ear. As you pass through Annesburg, you hear shouting and slow down.

It sounds like a woman.

"Stay here.", you tell Abigail in a demanding voice. "If anything happens, ride back to camp."

"Where are you going?", she asks, worry lacing her voice, but you're already on the move.

With your hand placed firmly on your pistol, you turn around the corner and find yourself between some small houses. This must be where the mine workers live. Your eyes fall on a man, who's currently cornering a woman of a concerningly thin stature.

"Don't you have better business to do?", you call out to him and he looks over to you.

"Just keep walkin', lady. You don't want it to get ugly for ya.", he snarls and turns his attention back to the other woman. She's made herself small, pushing her back tightly against the wall and holding her hands out protectively.

Anger flares up in your chest and without hesitation, you grab the man by the collar of his shirt and yank him back. He stumbles back, startled by your sudden outburst and falls to the ground with a dull thump. Fury is written all over his scarred face, but it vanishes into thin air when you point your gun at him.

"Don't tempt me, buddy. I've killed men for less.", you hiss through gritted teeth.

The strain of pulling him away has exhausted you more than you'd like to admit and the injury in your stomach is pulsating again. Pearls of sweat are beginning to take form on your forehead, but he doesn't notice your struggle.

Instead, his eyes are fixed on the barrel staring at him and he scrambles back up to his feet. With raised arms, he starts to slowly and carefully back off, before falling into a sprint. A relieved sigh escapes you and you slide your gun back into the holster.

"Are you okay, ma'am?", you ask as you turn around, but stop dead in your tracks.

You recognize the woman infront of you and at the same time you feel like you're looking at a stranger. Edith Downes is a shadow of her former self and her face darkens, as her eyes light up in recognition as well.

"You lot just can't seem to leave my family alone, can you?", she snaps and rushes past you, not giving you a single look. "I already send that brute of yours away."

Brute?

"Mrs. Downes!", you shout, jogging after her without a second thought.

"Don't!", she barks and turns sharply around on her heels. She shoves her finger into your face, her features contorted in irritation and anger. "Isn't it enough, that you ruined my life? Have you come to laugh at me now?"

"That's not-"

"I don't want to hear another word from you!", she snarls, cutting you off and you immediately close your mouth shut. "You have taken everything from us and all I'm asking now is to be left alone."

With these words, she stomps towards a house and slams the door shut with such force that the structure is shaking. You stand there for a while, stunned and ashamed. Then you feel something warm on your shoulder and you come face to face with Abigail. She studies you with a concerned look.

"Who was that?", she asks, but you wave it off, not wanting to dive into that now.

The ride back has your mind wandering to dark places and you're gripping the reigns so tightly that the whites of your knuckles are showing. Once you reach camp, you go hole yourself up in Arthur's tent in an attempt to avoid the others.

Tilly walks up to you, carrying a bowl of steaming stew that she holds out to you. A bit confused by the action, you take it and place it on your lap.

"I haven't seen you eating enough lately.", she starts and takes a seat on a chair closeby.

The gesture makes you smile weakly and you breathe out a 'thank you', before digging in.

"How are you holding up?", you ask in between spoons and bites and she lowers her gaze, sighing in defeat.

"Barely.", she admits with a dry chuckle. "The gang seems so divided. It feels like everyone is choosing sides."

You nod with a hum. You have noticed the shift too and a certain hostility in the air. The gang members have started to sit in groups now or keep to themselves entirely. So many people have pointed it out to you before, but this entire time you were hoping that they were wrong.

"Things will get ugly soon.", you say, looking up from your empty bowl. "Just be prepared to run."

"You're startin' to sound like Arthur."

Before you can comment on that, you hear a familiar voice. Tilly and you exchange puzzled looks, before stepping out of the tent to go see what's going on.

Molly is stumbling through the camp, clearly drunk out of her mind. The other gang members drop everything they're doing to watch the spectacle as well. Dread begins to settle in your gut.

"So, Dutch! Did ya miss me?", she yells with Uncle following closely behind.

"I found her drunk in Saint Denis.", he tells the leader, confirming your suspicion.

Guilt washes over you at the realization that you haven't even noticed her absence at all.

"How funny, Miss O'Shea.", Dutch starts and she throws her arms up.

"It's Molly, you sack of shit!" Under different circumstances, you might have chuckled at the insult, but now you're just watching the whole thing with a grim face.

Dutch looks anything but happy, as she throws more insults at him and for a brief second you're ready to mark it off as another one of their fights. But then she drops something, that has you freeze in place entirely.

"I told them!"

Dutch's face drops, as he stares at her in utter shock.

"I'm sorry?", he says and you hope to God that it's just a misunderstanding.

"I told them and I'd tell 'em again!"

Molly faces his wrath head first, her stance unwavering. She has never looked so sure of herself like she does now and something stirs in the back of your mind. This isn't right. She must be lying.

"Molly...", you start, taking a step forward, but she doesn't pay you any attention.

"I told Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross about the bank robbery and I wanted them to kill ya!", she continues, swaying slightly from side to side.

With each passing second, Dutch grows angrier and you see his hands balling up into fists. If you don't stop her now, then she's going to die.

"She's drunk.", you speak up in an attempt to smooth the situation over, but it falls on deaf ears.

As he pulls out his revolver, you quickly step infront of the woman with your arms spread out. The look he gives you shakes you up to the core and you know what you're doing might end in your own death.

"Dutch, she's a fool. Please. She doesn't know what she's saying.", you try again.

Molly cackles. "Not so high and mighty now, your majesty?"

"Dutch, the girl is right.", Hosea speaks up as well now, taking your side in this matter. "Let's have her sober up first and then we can talk about this."

For a moment there, you think that you're on the safe side, until a loud bang cuts through the air. With widened eyes you turn around just in time to witness Molly clutching her stomach and falling to the ground. A gurgling noise can be heard from her throat, as she struggles to fill her lungs with air.

A glance to the side tells you all you need to know. Smoke is coming out of the shotgun, that Miss Grimshaw is holding and she gives you a grim look. Her lips are pressed together into a thin line.

"She knew the rules and so do you.", she says and you take in a shaky breath.

You try your hardest to keep your trembling hands still and you feel your knees give in. Lenny is immediately by your side, keeping you upright as you keep your gaze fixed on Molly's dead body.

As the others slowly get back to what they were doing, you stay and force back the hot tears that are welling up in your eyes. The two of you weren't anything you'd call close friends, but you had the feeling that you could have become close. If you only had the time.

"We gotta burn her.", someone says next to you. Micah is looking down on the woman as if she's an inconvenience and you scoff.

"She deserves a proper burial.", you argue and he stares you down.

"Traitors don't deserve a proper burial."

You completely ignore him and kneel down to pick Molly up by her shoulders, when you feel a hand grab you. Quickly, you jump up from your position and shove the barrel of your volcanic pistol into his ugly face.

"Don't touch me, you bastard.", you hiss through gritted teeth.

Instead of being intimidated by the prospect of having his brains blown out by a single pull of your finger, he laughs.

"Careful with that, darlin'. Someone might get hurt.", he purrs and that's when you feel something cold against your stomach.

You lower your gaze, seeing his own gun pointed at you and reluctantly, you step away. A pleased smirk is spreading on his bearded face and he casually strolls over to Dutch's tent.

---

By the time Arthur, Sadie and John arrive, it's late in the afternoon and you feel absolutely exhausted. After last night's thorough bath, you find yourself covered in dust and dirt yet again. The smell of Molly's blood hasn't left your nose all day.

Lenny, Karen and Sean were kind enough to help you bury her somewhere outside of the camp and you have taken your time to pick some flowers. Dutch has been eying you intently ever since you've come back from that.

"You brought him back to me!", Abigail exclaims, slinging her arms around John's neck.

Arthur spots you from across the camp and rushes over to you, worry written all over his face. With his thumb, he brushes off a speck of dust from your check and studies your form.

"What happened?", he asks in a low voice and you just shake your head, unable to speak.

"John!", Dutch calls from the other side and comes closer. "What are you doin' here?"

"It's good to see you too, partner.", John says, still wearing the striped prisoner attire.

"I meant I hadn't sent for you yet."

"I went.", Arthur chimes in, shielding you from the others with his broad shoulders.

"But I said-", Dutch starts, when he gets interrupted by another voice.

"We know what you said.", Hosea chimes in and grunts when he stands up from the crate he was sitting on. "We felt different."

The betrayal depicted on Dutch's face is so evident, that you almost feel it too. He would have bought it from Arthur it seems, but hearing it from his oldest ally hits him pretty hard. There is silence for a long time, until he catches himself again.

"And when springing John brings the law down on all of us? What then, Hosea?"

"Then we'll have another fight on our hands.", the older man replies. His voice is strong and convincing, but you can see in his eyes, that this breaks him.

Arthur moves to stand by his side, chin held high and his back straight as a candle. You've never seen him defy his father figure with such resolve and you quickly step next to him. You take his hand, letting him know that he can count on your support.

"Loyalty.", Dutch starts. "It ain't...I had a goddamn plan!"

Then his attention shifts to John and he continues. "You are my brother. You are my son. I was coming for you."

"They was talkin' of hangin' me, Dutch.", John protests. After he finishes his sentence, Abigail looks like she's about to rush the leader if it weren't for John holding out his arm to stop her.

"They was talkin'. They was talkin'!" Dutch slowly backs away. "And now they might come and hang us all!"

With that you pull Arthur after you, leading him to the tent. Today is laying heavy on your shoulders and you don't want to see anyone for now. As you bury your face into his chest, you let it all spill out.

Through sobs and gasps, you tell him about the events from today and he holds you until your throat is sore and your cheeks are dry.

Taglist: @shackspossum @abducted-cowz @heloixe @onyxlune

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Something about Meljayvik's respective relationships with legacy, Jayce's trying to live up to and honour his father's, Mel living in the shadow of her family's - specifically her mother's, and Viktor trying to make one for himself but not having the time

[blatantprinterpropaganda]

one who has never had sex in a car apparently!! sorry i'm still stuck on that utterly groundshaking revelation about style

[zketylers]

Never looked at this place through that lense. Never let the two lives touch.

Cooper & Riley Abbott from TRAP (2024)

[d8tl55c]

me: waiting for shoe(s) to drop

Personified Alan Becker YouTube Icon: oh... buddy...

[s4svnn]

first big argument of oub couple pls!!!

Shower (teaser)

Your stubbornness is part of what brought you together—it’s a fire that keeps things passionate and exciting. But at times, it can also be exhausting, especially when neither of you is willing to admit fault because of your pride. Arguments can escalate quickly, with both of you refusing to back down each determined to prove a point, so when things heat up maybe the best way to cool off is together…in the shower.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: couples argument, egos, stubbornness, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink, hair pulling, boob play, fingering, mirror sex, back shots, orgasm denial, sub + dom dynamic, spanking

The door slammed shut behind us with a force that rattled the walls, the echo reverberating through the tense silence. My heart pounded against my ribs, my breaths coming in uneven gasps still heated from the argument that had started long before we even reached his house.

The air between us was thick with unspoken words, the weight of frustration pressing down on my chest. The dim glow from the entryway lights cast jagged shadows across Jungkook’s sharp features, emphasizing the tight clench of his jaw and the flicker of something dark in his eyes. His fists were curled at his sides, his posture rigid, as his entire body radiated barely restrained frustration.

"He likes you. I can tell."

I spun around so fast my hair whipped over my shoulder, my blood boiling at the audacity of his words. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him.

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

Jungkook exhaled sharply, the sound more of a scoff than a sigh, his lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t entirely devoid of amusement either. His head tilted slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as if he was holding back the urge to laugh at my denial.

"You really believe that?" he asked, his voice slow and skeptical, every syllable laced with quiet challenge.

I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet firmly against the floor as I met his gaze with unwavering defiance, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Yes, because it’s the truth," I said, my voice steadier now.

Jungkook took a step forward, closing the distance between us just slightly, but enough for the air to shift, enough for the space between us to feel too small, too charged. The weight of his presence was suffocating, the intensity in his gaze making my pulse pound harder, though I refused to let him see the effect he had on me.

"People don’t look at their friends like that, Aylah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost like a warning. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you alive."

A sharp, incredulous laugh burst from my lips, my head shaking as I fought the urge to scream at how ridiculous this entire conversation was. "I told you, he doesn’t like me!" I repeated, my voice rising in frustration. "And even if he did, I don’t like him!"

That should have been the end of it. That should have been enough. But of course, with Jungkook it never was, he just had to get the last word.

Before I could take a step back and create even an inch of space between us, he moved faster, quicker than I could react. His arms came up in an instant, trapping me between them, his hands pressing against the couch behind me as my back met the soft fabric. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse spiking as my body suddenly became hyperaware of the heat radiating from him.

"You sure about that?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but somehow even more dangerous than before. His eyes flickered over my face, searching, watching, waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, a crack in my defense. "I see the way you smile at him."

I scoffed, forcing myself to hold his gaze even though my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "What, so I can’t smile at people now?" I shot back, my voice sharp, desperate to shift the focus away from the way his words made my stomach twist.

Jungkook exhaled, the sound rough, like he was trying to push down something simmering just beneath the surface. "That’s not what I’m saying," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "It’s just… I don’t trust that guy."

"Wow," I said, my voice dripping with disbelief. "So you don’t trust him, but you trusted Jade?"

His entire body went still. His grip on the couch tightened, his knuckles turning white as he processed my words, as they settled into the space between us like a ticking time bomb.

"What did you just say?" His voice was colder now—but I didn’t care.

I held my ground, refusing to flinch under the weight of his stare. "You trusted a bitch like Jade," I said, voice steady, unwavering, my eyes locked onto his. "But you draw the line at my harmless secretary?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, suffocating and heavy.

Then, Jungkook let out a dark, humorless laugh, one that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was empty, hollow, laced with something almost cruel.

"Like you’re any better," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. His gaze flickered with something dangerous. "You were friends with the guy that tried to kill me."

The words barely registered before my hand moved on its own. The slap echoed through the room, the sharp crack of skin against skin cutting through the heavy silence like a gunshot. Jungkook’s head snapped to the side from the force, his cheek instantly reddening where my palm had struck. My chest heaved, shock rushing through me, overtaking the anger in an instant.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper. "S-Shit, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to—"

Slowly, he turns his head back to face me, his gaze dark and unreadable. The tension in the air thickened as the sound of my pulse hammered in my ears.

Before I could fully register what was happening, his fingers tightened around my wrist, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled me forward. A startled gasp slipped past my lips, my feet barely keeping up as he led me up the stairs with a determination that left no room for hesitation. 

A strange mix of nervousness and excitement twisted in my stomach, making it impossible to tell whether I wanted to pull away or let myself be dragged deeper into whatever this was turning into. The hallway blurred around us, my focus narrowing to the burn of his fingers against my skin and the charged energy radiating off him in waves.

The moment we reached his room, he didn’t stop. With a swift motion, he shoved open the bathroom door and pulled me inside, the sharp sound of the lock clicking into place sending a shiver down my spine. Finally, his grip loosened, my wrist slipping from his grasp. I barely had time to catch my breath, to make sense of the storm raging inside me, before my eyes widened at his next move.

Jungkook reached for the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. My breath hitched as the dim bathroom light cast shadows across his toned chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing making the tension between us all the more unbearable. He took a deliberate step forward, his gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.

"You wanna fight?" he murmured, his voice low.

I swallowed hard, but he didn’t give me time to answer.

He took another step forward, and suddenly there was nowhere left to go, my back meeting the cool tile wall as his presence surrounded me once more. His eyes flickered over my face, watching, waiting.

"Then let’s fight."

[averlym]

some very very quick costume shorthands!

[savage-rhi]

Magenta 😟

[timothyslucy]

i am once again asking for lucy to get her ass beat so. bad. all so i can witness the long lasting domino effect she has on those around her. especially grey, because i need a parallel of him worriedly pressing his hands up against the glass window of her hospital room like boden was here for gabby. like wth man. 😭

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do one where Nate a the triplets sister get into an argument and he hits her, and she starts crying and gets scared so she runs to the triplets and can you make it so they make up

okayy!

“Lines You Don’t Cross”

Sturniolos + Nate x Sister

Y/N and Nate had argued before.

It was normal—fights happened in relationships. Usually, it was over small things, like him canceling plans last minute or her taking forever to text back. But this fight? This one was different.

They had been in his car, parked outside her house, voices rising as frustration bubbled over.

“You never listen to me!” she snapped, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

“Because you’re always making a big deal out of nothing, Y/N!” Nate shot back, gripping the steering wheel.

“It’s not nothing! You blew me off for the third time this week, Nate! I feel like I don’t even matter to you anymore—”

“Oh my God, can you shut up for a second?!”

And then it happened.

It wasn’t a punch. It wasn’t even a full-force hit. But Nate’s hand came up too fast, too frustrated, and before she could react, his palm smacked against her arm—hard enough to sting.

Silence filled the car.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She blinked, staring at him in pure shock.

Nate looked just as stunned. His hand was still midair, eyes wide, regret flashing across his face. “Shit, Y/N, I—”

But she was already opening the car door.

Her heart pounded as she stumbled out, her vision blurred with tears. She didn’t even think—her body just moved, her legs carrying her up the front steps of her house as fast as they could.

She didn’t stop until she was inside, slamming the door behind her.

“Y/N?”

She turned at the sound of Nick’s voice, and as soon as she saw her three older brothers sitting on the couch, all their attention snapping to her, she broke.

Chris was up first. “Yo, what happened?”

She didn’t answer—just rushed straight into his arms, sobbing.

His entire body tensed. “Whoa, hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Matt and Nick stood immediately, their faces shifting from confusion to concern.

“He—he hit me,” Y/N choked out, gripping onto Chris’s hoodie.

The room froze.

Nick’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

Matt’s face darkened. “Who?”

Chris, still holding her, felt his blood turn to ice. “It was Nate, wasn’t it?”

Y/N didn’t have to say anything. Her silence was enough.

Chris pulled away just enough to cup her face, looking her over as if making sure she wasn’t hurt worse. “Where?” he asked, voice tight.

“My arm,” she whispered, sniffling. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t hard, but—”

Nick was already grabbing his keys. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Matt was right behind him. “Me first.”

Chris didn’t move. He kept his arms wrapped protectively around her, his grip tight but comforting. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

Y/N hiccupped, nodding against his chest.

Before anyone could storm out, the front door opened.

Nate.

He looked like a wreck—his face pale, his hair a mess from running his hands through it. The second he saw Y/N, his whole body slumped. “Y/N…”

Chris didn’t let her go.

Nick stepped forward first. “You better have a good reason for being here, because right now, I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t break your nose.”

Nate flinched, but his eyes stayed locked on Y/N. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t thinking, I was just frustrated, but that’s not an excuse. I should’ve never—” He exhaled sharply, his voice breaking. “Please, Y/N. I know I messed up. I’ll spend forever proving that to you if I have to.”

Chris turned to Y/N. “What do you want?”

Y/N hesitated. Her arm still stung, her heart still hurt, but… she knew Nate. She knew he wasn’t that person.

Slowly, she pulled away from Chris.

She wiped her face before looking at Nate. “You scared me,” she admitted, her voice quiet.

Nate’s eyes filled with guilt. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, she took a shaky breath. “You have to promise me it’ll never happen again.”

Nate stepped closer, nodding frantically. “I swear. Never, Y/N. Not ever.”

She studied him for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

Nick scoffed. “That’s it? He just gets to be forgiven?”

Y/N turned to her brothers. “I’m not excusing it. And if it ever happens again, you guys can kill him. But… I trust him. And I know he’ll do better.”

Nate swallowed. “I will. I promise.”

Chris sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re lucky she’s more forgiving than us.”

Matt crossed his arms. “And you’re real lucky I don’t feel like hiding a body tonight.”

Nate winced. “Noted.”

Y/N exhaled deeply, feeling the tension in her chest finally ease.

And when Chris pulled her into another hug, whispering, “You still tell me if anything ever happens, okay?” she knew, no matter what, her brothers would always have her back.

[cosmogyros]

.