#I had to get up and walk away for a minute

[forignersgod]

warming up

franco colapinto x teammate!reader

summary: franco is determined to make his teammate feel better with the perfect warm sweater.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: franco is slightly obsessed with reader, not much franco x reader action but still cute! two mentions of ‘yn’, shameless and jealous franco.

You had seriously underestimated how cold Vegas would actually be. 

It seemed like everyone had warned you, ‘Bring sweaters, it will get cold’ they said, and yet you chose to ignore them. So your situation could’ve easily been avoided. 

You gazed at Liam Lawson from the other side of the paddock, wishing nothing more that you were in his position, wrapped up in a blanket sitting right next to a heater. 

You sighed, imagining what you would feel like if you were in his position, you were so focused that you didn't see or hear your teammate walk up behind you. 

Franco looked at you with a smile, although he frowned when he realized you weren’t giving him his desired attention, he followed your gaze over to Liam, who was in the middle of an interview. 

“What are we looking at?” he whispered in your ear, ignoring your slight jump. 

“Jesus Franco,” you muttered, trying to calm yourself, “Liam looks real warm right now.” 

Franco nodded, rolling his eyes slightly, “Yes. Because he had a blanket. Do you not see that?”

You gave him a look, “Of course, I see that. That is the whole point. I want to be warm.” 

Franco gave you a look over, keeping his eyes on your bare arms, where he could see the cold making your hair stand up, he smiled, “Ah. Are you cold?” 

“I can’t feel my fingers,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes forward, on Liam. 

Franco frowned, holding back on asking why exactly you didn't bring a sweater, his stomach felt nauseous at the sight of you gazing at Liam with so much want. 

Now, you weren’t exactly looking at Liam, more so his body temperature, but still, Franco would give anything to have you gaze at him. 

He gasped, his face brightening, if he got you a sweater, there was no way you would be staring at Liam like that, you would be staring at him like that. 

“I will be right back.” he spoke firmly, starting to back away, “Do not leave.” you watched him over your shoulder, giggling as he fumbled into a sprint. 

“No, too ugly…” Franco mumbled to himself as he threw the sweater behind him, he pulled another from his small driver’s room closet, “No, too blue…” He threw this one behind him as well. Not noticing it landed on his trainer. 

The man in question jumped in shock, pulling the Williams-style sweater off his head, “What the..” he mumbled, turning to Franco, who held up a knitted sweater, “Perfect..” he heard Franco whisper. 

The trainer stared briefly, watching Franco go back scavenging through his closet. The trainer could only roll his eyes before slowly walking out of the room. 

“I should get her two.” Franco whispered to himself, “In case she doesn’t like one of them..” he nodded to himself, continuing to throw sweaters he didnt deem fit behind him. 

After ten minutes of back and forth, Franco existed his driver’s room content, he was going to be your night and shining armor, and then you’ll look at Franco with all the love in the world because he was the one to get you warm and cozy.  

Just as he was going to make his way over to the media pen, where he had left you, he was pulled aside by your manager.

“(Y/N) was looking for you.” she informed him, Franco grumbled to himself, “I told her to stay in place, tonta.” (dummy) 

“She got cold.” The woman defended you, “You left her out there…she waited for ten minutes.”

Franco held up the two sweaters in his arm with a frown, “I got her sweaters, so she would not be cold.” 

Your manager eyes him with a smirk, “You spent ten minutes finding a sweater to give her?”

Franco shrugged, “I wanted to make sure they were warm.” 

The woman tilted her head, “You know we have a merch store full of sweaters, right?”

Franco turned to her in disgust, “Mierda, those sweaters are like this,” he held his thumb and index together, “They are not warm. They need to be warm.” (shit)

“So you are giving her your sweaters?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that will make her fall in love with you?”

Franco leaned back in offense, “I do not need to make her fall for me…” he paused, “She is already in love with me, she just does not know it yet.” 

The woman nodded with pursed lips, “Yeah because that’s a totally sane thing to say.”

Franco simply rolled his eyes, having had this conversation one too many times. So what if his obsession with you was just slightly worrying? It was all going to work out in the end, he just knew it. “Do you know where she went?” 

Your manager thought for a moment. “She mentioned being hungry, so she probably went up to eat.” 

And with that, Franco went off with a sprint. 

Out of breath, and slight sweating, Franco entered the Williams dining room, eyes sweeping over the place with quick eyes. Only to feel a rush of disappointment when he didn't spot you. 

He let out a deep disappointed sigh as he took a seat at the bar. The bartender watched him as he wallowed in pity. 

Franco continued to let out deep, soul-searching sighs, catching the attention of those around him, the bartender walked but to him with an awkward smile, sliding over a glass of water. 

“Hey Franco,” she started, he glanced up at her with a small smile, “You okay?” she whispered, leaning in, there were all different kinds of people around them, investors, fans, journalists, and no doubt searching for a bit of drama to hold onto, the last thing she wanted was for this interaction to be first-page news tomorrow morning. 

“No.” Franco was blunt, “Was (Y/N) here?” 

The lady nodded, “Yeah she just left actually. She got her usual–” 

“Hot chocolate, whipped cream, caramel drizzle.” the two coursed. 

The bartender leaned back, impressed, “You really know her.” 

Franco shrugged, “She’ll be my wife one day, I need to know what she likes.”

The lady laughed, “Oh yeah? Does she know that?”

Franco tilted his head, “No sé. I don't think it's a secret that I like her.” (I don't know.)

The woman agreed; this was not the first time she’d heard about Franco being in love with you. It seemed like every time he and she talked, he managed to somehow make the conversation about you. 

Now, she didn't know if the feelings were one-sided, the way you looked at Franco certainly made her think they weren't.

She hummed, “Well she took her hot chocolate to go, so I don't know where she went.”

Franco nodded, slowly moving off the chair, his sweaters both tightly secure in his clutch, “Okay then. If she comes back, tell her I'm looking for her.”

Franco was late to the fan stage, he had been so busy looking for you that he had lost track of time, and now he was being yelled at by his manager through the phone, demanding to know where he was. 

It took him two minutes to run from the garage to the fan stage, he was recorded who knows how many times, and he was no doubt trending right now. 

He had thrown the two sweaters in the arms of his manager when he arrived, wasting no time climbing the small steps up to the stage. 

What he saw made his stomach drop, there you were in all your glory, wearing no other than a…mclaren puffer jacket. And you were talking to no other than…Lando Norris. 

God, the smile on your face made Franco want to claw his eyes out, Lando had never been that funny. 

Franco ignored the fans yelling his name, instead he squeezed in between you and Lando, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Hello,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes on you. 

Lando looked over at you with an amused smile before walking away, shaking his head slightly. 

“Hi?” you questioned, glancing over to the fan’s direction weary, thankfully they seemed to be paying attention to Lando and Oscar, the latter seemingly saying something funny. 

“I was looking for you.” 

You winced, “Sorry but I got really cold, and then I got really hungry…” 

Franco smiled softly, "It's okay…” he glanced down at your attire, “What are you wearing?” 

You broke out into a smile, “Do you like it? Lando gave it to me, he said I looked cold.” 

“I don't like it,” Franco stated simply, you leaned back, an offended look on your face. “Okay. Rude.” 

“It’s really ugly, “ he continued, “You should change.” 

You huffed, “I didn't bring any sweaters!” 

Franco held up a finger before moving away. You rolled your eyes, moving back to the others on stage. 

A couple minutes later you felt someone's presence behind you, you jumped slightly, feeling someone pulling on your jacket, looking back you saw Franco, a look on his face. 

“Take this off,” he mumbled, you glanced to his shoulder, where two knitted sweaters lay. “Porfa?” he pleaded, seeing the hesitation on your face. (please) 

Later that night, as the fan stage was wrapping up, Franco walked up to Lando, handing him the Mclaren jacket with a smile, “She didn't want it…” he muttered, “And she doesn't want you.” he added as an afterthought, shooting the Mclaren driver a smile before walking over to you. 

[sweetshuga]

✰ 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒙 𝑰𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ✧

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. «𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆»

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. English is not my first language!

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝒃𝒇.ᐟ𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕... loves to see your cock-drunk face as he pounds into you while hugging your thighs with your back flush against the fogged up mirror.

𝒘𝒄. 337

✰ Matt’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he held your thighs tightly, your legs up in the air on one side of his shoulders and his arms wrapped in an iron grip around them—rendering you immobile. Your moans echoed throughout the bathroom as he pulled your hips forward, changing the angle and every thrust from him hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl. Your hands scrambled to hold onto anything you could, your shoulders flush against the fogged up mirror behind you. The overwhelming pleasure making your mind go numb.

𝑨 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓... You had just gotten out of the shower when he suddenly walked in. Matt’s face flushed when he saw your naked form, even though he’s seen it plenty of times by now. "Sorry—" you chuckled when you heard the slightly panicked tone, "hey, it’s fine, should’ve locked the door, but since Chris and Nick are out I thought it was alright, no?" He nodded slowly, his eyes raking over your body appreciatively before snapping back up to your face. A sheepish grin plastered on his lips as he shifted his weight on one leg, trying to discreetly hide the growing arousal in his pants. You raised your eyebrows, noticing the telltale signs of his desire right away.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕... You struggled to keep your eyes from rolling back as he worked his magic. The thick head of his length hit spots that made you let out sounds even you didn’t know you could make. The sounds of your pleasure spurred him on, grunting in exertion as he surged forward with renewed vigor. Determined to please you. "Fu—ck sweets, you feel me?" His arm left your thighs, and with gentle fingers, pressed on the bulge appearing and disappearing on your abdomen from his cock. His gaze momentarily shifted from your stomach to your face, a groan leaving his lips when he saw the look of pure ecstasy on your face. "Look at you, so fucking drunk on my dick, mffh—" ✰

𓆩♡𓆪

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝒃𝒇.ᐟ𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔... loves when your ass recoils against his hips when he pounds into you from behind, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulling on it until you look up at your fucked-dumb reflection in the mirror.

𝒘𝒄. 362

✧ Chris groaned lowly as he drew back before slamming hard into you. Your backside recoiled from the force and your legs trembled, loud moans spewing out of your parted lips. He bit his lips, putting his hand on the small of your back and firmly pressing on it. The edge of the countertop in front of your upper thighs only made it easier for him to go as deep as he wanted without your body bouncing away. Your eyes rolled back in your skull before closing shut and reopening a few seconds later, widened like saucers when he increased his pace. Your hand travelled back in a futile attempt to slow him down, your moans nothing short of pornographic.

𝑨 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓... Nick and Matt had gone to get food. They did ask you if you wanted to tag along, but you just wanted to stay in and Chris being Chris, your sweet boyfriend, decided to stay home with you. As much as you wanted to keep cuddling with your boyfriend on the couch – cozied up in blankets – you really had to pee. And so, you disentangled yourself from Chris with a heavy sigh, "I’ll be right back, gotta piss." You could hear him chuckling and shouting an "okay" from his place on the couch as you walked towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, you heard the bathroom door opening while you washed your hands. A pair of hands pushing you down to bend over the counter.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕... Chris’ free hand tangled in your locks, gripping it into a make-shift ponytail before pulling on it. Your head involuntarily leaned back, your thoroughly-pleasured expression reflecting in the mirror. Chris’ pace quickened, the sound of wet squelching filling the air as he pounded into your sopping pussy from behind. "Look at that, baby," he cooed as he saw your face in the mirror, "look at yourself, the fucked dumb look on your face." He grunted as he pulled your hair with more force, making you look at yourself and a loud shaky moan left his lips when he felt your walls flutter rhythmically around his pistoning cock. ✧

𓆩♡𓆪

taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @sagesturns @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx @sturniolo-fann @goingtojohnkramershouseee @sturniolosluttt @chrislilcumslvt @mattsninja @bilssturns @sturnioloszn @slvtf0rchr1s @knowingnothingnoel @shadowthesim @brookheartsmatt @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @m00nl1ghts1vt @strnlslut @ribread03 @hearts4werka @larallott @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @peiivnao

© sweetshuga

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐋𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒 ꕥ MAX VERSTAPPEN

summary. celebrating max’s 4th title was not in your plans.

warnings. piastri!reader, max is kinda obsessed with reader, public s3x (?), unprotected pinv, fingering, just straight up dirty.

gabri speaks! i’ve been thinking about mexico gp max and las vegas sealed the deal for me.

THERE’S A BRIEF moment of silence, of anticipation, and of complete confusion. The DJ had paused the setlist less than an hour in announcing there was a special guest appearance. Then as if on cue tonight’s race is plastered on the giant screen behind him and the words, “Max Verstappen,” echo throughout the nightclub. You resist the urge to roll your eyes knowing someone might be recording you, or your brother at least.

“I thought he was flying back?” You cover your mouth with your hand as you talk with your brother.

“I thought so too.” Your brother hums in your ear trying to hide his annoyed tone. Your brother got along with Max just fine but all he wanted was one night without F1 getting mentioned.

You on the other hand…

You’d only been in the paddock a handful of times but every race weekend you had managed to have the worst encounter with the dutch man. The first time had been incidentally, you faintly recall the energy drink splashing all over your new dress. You knew from the get go that it had been an accident but when Max didn’t as so much as a muster a quick sorry and instead went on his way you had no choice but to hate him.

“He’s such a dick.” You murmur to yourself unaware your brother catches your words.

“Be nice.” Oscar motions towards the countless people recording him.

“I’m gonna get another drink.” You sigh.

The music resumes and you find yourself into a crowd of dancing couples. Your short orange dress sticks to you as you walk towards the bar. It’d been a long night with your brother not getting the result he hoped for. The post race recap inside the garage had been brutal as well. You had watched as the championship slipped from Lando’s hands and Max claimed victory once again. It had been the worst two hours of your life to say the least. You’re way too frustrated to even notice the man approaching you. In a split second you’re covered in something that smelled similar to…

“Asshole.” You mumble.

“Mini Piastri?” He gasps dramatically. “Why are you here? I wouldn’t think you’d be celebrating after tonight.”

“Well, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” You scoff. “Does it Max?”

“I’d argue that it does actually. Considering your mood, you’d be happier if your little boyfriend had actually managed to have a good race.” He taunts you.

“Look, can you get out of my way? I have to go clean up the mess you made.” You point towards the huge spots of alcohol on your dress.

You don’t even wait for him to respond before pushing past him, brushing shoulders in the process, to head straight to the bathroom. You do your best to dodge those who already have had a bit too much to drink, unaware that the dutchman is right behind you. It’s not until you’re opening the door and notice it takes a minute too long to close that you turn around and spot him. His white dress shirt is already half unbuttoned while his hair is a mess. You stare at him incredulously as he leaned against the sink.

“Max, you can’t be in here.” You state bluntly.

“I don’t recall you telling Lando to piss off when he followed you into the bathroom in Austin.” He counters.

“How do- What?” You’re taken aback by his words. How did he know?

He ignores your question choosing to walk towards you instead. You’re now face to face with the man that had taken away your team’s championship. His eye bags are dark and you can tell it’s been a while since he’s gotten a good needed break. His tousled hair falls perfectly on his head and by the way his arms flex you can tell he’s been putting extra effort into them at the gym. All of a sudden you’re nervous to be under his glare.

“Does your brother know what you and Lando do in secret?” He questions.

“You should leave.” You try to sound confident but your faltering voice exposes you.

Max just smirks at your words knowing he was getting under your skin. He still recalls the first time he ran into you, when he spilled half a can of red bull on you. He doesn’t know why he didn’t apologize but when he saw the anger in your face he realized why. You had looked so beautiful that day with the short orange sundress that did nothing to hide your cleavage. He still remembers the disappointment he felt when he saw you and Lando walk out of the restroom all disheveled. So, when he beat Lando tonight he felt absolutely no remorse.

His lips ghost yours for what feels like an eternity. You’re frozen in place wondering how his lips would taste against yours. Maybe it was the alcohol or the way his arms flex around you but suddenly you needed to know what he felt like. His arm tentatively grazes yours as it sneaks down to your knees. A gasp finds itself leaving your lips as your legs spread open instinctively. He wants to make fun of you, of the way you melt under him so easily, but he knows better. He can’t risk ruining the moment. It’s when Max inches his fingers closer to your thighs that you suddenly realize what’s happening. In a matter of seconds you push him off you and head out the door.

You’re barely four steps out when Max yanks you back and you hit his built chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate and grabs your jaw pulling your face towards his. Your lips meet in a heated kiss as his arms find their way around your waist. This time you’re the one that moves his hands from your wait to your ass. The confidence was beginning to build up and soon enough you’re tugging on his hair as his tongue enters your mouth.

“Max…” You moan and somehow it becomes the indicator that you want this. That you want him.

He pushes you flat against the cold brick of the hallway, the dimmed lights helping hide your bodies from the crowd. You’re lucky he holds you up because your legs feel like jello and if he lets go you might lose your balance. His hands roam your waist, back, and neck before he moves your hair out of the way. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses around your neck as his hands work their way down to your legs. They slowly glide up until he’s playing with the hem of your short dress. You can already feel his growing erection press against your ass.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He groans against your ear.

You really want to tell him to fuck off but your body reacts differently. You’re shocked when instead of telling him to call it a night all you murmur is keep going. In a matter of seconds your dress is being pulled up towards your waist. You can’t help the whine that escapes your lips as he rubs your aching core through your panties.

“So wet already.” He groans. “For me or Lando?”

“Shut up.” You still find it in you to annoy him.

To your surprise he doesn’t hit you with another remark. Max had been an asshole to you long enough. Now, that you were in front of him practically falling apart he didn’t want to ruin the moment. There’s a brief moment of silence before his hand carefully moves your panties to the side exposing your core to the cool breeze. Your legs spread instinctively as his fingers tempt your folds. His fingers collect your slick as he explores you, the wet sound making him groan against you. Slowly, he brings one of his fingers to your hole entering it carefully.

“Fuck.” He moans against your ear as your cunt wraps tightly around his finger.

“Ma- Max. So close.” You’re barely able to say.

You let out a loud whine as he curls his finger inside of you leading to your climax. You come around his fingers as you coat them with your wetness. His fingers slowly move toward your mouth and you don’t hesitate as you take them into your mouth, tasting yourself. He almost comes undone as you lick his fingers seductively. Aggressively he grabs your jaw and kisses you. He groans as he tastes you.

You feel the tip of him first as he runs it up and down your folds teasing you. Your hands are weak against the wall as his tip approaches your aching hole. He enters you slowly, holding you tightly in the process. He stops halfway through not wanting to hurt you but when he hears your dirty moans he continues. Your nails dig tightly into his arms as he fills you up completely. He’s quite big and the new sensation has you spiraling trying your best to not fall against him. He takes advantage of your weakness and attacks your neck again making sure to leave love bites around your collarbone.

“Fuck, Max. You’re so big.” You whine without thinking.

You feel his dick twitch inside you at that. Your voice has him in a trance as he tries his best to not just start thrusting inside of you. It’s not until you start pushing your ass against him that he almost pulls out fully before thrusting back into you. His hands grip your ass tightly—surely leaving marks for tomorrow—as your cunt squeezes him. He’s never felt such a thrill, at least since Abu Dhabi, you were your own feeling. He couldn’t believe you had finally opened up to him in many ways you were way better than winning another trophy. Many curses escape your lips as he finds the perfect pace inside of you.

He manages to bend you over leading to the perfect position and somehow he’s even deeper inside of you. He grips your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he speeds up inside of you. His hand trails back to your cunt and slowly he starts playing with your folds. The feeling of his cock inside of you and fingers rubbing your folds is intense and you find a camisole feeling in your stomach approach you. You squeeze him tightly as his dick hits the right spot and you find yourself coming undone. You’ve never had an orgasm so intense in your life you don’t even notice how you coat his dick with your wetness.

Max isn’t far behind and speeds up at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him tightly. Your nails dig behind you at the overstimulation and stretch of his cock. Max hisses at the sensation finding it the tipping point. It’s not long before you feel his dick twitch inside of you and in a matter of seconds you feel him spill his seed inside of you. He grunts as he empties himself and as he pulls out. He pulls you up adjusting your dress in the process.

You bite your lip as he zips up his pants. The aftermath of your little rendezvous is different. Usually with others you don’t stay long enough to watch them dress themselves. But then you notice Max struggling with the buttons on his dress shirt and you find your hands on his chest again. You only button half of the shirt before stepping back. Neither of you say a word but the silence manages to speak for you both. You decide it’s time to go back but before you can take a step Max pulls you in for a final kiss before he leaves.

You’re barely able to walk back towards the VIP lounge and stumble multiple times in the process. You try your best to brush your hair down and fix your dress as you come closer to your brother’s booth. You sit down carefully unaware your brother is staring at you wide eyed and wondering why it took you almost an hour to get a drink. You shift awkwardly in your seat as Lily begins telling you both about her mixup at the airport. You turn around briefly as she goes into detail when you notice Max walking past your table. You keep your composure not wanting to expose your actions of the night but you should’ve known better. Oscar almost bursts out laughing at Max’s completely unbuttoned shirt.

“Lando’s gonna be pissed.” Your brother smirks.

“How do-” Did everyone know? “Oh, fuck off.”

The night progresses with your brother ordering countless bottles of Dom Pérignon. It’s almost five in the morning when Max takes the stage again with the DJ playing a remix of Super Max. As if on cue someone hands him a bottle of champagne and it doesn’t take long for him to start spraying it amongst those on the dance floor. You watch attentively as his chest shows the marks you left completely unaware of how your phone buzzes for the hundredth time that night.

9 missed calls from Lan

Lan: Tonight was shit.

Lan: Come over?

[rafesweetie]

⋆˚࿔ espresso ꥟ ˚⋆ — sunny!reader x rafe

“ walked in and dream-came-trued for ya! “

i believe the saying goes, “she was like a shot of espresso.” rafe didn’t think that saying could fit a person more than it could fit you.

he’d see you at parties, dancing with his sister or giggling with the pogues. you never could seem to pick a side. this whole pogue vs kook rivalry never crossed your mind, for you were simply friends with everyone in kildare. he’d see you at the beach with your friends, tanning while listening to silly pop music and sipping on a fruity canned drink. you reminded him of the sun.

there was one night where sarah cameron invited you to her place for a start-of-summer party. rafe was dealing some coke, as per usual, and his eyes followed you as you walked in, holding hands with sarah while she led you inside. he’d never understood why girls held hands with each other, but wheezie said that it’s a universal girl thing, and he ‘would never get it.’

topper elbowed rafe out of his trance, laughing about how rafe had a little crush.

“nah, nah,” rafe denied instantly. “isn’t she a pogue?”

topper shakes his head. “nope. she just hangs out with them. her parents own that flashy smoothie shop, she’s a kook,”

“…oh, that’s good,” rafe mutters. he can’t quite avert his gaze from you.

“aw man, you’re desperate,” kelce is on his other side, patting his back, making rafe grunt and shoo him off. rafe can’t relate to desperation.

his night goes on per usual, getting bundles of cash handed to him as he deals. until topper speaks up after a bit. “she just broke up with pope,” he informs rafe. “she’s on the market,”

“yeah?” rafe checks.

“yeah. you should go talk to her,”

rafe hesitates, staring at you again. you’re not a dancer by any means, but both you and sarah are wiggling your shoulders a bit when a good song comes up. rafe would assume you’re drunk, the way your giggles echo through the room and the way you spill your drink when you stumble into sarah. but he thinks that’s just you, drunk on life. he eventually speaks. “no fucking way, she’s with my sister right now. sarah would lose her shit if i talked to little miss sunshine over there,”

“yeah, well, need i remind you i’m dating sarah, so i’ll just get her away, go make out for a bit, she looks drunk,” topper offers.

“…a’ight. yeah, lets do it bro.” rafe agrees, and they both get up off the couch. rafe stands a little bit away as he grabs another vodka pink lemonade for you, maybe a subtle bribe into talking, and a beer for himself. topper talks to sarah for a bit, greets you, then leads sarah away.

rafe’s literally directly behind you, when suddenly you’re already talking to someone else. you’re pretty chatty, it seems. rafe hangs around to catch you after your next conversation. but then he looks away for one second, then you’re gone again. he spots you on the balcony, with jj maybank. then a couple minutes later, you’re with kie carrera. then you’re shotgunning a drink with sofia. holy shit. you’ve got him wrapped around your finger already, and he looks so cute chasing after you. if he’s not pushy, he’ll never get his chance. so, channeling his inner ward cameron, he spots you with ruthie (who he never would’ve assumed you would associate with. maybe you’re just being polite), and he puts a hand on your shoulder from behind, spinning you around. “y/n. right?”

you blink, not expecting the sudden interruption. but you regain yourself quickly, smiling. “hi! yeah, i am,” you say. your voice sounds as sweet as honey. “you’re rafe cameron?”

you know who he is? he shouldn’t be surprised, you seem to know everyone, but he likes that you know, anyway. “uh, yeah, yeah, that’s me,”

“well it’s so nice to meet you,” you smile up at him. “it’s funny, sofia used to mention you a lot, and obviously im close friends with your sister. but i’ve never met you before,”

“..you’re friends with sofia?” is all he can think to ask.

“mhm. i’ve known her since grade 5. we’re not like, super close now, but we were when you guys dated,” sensing his sudden aversion to talking about her, his ex girlfriend, you shut up. “um, wanna go grab a drink?”

“oh— shit, yeah, um, brought one for you, actually,” he hands you the vodka pink lemonade. “saw you drinking one earlier, so..”

“oh my gosh, thank you so much,” you say. is he that sweet? you guess so.

“yeah, ‘course. heard sarah talk about you, and it’s all been good things, so i figured i’d try and meet you myself,”

“well now you have. i’ve heard her talk about you too,” you don’t have the heart to say it hasn’t been very good things.

it feels like this awkward small talk is going in circles. but maybe that’s a good, slow way to start something.

your name is suddenly called by a group of girls a couple meters away. “it was so nice to meet you rafe. i should go, they want me,” you say softly, reaching for his hands. he remembers when you came in holding sarah’s hands. it seems to be your thing. “i’ll see you around?”

“yeah—“ he clears his throat, gaining the courage to hold yours back. “yeah. see you around, y/n,”

you smile. you could swear he’s blushing. “you’re cute,” you say softly, squeezing his hands once more before retreating away.

he feels like he just took a shot of espresso, and now he’ll be thinking of you every night.

[jeanjauthor]

*sighhh...* They missed half the Orkney Islands...including the ones with the entry in the Guiness Book of Records.

The one with the purple lable Noup Head Lighthouse is Westray, and the one with Knap of Howan is Papa Westray, and they hold the Guiness Book of Records for the world's official SHORTEST daily commercial airflight route. I think the GBR says it was 2 minutes flat, or maybe a couple seconds over but I personally timed it from wheels off the runway to wheels on the runway, and that day that I watched it, it was 1m 57s. (I think they had a tailwind the day I watched.)

It's a little commuter plane, seats about 8 people, and it takes off and lands a few times in the morning and a few times in the evening, because it's faster and cheaper to take a small plane like that than it is to spend literal hours sailing over the sea.

Westray is also home to Noltland Castle (nolt = cattle, iirc), which has an absurdly high number of cannon loops. Not arrow loops, but cannon loops or portholes. Like, 72 or so...and it's NOT a big castle. It was never fully finished, but it was finished enough to live comfortably (for the time), plus it was highly defensible, and it was expected to become the place of retreat for Mary, Queen of Scots when being pursued by the English. Unfortunately, at the last minute she chose instead to head south for France, and was captured (etc'd) by the English. (The locals are very proud of the fact their ancestors were prepared to house The Queen.)

(Not all of the castle, but you can definitely see some of the cannon loops!)

How do I know all of this, and for that matter, why did I go there? Well, 2014, the World Science Fiction Convention was being held in London, and my mother and I decided we wanted to visit some relatives waaaay up in Scotland. On Westray. So they took us ALL over the place, and that's when I got to see the GBR record being (unofficially) beaten by like 4-5 seconds.

And yes, it is very, very windy. Like, wimdy windy. Literally, no trees grow up in the Orkneys unless they are in protected valleys, hollows, sunken gardens, or enclosed by walls. The tallest "tree" mum & I saw on Westray itself was a row of fuschia bushes that was probably close to 9 feet tall, slightly taller than the fence sheltering it. In fact, most gardens are sunken gardens, by at least a yard or more, specifically so the plants can grow safely, sheltered by the wind.

But it almost never snows in the Orkneys. (Can't speak for the Hebrides.) It rains intermittently, too, so it's almost always green with grass. It is almost always perfect sheep-grazing weather, and some cattle-grazing...but mostly sheep because sheep come with their own woollens for winter, and even Scottish cattle don't get that shaggy. (The reason Noltland Castle was named so, the locals suspect but cannot say for certainty, is that the local lord could afford to own cattle.)

So yes, there were a lot of sheep around the area, and you can bet they'll have their wool being made into Harris Tweed.

I don't know if anyone would want to visit Westray (other than for the awesome castle, lol) without having relatives all the way up there (like we did), but if you can visit the Orkneys, do give it a try! The main isle has the Stones of Stenness, the Ring of Brogar (both of which you can actually go up to and touch, unlike Stonehenge!), Skara Brae (the oldest intact Neolithic village in existence, so very cool!!!), and the Italian Chapel, made out of a Quonset Hut during WWII for the Italian prisoners of war.

(Stones of Stenness)

(Part of the Ring of Brodgar, which is huge, too huge to get into my camera view without having walked over a football field away.)

They were building cement buttressed causeways to connect a few of the nearby islands to the main one to try to cut off submarine access to the isles, and being Catholics instead of Anglicans or Protestants, they politely requested the camp commander for a Catholic church and priest. The commander, not being a total dirtbag, got them a Quonset hut, some cans of paint, etc, and told them they could work on building it when their daily work was done.

It's getting on in years, but the grandson of the artist (Italian POW) who originally painted the interior has come round a few times to touch up the paint job. Let me tell you something: You have to touch the walls to make sure they're not actually plaster relief work.

That is a flat, smooth wall.

Flat.

So while the Orkneys are a "piddy bit" (Scottish Orkadian for "little bit") off the beaten path, there are some interesting things you can go see! Plus, sheep. (I don't have any pictures of sheep, though, sorry.)

(Hebrides, you're on your own for Enthusiastic Tourist-ing.)

The answer to "What the h*ck goes on on those islands to the North and West of mainland Scotland?" by Derek Guy @/dieworkwear on twitter [x]

[petalsonmoon]

breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out.

you're falling in love.

(i'd just like to say that in this scenario i imagined UA as an university so they're a bit older... thank you for reading <3)

you had no one to blame but yourself. you read too much and you never know when to stop. but really, how can you go to sleep when the found family are about to perform the heist?

so when school was back things got complicated. your brain had its own routine by now so when you were laying in bed and the moonlight was trying to get in through the curtains it felt like you just drank 3 bottles of coffee.

your celling was making your mind combust this is why you got up and decided to take a little walk. you left your dorm and went for the stairs, feet light as the moonlight touching the walls. maybe you should buy a sleeping mask. or try meditation. new year new habits.

when you arrived at the communal space you were trying not to let the frustation win the fight against your empathetic consciousness. one side of your head was screaming that the begining of a school year should be centered, organized and fierced and an insomnia on your first day is not a great start. the other part was giving you a gentle pat on your head saying that life doesn't end when you graduate and you just have to take one day at a time.

you find yourself walking very slowly towards the kitchen and sitting on your usual stool. the third one from right to left. the whole place was beautifully iluminated by the moon. isn't sad that the moonlight is actually an reflection of the light that hits them? must be isolating.

there was a mini jar on the counter filled with m&m's. you slided it close to you and started to eat the yellow ones.

it was 5:28am acording to the microwave. m&m's were a great breakfast.

but the moon itself was pretty once iluminated by the others.... so it must feel pretty, right? seen? especially if it knows us, humans are captivated by its brutal and elegant greyness,

"the fuck is this?"

you jump. like cartoon jump.

and he didn't even scream he merely whipered. a rasp and crude whisper but a hushed tone nonetheless.

"holy jesus bakugo-" you whisper back with your hand on your chest trying calm it.

"what are you doing?" his interrupition as strong as he is.

"you scared the shit out of me." you complete. sort of ignoring his question.

he stayed still a few feet away burning you with his red eyes. his natural rage and powerful aura filling up the space.

"morning." you say. not in a good mood to smile but with enough chocolate in your system to sound gentle.

his eyes were on you for 5 seconds (5 minutes in your head) before he growled and moved, walking around the counter, turning one single light of the relatively big kitchen and started to get everything to prepare his healthy breakfast.

since first year, bakugo grew gracefully for those who noticed. although he changed he'd still murder you with an m&m if you said that out loud. you're definitely not that close to the boy but you were one of those who got enchanted by a determination so big and fierce someone could get blinded by it.

just like you were constantly astonished by momo's bright and calculated mind or todoroki's immense gentleness after a life that lacked warmness, you spent those 3 years seeing bakugo as an inspiration.

although his whole group of friends had a confidence you wished you had. they intimidated you. hagakure says it's you being stupid.

you watch as the boy moves fast and domestically calm through the gabinets, knowing exactly what he needs and wants.

with his large back facing you he started chopping and boiling and cooking. all the yellow m&m's had ended by the time one of you said a word.

"why are you up?"

raspy and soft. but you were not expecting him acknowledging you at all.

"hm..." your eyes focused on his back. "insomnia. vacation consequences."

you hear a distant grunt.

"so you came here to eat chocolate?" he kept preparing his dish in an annoyingly organized way.

"well, if my body is not feeling like being healthy might as well join his thinking."

"great thinking." he concludes and it's not even lacying with sarcasm. just full judgement.

it takes a few seconds for you to toughen up and keep talking.

"any tips?"

with that he turns and looks at you for a few seconds. you hold his gaze.

he only answers when he's back at glaring at the vegetables. "just fucking sleep."

it's so blunt it cracks a chuckle out of you. you betray yourself and take a single red m&m to your mouth.

"you ever slept in?"

"no." he rumbles.

"not even like, 5 minutes?"

"no."

"that's crazy..." you whisper to yourself.

"that's discipline." he defends not whispering back.

"yes, it absolutely is." you sounded silly but that was not the intention. "once me and tokoyami tried to make a schedule and wake up at 5 to train together"

it was fun trying to be healthy doing team work. you remember him telling you that dark shadow was also excited to practice outdoors since it was going to be dark still the time you agreed. "we only did it for a week."

you see him shake his head and murmur something you took 3 seconds to decode. "more than what i was expecting"

"okay!" you protest softly. "not all of us wants to be the best there is"

"and that means i can't judge you for being stupid?"

he blunts it out. as you said, bakugo was stil an angry, angry person but with patience and respect on the edges now. if you look closely.

"and some of us are not that competitive... like, really not. ever played uno with me?"

you hear him taking a deep breath. you don't know if that's an "yes" a "no" or a "i dare you to keep talking"

so you keep talking. "and i tried, doesn't that count?"

"it doesn't if you don't even do the bare damn minimum" his voice still raspy and very dure but the sleepiness not there anymore "not sleeping fries your brain." he resolutes.

"but this brain is also the reason i have anxiety so i'm just paying it back."

he finally turns to you with those immaculate sharp red eyes and points at you with the knife he was holding. "stupid."

"no, fairness." you smile and point a red m&m at him.

you held his gaze until he turned again. but then he finished part of whatever he was doing and drops the knife, washes his hands and turns to you again.

now you're getting goosebumps because he's walking towards you.

"you should've given me tips to sleep if you didn't want me annoying you at 5 in the morning" you defend yourself of something. you're really grateful for the courage the dawn gives people.

"is this gonna be a recurring thing?" he whisper. he stops in front of you, a counter between you both.

"don't know. it might be."

your hand was going to another red m&m when he stopped it. "stop eating this shit."

"then do you mind giving me cooking tips as well?"

his eyebrows furrows and he takes another deep breath letting go of your wrist. the counter was not that big. he was too close. "just focus on your breathing and it'll help you relax. even if you're not sleepy breathing techniques do help."

oh!

he did try to help you and that was sweet and you couldn't help but smile. "thank you."

he quickly turned around and went back to the stove grunting in response "don't need you yapping my ears off at the one time i have peace in this place."

with that you got up from the stool and went to your dorm feeling lightheaded.

── ☆ ──

after that there was no reason not to take deep breaths and count before sleeping. of course the problem was not fixed but it actually helped! there was some nights where your brain could not for his own health turn off the lights and it took you couting till 50 to relax but overall. you were sleeping at least 6 hours straight so a win is a win.

your relationship with bakugo evolved from not talking at all to you saying hi to him and him grunting in return. the universe decided to be kind to you by pairing you two a few times to spare during some of aizawa's classes and it was so unhealthy how you felt happy and annoyingly you with him.

so some nights you did had to trick yourself into not think about bakugo. to not think about how domestically warm and confortable it would be to cook with the boy if you were a little bit more than friends.

and then you blink three times remembering you were at best his colleague and you shouldn't be thinking this just because of an exchange of 30 minutes and a few swift but blazing conversations.

but it's a reasonable crush if we analyze the bigger picture.

you're not one with much confidence, and even though you're not one with many romantic experience too it's an understandable situation having a bloom of emotions when you finally have nice exchanges with the person you admire the most in class.

right?

four weeks later, saturday happened.

you've been doing good in training and even your studing sessons were making you proud so you decided to give yourself a deserving movie night.

things were great when you watched a movie and then another one but you decided you wanted a sweet popcorn to accompany you with the third one. and that went terribly wrong.

which is where you are now, looking at whatever annomaly you were swiping in the frying pan.

"of course you're involved with that god awful smell." he grunts from a few meters behind you and you're not sure how you didn't hit his head with how far you jolted.

"fucking hell bakugo!" you turn to him and it's noticible he’s trying to hold the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. don’t look that way. "how does an angry bird like you have such a light feet?"

"by not wanting to wake the losers" he concludes coming closer to you to discover what was happening at the crime scene.

oh! he smells good.

at 5am? criminal. cinnamon but with a touch of sandalwood. you truly wanted him to give you a prolonged hug.

"you are a fucking dimwit." he grimaced.

"i'm not great with new recipes!" you didn't have a single argument this time.

"ruin popcorn it's a new level." he walked towards the trash and opened. it's kind of a superpower that his expression alone could criticize so many aspects of a person.

you defeatedly walked to him with the pan in hands and threw its content in the trash.

"hopeless." he whispered as he took the object from you and walked to the sink.

you pout and make way to sit in your stool by the counter.

"i make a neat rice." you whisper back.

he immeditaly let out a chuckle. "i bet."

why were you still here was a question you'd burned with the imaginary popcorn. so it took you while to say anything,

"i remember in second year," really nice of them to keep replacing the m&m's in the jar. it was a good distraction look for the yellow ones. "when we were celebrating jiro's birthday and everybody was outside, i was going back inside to refil my water cup when i heard kaminari's voice desperately apologizing-"

a loud noice startled you. it sounded like a pot hitting the sink. you're not to make assumptions but it felt like he knew where you were going.

so you kept talking. "and suddendly you barked at him to shup up-"

"i didn't fucking bark-" he interrupted snarling. oh he was so sweet.

"-turns out he accidentally ruined a small part of her cake and you fixed it in record time. and didn't even eat it. i'm quite sure you went to bed after the happy birthday" you interrupted his interruption.

it was a quiet night so by the sounds you could identify that he started to do whatever he was doing a bit more angryly.

"cakes are stupid." he rumbles.

"they are important on birthdays."

"fucking dunce face can't keep his mouth shut-" him angrily replying with his back to you was a bit comical.

"in his defense" in the counter, you make a heart with the yellow m&m's you haven't eaten yet. "i traded this information giving him my piece of the cake that day."

you glace up and he was still treating the food with rage. "because surprisingly i'm not a big fan of cakes."

"weird coming from someone with the most crappy eating habits."

"i know, right?" you answer and he doesn’t respond. you fill the little heart with the red m&m's.

you take a deep breath.

"it was nice of you" you look up. "the number one spot is in safe hands."

he stilled. for about 7 seconds.

then he started to move again. calmly. you start to eat the yellow m&m's and after a while of him preparing his perfect little breakfast he speaks again.

"you being a sting in my ass since last year and telling me proudly." he says, his voice a bit more deep and cemented.

"yes, i like to think i'm a nice little bee." you admit.

"HA!" his rough laugh invaded the room.

"they're pretty and united and very important-"

"will you include the part they make honey and you can"t cook for shit?"

"it's a team work!" you defend. "don't you think that when a bee has problems with her honey, another one doesn't come to help?"

now you try to hold your laughter from your own statement.

"that's just pathetic." he answers.

"you're just not a bee." you resolve. you start to eat the red m&m's left. "you're more like a lone wasp. they're big and quite prett-"

your discourse is interrupted when a small bowl is strongly put in front of you spreading the red dots.

"hey!" you're about to protest when its contents finally loads in your brain.

it's popcorn.

with chocolate.

you feel the little bees in your stomach make a mess. a pure and chaotically comforting emotion fill your heart and there is no going back now. how can a furious boy make you breathe so peacefully?

when you finally come back to the moment and look up he immediately turns around and goes back to the stove.

"bakugo-"

"no." his tone heavy and definitive.

you take a deep breath and try to relax. not fighting the small smile in your face anymore.

"bakugo." your tone soft but as decisive as his.

he fights for a second but turns to you with a locked jaw. his eyes the sharpest you've ever seen, giving you nothing to unravel before going to sleep.

"thank you." and with that you leave the kitchen.

── ☆ ──

the following week you felt like suffocating but also very fucking joyful.

nothing prominent changes in your rotine. you're still dedicated to have a good sleeping pattern and things with you and bakugo haven't changed. and you weren't expecting them to.

but you needed saturday to come.

you were going to be there on purpose this time. and you were fiercily holding the ballon of insecurities screaming that you were too in clouds of your emotions to not think your decision carefully.

so it's 5:37 when you're getting closer to the kitchen, the familiar hiss and chopping of the food capturing the place making you shiver for some reason.

a well known reason but whatever.

you gently pull your usual stool to sit on it and your eyes lock to his figure, who froze for a millisecond when you made the sound.

your hand automatically made way to the mini jar that lived in the counter only to find nothing there.

you whip around to glare at him.

"who did you threatened to blow to get my m&m's removed?"

he took his time finishing whatever he was doing and turned to you very slowly. to have his attention on you once again sent intense shivers all over your body.

"why am i involved?" he soflty replies and you think you like his voice a little too much.

"you're always involved."

"always?"

"yep." you nod.

he leans his body back on the sink putting his hands on his pockets. boy, it's really fucking unffair to be heavenly beautiful like this.

you pout. "i just want my yellow m&m's back."

and then. and then

he measures your face before taking his right hand out of his pocked, setting a yellow m&m on his tongue and closing his mouth.

"come get it." he replies nonchantly.

your body suddenly feels solid and your blood it's cathing on fire. there is no way this scene wasn’t a creation of your most desired dream that was buried deep in your consciousness.

"well?" he arches one eyebrow and you blink. twice.

you decide in a millisecond to fight fire with fire. you're not a confident person but you could pretend to be.

you get off the stool and walk around the counter, only to sit on it placing yourself not far from him. you feel his eyes piercing you until yours met his.

"someone told me once i don’t even do the bare minimum…" you motioned to the empty space where the jar used to be “why would i go there if it can come to me?”

you hold his gaze while he took four steps to arrive and place himself between your legs.

he’s fixated on your mouth while you decide your favorite color is the color of his hair.

his slight smirk felt like an illusion when he breathes in your mouth “you little minx.”

then his mouth was against yours.

his hand found the back of your head making he deepen the kiss deliciously firme. a kiss as intense and imposing and skilled as the boy.

your hands made their way to his hair and it felt like a fervent dream when his own hands were now behind your thighs pulling you illogically close to him. his tongue ardent against yours making your whole body melt in his and when you scrap where his hair meets his neck his throat makes a guttural noise. you wanted to overflow in him.

when you pulled apart you’re a bit dizzy.

“you taste like chocolate.” you blur out.

placing his hands on your jaw he touches featherly your mouth with his tumb.

“why don’t you let me find out what you taste like, brat?”

[soleilapproves]

you condition your roommate, Gojo Satoru, into expecting a forehead kiss every time he leaves for work.

Notes: gender neutral reader

masterlist (tumblr isn’t letting me paste the link </3)

It all started on a Monday morning.

You had read about classical conditioning the night before- when a stimulus is linked to an action that is done routinely. You were feeling cheeky so you decided to test it out on your roommate who you knew had been trying to ask you out for the longest time.

You’ve been waiting for him to explicitly say how he feels but he’s chickened out way too many times. So as revenge, you played mind games with him. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t satisfying to see his shocked expression.

“Satoru, before you leave-“ you skipped to him before he could grab the door handle, and grabbed his arm to turn him towards you.

“-don’t forget this.” You pulled his tie down and kissed his forehead.

The white haired man’s eyebrows reached high enough to almost touch his hairline. “Wha-“

You pushed him out before he could utter another word. “Bye, you’ll be late!”

Soon after that fateful morning, you’d kiss his forehead before work. It became so ingrained in both your routines that he’d simply walk up to you while you were making breakfast and you’d slip him a quick peck.

You almost conditioned yourself to it too. Whenever Satoru would move his hair away from his forehead, your mind would automatically make you lean in towards him. It confused him the first couple times you did it and then you caught yourself on after that. You were the one playing mind games. Not him.

It had been three weeks of giving him forehead kisses when you decided to stop the action.

Your morning started the same way as it always did- you woke up, showered, made your coffee, and then sat down to eat your breakfast. However, it was the opposite for Satoru. He had slept late the night before and woke up with only fifteen minutes to get ready so to say that the apartment looked like it was hit by a hurricane was an understatement.

You saw a flash of white go towards the fridge as you calmly stirred the berries in your oatmeal. “Huh, I was wondering if you had taken the day off.”

“I didn’t. Manager Yaga gave me some intern’s report last minute and I had to correct the whole thing. I was up until three am.” You felt bad over how he was rushing to spread jam on his toast so you pulled out a tumbler and began to prepare his coffee as he liked it (so sweet that a hypoglycemic person could be cured).

You could see the effects of sleep deprivation on him- tie crooked, bag half-zipped, shirt tucked out of his slacks and of course, crumbs of bread all of his face. The man looked like a walking mess.

You walked him to the door, handing his tumbler over to him and muttering a small ‘goodbye’ as he shoved his feet in his black leather loafers.

You were about to close the door on him when he stopped you. “Did you forget something?” You innocently asked as you leaned your head to the side while folding your arms.

“No, you did.” He haphazardly moved his hair away from the center of his forehead and pointed at it.

“Why are you doing that?” You wanted to laugh at him so bad but you pinched your arm to prevent it. “What do you mean? You always kiss my forehead.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel like doing it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to keep doing it?”

“Yes, I’m way too used to it!” You almost jolted at his urgency. The man was clearly yearning for a forehead kiss.

“But why? It’s weird- only couples do something like that. I don’t know why I did it in the first place.”

“Wow, NOW you care if it’s something couples do?”

Gojo sighed and rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb. “Look, I’m really late right now and I don’t have time to explain myself. All I’m gonna say is this- you, me, date at seven tonight. And you best believe I won’t be late for that. Now give me my kiss.”

Your face was flushed after his sudden boldness and you quickly leaned in to press your lips against his sweaty forehead (you had worked him up with your little prank). “I’ll be waiting.” You grinned.

And he had walked right into your trap.

Gojo scoffed at you before closing the door with a small slam. You began jumping as soon as he was out of your vision but your celebration was soon stopped when the door opened

“What now?” You groaned.

The man simply pulled you towards him by your elbow and left a sweet kiss on your cheek. “This.”

—

Trust me when I say that playing mind games like this is a lot of fun. My ex situationship can’t listen to Childish Gambino without thinking of me 🙏

[aplaceinme]

Buck reaches the top of the stairs and looks around. His eyes zero in on Eddie, sitting on the couch, doing something with his phone.

Looking down at his hand, Buck nods in decision and confidently walks over to Eddie. 

“Here,” Buck says, thrusting his hand out to Eddie.

“Jesus!” Eddie yelps, startled. “Buck, what the hell, man?”

“Just take this,” Buck says firmly, waving the thing he is holding. 

Eddie looks at him unimpressed, the familiar expression that says ‘why do I put up with you?’, but then he grabs the ticket. 

“This is a Lakers ticket,” Eddie says breathlessly. 

“Yeah, I know,” Buck says dejectedly, looking forlornly at the ticket. 

“Why are you giving me this? Not that I’m complaining!” 

Buck sits heavily on the armchair and tries to make himself look smaller. “Tommy gave it to me… it was a gift for our six-month anniversary.”

“Oh,” Eddie mouths the word and looks down at the ticket in apprehension. “Ok, that doesn’t really explain why you are giving it to me, though.” 

“I’m not giving it to you, or well, not really. I just need you to give it back to Tommy.” 

“Give it back?” Eddie asks confused. “Wait, he only got one ticket?” 

“No, of course not. He got two but… I- I’m keeping the other as a sort of, as a souvenir or memory or whatever,” Buck shrugs his shoulders, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. 

“Seriously? You’re not going?”

“I don’t want to go alone! The sear next to me will be empty and I just, I just know that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.” 

“If only you didn’t have a friend who likes basketball…” Eddie says drily. 

Sighing, Buck replies, “I know but it would be weird going with you instead of him… Just give it to him and tell him he can go!” 

“Are you sure?”

“I- Yeah, yeah, I’m sure,” Buck says, trying to sound confident but he is sure he doesn’t quite manage it. 

“Alright, buddy. I will do it,” Eddie replies, giving him that small smile filled with sympathy that he has been giving him since the break-up.

—

It’s the day of the game and Buck is lying down on his bed trying to forget about it. However, his eyes keep going to the little box under his dresser. After one too many times glancing at the box and then at the ceiling, Buck huffs and moves over to grab it. 

Buck sits down heavily on the bed and carefully opens the box. As soon as he sees the content, his stomach twists and he starts to get teary-eyed. He hadn’t planned to have a box, it sort of just happened. It started when Buck returned home from their coffee date and found the receipt for their coffee in his wallet. It had been an impulsive decision to save it instead of throwing it away. Soon after that, Buck started to keep other things: like the ticket for the first movie they saw together, the coaster of one of the bars they went to, a copy of the recipe of the first dish they cooked together, etc. 

After the break-up, Buck added to the box the pictures he had of both of them and the ticket for the Lakers game. He grabs it and turns it around, this way and that way. Eddie told him that Tommy didn’t want to accept the other ticket back and that he had tried to convince Eddie to go with Buck. In the end, he kept it but implied that he wasn’t going to go. 

Looking down at his watch, Buck realizes that he still has time to make it. He contemplates it for a couple of minutes and then he thinks fuck it and decides to go. 

—

“Hi, excuse me, sorry, sorry, excuse me,” Buck says as he shimmies through the seats. 

Once he finally reaches his empty seat, he looks up and freezes. 

“Tommy,” Buck breathes out, feeling as if his heart is about to explode from his chest. 

“Ev- Buck,” Tommy says, just as surprised. 

They don’t move, they just stay there standing, looking at each other like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“Fucking sit down, what the hell are you guys doing?” A man sitting in the row above yells at them. 

They both mumble their apologies and sit down, with their backs ramrod straight, and looking ahead. 

 “I’m sorry, I will go,” Tommy says after a while of awkward silence. “Eddie told me you weren’t going to come so I just decided at the last minute to come and.. Anyway, I will go.”

“No,” Buck says loudly, grabbing onto Tommy’s arm. 

Buck looks at his hand and exhales shakily. He swears he felt a shiver running through his spine as soon as he touched Tommy. His hands, his body, all of him has missed him terribly. 

“Sorry,” Buck lets go of the arm, even though it pains him to do so. “Stay, you don’t have to go. The game is about to start, just, please stay.” 

Tommy searches Buck’s face and, after a few agonizing seconds, he nods and sits more comfortably. 

Sighing in relief, Buck turns back to the court and tries to reassure himself that this is ok. Everything will be fine. Just two exes, sitting next to each other, watching a basketball game…

—

If you were to ask Buck how the game is going, what the score is, who is winning, and which player was the best at the moment, he would be unable to answer. He has no idea what has been happening, all he knows is that even though they are not touching, he can feel Tommy’s arm and leg right next to his. 

Even though he is surrounded by the smell of popcorn, hot dogs, and many other things, Buck swears that the only thing he can smell is Tommy’s oud cologne. All he wants to do is  turn to Tommy and nuzzle his face against his neck to be able to breathe in that smell. He has missed that smell terribly, his pillows and sheets had long ago lost any traces of it. 

Suddenly, he hears Tommy mutter, “Oh, shit.” 

Buck looks over quickly, fearing that Tommy is feeling ill or that something bad happened, but he sees him looking up at something. Following his gaze, he finds that they are on the stadium screens. The Kiss Cam has chosen them. 

Glancing back at Tommy, they make eye contact but make no other move. People around him cheer and yell at them to just do it. 

This might be the last time I get to feel his lips again… the last time I kiss him , Buck thinks. 

It is that thought that makes him shrug his shoulders sheepishly at Tommy, as if saying, “I’m down if you are.” 

Tommy glances at Buck’s lips and nods. They both lean in at the same time and when their lips touch, Buck feels as if he’s coming home. Kissing Tommy again is like getting a breath of fresh air. 

It isn’t until he hears someone yelling to get a room that Buck pulls away reluctantly. Tommy has his eyes closed and his mouth is still open a little bit. Buck wants to lean in and kiss him again. 

Once Tommy opens his eyes, Buck sees that there are tears in them. 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry. I- I need to go,” Tommy says in a choked-up voice. 

Buck stays still, watching as, once again, Tommy walks away from him, from his life, from them. 

“Not again,” Buck says under his breath. 

Determined, he stands up and starts to follow him. 

“Sorry, sorry, excuse me.”

“You go get him, honey,” A woman sitting in the row above winks at him. 

Blushing, Buck nods and replies, “Thanks! I will!”

Once he is out of the stands, Buck starts to run, wanting to catch up to Tommy. As he reaches the part of the facilities where the concession stands and bathrooms are, he runs straight into someone. 

“Fuck!” Tommy says.

“Ouch!” “Buck replies. 

They look at each other and laugh awkwardly.

“Why were you returning? Did you forget something?” Buck asks, suddenly nervous and forgetting everything he wants to say to him. 

“Yeah, yeah, I forgot something,” Tommy tells him before pulling Buck close and kissing him even more passionately than before. 

After breaking the kiss, Tommy says breathlessly, “I’m sorry for running away… both times. I just got so scared about my feelings for you, and your feelings for me, and how you can so easily break me into pieces.” 

“I’m sorry too!” Buck tells him while cupping Tommy’s cheek. “I should have fought for you, I should have gone after you.” 

“No, no,” Tommy shakes his head vehemently. “I walked away so I was the one who had to return to you.”

Buck kisses him again, a short, sweet and tender kiss.

“I’m trying to be better, Evan. I’m going to work on not letting fear control me because I- I, well… I love you.”

Smiling brightly and feeling as if everything is right in the world, Buck replies, “I love you too… just as you are. And I will be there for you, and I will help you to not run away again when you get scared, ok?”

“Ok… god, I love you so much,” Tommy says, chuckling. 

“I love you too,” Buck replies again while kissing Tommy’s nose, cheeks, and mouth. 

[usedpidemo]

Life of the party (Loossemble Yeojin)

You regret getting yourself out on the market so soon.

To be fair, it’s been a little over six months since your last breakup, the terms of which remain hazy, even to this day. It isn’t exactly a definitive conclusion, one where you can comfortably say you’re wishing each other the best, nor is it a destructive mess either. 

The unfortunate reality is: it was never gonna last. You both had it wrong from the start. The foundations of your relationship were built primarily around sex—pure, unadulterated, raw—at its most primal form. You had this magnetic effect on each other, your bodies crashing on top of the other endlessly, creating these seemingly boundless explosions until you couldn’t take it anymore. It took your body giving out for you to learn an important lesson: that much of a good thing can be turn bad.

So you confess that you need space, the same thing other girls have told you previously. You’ve certainly learned from each relationship, right down to the textbook words that signify each phase—and this was the decline. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t take it well, and she lashes out in a fit of anger. 

You don’t see each other again. 

That should have been the end of that.

Except, you see her, six months on, hiding in the crowd of a party you have no business attending. 

—————

You recognize her right away: so distinctly small compared to everyone else that in any other situation, protecting her would be the first thing on your mind. Kids shouldn’t be allowed here, anyway; it’s only been five minutes and your senses are pervaded with the sights and smells of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and every negative vice under the sun. Except she isn’t a kid; she’s about as old as you, balancing her job and personal life like everyone else in this room. 

Surely, this has to be some kind of mistake—or an elaborate trap. 

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” you face Hyunjin, your self-proclaimed guide to this madness, expression uncertain, tone dour. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Kim Hyunjin doesn’t take no for an answer. She’s all about expanding her social circles and connections, others’ interests be damned. “Come on. Don’t be like that. You’ll find that everyone is friendly! Here, let me introduce you.”

Without hesitation or care for your concerns, she takes you by the hand and drags you to the first girl she spots with her eyes. “I’d like you to meet Hyeju.”

Hyeju stares at you with a cold, apathetic glare. On one hand is a cup, the drink barely consumed. Other than stand awkwardly, you’ve done nothing, yet you’re giving off quite a negative first impression. Jittery nerves, awkward expressions—it’s terrible body language that gets people ostracized and bullied on social media.

“Sup,” she says, casually, extending out her free arm to shake.

Initially hesitant, you acquiesce, smiling while trembling, as though you’re uncomfortable. The feeling is mutual. “Hello.”

Ever the social butterfly, Hyunjin isn’t able to read the room, oblivious to the fact that you and Hyeju are polar opposites. As a result, you’re both undeniably incompatible. At least you can find some commonality in being unable to move the chat forward; whether out of kindness or a general difficulty in making a meaningful conversation out of your circumstances is up for interpretation.

“Well, if you need me, I’ll just go to the bathroom,” Hyeju says, breaking the cold silence that has been occupying the space for minutes. It’’s so apparent, that it may as well have been hours. She walks away, much to your relief—and to Hyunjin’s disappointment.

“Typical Hyeju, so cold to everyone that isn’t a girl,” she remarks, shaking her head in disbelief in a playful manner. In reality, she should have realized at the outset it was an outlandish plan to link up with a man, much less someone new. 

Hyunjin looks around the area, scanning for potential new acquaintances and friends. She finds—no one. Everyone appears to have formed their own little groups or cliques, unintentionally singling you out. If there was any more apparent of a sign that you shouldn’t be here, this is it.

And you’ll make it known to her. Anything to get the notion through that thick skull of hers.

“See? I told you this party wasn’t meant for me,” you comment, moving your finger in every direction, pointing out the obvious. It’s certainly quite the problem—for Hyunjin that is. For you, it’s a blessing in disguise. “Look—if you want, I’ll just pick you up later. Just text me when you wanna go home.”

Annoyed, she shakes her head, vehemently denying the offer, pouting at you for even thinking about leaving her by herself. “Hey! Don’t be such an asshole, okay? You want me to make you look bad? Try it. I dare you!”

You can only sigh in defeat. That’s how these girls get you: by gaslighting or through emotional blackmail, and it works. Every single time. And even after making the same mistakes over and over, you still wonder why you’ve been through four failed relationships in two years, now on your fifth. Perhaps there’s a common denominator that you’re quite stubborn to admit or are completely unaware of—you.

Clearing your throat with a cough, you reply, “Can’t say I’ve been made to look bad before.”

You’re testing Hyunjin’s patience, and for no good reason. This party is the only thing she’s been looking forward all week long, and no amount of negativity is going to deny her. “Let’s just have fun tonight, all right? That’s all I want. Don’t piss me off. It’s been quite the week for me, and this is the only thing keeping me from going insane.”

You shrug at her demand; you’ll definitely have more fun being anywhere else but here. She doesn’t seem to care about your plight, why should you?

Still, you follow her close behind, sharpening your focus anad keeping a close watch around your surroundings. Hyunjin doesn’t know she’s here, let alone your entire history with her. What started as a dull, uneventful night has slowly turned into a high stakes game of cat and mouse. With her stature, she could be anywhere; in front of you, over your shoulder, even as your very shadow. 

So it becomes all the more troubling when Hyunjin does introduce you to more of her friends, keeping you preoccupied. She might as well have everyone form a large circle and present themselves like it’s the first day of class. You go through the motions, dropping all this information overload at the earliest opportunity in an attempt to keep some semblance of awareness around you. 

And sure enough, she’s there. She’s no hallucination. In the midst of the crowd, Yeojin stands across the room, all barely five feet of her. Her blue oversized sweater drapes half of her frame like a curtain. In one of the rare instances where her short stature works to her benefit, she effortlessly disappears when someone else walks between your line or sight, but not before smiling at you—grinning, asking, begging for trouble.

You blink twice, and before you know it, she’s gone. Your attention is suddenly called by Hyunjin, seemingly introducing you to yet another one of her friends. Still, your mind remains fixated on her—the girl you haven’t seen in six months. Her number had been removed from your contacts, every photo deleted and her social media accounts blocked. Of course, meeting her again was still plausible; you haven’t moved out from this side of the country, but the fact you’ve run into each other at the same building, at the same occasion—it seems too good to be true.

“Hey—I need to use the bathroom,” you tell Hyunjin mindlessly, your stare lingering at the open passage at the other side of the room, your escape route. The words seemingly go unnoticed, until you look at her, deep in conversation with her another one of her countless friends.

That’s your cue to escape.

So you make a beeline for the exit, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse, but to no avail. You scour every room, looking for any sign of her, only to find nothing. She could have easily left the party in the time you were distracted. Asking anyone for her whereabouts is akin to a death sentence; word spreads like wildfire, and if anyone else knew of your history with Yeojin, it would be the end of the world.

You recognize you’re tempting fate with your next decision. It’s dangerous. You should let her go; there’s a reason why you haven’t spoken to her ever since.

Going through your phone, you put in the numbers. Truth is, her number is no longer saved in your contacts, but kept deep inside your notes app. Taking a deep breath, you press the danger button, cautiously waiting for her to pick up.

She answers.

“Hey.”

Even through a single word, you can visualize that bratty, cocky grin. Her smug attitude, the triumph in her voice, it’s oh so crystal clear. As if you’ve finally come calling back like the prodigal son, having recognized the error of your ways, after swearing you’d be somebody without her, even though it’s the exact opposite: she’s the one who walked out on you.

“Yeojin.”

“Missed your babygirl?”

“Fuck you.”

She gets off on that one single word. It’s branded deep into her veins. Even when you’re no longer together, it’s become a part of her. To say you’ve left an indelible mark on her would be an understatement. You’ve changed Yeojin—for the worse.

“That word lost all its meaning when you walked out on me,��� you follow, months of frustration boiling up through your voice. “So don’t come at me with that anymore.”

“Technically, I came up with the idea of calling me babygirl. So I have the final say in whether it means anything or not.”

There she goes again, not even thirty seconds in, acting as if she were the biggest, most important person, which right now, unfortunately, she is. You already knew how disastrous it would be to open Pandora’s box the moment you even thought of calling her, yet here you are, regretting that decision and its consequences. Clearly you didn’t think this through—or you simply just needed an excuse to get away from the crowd, from Hyunjin, from everything.

Likewise, she’s feeling the same way too.

“Anyway, what brings you crawling back? Let’s talk.”

“Yeah.” You carefully look over your shoulder, keeping tabs on the party happening inside. No one has thought of stepping out to catch some air, thankfully, but they’ll be coming out in droves soon enough. “Let’s talk.”

“Basement parking lot. If you dare,” she says before hanging up, challenging you, as if you weren’t planning to head there regardless.

—————

As the elevator doors open, Yeojin’s echoed laugh is the first thing that welcomes you to the otherwise empty parking lot. The second being her shameless, mocking face when she turns around and familiarizes herself with your presence. Scanning you from head to toe, her eyes glint with delight, seeing that for the most part, nothing has changed.

For the most part. You look traumatized.

“So great to see you again,” Yeojin remarks, running up to meet you in a warm, endearing embrace. “I missed you so much.”

Pushing her away, her lips can’t help but leave marks on your neck, leaving familiar pink lipstick marks on your skin. Barely a minute since you’ve reunited, and you’re already wishing Yeojin was once again gone in your life.

“C’mon, lighten up. Aren’t you happy to see me too?” She elbows your rib playfully, its impact a feathery blow but otherwise devastating to your psyche. Every little thing she does is purposefully curated and designed to piss you off. 

“You’ve left me with no other choice,” you tell her, sighing, wishing you’d be anywhere else but this building. It’s turned into your personal hell, your inescapable prison.

“Poor Hyunjin’s gonna be so heartbroken when she finds out you’ve left her for me,” she remarks, grinning, smirking, gloating. “How long have you been together? Two months?”

“Two weeks,” you immediately correct her, because in all honesty, you’re still in the talking stage. This party was a way—or a trap—for Hyunjin to get through your otherwise impenetrable shell. She doesn’t seem to have learned from others that you’re the homebody, stay at home type. Maybe she does, but she believes she can fix you. And maybe it’s for the better to end this relationship before it deepens further, because it’ll probably hurt less—for her, at least.

Yeojin makes a face—exaggerating her features, surprised that you didn’t spend the last six months isolating yourself in your apartment, ashamed after fumbling the self-proclaimed so-called cutie hottie of the city.

“That’ll do it,” she continues to comment, her tongue a weapon to fire against anything and anyone.. “I’m amazed that it took you that long to leave her. Such a talkative bitch, right? I bet she won’t let you hit that fat ass of hers.”

To her credit, she’s correct about two of three things. You’re baffled at how she still has friends, knowing how much she constantly spites them behind their backs, and how narcissistic she is. Your conversations with her prove this.

But to avoid pouring fuel to the fire, you simply let it pass without another word, until she’s forced to change the conversation.

“So—you wanna come fuck me?” Yeojin is so unabashedly straightforward that it’s refreshing, as much as you hate how direct and to the point she is. “I don’t see any reason for us to talk any further, except for slamming that big cock of yours inside me.”

Taking a step back, you’re not exactly stunned by her choice of attire tonight. If there’s anything Yeojin has taught you, it’s to be prepared for any opportunity where she’ll pounce and you’re forced to fuck her brains out. She’s always been like this: dressing the bare minimum to avoid getting arrested under public indecency, making the flimsiest excuses to get railed that she’d forgo all pretense and be candid about wanting to walk around with your cum leaking from her cunt. She loves the thrill of the chase, while you hate drawing all this unwanted attention by playing along with her dangerous antics.

It’s why you wanted out to begin with.

“How’d you know I was gonna be here?” you question her, despite recognizing that she’ll give an unreliable answer.

“Everyone knows this is the party to be at,” she comments, tone matter-of-fact, crossing her legs, her arms folded behind her back. “All our college friends are here. It’s a reunion. Didn’t Hyunjin tell you that?”

You overlooked all the fine details when she was discussing this with you on the way here. Maybe even while you were busy gaming yesterday.

“Well that explains why I saw Heejin back there, and the others, I guess.”

“Still the forgetful S.O.B even after all this time,” she remarks, unable to resist throwing whatever snide remark she can. “You know Sooyoung was there too! Your ex? And Yerim! Your other ex. And also Jinsol—”

“You know damn well I didn’t ask to be invited,” you say, crossing your arms and shooting her a frustrated glare. It’s an anger aimed toward your circumstances, not specifically at Yeojin herself, even if she was the icing on the cake of what is a rather miserable night. “Given any other choice, I’d rather not call you. Nine times out of ten.”

“Yet here you are—stuck with me. So who’s really the loser now?”

God, Yeojin makes it difficult to be patient sometimes. Often, actually.

“Let me put it to you this way,” Yeojin starts again, and you’re certain she’s about to say something dangerous.. There’s a persuasiveness in her delivery that you can’t help but listen. “You don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I just want to get fucked, but this is boring me. You’re bored as hell, too. Do you see where I’m coming from?”

In all honesty, yes you do. You could have seen the conclusion coming a mile away.

“Yeah. You’re asking me to fuck you.” 

“Exactly!” Yeojin grins at your response, elated to hear the answer straight from the source. She’s full of joy, she’s close to jumping for joy at how well you know her after all this time. It’s both a blessing and a curse. “So you can either do one of two things: you can leave me here, pretend this never happened, and go back up there. And God knows if that place is a wreck by now. Or, you can have me here. Up to you.”

You look left and right, scanning your surroundings. Ticketing is electronic, so there is little risk of getting caught by guards. But then, there are cameras scattered all over the place. And while there are dozens of rows with cars parked side by side to hide behind, there’s no telling exactly when someone is going to emerge from that elevator and peek through your secret act, even if everyone is all conveniently partying upstairs making a bigger scene.

Yeojin’s pushing the limit as to how you can come away with her completely unscathed. So really, it’s a pick your poison situation, with either choice resulting in a slow, agonizing death.

A gunshot to the head would be a better fate than this.

“You’re fucking insane if you think I’m going to fuck you in an empty parking lot, Yeojin,” you tell her, unamused at the offer. There’s a third, hidden option that doesn’t have to involve this much risk; it’s hiding somewhere beneath that playful facade of hers. 

Yeojin doesn’t flinch at all. She knows you can take it and follow through, as you have done for her countless times. In the movie theater, in a bathroom stall, in the locker room—you’ve followed her through some of the most cramped and dangerous places, leaving a scene behind, barely escaping with your lives. If anything, a parking lot is on the tamer side. So much legroom, so much space, with little in terms of opposition—you’re never gonna have this free of a runway to fuck her brains out that isn’t confined to a bedroom, which, in her words, is ‘boring.’

Yeojin faces you with a smirk. A taunting, shit-eating grin that’s insufferable to stare at for longer than five seconds. She stares back as if she’s got it all mapped out, which, judging by how composed and deliberate she has been, is more likely than you think. It wouldn’t surprise you if she had spent the past few weeks positioning everything to fall into their respective place, working around countless different outcomes, to lure you out for the occasion. 

From the pocket of her oversized sweater she pulls out a pair of keys, jingling them directly in your face. Pressing a button, a clicking sound echoes throughout the basement. It’s the alarm coming from your car.

Panic immediately sets in. “How did you—”

“Took em’ while I was hugging you,” she says, her confidence at an all-time high, flaunting the item around like it’s hers. Like she owns you.

“Give it,” you demand, extending your hand out, deliberately ignoring the obvious: she won’t yield easily.

“Nah,” is the immediate response, silent but heartily laughing at your admittedly feeble and foolish attempt to reason with her. “Gonna have to play with my terms.”

“Will you stop—God damn it.” 

You’re falling back into old ways like they’re worn out shoes. Like it’s second nature, a force of habit. She’s living in your head rent-free.

“No problem.” Taking a moment to compose yourself, you turn around and make a beeline for the lone elevator. The most effective way to kill something is right at the source: her desire for attention. “I’ll be back later for the keys when the party’s done.”

“What? You’re seriously not gonna go up there, are you?” Yeojin doesn’t buy your ruse one bit. “You wanna lose a perfectly nice car to the girl you already lost too?”

“You need a booster seat to see the road clearly, bitch,” you retort, your heated exchange turning into an impromptu screaming contest. “And besides, you still don’t have a fucking driver’s license.”

Right then and there, triggered by your remark, she snaps. 

Briskly following you in hot pursuit, you shut the elevator door on her as you’re taken up back to the party. Missing you by the slimmest of margins, the last thing you see before the panels close is her scowl, a fist hurled in the air, and the echo of a emphatic ‘fuck’ that rips through the entire basement.

Only now are you starting to truly grasp the consequences of reopening old wounds.

When you rejoin the function, the atmosphere and overall area has turned into an irredeemable mess—a far cry from when you first entered the room. The whole place reeks of smoke, alcohol, and even slick. There’s guests laid out on the floor unconscious, choking in a pool of their own saliva and vomit, while everyone else has turned up their lasciviousness and energy up to eleven. You’re searching for Hyunjin, hoping she hasn’t been corrupted by the madness of it all, and you eventually find her—deep in a passionate kiss with Heejin in the corner of the karaoke room, behind a sea of other inebriated partygoers. 

And even if you screamed from the depths of your lungs, the guy on the microphone—not even trying to hit a note—overpowers anything else. He’s singing close to the mic, filling the room with a horrible screech that fucking rings, leaving a resounding pain thumping in everyone’s ears, including yours. 

You recognize the whole situation is a complete and utter disaster. The best option being, throwing yourself out the balcony. Someone probably did.

So before someone exposes you to more doses of lethal poisoning, you quickly shuffle out of there, and bolt into the elevator. You don’t head for the basement, because a little demon is waiting for you there. Instead, you land on the ground floor, quietly walking past the front desk and security like a local tenant. They’re just standing there, idle and seemingly oblivious to the situation happening upstairs. There’s no way anyone dwelling near hasn’t called the security on them.

None of that is your business, however. 

As you make your way out the apartment lobby and into the foyer, your phone receives a text. One you shouldn’t be giving a second of your attention to. It’s Yeojin.

> Where tf are you

She’s typing as you read, while you’re waiting for her to finish her follow up before possibly replying:

> You know I can’t fucking drive

You chuckle at her self-awareness, regardless of the sincerity—or lack thereof. She’s still going:

> I know you’re not at that party. I just KNOW

> Tell me where tf are u

You think about it for a good minute or two, undecided on whether to leave her on read or to actually formulate a response. You settle on the latter.

> Keep my keys warm for me, I’ll come by for them next week

She doesn’t reply back. Instead, she decides to call you straight up, and you’re still playing with fire, answering her right away:

“Hello?” Yeojin’s already shouting through the phone, but it’s nothing compared to the absolute violation that is the guy on the karaoke.

“Hey.”

Her spunky rage echoes through the phone’s seakers, charming more than threatening. She’s barking angrily like a tiny dog. “Are you seriously gonna leave me? Without your keys? I’m going to throw them away. And then what will you do?”

“Go ahead,” you tell her, matter-of-fact, because you know she won’t follow through. She’s all bark and no bite.

Yeojin growls, so evidently frustrated, so annoyed that you’re not as flexible as you once were. “I hope she fucking cheats on you!” she yells, eliciting a gentle chuckle out of you.

“What’s so funny?” she adds, catching your half-hearted laugh through the grainy reception.

“God seems to have heard you then.”

“She did? Really? What happened now?” Yeojin sounds surprised, as if she hasn’t been secretly praying for you and your loved ones’ downfall ever since. 

“I saw her making out with Heejin. As in, deeply lip locked. Tongues out and everything.”

After pausing for a moment, letting the details sink in, she says, “Well. I shouldn’t be surprised about that. They’re joined at the hip, honestly.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm. But look—” her inflection abruptly shifts, going from relaxed to casual. “Let’s just call it a truce for tonight, yeah? I’m tired. You’re tired. I just wanna go home, and so do you. So tell me where you are exactly, and I will give back the car key.”

You find Yeojin willingly surrendering hard to believe, as if you’ve suddenly stepped into an alternate reality. That, or her attitude has changed abruptly in the span of five minutes for no good reason. “Are you being serious for once? I don’t buy it.”

“You’re so unbearable, you know?” she replies, confirming your theory that she hasn’t changed—at least completely. But after firing back, she groans, deflated. “Just tell me where you are so we can talk like adults for once.”

Your eyes happen to stumble upon a cafe across the street, open 24 hours. You’ve found it; the place where you’ll settle the score and arrange everything on your terms.

—————

As soon as you finish stirring your coffee, Yeojin comes into view. Slowly approaching you, her mannerisms are careful, deliberate, as though you’re two professionals meeting for business negotiations. You don’t welcome her with any pleasantries—no greetings, no playful taunts, only a cold, watchful glare.

Sitting down across you, she notices there’s only one cup of coffee on the table. It bothers her seeing you like this: moving on your own, without her at your side. It’s completely unnatural. “Didn’t think to order me one?”

You blink a few times. Not a single word is uttered. You carefully lift the cup and take a sip of your drink before putting it back down, much to her not so subtle chagrin. 

She takes a deep breath and exhales. Every quiet interaction, every movement of the eyes is a tense exchange. Neither of you are willing to make the first move, cautious of getting undercut or taken by surprise. It’s a quiet stalemate. 

Eventually, Yeojin relents. Leaves you for a moment to buy her own drink. The realization finally dawns on her: that you’re not going to budge or fold like you used to.

And for once, she should grow up too.

“What’s with the look?” Yeojin casually shoots at you, taking a sip of her iced coffee, pointing out your stone-faced expression. Her observation: it looks painful holding on to that face. Your muscles must be straining keeping it together. “It’s not like I’m gonna pull a gun on you and rob you, or anything like that.”

An incorrect assessment. She does have something you need: your car keys.

“Is it because of me?” she adds, jokingly pointing her index finger back at herself. Knowing very well that she’s a huge reason why. It’s in her blood not to take issues seriously whenever it concerns you. “I know. Don’t worry. Lighten up a bit.”

But you don’t, out of precaution—worried of what may happen when she sees the slimmest of openings.

She leans forward, her frame halfway over the table. Her stature means she has to make a concerted effort to reach you, which has been the story of her night so far. Even her attempt at looking angry comes off as half-hearted and unserious. It shows when she tries to grab for your shirt; she physically can’t—unless she wants to pay the cafe for a new desk.

“Yeojin, please,” is your reply, huffing in her direction before looking away, avoiding eye contact.

“Please what? Stop being annoying?” she says, offended by the implied intention, when in reality, you just want things to be resolved once and for all. That you can go your separate ways and never cross paths again. 

What a cruel thing to do in her eyes. 

“How bout you stop being a bitch so I can give you your damn car keys back?” Yeojin finally breaks from her playful facade, fiercely jingling your keys in front of you, having abandoned all sense of subtlety and teasing. The desperation is finally catching up. “Jesus. You’re just as annoying as when I left you.”

Of course, it doesn’t bother you in any shape or form. She grows more frustrated at your lack of a direct response.

Placing the keys on the table, she sits back down, averting your gaze but in the opposite direction—sighing.

You shoot her a brief glance, checking once, then again for good measure, before sneakily taking the car keys back while she hasn’t noticed. Unsurprisingly, it’s part of yet another plan of hers.

“Go. Take them. If it that’s what will make you happy,” she blurts out, evidently defeated, her tone crestfallen. “I just wanted to see you. You know—for old times sake.”

“Hey. Don’t get all nostalgic, saying you miss me when you were the one that walked out on me, remember?” You shut down all hopes of reconciliation with that one response. “I can see why you haven’t been in a relationship for longer than two weeks.”

Yeojin turns her head toward you, visibly irate. She looks as if she’s refusing to take accountability. “You know today’s my birthday right?”

“Is it?” you tell her, knowing she’s lying with a straight face—it was two weeks ago.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, leaning slightly forward on the table. “As if you haven’t been following me in secret. All those pictures I’ve been posting on Instagram—”

“Has nothing to do with me,” you interrupt, brushing her rebuttal away as if it were meaningless. “You’ve always been thirst trapping. Seriously, you should take up being a camgirl if you want all that attention.”

Yeojin narrows her eyes. Try as she might, there’s no universe where she rips your throat out at the suggestion. “No fucking way.”

“I could help you make an account if you’re having problems signing up,” you tell her, “At least you can make money that way. And you get to have a new guy to use as your personal toy every single week without looking stupid.”

“It means nothing without you,” she says, taking another sip of her drink in between. “Something about you feels—different. Like, this all feels hollow and useless when you’re not around.”

“Stop being melodramatic and embrace what you really are,” you immediately retort, not buying her feeble attempts at sentimentality. “A slut.”

“Are you being dense?” Yeojin’s voice turns a bit more raspy and sharp with each response, as if she’s being attacked on a personal level, when it’s all true. You’ve found her like this: a thirst trapping self-professed model who posts suggestive pictures of herself and in the lewdest poses. Fifty thousand followers and eight boyfriends later, not much has changed. Making herself look available despite being in said relationships, using the most suggestive captions—they might as well be nonexistent. “I’m not a slut!”

“Yeah you are,” you tell her, flashing your phone displaying her current boyfriend’s Instagram page. The last post dated barely over 24 hours ago, her side profile clearly in view, kissing him on the cheek. No lying or running around such evidence. “A slut. Does he—”

Yeojin leans back on the couch, her infidelity exposed, distraught at getting caught red handed. She doesn’t even try to keep the secret contained, belting out her demand, “Hey—don’t you fucking dare send anything!”

“I’m not going to,” you tell her, pulling back your phone, taking no pleasure from cornering her like this. More often than not, reining her in was a burden and an immense struggle that didn’t provide any relief, only uncertainty as to when she’ll break loose again. She’s never been comfortable as a caged animal; she has to run free. “I think I oughta let him know where your whereabouts are, you know? Out of concern for—”

She’s suddenly lunging for your phone, trying to snatch it off your hands. Shielding it with your body, her strikes prove to be surprisingly painful, knocking the breath from your lungs, but you hold on—for her sake and yours especially. When she relents, you take the opening to push her away, sending her back on the other side.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she says, grasping at straws to gain even a little sympathy or favor back, when all that goodwill disappeared the moment she walked out of your life. You press somewhere on your phone—and the sound rings through her ears like a gunshot. Drawing it back to your pockets, you’ve seemingly fired a weapon aimed directly at her heart.

“Too late.” 

Yeojin melts, falling further into the couch, having put her down for good.

“I hope you didn’t actually send it,” she mutters from beneath the table, away from your direct view, her final cry of defeat. “God, don’t take this from me, please—” she’s pleading, begging for her life, knowing it’ll be what ends her. 

“You’ve done this to yourself,” you tell her, sounding like a judge sending her off to her damnation. “You left me with no other choice.”

“Really, I didn’t,” she replies, still refusing to take any sort of accountability for her actions, and that’ll never truly change. “He—he didn’t wanna go with me to the party.”

“Did he ask for an invite? Or did you simply leave him behind without a second thought?”

Yeojin cannot answer that question. She goes quiet, unable to respond.

“I figured,” you tell her, feeling a little sympathy for how vulnerable and defeated she looks. “If you seriously think you can crawl your way out of this one, you’re gravely mistaken.”

It’s easy to remember why leaving Yeojin—or in this case, Yeojin leaving you—was the best thing to ever happen to your life. Cleaning up after her is often a chore, one that requires so much effort for someone of her little stature. You can’t even pick her off the couch without applying some force; she’s lying on her side, staring blankly into the darkness, her soul drained in its entirety, but her body glued to the couch. Had she been a pet, and believe her, she’d rather be an animal more than human, she’d be living her best life, getting all the attention she craves and doing whatever she wants without punishment. But in this world, actions have consequences, and she’s starting to reap what she has sown.

It’s a good thing no one else is around to see or hear your little scene. Nevertheless, you might as well keep it contained before word spreads like wildfire. 

You don’t want to be seen with her in public ever again.

Locking yourselves inside the men’s bathroom, you plop Yeojin down on the floor. Despite looking modern, it’s not the most well-maintained. Someone should really get on it, but the workers aren’t paid enough to care. She fits naturally in her new surroundings: strewn on the floor in nothing but messy clothes and passed out after a wild night of unchecked debauchery.

“I hate you,” she murmurs, getting off the ground and sitting right in front of you, within close proximity of your pants. You’re unbuckling the belt, working your way down the zipper and buttons. “If you think giving me your cock as consolation is gonna make me feel better—”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” you tell her, pulling down your trousers and whipping out your cock from its confines, stroking it to full mast in front of her face. It’s not enjoyable whatsoever; if anything, it feels like a waste of a perfectly hot load to give back to someone you hate. You’re questioning yourself if this is even the right thing to do—which it isn’t. 

Yeojin takes hold of your cock mid pump, begging softly with her eyes to allow her control. You oblige her as she jerks your tip toward her pristine features, her fingers moving like it’s second nature. “Yeah, but you didn’t have to push me like that. I mean—he’s still my boyfriend—”

“Not anymore,” you remark, grabbing a fistful of her short dark locks, eliciting a whiny yelp from her saccharine lips. “This is for ruining my night,” you rasp, breathing heavily as her grip spreads throughout your loins, struggling to keep yourself together. All that pent up frustration finally bubbling to the surface, and now with an outlet for release. 

The timing couldn’t have been any more perfect.

Soon, your muscles tense and tremble uncontrollably as Yeojin’s hot breath and lips fill themselves with your cock. Slowly but surely, her mouth takes you, inch by inch, her tongue wrapping and licking around the tip, down your length, and you can’t contain yourself any further. As pleasure builds from within your stomach, you gradually loosen up—groaning away from her in a half-assed attempt to hide your not so subtle enjoyment. 

“Maybe I do miss this mouth,” you blurt out, heaving deeply between breaths as her noises vibrate and surge through your shaft, reaching the ends of your body, shocking every nerve. From careful reluctance to reinvigorated enthusiasm, Yeojin sinks back in, having never lost a beat in the time she’s last filled her mouth full of you. With all the relationships she’s had ever since, it would have been disappointing had she forgotten how to work her magic. Fortunately, sucking cock is one department she has never let you down on.

She releases your cock from her lips with a wet, audible pop, giving your tip a kiss. Looking up, the grin on her features is reforming. “Aha—I knew you would fucking fold like a bitch—”

You force yourself back in, dissolving her words with a mouthful of cock, pulling at her locks to regain command. Digging her fingers deep into your thighs, unwilling to let go, you’re back at square one. This is how everything starts: with Yeojin on her knees, her hands gripped to your skin, sucking on your shaft while you drag her by the hair. It’s a twisted game of tug of war, where both of you end up winners.

But right now, you have the upper hand: Yeojin’s satisfied moans reverberate through your shaft, disappearing and reappearing in her mouth with a fresh coat of saliva and precum. She’s bobbing her head back and forth, her cheeks hollowing out, her lips reaching further down your length with each stroke. She’s eerily quiet too, her noises reduced to mostly incoherent sounds as she dives further down, kissing and sucking on your balls, gasping at little breaths for air. It feels so good, so heavenly, that you’re considering backtracking all those missteps from long ago.

All this ecstasy for you and you alone—your lust and greed knows no bounds.

She looks up, her eyes wide, your cock pressed halfway between her mouth, spit falling from the edges of her lips, muttering, vibrating: “You like that? You like what I’m doing to your cock?”

“Fuck—fuck yes, babygirl.” 

You finally fold, using the one word you swore to never use again, breaking your own sacred vow. It should hurt, but it doesn’t—it was never really of dire importance, anyway. So much for being the bigger person in this relationship.

“That’s right. Tell me I’m your babygirl,” she goads, going down and sucking your balls a second time, giving them a squeeze, twisting your head into a pile of mush.

Even when you pull by her hair, Yeojin uses it to her advantage, pressing her nose against your stomach, her lips reaching your base, kissing you and marking every inch of your cock with her lips. This indescribable suction that absolutely swallows you—it’s a miracle you haven’t dissolved right then and there. Your senses are beyond overwhelmed, and it’s only registering blurs of her: her eyes, her moans, her everything. It’s come to a point where you’re forced to pump into her, filling her down to the throat in a desperation attempt to keep the fire burning.

Those fucking eyes—staring back and forth between your aimless gaze and your cock. It’s unbelievable. The room begins to spin around. There’s so much happening all at once to say a single word, let alone an entire sentence. Even when she’s gagging and coughing, she’s still relentless, her efforts steady and unshakeable. Only God knows the smile hiding beneath the pain and pleasure, getting what she wants in the end.

“So—so fucking close—” you manage to sputter, your jaw going completely slack, your groans reaching up to high heaven in a thunderous echo. The tug on her hair is so tight, you’re threatening to rip them out. 

With your cock buried deep in her throat, Yeojin’s eyes are welling up from the overwhelming sensation, basking in this old, familiar feeling. She doesn’t know if she’ll get an opportunity like this again (hopefully more in the future). Her fingers clamp around your length, ensuring your load lands nowhere but her. Face, mouth, clothes—anything to cover her as a memento reminder of what things used to be. 

She effortlessly strokes away, fully sinking into the act. Your cock tenses and tenses, until the pressure becomes too suffocating. You can’t hold it in any longer; you can only hope the outcome isn’t violent enough to be made into a crime scene.

It takes only a few more fleeting moments. Between raging storms, there’s calms that give off the illusion that everything will be fine—when there’s no chance of that happening. The confined space fills your ears with echoes of lewd noises, her dampened moans, your throaty grunts, and everything else in between. Her hot breath tickles your cock, muttering a gentle whisper, a soft plea (please cum), and it sends you careening over the edge.

A slosh sound passes through deaf ears, and you’re left blind, screaming, throbbing for her. Releasing your load, shooting heavy blasts into something—someone—till your cock no longer aches. Pulling her hair is like pulling a broken lever: completely ineffective and useless. 

When you finally snap from your spiraling daze, you’re welcomed back by the most snapshot pornographic image you’ve ever seen: her mouth wide, tongue exposed, sticky white and full of cum. It’s everywhere—on her hair, dripping down her face and chin, even on her clothes. You didn’t think Yeojin could gleam any brighter, but she’s glistening so brilliantly it’s blinding. 

“Mmm,” she hums to herself, licking herself clean of all the mess, if there’s even anything to salvage, while you’re left wobbling, struggling for air. “Fuck. That tastes so good.”

She’s running her fingers along the fabric, picking off what little pieces of you remain. Lingering on the blots on her sweater, she realizes it’s beyond wear and begins to lift the garb over her head. Behind that thick piece of clothing, she’s wearing—nothing.Not even a bra. Her wooly fleece is hiding those small but taut nipples and the rest of pale, creamy skin.

But before you get a good view, you reach for her arms and bring them back down. “Shit. Shit. Stop.”

Startled at your sudden turn and lunge, Yeojin backs away. “What are you—”

You snap at her, “Quiet.” 

You hurriedly reach for the exit. Carefully opening the door and looking outside, you notice that not much has happened, if at all.  And then your eyes widen at the new sight. Two new customers have entered the store and are making their way around a table, drinks in tow.

As you lock the door behind you, Yeojin looks at you amusingly, her gaze mostly centered around your oozing cock. “Damn. I thought you were gonna run around the cafe with—that.”

You fire back with a quiet, yet resounding glare. She doesn’t react whatsoever. Here’s you again, making impulsive moves, almost threatening to get caught in public like that.

“I mean, everyone’s gonna see that—”

“Hush.” 

Placing a finger between her lips to shut her up, understandably, you’re irate. Somehow, your head wasn’t in the right place. Those last ten minutes and beyond, from the time you carried Yeojin into the men’s room till now—you didn’t think you were gonna wind up like this. Public restrooms were always how you’d get yourselves in trouble, and how she’d prefer getting fucked.

It should have been a thing of the past, a part of you buried deep in the absolute depths of your mind. Yet here you are, carrying Yeojin onto the sink, pulling on her clothes. One after another, her platforms and stockings fall to the floor, until she’s left with the thinnest piece of underwear imaginable. And then you’ve come to the realization about two things: one—she’s not wearing anything other than a skimpy thong beneath, cleverfully concealed by her oversized sweater, and two—she’s soaking wet. A careful touch of her nylons reinforces your observation.

“I hope you’re fine going home without your stockings,” you tell her, kicking the soiled garments beneath the sink. Hopefully no one gets a hint as to whoever’s left them behind. “Jesus—you’re fucking horny, you know that?”

Yeojin giggles. She wears your comment like a badge of honor. 

Wrapping her arms around your waist, she’s hoping to get the rest of your clothes off in return, but you push her away. Shaking your head in disagreement, you follow with, “Do as I say, and we’ll get through this—quickly.”

As you try to keep her in check, she’s already looking for other ways to mess you up. Case in point, her fingers are pumping your cock back into hardness, forcing that last word to come out a tone higher. She wraps you around her hands, squeezing what little cum you currently have, moaning at the slick, silky touch. Her legs are spreading wide in an effort to distract you from the primary concern, which is her.

“But what if I don’t wanna do it quickly? What if I wanted you to fuck me for hours?” she playfully asks, twisting her grip tighter to elicit a cry from you. “What if I wanted to fuck me till I pass out? Like you always have?”

“Mm—not gonna happen,” you sputter out, swiping her hand away before ultimately seizing it, relieving the pain for now. “Not if you keep being this stupid.”

“Not you calling me stupid—aah—ah fuck—”

Yeojin trembles from the waist up, her train of thought derailed by the new sensation entering her dripping pussy: your cock. Both of you form a harmonious cacophony of moans that fill the confined room as your bodies intertwine. The hot sensation of your shaft impales her in brutal slow motion, her skinny thighs clamping around your hips, the tug of her cunt near inescapable as you fill her to the hilt. 

At first, she wrestles for control. Pulling at your shirt, at your skin, threatening to rip your flesh clean, as a respite. But as the feeling overwhelms her sense, she’s losing the fight just as quickly. Your bodies are perfectly connected, fit as two pieces of a puzzle that complete the other. Her eyes flare wide open, her gaze shooting up to the ceiling as she begins to ascend. “H-holy shit—this—so—goddamn big—”

The feeling is mutual. “God, Yeoj—you’re—goddamn tight—fuck—”

Her cunt clenches, and it’s so, so intoxicatingly tight. As if she were really built to be used and fucked. Not to mention, her stature makes her easy to carry and toss around on a whim.

Little by little, you’re lifting her off the sink, giving her no choice but to cling to you for support. Might as well; no one else is able to give her the time of day and the same level of care and attention as you, both emotionally and sexually. There’s a reason why she’s come back to you like a needy, loyal pet. 

Her nails dig into your scalp and at the back of your neck. Whispering against your ear, her breath hot, she begs, “Fuck me. Please—fuck—fuck—ah!”

And you’re doing exactly that. Carefully drawing your cock back close to her slick entrance, you’re thrusting upward, your bodies uncontrollably trembling and quivering as you plunge back in, delivering a stroke that makes Yeojin scream. She’s so feathery, so airtight, that you can bear the weight of the world and then some.

She drives her fingers deep into your skin, aching, crying. “So—so fucking good—I missed this—more—more—”

And you’re doing it again. Giving her exactly what she wants: a slow, good fucking. It’s what she lives for: to be pounded and used, to be an outlet of pleasure. 

You’re hammering up and into her, gripping her lean waist pressed against the bathroom sink, your attention focused on the little details. The whispers that fill your ears, the repetitive but gratifying moans and begs she makes, asking for more, harder, faster, and the satisfaction that comes with being fucked senseless. The way her legs clamp tight with each thrust. The restroom wasn’t designed to keep secrets; it’s clear in your collective groans and grunts that bounce off the thin four walls of this confined space. You can only hope you’re not being loud enough for those two patrons to hear.

Better yet, you can only pray Yeojin’s voice cracks, because even after yapping up a storm, she’s keening. Her tone rides a delicate wave between soothing, gentle quiet and eardrum shattering, high alert whining. You’re unsure if it's a joke or if she’s really feeling each stroke. you can never tell whether Yeojin is truly serious, even during sex. Regardless, her cries are breaching through the confines of the bathroom, and you can’t contain her, even if you tried.

And she loves it. More than anything, it’s the thrill. The possibility and wanting to be caught. Consequences be damned, if she can get railed in public, she absolutely will. It’s the sort of attention she craves for, the one people will remember—for better or for worse. Someone like her can’t simply be bottled up.

With it comes a new idea. You prop Yeojin back on the sink, facing her against the mirror and bending her over the counter. 

“You wanna see yourself getting fucked? Here.” 

Grunting against her ear, you tilt up Yeojin’s head as the glass reflects your image back. Her mouth falls wide as you fill her cunt with your cock, a thunderous echo slipping from her lips, her cry reverberating through the bathroom. Taking a mental snapshot of your position, it’s here where you notice that there is, in fact, a camera hidden in the corner of the restroom. The entire time, you’ve been under surveillance, but that’s the least of your concern. It’s about how you’re gonna make a good impression, despite facing away, the mirror serving as your primary point of focus.

And damn, you look so good together, fitting like a glove.

Before you lose control over Yeojin, you’re making an even worse mess of the restroom thanks to her. With each thrust, her slick spills from her core and onto the floor, onto your pants. You have her hands pinned on the sink for good measure, foregoing any sort of pace and rhythm for quick, senseless pounding. Her face is utterly wrecked, her features constantly twisting and contorting, dropping the occasional curse and praise here and there. The echo of skin slapping skin rings like music to your ears. It’s pushing you further than her continued cries for more.

It’s already perfect as is, but then she’s wrapping a leg around yours, and you’re daring to try something new. 

So you lift her off the ground, wrapping both her legs around your hips, before continuing to hammer into her. Holding Yeojin by the waist, her back arches up, with her petite ass following along. Your cock comes into view, disappearing and reappearing behind her glistening hole, wet and coated with copious amounts of nectar. Every entry and exit feels smooth and effortless, as if you’re meant to be. 

She tries to push herself up, and it gives you another idea. Brushing a hand up her lean figure, lifting her sweater slowly, eventually reaching her chest. An emphatic cry assaults your ears as you grab one of her tits, crushing it under your grasp.

It’s unfortunate you can’t push her jumper up a little more. What’s even the point of putting on a show when they can’t see?

Still, she feels so soft and malleable, ready to be used at your command. You’re rubbing your fingers along her taut nipple, rigid to touch, and it forces out these whines out of her. Anything to keep your mind off the inevitable, and it’s close. Everywhere you look, she’s right there, overwhelming your senses. Her pussy convulsing, her ass rippling with each stroke, her half nude figure you’re dying to strip completely—it’s all too much. The knot between your stomach grows tighter and tighter, choking you till you’re close to suffocating.

Admittedly, it’s happening sooner than you hoped. This is what you wanted from the start, but as you’ve been fucking her and remembering why you’ve put up with her for so long, you’re starting to second guess every decision.

There’s only so much to regret.

“Gonna cum again, babygirl—” you hiss, shutting your eyes and pouring every effort into filling her, making sure she never asks for anything from you ever again. Rolling your hips forward and with your bodies crashing violently, you have no choice but to hold onto her for safety.

And that’s what completely ends you.

In that particular stroke, as you fill Yeojin to the absolute hilt with your cock, your bodies melt—with yours falling on top of her. Your voices intertwine and form a grand symphony of deep cries from the depths of your lungs. Gripping her waist, her pussy pulses and cums, pouring her nectar onto your shaft and to the floor. Staining your legs, keeping you glued together, the bond between you can’t get any closer. 

You feel every bit of Yeojin coming undone. Her eyes are wide shut, jaw slacked and on the sink, her voice gradually tearing itself to shreds. Even as she’s falling from that blissful high, she’s able to mutter two words, her most meaningful ones yet: “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then it’s your turn. 

You follow right after with your own climax, taking a deep breath as you unload every drop of cum onto her pussy. Twitching and aching inside her, your cock sticks inside, unable to pull itself out, wanting to stay in this perfect mixture of warmth and wetness forever. It just feels right. You find it difficult to stop throbbing, even if the only thing left to shoot are blanks.

Subconsciously letting her legs fall back down to earth, you can’t unglue yourself from her. The stickiness is keeping you together, and so is your tired body. Completely drained of all your strength, you press down on her, giving a back hug that also serves as a way to use her as your personal cushion. You stay like this, cuddled up and gasping for air, letting the hours pass you by peacefully undisturbed. Neither of you say a single word, both out of exhaustion and out of respect for the moment. Messy bathroom be damned, this is the most tender and intimate you’ve ever been, and you wish your relationship had taken a different direction than what ended up happening. 

It’s a glimpse into what could have been—and that’s what makes it heartbreaking.

Eventually, you lift yourself off her, severing the connection between you. Your cum pulls apart when you take a step back, surprisingly rigid and firm. Simple tissues won’t fix it. To make matters worse, Yeojin spins around, wrapping her arms around your neck before pulling you down with her for a deep, intimate kiss. It isn’t the very act that’s the issue here; it’s how effortlessly you sink in and reciprocate her feelings. 

Then your conscience reminds you. You feel dirty. You quickly pull back, disgusted—mostly at yourself.

Taking a moment, you both exchange lengthy stares at each other, unsure of what to say. Until—

“What have I done?”

“What I think you have done,” Yeojin says, gleefully, tracing a finger down your wrinkled shirt, marked in sweat and her fingerprints. That sly grin of hers will forever haunt you in your memories. “Is get your girlfriend back.”

—————

It’s too late. 

It’s already half past midnight. The streets are empty. Yeojin’s quietly sits in the passenger seat of your car while soft music plays in the background to fill in the blanks. There’s five missed calls and a dozen texts from Hyunjin asking for your whereabouts, none of which you bother to read. Consequences are the last thing on your mind. Right now, it’s about leaving the girl beside you for good, and that means driving her home.

To be clear, you’re taking her back home—to her place, not yours. Your apartment is the last thing on the list you want ruined tonight as well.

Even after everything, she’s still not satisfied. She unbuckles her seatbelt, activating the ceaseless alarm that assaults your ears. You’re still a fair distance away, and the trains have stopped operating hours ago. You really had no other choice but to drive her.

“Hey. Put your seatbelt on,” you blurt out at the sound of the harness clicking, only shooting a brief glimpse toward her before returning your focus on the road ahead. “What are you—”

She’s back to her old ways. Slithering across the center console and over the gear stick, resting her head on your lap. Feeling extra touchy-feely, her hands rub along the fabric of your jeans, admiring your growing bulge poking through. Yeojin has no regard for personal space; never has, never will.

It comes as no surprise that you struggle to breathe, let alone drive in a straight line. Fortunately, you’re driving along an empty road to crash into anything other than maybe a guardrail or a lamp post. 

“Christ—” You mutter, shifting your lap around to cramp Yeojin, but she follows your path close behind, causing you even more discomfort. “Stop it, Yeojin—”

To your annoyance, she’s unbuckling your pants, sliding them down along with your boxers. With no care or consideration, she runs her tongue across your stiff length, up to your tip. Her hand grips you, pumping you hard, building immeasurable pleasure in your loins. Cramped inside a moving vehicle, getting pleasured in near darkness with a rebellious girl thinking she’s doing you a favor—you’re once again regretting every decision that has lead you to this miserable situation. 

You feel yourself getting dizzy in real time. You can only hold back for so long before you eventually crumble, like you always have. When it comes to Yeojin, she gets what she wants, always at your expense.

“Keep driving,” she commands, licking circles around your tip, against your best wishes. She sounds like she has complete authority over you, really pushing her assertiveness at the worst moment imaginable. Tonight has given you plenty of losses, far too many to count—you won’t let her win another one. 

Your attempt at grabbing her hair comes off as a light head pat, a complement for how good she is with her mouth. Even if that was the intent, she’s still gonna blow you inside this car. Idle minds are the devil’s workshop, and she’s being puppeteered by lust every time you share a ride. No matter the distance or time taken, she’s always getting through your pants, ensuring no journey is complete without leaving the vehicle a dire mess.

If she keeps this up—and she will—she won’t be only one trying to roll on top of you.

Pulling over the side of the road, Yeojin realizes you’ve stopped driving. Opening the door, you lift yourself off the driver’s seat and step outside, leaving her to bounce her head against the warm leather. Taking all the fresh, cool air in, you finally feel relaxed. You hadn’t given yourself a moment to breathe: after your little escapde in the cafe restroom, you were sprinting back to the parking lot, maintaining a low cover, and speeding through the city. The last few hours have been a whirlwind of highs and lows, none of it really sinking in—unless you were to indulge in a few drinks. And it’s still not over—not until you finally bring Yeojin home. 

Based on how obstinate she has been, still laying down on the driver’s seat, she doesn’t want this night to end.

“Get off,” you shout at her, tone grating and sharp. You’re just about to call it quits. If you weren’t so morally conscious, you would have left her behind already.

“Get off? That’s what I was trying to do,” she remarks, sarcastic and facetious. Rolling over to her stomach, swinging her legs back and forth, she’s looking silly, not even trying to hide her smirk. getting a kick out of teasing you. 

You’re deeply caught up in your impatience and frustration to notice she’s baited you into sounding lewd. “Fuck off. After this, we’re done. So fucking done.”

“Are we? That didn’t seem like it when you were fucking me from behind—”

“Get back in the passenger seat,” you interrupt her, having walked from the middle of the highway to the car in an instant, whipping out a roll of duct tape from the glove compartment. You didn’t need to say a word for her to understand the potential threat and subsequently comply. To make sure she doesn’t wrestle control away from you, you ensure it stays of her reach for the rest of the trip.

And thankfully, she doesn’t bother harassing you even once. The idea doesn’t even come to mind. She sits still, as a good girl should.

Fortunately, you were only less than ten minutes away from her house. If the city was quiet, the suburban village where she lives is dead silent. Save for a few streetlights, it appears as though no one else resides here—or are on vacation elsewhere. Most times you’ve spent together, it’s been in the comfort of your apartment.

Hovering over Yeojin’s side, you swing the passenger door open. Even though it’s a long shot, you’re expecting her to get out. The moment she does, your foot will be right on the gas pedal, leaving her behind once and forall. Unsurprisingly, she stares at you instead, seemingly anticipating something—perhaps a kiss, an embrace, a fond farewell.

She gets none of that. You even unbuckle her seatbelt for good measure, telling a lot without saying anything at all.

Yeojin unbuckles your seatbelt, breaking the tension. Unusually, you don’t move a muscle, not slapping her hand away, not even when her finger trails down your hand, reaching for your pants once again. It’s clear she’s bothered by how you’ve left her stockings back at the cafe, leaving her in nothing but an oversized sweater. She’s moving in the opposite direction, shifting past the center console and onto your lap. You freely welcome her—all 4’11 inches of her—into your arms.

Kissing you on the lips, Yeojin slips her hand between your cheeks, her hands sinking down your body and to your pants, sliding them down along with your boxers. The entire time, you’ve left your clothes unbuttoned and readily accessible for her to reach. Gently smiling through the smooch, she rubs her nose against yours, softly giggling, as if to say she’s known about your little secret.

But what’s there to really say?

Effortlessly falling between the cracks, an airy moan departs your lips as Yeojin fills herself with your shaft. Firmly stuck in place with her body pressed all over you, your hands take lease of her clothed back, tired of feeling its wooly fabric. Lifting up her sweater over her head to be tossed aside right after, Yeojin is finally reduced to nothing. 

You gaze down at her bare figure, awestruck. In return, she unbuttons down your shirt, exposing some of your skin, pecking down to your neck and your chest. Her little kisses leave you lightheaded, caressing her short hair in appreciation.

You’re overstaying your welcome; you should be lone gone by now. You are, in fact—just not the way you anticipated.

Propping her over your lap, your relationship with Yeojin works best when your hearts are pounding wildly, screaming each other’s name like it’s the most important thing in the world. Nothing else but the sex matters, like right now. No wonder she often has to coax you into getting reckless, otherwise your conversations would only revolve around constant petty arguments with no clear resolution. It’s because of your how well your bodies complement one another that you’re still tolerating her presence in your lives. 

All it takes is one look at her, riding you like her life depends on it, her cunt effortlessly bouncing on your cock, basking in the sensation of getting impaled over and over again. She’s kissing all over your face, biting on your ear, rocking you like she wants to sweep you off your feet. And it leaves you utterly speechless every single time.

“God—please—give it all to me—fuck me like you mean it—”

And you’re right there with her, matching her pace with every upward stroke. You especially love holding Yeojin like this, cradled in your arms, forcing every inch of your cock deep into her wet pussy, drawing these little whimpers out from her puckery lips. The more she keeps talking—pleading—the greater your motivation. 

Though it overwhelms you—the tensing, the pulsing, the heat—you keep going. Her cunt feels so incredible, you only wished it was on a woman that had a better personality, one that wasn’t making you regret your existence. But you don’t care about that—not when you’re taking control, losing grip to your lust and wanting to overpower her.

It hurts all the more when she sounds perfect, especially when you spin her around and pin her against the steering wheel. Watching her back arch, her ass ripple with each stroke, seemingly trying to outyell the car horn, putting you both on neighborhood watch for noise complaint. Not that there’s anyone around to wake up and alert the authorities when looking at your surroundings, but the desire for shameless attention will always arouse Yeojin. 

You’re the only one who enables this kind of behavior, but you never realized that. That, or she’s looks too good to notice.

You can only focus on reaching that climax again, hammering away at her cunt, watching her shimmy her hips as she grips the steering column, blanketing every lewd sound and profanity with a blast of the klaxon. It’s as if you’re demanding her to scream your name, to proclaim to everyone that she’s yours and yours alone.

“Cum,” you tell her. An instruction to be met. A demand. “Cum all over this fucking cock, slut.”

The rapid change in intensity leaves her in an uncontrollable daze, setting her on fire. Throwing her head back, her body violently quivering in your grasp, she keens. She can’t take it any longer getting used so mercilessly, even when she wants more. “Gonna cum—oh God—so so fucking wet, ah—”

She continues to bounce relentlessly even as the pleasure rips her in half. Of course Yeojin doesn’t give two shits about messing up your carpets; it’s a given that she’ll make you pay for a fresh pair every time you have sex in the car. She cums—and she cums hard. Her slick juices puddle up on your lap, sticking on your skin, splattering on the edge of the leather seat, all while releasing a weak, airy moan that cracks her voice as a result of all that shouting and moaning. 

It’s enough to push you over the edge. The wetness, the smooth noise of skin slapping skin interspliced with her cries of pleasure. Nothing this pornographic should sound like music, but it does.

Yeojin whines a passionate cry when it hits—that rush of cum that fills her womb. Every little drop, you pour onto her needy, aching core. She’s knocked the wind from your sails; you can only utter a hoarse groan of relief, in contrast to the relentless earsplitting noises that have pervaded your ears for the longest time. 

You don’t get the opportunity to take one final look at your handiwork. As soon as the climax ends, the crash follows immediately after, sending your head reeling. Yeojin takes this opportunity to pick her sweater off the carpet floor and put it back on. Hobbling out the passenger door, she leaves you slumped back in the drivers’ seat.

Only now do you realize that her side of the door has been open the entire time.

“It’s been fun,” Yeojin says, evaluating herself at the side-view mirror to ensure she’s not a complete mess. Even though she looksfar beyond saving given how grimy her appearance is. Frazzled hair, soiled sweater drenched in sweat and cum—not to mention she has nothing but her platforms to make up her lower half. Her underwear is lost somewhere beneath the car seats, likely as a memento. “You know, I got a whole boyfriend to go home to and what not—”

“Surely he isn’t waiting for you inside that house, right?” you ask, puzzled by the sudden care for her actual lover. “I mean, I did send him that message—”

“I know you didn’t.” Yeojin grins widely at your response, having seen through the bluff. You never sent anything. It’s a secret worth keeping for yourself. “He’s on vacation, by the way. Thanks for giving me the best night I’ve had in forever.”

“Yeah, and thanks for ruining what was already a terrible one,” you reply, refusing to leave without delivering one last character breaking blow. 

She laughs while walking backwards toward her house, smiling wide. “No problem. Talk to you later?”

Closing the passenger door and starting the engine, you shout back, “Never. Not in a million years.”

“Of course.” Yeojin opens the front door to her house, stepping inside, hiding herself behind the panel except her pretty face. “You know where to find me. Call me anytime.”

—————

(A/N: Well this was unfortunate timing in the worst way imaginable lmao. That's what happens when you get lazy with editing.

Thank you for the commission! I would also like to thank you for giving me carte blanche; first time writing someone Loona and Yeojin has always the boldest one despite being the maknae. Also gonna give this space to link fae's Yeojin fic that she posted earlier for anyone interested in a froggy double feature. Madlad's doing Kinkvember a month after debut, that's insane. Contract news broke out right as I was in the middle of editing and the power went down lmao. Anyway, finals is approaching, so I want to get it sorted before locking in for the final few weeks of the year. Thank you for reading!)

[rue-isabelle]

Aphrodite of Formula 1, Part 3

The paddock was no longer just a workplace—it was a battlefield of emotions. Yn’s calm demeanor and kindhearted nature had captured the hearts of every man on the grid, single or taken. She had no idea about the storm of feelings she left in her wake, but the tension between the drivers was palpable.

And with the bombshell news that Lewis would be leaving Mercedes for Ferrari, the frenzy only escalated.

Lewis

Lewis waited for Yn outside the hospitality area, leaning casually against the wall. When she appeared, juggling her tablet and several papers, he stepped forward, his warm smile catching her attention.

“Yn,” he said smoothly, “do you have a minute?”

“For you? Always,” she replied with a smile.

He guided her to a quieter corner, his hand resting gently on the small of her back. “Listen, I’ve got something important to talk about. You’ve heard the news, right?”

She nodded. “You’re going to Ferrari. Congratulations, Lewis. They’re lucky to have you.”

“They’d be even luckier if you came with me,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

Yn blinked, stunned. “Me? At Ferrari?”

He smiled, placing both hands gently on her waist, his thumbs brushing lightly against her sides. “You’re the best at what you do. And I’d feel a whole lot better knowing I had you on my team.”

“Lewis, I—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Think about it.” His hands squeezed her waist tighter before letting go.

Before she could reply, he stepped back, his gaze intense. “No pressure,” he added, though his expression suggested otherwise.

Yn’s heart raced as she watched him walk away, his confidence leaving her breathless.

Lando

Lando couldn’t get through a single day without seeing Yn. Her presence had become a necessity, a fix he craved. But as her job kept her moving constantly, he needed to ensure they “coincidentally” crossed paths.

That’s where the AirTags came in.

Yn had no idea that nearly every item she owned—a handbag, a water bottle, even her laptop case—had a discreet tracker hidden inside, courtesy of Lando.

“Yn!” Lando exclaimed, rounding a corner with perfect timing as she exited a meeting. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

She laughed. “Hi, Lando. What a surprise.”

“It’s fate,” he said, grinning.

He casually walked with her, keeping the conversation light, but his heart raced as he basked in her attention.

At night, Lando’s obsession took on a different form. In his bedroom, one wall was entirely dedicated to her. Photos of Yn smiling, laughing, working—captured both candidly and from afar—covered every inch.

One evening, his trainer stopped by unexpectedly.

“Lando,” he began, trailing off when he noticed the wall. “Mate, what the hell is this?”

Lando turned, unfazed. “Art,” he replied simply, his eyes fixed on one particular photo of Yn.

Franco

Franco had a different tactic: he showered Yn with affection and introduced her to the richness of his culture. He found her during lunch and waved her over to his table, where he’d set up a spread of traditional Argentine dishes.

“What’s all this?” Yn asked, her eyes lighting up.

“This,” Franco said with a charming smile, “is a little piece of Argentina. Sit, sit.”

She sat, and Franco immediately began serving her, explaining each dish with pride. “This is empanada criolla, and this—ah, careful, it’s spicy—is chimichurri. You have to try it with this.”

He picked up a small piece of empanada and held it to her lips. “Here, taste.”

Yn hesitated but opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her.

“How is it?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

“Delicious,” she admitted, smiling.

Franco leaned closer, his lips kissing the corner of her lips. “You had some sauce here,” he murmured before kissing her again on the cheek, lingering there for a moment.

Yn’s cheeks turned pink. “Franco…”

“I’ll make you fall in love with Argentina,” he promised, his voice low. “And maybe… me too.”

Fernando

Fernando prided himself on being Yn’s rock. While the other drivers acted like lovesick teenagers, he was her guiding figure, the one she turned to for advice.

One evening, Yn found him in his motorhome, reviewing strategy notes.

“Fernando, do you have a minute?” she asked, poking her head in.

“For you? Always,” he replied, motioning for her to sit.

She explained her dilemma about a work decision, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Fernando listened intently, his hand resting on her knee to ground her.

“Yn,” he said softly, “you’re overthinking. Trust your instincts. They’ve never failed you.”

She nodded, her tension easing under his steady gaze.

As she stood to leave, Fernando reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re too good for this chaos,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Those boys don’t deserve you.”

Yn laughed lightly. “You’re too protective.”

“Someone has to be,” he replied, his hand lingering on her shoulder as he guided her out.

---

The paddock had become a minefield of stolen glances, jealous stares, and escalating tensions. Each driver had his own way of vying for Yn’s attention, but none could truly claim her heart—not yet, anyway.

Yn, blissfully unaware of the storm she had created, continued her work with a smile, unknowingly leaving a trail of broken hearts and unspoken confessions in her wake.

The question wasn’t if she’d notice—it was when. And when she did, the paddock would never be the same.

Part 1. Part 2

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: a photo of a sign in a school, which says "don't be a target: Bullies pick on people that they think are weak and quiet. Look the bully in the eye, use a strong voice and tell them you don't like what they are doing and to stop. Then walk away. Next time, the bully may choose somebody else to pick on."

On the sign, there is a simple drawing of a boy in a red shirt with a white number one in the centre, holding his pointer finger up. In front of the boy there is a "no" symbol, followed by the text "to bullying".]

[A Facebook post by Sophie Labelle, which says:

(capitalized) hoo boy. (End capitalization)

I know I should just toss this overstuffed suitcase straight into the nearest dumpster fire, but it'll be much more satisfying to unpack each item and throw it into roaring flames one by one.

That's a very long-winded way of saying "We're a bunch of social darwinists who don't want to do our jobs."

Does whoever created this monstrosity even know the definition of bullying? The bullies know you don't like what they're doing, that's why they're doing it, you dipshits.

The first rule of Survivor Club is that you never fucking turn your back to your abuser. The corollary to the first rule of Survivor Club is that you ESPECIALLY don't fucking turn your back to your abuser right after confronting them. It must be nice to be sheltered enough that you reached adulthood (and then some) without having to learn this.]

[There's a reason that bullies are gonna make life hell for the gender-ambiguous black kid who doesn't make eye contact, and there's a reason why said kid is likely to go quiet. It's because both parties know that school authorities won't lift a finger for an autistic kid, a child of color, or a gender nonconforming kid, let alone someone who's all three. They also know that the minute the victim stands up to their bullies in a way that actually fucking works well enough to get them to back down and go hide behind an adult, that adult will go into Zero Tolerance Mode and punish (only) the victim for being "just as bad."

This poster just feeds into the problem by presenting bullying as an inevitable part of education rather than a choice that humans of all ages can just not make or condone, tacitly or otherwise.

I get the impression that none of the alleged educators at this school ever actually read Lord of the Flies, because if they had, they'd know it was pretty clearly not supposed to be aspirational.]

[And let's not forget

7. If they were gonna give the reader a big "fuck you," they could've at least drawn the right finger.]

[A screenshot of the comments, which say:

Courtney McIntyre: I'm sorry "next time, the bully may choose somebody else to pick on" WHAT? Because THAT'S the correct outcome???

Garnet Shredder: Was just coming here to say this, should've included that on the list too haha

Joe Ricciardelli: No way to stop bullies so we won't try. Good luck kids, try to pass them off to another target.😁👍]

[corroded-hellfire]

Food, Football, and Friends - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: With so many people coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, it's no surprise things get a little chaotic.

Note: Happy Thanksgiving!

Warnings: chaos that is typical of this family, Eddie's breeding kink doesn't take a holiday off, Dustin is married to someone that is not Suzy sorry

Words: 3.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Not bothering to knock, Steve opens the front door to the Munson household and pops his head inside.

“This looks like a nice house,” he says as he pushes the door all the way open. “Might be able to steal something nice.”

A huff comes from behind him and Mia pushes in the house past her father. The six-year-old scowls as she leans down to unbuckle her shiny Mary Janes.

“We’re not thieves!” Her voice carries throughout the house, summoning the little person who has been waiting all day to see her.

“Miaaaaaa!” Eliza’s heavy tread thumps down the hallway as she runs into the living room at full speed. The friction of her white tights against the carpet halts her when she reaches her destination. 

Before Mia can answer, Steve crouches down in front of the youngest Munson. He frowns and tilts his head, a few chestnut locks falling in his eyes.

“What about me? Am I chop liver?” 

Your toddler giggles and leaps into her uncle’s arms. She wraps her arms around his neck for a hug, but before she can pull away, Steve stands up, hoisting her over his shoulder in an attempt to keep her from her best friend.

“Noooo!” Eliza whines, her little legs kicking. 

“Oh, fine,” Steve sighs as he lets her down.

Eliza straightens her black and white dress before looking up to see Wayne walk in the door right behind Nancy.

“Grandpa!”

“There’s my girl!”

Wayne scoops her up and peppers kisses all over her face. The small girl giggles and tries to push his face away, his scruff tickling her.

“Where’s Daddy?” Wayne asks.

“Dunno,” Eliza answers with a shrug.

“He’s outside,” Luke says as he strolls into the room.

Nancy can’t help but notice how her youngest’s face lights up when the twelve-year-old Munson walks into the room. She clamps her lips together, trying not to giggle at Mia’s adorable crush on Luke, acting like she doesn’t notice the hearts in the young redhead’s eyes.

“Should we lock him out?” Steve asks about your husband.

Wayne sighs. “Eh, he’s scrappy, he’ll find a way back in,” he says as he sets Eliza back down. 

The moment her feet hit the ground, the toddler runs over to Mia and throws her arms around the girl’s sparkly silver dress. Concentration on Luke broken, Mia laughs and falls to the ground with Eliza, giving her a hug in return. 

“Yeah,” Steve says as he watches the girls. “I think the little munchkin would let him in.” He nods towards Eliza.

“She can’t reach the door,” Danny points out to his dad.

“Eliza finds a way to do anything,” Luke says, his tone conveying all the experience he’s had in that regard.

Before anyone else can add to the conversation, the sound of clinking and clanging pots and pans rings out from the kitchen. Automatically, everyone's heads turn in that direction. 

“Shit!” Your voice echoes out into the living room.

Immediately, Nancy brushes past her husband, patting him on the chest as she goes by.

“Play nice,” she tells him as she continues into the kitchen. The sight before Nancy has her biting her lip to keep in a grin for the second time in a matter of minutes. There you stand, holding a pot lid in one hand, holding the top of your head in the other. Your friend cocks an eyebrow at you. “Everything okay in here?”

Lamely, you raise the pot lid and give her a small wave with it.

“Gave myself a concussion looking for this so the mashed potatoes better taste damn near perfect.”

“I’m sure they will,” Nancy assures you, coming closer to take the lid out of your hand. She gently sets it on the pot simmering on the stove and turns back to you. “Anything I can do to help?”

Steve’s voice booms out from the living room before you can respond.

“You’re on, Munson!”

Eyes rolling skyward, you heave a sigh and shake your head.

“Keep our husbands from injuring themselves before dinner?” you ask.

“I’m afraid not.” Nancy winces. It’s an impossible task, you both know that.

As you open the refrigerator to grab the milk, Luke runs into the room–never one for just walking–with a grin on his face. 

“We’re going to play football!” he announces.

You raise an eyebrow as you measure out the cup of milk to add to the mashed potatoes.

“Who exactly is ‘we?” you ask.

“Me, Ryan, Theo, Danny, Uncle Steve, Grandpa, Daddy…and uh, maybe Natalie.”

The mention of your husband has you turning to give your son your full attention, letting the measuring glass of milk clank down on the counter.

“Your father is going to play football?”

“He’s gonna try,” Luke says with a mischievous snicker. You completely agree with your sports-loving son’s disbelieving and amused tone. You’re not even sure Eddie knows what the different positions in football are called.

“Is that what he and Steve were bickering about?” Nancy crosses her arms over her chest and rests her hip against the edge of the kitchen table.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Mia is gonna stay in the living room with Liza.”

“Luke, come on!” Theo calls out.

“My daughter is a little mother hen,” Nancy says with a smile as Luke runs out to join his new team. Mia may be the youngest sibling in her family, but that means she takes the responsibility of having a toddler best friend very seriously. 

Noise clatters from your backyard and you take a few steps to look out the large window over the kitchen sink. Through it, you can see Steve and Eddie standing next to each other, pointing at the mass of children that are in front of them—all of them except Ryan and Natalie.

“Come on, it will be fun,” Ryan says from the next room just as you’re wondering about him.

The unmistakable sigh of a teenage girl is heard before Natalie agrees, “Fine.”

Their footsteps fade out the door and Nancy raises her brow at you.

“I’m impressed,” she says. “No one can get Natalie to do anything anymore.”

“Hormones?” you ask, turning back to the stove as some boiled water sloshes over the side of a pot. The steam hisses and floats off into the air.

“Oh, yeah. Having a teenage daughter is great.”

“Oof, I do not miss being a teenager,” you say.

“What, you stopped, like, last year?” 

You spin around to see Nancy smirking at you, and you whip your kitchen towel at her in an attempt to wipe the shit eating grin off her face. She laughs and swats the rag away, affectionately wrapping an arm around your waist as she comes to stand beside you.

“Come on, now let me help you,” she chides.

“Fine,” you relent. “Want to chop those carrots?”

“No problem.”

Loud footfalls stampede towards the kitchen, but they’re not quite as heavy as Eliza’s usually are, so you’re not surprised when Mia comes racing into the kitchen. One of these times these running children are going to hurt themselves.

“Auntieeee?” she asks you as she comes to a stop.

“Miaaaaaa?”

“Eliza is hungry,” she tells you. “Can I get her a snack?”

“Sure thing, cutie.” You wipe your hands off on the towel and walk over to the pantry. The Cheerio box is right at eyelevel as you reach for it and hand it to Mia. “Just make sure she doesn’t eat too many, okay?”

“Okay!” she calls over her shoulder as she runs out with the box.

Just as you’re about to reach for a knife, the doorbell rings. You head out to the living room, smiling when you see Eliza and Mia sitting in front of the television, sharing Cheerios and watching the rerun of the Thanksgiving Day Parade. The big Snoopy balloon passes by as you grab the doorknob. There stand Lucas and Max with their daughter Tiffany, and Dustin with his wife Anne and their baby girl, Molly. The moment she sees you, Tiffany launches herself forward with a squeal. She wraps her arms around your hips and hugs herself against your body.

“Well, hello there,” you greet her. To allow everyone else into the house, you pick up the six-year-old and take a few steps back from the door. “You wanna join Eliza and Mia?” When she nods, you let Tiffany down to go join the other girls.

The moment your arms are free, you’re being pulled into more hugs with everyone and wishes for a happy Thanksgiving. Last but not least, you pluck Molly from her mother’s arms and give her a big kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t believe how big she is!” you coo. Now well over a year old, the last time you saw the youngest Henderson was when she was nine months. 

Dustin grabs her walker from the car, since she’s still new to the whole walking thing and not the steadiest. He sets it down in the living room and you plop her down in the Minnie Mouse themed rover. She instantly takes off in the direction of the television, as if knowing she wants to be a part of this little girl gang.

“Eliza?” you call. “Do you want to come say hi?”

It takes her a second, but finally, Eliza finishes the Cheerio that’s in her hand and pushes herself up on to her feet. She toddles over, smiling when she sees her Aunt Max—who is arguably her favorite person who is not a Munson or Harrington. Her aunt gives her a big hug. Then, Eliza stops in front of Dustin. Saying nothing, she just stares up at him, her big brown eyes blinking a few times.

“Hi, Eliza!” When your daughter doesn’t answer, Dustin kneels down to be at her level. “Remember me? Uncle Dustin?”

She just keeps staring.

Lucas laughs at the little girl’s nonreaction and snatches her up into his own arms. “Mwah!” he presses a kiss to her cheek. Instantly, Eliza grins and wraps her arms around his neck for a hug.

Dustin pouts up at the scene before him, lower lip jutting out dramatically as he stands back up.

“Hey! I’m the cool uncle!” he protests. And it’s true; if the other kids were in the house right now, they’d all be climbing over Dustin until the poor man gets lost in a sea of children.

“Guess not anymore,” Lucas says with a shrug.

“It’s gotta be because I live further away,” Dustin argues. “She sees me less.”

“Sure,” Lucas says, his tone far from sincere.

Max rolls her eyes at the two men’s bickering, presumably tired of it after hearing it for almost a decade and a half. The redhead takes Eliza from her husband’s arms and turns to face Dustin’s wife.

“These stilly boys,” Max says to Eliza. “Say hi to your Aunt Anne?”

Your daughter gives a small wave, but it’s clear from the blank look on her face that she just wants to be put down to go back to Mia. Sensing this as well, Max grants her wish.

“Where’s Ed?” Dustin asks.

“In the backyard,” you say. “Playing football.”

“Football?” Dustin almost chokes on his own spit out of shock.

“I know,” you say.

“I have to see this,” Lucas says, looking towards the back door and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

He and Dustin go to join the game in the backyard while Max and Anne follow you into the kitchen. Nancy greets the new arrivals while you take up your previous position at the stove. As you lift the lid off the pot on the back burner, you listen to the women behind you talking and laughing. It brings a smile to your face to be surrounded by women friends. Besides a two-year-old, the only others in the house are guys. And as much as you love them, it’s not the same as having other ladies around.

Two sets of running feet zoom past the kitchen and the sound of the squeaky hinges on the backdoor let you know the two six-year-olds have gone to join the fun outside. You peek back out the window and chuckle to yourself when you see Mia and Tiffany cheering on the sidelines. Unsurprisingly, they seem to be cheering for the team that Luke is on. Mia’s idea, no doubt.

There are only a few more potatoes to add to the pot in front of you, so once those are in you go out into the living room to check on the younger girls. A gasp strangles out of you when you first see the two. Then as your brain has a moment to adjust and see that everything is okay, you break out into laughter.

“What did you do, little girl?” you ask your daughter. You shake your head in amusement as you walk over to the two of them, both covered in Cheerios that are also scattered around the living room floor.

Eliza grins up at you, small pieces of Cheerios still sticking to her baby teeth.

“Molly hungry!” she tells you.

“Oh, okay,” you say with a nod. “So, you thought to give her a snack like Mia did for you?”

“Mhmm!” She sounds quite proud of herself, and it makes your heart melt.

“Well, that was very thoughtful of you.”

Laughter erupts from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see Max walking into the room. She takes in the mess before her and looks between the two babies.

“What’re you troublemakers doing?” she asks as she comes up beside you. 

A timer in the kitchen drags your attention away from the conversation and Max waves you on in that direction.

“Go ahead, take care of that. I’ll clean this up, then take these two outside. They can be the referees.”

“Thank you.” You give Max’s shoulder an appreciative squeeze as you walk past her.

Back in the kitchen, you turn off the timer and pull the green bean casserole out of the oven. 

Cheers ring in from the backyard, bringing a smile to your face. Anne steps up to look out the window at everyone.

“I think I’m going to go make sure no one is doing anything stupid,” she says.

“Nurse is never off duty, huh?” Nancy asks with a smile.

When Anne steps out of the room, you turn to Nancy and raise an eyebrow. 

“She wants to make sure no one is doing anything stupid?” you ask. “She clearly doesn’t know that is most of what our husbands do.”

Nancy laughs and nods her head in agreement.

“We should keep her here as an on-call nurse.”

“She’d be busier here than in the ER,” you joke. 

You and Nancy work silently side by side for a little while, before Nancy notices you starting to buzz around the kitchen more, a hectic mood settling over you. She licks over her lips before looking in your direction.

“Is something burning?” she asks.

“What?”

You whip your head around to stare at her before looking at the stove. 

“Smell it?” she asks, grabbing a paper towel to wipe her hands off on.

You take a few deep inhales, and a frown pinches your face.

“No,” you admit.

“That’s because there’s nothing burning,” Nancy says, taking a few steps closer to you. She rests her hands on your shoulders and looks you in the eye. “But it got you to take some deep breaths. Take a few more, okay?”

Catching on to her scheme, you narrow your eyes at her as you do indeed take a few more deep breaths.

“You’re sneaky,” you tell her.

“I have to be with four kids,” she replies. 

It’s not long before the game outside comes to an end and people start coming back into the house in waves. Eddie finally comes in and your heart stutters in your chest when you see him. His face is flushed from the exertion, his breathing a little labored for the same reason. His hair is frizzier than usual and when he comes closer to you, you can feel the chill coming off of him. It’s only confirmed when you put your hands on his cheeks and feel how cool they are to the touch. His smile makes you dizzy, not even registering how cold his lips are against yours when he leans in for a kiss.

“Everything smells good,” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Did you win?” you ask, reluctantly going to check on the turkey.

His sigh tells you the answer before his words do.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbles.

Both you and Nancy share a chuckle as he sulks out of the room. Ryan pops in right after, going over to the sink to wash his hands. His face is flushed like his father’s, but his hair is faring far better. Wayne, Theo, and Danny come in behind your son and Wayne goes into the fridge to grab water bottles for all the boys.

“Can I help?” Ryan asks you as he dries his hands.

“Of course, sweetheart.” You press a kiss to his head as you slip by him to grab the salt. “Do you want to get started on the stuffing?”

“Sure.”

Danny wrinkles up his nose as he takes a sip of his water.

“Cooking is for girls,” the eight-year-old declares.

“Danny!” Nancy immediately snaps. 

“Hey,” Wayne says, nudging the boy on the shoulder. “I was a cook in the army. That don’t sound girly, does it?”

Danny shakes his head, looking cowed.

“No,” he says softly.

“What do you say?” Nancy asks.

“I’m sorry.”

Ryan ruffles the boy’s hair before pretending to spill the bowl of breadcrumbs he’s carrying all over him. Danny laughs and runs away before Ryan can actually make a mess of him.

“Hey, all available squirts!” Eddie calls from the next room.

“I’m not available,” Ryan mumbles, obviously not keen on whatever his father has planned.

Luke trails into the kitchen and looks around, confused like he hasn’t lived there for years.

“Uh, I’m supposed to set the table. Where’s the stuffs?” he asks.

“By yourself?” you ask, showing him where you already have the cookery and cutlery out and ready to go.

“Nope.” 

Luke lets out a small chuckle but before you can ask what’s so funny, Mia follows in behind him. It’s clear she volunteered to be your son’s assistant.

“I’m here to help!” she announces. 

Carefully, you load up both kids with as much as you think they’re able to handle. Luckily, a parade of other small humans comes in to finish the job.

“Quite the operation you’ve got going here,” you say to your husband as you step into the dining room. “Putting the kids to work.”

“They’re my elves,” he says with a shrug. 

You giggle and press a kiss to his cheek before walking back into the kitchen.

Ryan and Natalie amble in, neither looking too happy. Eddie doesn’t ask why; he knows they’ll tell him.

“I don’t want to sit at the kids’ table,” Ryan whines. For a fourteen-year-old, Eddie thinks Ryan gripes more than his literal baby sister.

Natalie looks at the adult table, then at the kids’ table. There are nine chairs seated at each and she’s clearly trying to figure out how two can be added to the larger table.

“Me neither,” she says while mentally calculating. 

Lucas steps into the room behind the teens and Eddie sees a great opportunity. 

“Okay, you guys can sit with us,” he tells them. “As long as you contribute to the conversation.”

“Really?” Natalie asks, instantly perking up. It amazes Eddie how quickly she goes from looking like Wednesday Addams to Pippi Longstocking.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He looks over at his former Hellfire Club member and nods at him. “By the way Lucas, did you see that the DOW is down three points today?”

Lucas doesn’t miss a beat.

“Huh,” he muses. “You know, I was just talking to my broker about that over a rousing game of golf. He suggested I take another look at my portfolio.”

“Ugh fine, we’ll sit at the kids’ table,” Ryan groans.

The two of them slink off to the other side of the room as Eddie and Lucas share a quiet laugh.

“Don’t even know if I got all the terms right,” Lucas admits.

Eddie, Ryan, Nancy, and Max all help you take the food out to the table—well, tables. Eliza watches it all as Wayne settles her in her highchair at the kids’ table. She’s practically salivating as her chocolate eyes move from dish to dish. Even Mia taking the seat between her and Luke doesn’t take her attention from her dinner. 

Annie settles Molly into her own highchair—Eliza’s old one that she outgrew. When Eddie had gotten it out of the garage both of you got a little misty-eyed that your daughter is getting so big.

The turkey is placed at the head of the table, right in front of Eddie’s seat. He picks up the large carving knife and Luke over-dramatically gasps from his place at the kids’ table. You finish scooping some mashed potatoes onto Eliza’s plate and playfully tug on one of Luke’s curls.

Eddie glances up from time to time, watching as you make sure each kid has a little bit of everything on the plate in front of them. 

“You’re gonna lose a finger, boy,” Wayne warns. The older man smiles though, at the way his nephew looks at his wife. 

Eddie sets the knife down and discreetly pops the wishbone out of the bird. If he doesn’t set it aside now all the kids will be arguing over it and Eddie isn’t sure there’s enough wine in the house to deal with that. This way, Eddie can show the kids the carved-up turkey and point to where the wishbone “should be” and shrug, telling them they’re out of luck. He looks forward to using it with you after the kids go to bed. 

You giggle as Molly reaches up and puts a dab of cranberry sauce on your nose. Eddie grins as he watches you. He had thought that seeing you with a baby wouldn’t hit him in quite the same way after Eliza was born, but it hasn’t quelled the yearning. 

Taking advantage of the kids grabbing the rolls in a frenzy, he slips the wishbone into his pocket. He already knows what his wish will be.

[chimivx]

“…i want you, bless my soul…”

Four months.

You met him on your first day in your first class, your professor the agitated type, the kind that gave you piles of homework with every lesson. He sat beside you, slipping into his chair right before the syllabus slid onto the table in front of you.

Dark hair cut short in the back lived a little more free in the front, on the top, growing into a messier, curlier mop as the weeks drew by, on and on. Tall, broad, and most definitely strong as hell, he was gorgeous. There simply wasn’t any other word for it, he walked into class every week with his golden skin aglow no matter where the sun lived in the sky. You’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist in knots watching his wide eyes scan the room, standing there near the doorway in a white t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans clasped to his waist with a leather belt.

What in the fucking Calvin Klein ad just walked in here?

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, please don’t-

He wore Dior Sauvage, just enough of it to charm your eyes in his direction, the two of your glances meeting for only a few seconds, yet long enough to know that this was going to be a long semester.

After that first week, that first class, he showed up on time, sometimes even earlier than you, and sure enough he’d be in that seat and he’d offer you the tiniest smile while he pushed in his chair to let you pass behind him.

Did he own any clothes that fit?

It felt like every week he’d have on a new shirt that clung to him like seran wrap, every little chiseled sculpted by Michaelangelo notch in his body, his chest, completely and utterly visible. As if he didn’t know it, more than enough time in class he’d spend with his hands behind his head, his biceps tightening in his sleeves, bulging beneath the fabric that you waited to see rip.

Too often you’d have to tear your eyes away, too lost in wonder as to what kind of marvel sat beside you. Six foot something, perfectly built, not only did his appearance alone catch you off guard, but his ability to be so gentle. A smiley, sappy giant full of tooth rotting sweetness. Each raise of his hand, how he toyed with his pen between his firm fingers, the way he’d listen to other people speak — his eyebrows pulling up in the center, his eyes widening with wonder. He’d keep to his space, never once invading yours. Respectful, he knew to say hello, goodbye, would ask you quiet questions, like what page number you were on, and he’d give you thanks into oblivion.

It wasn’t until a month or so had passed that you realized it. One morning you stood in front of the mirror for too long, put a little too much effort into your makeup, into your hair. Spritzing a bottle of perfume to your wrist that you saved for special occasions, when the glass tapped back onto the shelf and you dabbed your wrists together, you gasped.

Damn.

Swapping the lacey sweater for something more casual, you know, for class, you pulled half of your hair up and back, letting some of it hang forward, praying to anyone who’d help that it didn’t look like you woke up before your alarm to get ready for a class you half cared about.

He noticed.

He sat down, walking in a few minutes after you, and his eyes lingered in your direction. Not that you could tell, nor were you paying attention, you were sitting backward in your chair with your nose in your phone. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at being nonchalant like you’d been for nearly two months now.

Besides, it didn’t work. He didn’t say a word the entire class, only his hello and his goodbye.

It didn’t upset you. That’s what you told yourself, the lies you fed your brain to pretend to feel better. It didn’t upset you, he was a boy in a class you didn’t see anywhere else on campus. He probably had a girlfriend. Look at him, listen to him, he definitely has a girlfriend.

By the next class you were back to the usual, the snoozed my alarm twice before getting up in a rush, a hoodie and baggy jeans. Hair thrown up, makeup minimal, you accepted your fate.

You weren’t expecting him to be in the room first, you’ve narrowed down his time frame of entry, typically within ten minutes of the lecture starting depending on when you’d arrive. He was five minutes too early. Giving him the tightest smile, you shimmied behind his chair and mimicked his greeting, shoving yourself into your seat, not prepared for fifteen minutes of silence with him beside you.

Nose in phone, nose in phone.

It was all you could do to keep from gawking, for some reason he was fresher than normal. Black t-shirt, denim jacket on the back of his chair, silver jewelry hanging off of him. He wore a different cologne, one you couldn’t pick out, but god it was delicious you wanted to lick it straight off his neck. He definitely sprayed it to his wrists too, typical, you could lick it off of him there too, why not. Maybe even his chest. No- anything beneath that shirt that should be squeezing the air out of his lungs was lethal, how was every muscle visible? How could he walk around like that, he had to know that-

“Did you do the homework?”

Great.

You didn’t dress yourself up to keep the giddy high school level crush on the DL, but the way you jumped at his words and your cheeks warmed definitely helped. And, yes, you were staring.

“I, uh, yeah, I did.”

If he noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

“Mind if I see it to make sure I got it right? You’re better at this than I am.”

Juvenile, all of it, from the way he checked his answers to the way he slid your notebook back over to you with a shake of his head. Nothing else was shared, the class had begun and he focused on your irritating professor who assigned similar homework for the third week in a row.

Holding onto the way he spoke to you, the soft tone, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle graveliness he forced but then got rid of when he answered questions aloud, you truly felt seventeen years old all over again.

He asked you a question.

He talked to you.

Did he spend more time on how he looked for you?

No, it’s for his girlfriend. The one he definitely has.

The girlfriend that he-

“Whatever perfume you had on last week… I liked it.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wait around for you to say anything. He scooped his books into his arms, and he walked out of the classroom, leaving you in absolute shambles. Nerves lived within you for a week, so many nights spent lying awake thinking about him, what he said to you, what you were going to do. If you wear the perfume again you’re setting yourself up for exposure, you may as well just tell him you have a crush on him to his face. But, then again, if you didn’t wear it, you’d lose his interest. He wouldn’t think you had an interest in him, and what if he told you that because he does have an interest in you?

Oh god.

What if he knows?

You wore the perfume. One spritz of it over your heart before you left your room, enough that he’d just be able to tell if he paid as much attention as he suddenly seemed to be.

Early again, beating you to a class you tried to get to even earlier today, you did not miss the small smile that pulled at his lips as you slipped behind his chair. It was the only thing shared all class, a smile somewhere in between lessons when he caught your eye. He had that same cologne on, the one from last week, the one that had you envisioning what it’d be like to have your tongue dragging all over his body, it was hard to not look at him.

Oh, he definitely knew.

And so it began.

For another month, perfume and cologne alike, worn every class, you started to share more than smiles. He’d lean your way for questions and answers, would ask about the homework, the assignments, sometimes when he didn’t even need it, asking for an answer he already had scribbled on his paper. Fighting the nerves, the way your belly filled with butterflies and did cartwheels within you, you started to share more than just classroom talk. While you worked you chatted, you learned where he was from, where he came from, where you came from and why you both were here.

He was funny.

Funny in the way he didn’t know he was funny, oftentimes asking you what he did to make you laugh like that. You’d cover your mouth and pray the giggles away, unable to tell him how adorable he really was.

He filled every shoe you profiled him with. Kind, sweet, funny, gentle giant.

Chiseled chest his cologne, the one you loved, radiated from.

But you didn’t figure that out until the following month.

Month four.

Four months was all it took, and he was yours.

Class whispers turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into homework dates, which turned into dinner dates.

By the end of the third you were wrapped in his sheets, wrapped in him, cologne on your tongue and lips pressed to his, whispering confessions of how long you liked each other but both felt too nervous to say anything. Reveling in pride, that you weren’t as obvious as you thought yourself to be, his sparkling grin overtook his face and he whispered two words that cradled your heart.

“I knew.”

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 ♡⃕ secret santa: percy jackson

▰▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

y/n doesn't like percy, he's in love with her. the best answer percy finds for this situation? be her secret santa for the upcoming holidays.

warnings: none i think ?? cabin 10 reader just for the plot but it doesn't get mentioned that much.

day one

— 10th of december.

it wasn't even halfway through december and everything was already going bad. Apparently, there had been a storm and Chiron thought that it was safer for campers to stay safely in camp instead of going home since he didn’t know what was happening with Zeus for him to suddenly cause the biggest storm of the year.

frankly, y/n thought Zeus was throwing another one of his childish tantrums, but she couldn't say that out loud because knowing the god, he would probably make things worse. That didn’t mean she wasn't pissed about having to stay at camp though, she was.

that's why, after spending her afternoon hiding her discomfort about the situation, she walked into her cabin and went straight to her bed, wanting more than anything to hide away from the rest of the world. She had been so excited to go and spend her holidays with her father, it was the first time she would be having christmas away from her father.

Just as she was going to jump into her bed, she saw the suitcase with the clothes she had been excitedly packing in the morning. However, when she took the suitcase to put it away, something else catched her attention.

left in her bed was a box of chocolates, a ribbon placed neatly on top of it with a note stuck on it. She took it carefully in her hands, eyeing it with a mix of curiosity and surprise.

“i'm sorry you couldn't go home for the holidays, I do hope some chocolates can cheer you up — your secret santa.

P.S. don't worry, I took the white ones from the box since I know you don't like them”

y/n was left surprised, and when she opened the box and found that the person had, indeed, taken the white chocolates out of the box, she even smiled a tiny bit.

well, the circumstances were not ideal for her, but maybe the holidays were not going to be that bad.

day two

- 12th of december

it took two days for her to take it back. The holidays were going to be awful, especially if she was forced to spend another minute with Percy Jackson.

And if it was up to Chiron, she would have to spend most of her time with Percy. So it was going to be awful, no question. They had both been chosen to plan the christmas party, and it had only been a couple of minutes and y/n almost wanted to go and see if she could drown Percy in the lake. That wouldn't have worked, of course, since he could breathe underwater, but she still was inclined to try.

she still didn’t understand why Chiron had paired them together, she could understand if they needed her help for the party, but what exactly could Poseidon's son provide if not unhelpful ideas and stupid jokes?

"the pavillion could use some blue lights" he suggested unhelpfully, because that's what he did.

she, on the other hand, was set on her own vision of christmas "It’s supposed to be red and green! Like a traditional Christmas!"

they ended up doing nothing that day just because they couldn't agree on anything. y/n suspected he was disagreeing with her just to be annoying, which was something that he seemed to enjoy doing.

but when y/n was back at her cabin, her mood immediatly lifted up when she caught a glimpse of a blue sparkly ribbon in her bed. It had been two days since the first gift, and she had been sure it had been a one time thing. Now, she ignored her siblings and went straight to her bed, finding there a plate of cookies with ribbon and another note on top.

“thought you deserved a sweet treat after working so hard today — Secret Santa.

PS. some of them are a little burnt, but I know how much you like choco-chips cookies"

day three

— 14th of december

When Grover walked into cabin three, he wasn't expecting to find Percy trying to wrap a gift, the floor around him buried in wrapping paper.

“are you seriously trying to go on with this?" the satyr asked, though the answer was very obvious. “Chiron told me you were very interested on helping with the christmas party”

well, maybe Percy had begged Chiron to pair him with y/n since he had overheard her telling one of his siblings that she was chosen to plan the party.

However, Percy was not going to admit that to anyone. "I need help with this wrapping paper, it just isn't folding the way I want to."

Grover rolled his eyes as he walked through the discarded wrapping paper. "You adhd people can't do anything."

"sorry, I was too busy saving the world to attend to gift wrapping 101"

turns out, Grover wasn't any better at wrapping than Percy was. He was worse, actually, since he ate the paper when he got nervous. Thirty minutes later, they had half the wrapping paper they started with and a terrible wrapped present.

"so it's us adhd people huh?" percy asked as he raised his eyebrows.

"hey, I was busy saving the world with you." Grover defended himself as he placed the blue ribbon on top, as if that could cover the terrible work he did.

And since Percy couldn't do any better, the next present on y/n's bed looked like someone had wrapped it with their eyes closed. Still, she didn’t care much when she found it later, because she was busy being too excited over the book she had been reading for months.

“I noticed you kept talking about this book, so I figured it was time you got it. Sorry for the wrapping massacre but hey, don't judge a book by its cover, right? Hope this one keeps you entertained until Zeus chills out. — Secret Santa.”

day four

— 16th of december

Percy and y/n had finally made some progress with the decoration, after Percy annoyed her into allowing him to hang blue lights. She decided to go with it and simply have a blue and white decoration for the pavillion.

they didn’t talk most of the times they met, Percy tried to talk to her but she mostly glared at him or ignored him until he eventually grew tired of talking to himself. It was only sometimes that the silence was too much and y/n would make little comments.

"I'm freezing."

"Didn’t think a daughter of Aphrodite could get cold. Isn't that, like, a beauty hazard? You better warm up, or your hair will lose its shine" And y/n would go back to ignoring him again.

or sometimes they would simply argue.

"No Percy, we can't hang seashells on the tree, are you insane?"

"Why not? it adds nautical charm"

"It’s Christmas! we're not hosting a luau. stick to ornaments, Jackson"

Sometimes, she felt like maybe Percy could be only a little bit likeable, maybe he wasn't too unbearable after all, sometimes he was even funny. But only sometimes.

"How can you make the bows so perfect? mine look like tangled fishing nets" y/n herself was caught by surprise at the laugh that escaped her lips when he raised his bow.

"Maybe if you didn’t tie your bows as if you were anchoring a boat, you would have better luck. Seriously, did Poseidon skip teaching basic motor skills?" And he'd always laugh at her remarks, even when she wasn't being that nice.

By the end of the day, she was tired, but she couldn't deny that she was happy, but she was only happy because they had made progress and now the only thing left was to finish decorating the tree.

And her mood got even better once she stood in front of her bed, noticing the new teddy bear that rested against her pillow, a blue ribbon tied around its neck and a few - blue? - candy canes making a heart on its belly.

“Thought you could use a fuzzy friend to keep you company. — Secret Santa.

PS. I know you don't like candy canes, it was just some decoration. Don't worry, you can give them away."

Day five

— 18th of december.

she ended up giving the candy canes to Percy, and she choose to ignore the weird smile on his face when she gave them to him. Still, he explained that, apparently, he loved candy cane and since those were blue, he loved them even more. Weird.

"Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus, reduced to untangling Christmas lights. Truly a humbling sight." she told him as she found him trying -and failing- to untangle the lights for the tree.

"Give me a little credit here, I think i'm almost done." he replied, a candy cane hanging from his mouth as he continued his work. He wasn't nowhere near done.

But y/n left him to it because she was busy sorting the ornaments. She didn’t know when had been the last time Chiron had gone out for christmas decorations, but the ones her and Percy had found on the big house were old.

She took one of the boxes with the blue ornaments she thought looked the best, and carefully carried it toward the tree, trying to avoid the patches of ice that had formed on the ground outside the Pavillion, she had been so concentrated that she didn’t notice what Percy was up to until a snowball hit her shoulder.

"what the hell, Jackson?" she looked at him, dumbfounded, but he only replied with a laugh.

he went to pick up another snowball, but just as he straightened, she hit him straight on the chest with a snowball of her own. "Okay, that was a lucky shot" he shook the snow out of his hair.

"Lucky? please, I'm a natural" she smiled, shrugging simply.

"Natural at being bossy, maybe." He finally threw the snowball in his hand but he missed his target.

that made y/n laugh, her body feeling lighter as she forgot about the decoration for a moment. "Wow Percy, with aim like that, it's no wonder you stick to swords."

Percy, once again, didn’t take her comment as an offense but simply laughed. She could see his eyes shining as he came close and took the box from her hands.

And he didn’t see it because he turned around to place the box near the tree, but she finally let herself smile as she followed him. When they went back to work, the atmosphere between them felt lighter, warmer, as though a layer of frost was beginning to melt.

When she went back to her cabin, there was a gift already waiting for her in her bed. Whoever this secret santa person was -and y/n really wanted to know who it was-, they had already given up on wrapping and instead used blue ribbon on every gift.

this time, it was a blue and green scarf. And she was confused about it until she looked at the note: “heard you have been cold, maybe you could use a little warmth. — Secret Santa”

day six

— 20th of december

"you're placing the lights wrong" she pointed out as Percy tried to wrap the lights around the tree.

Percy turned to look at her as if she had gome mad. "Are you kidding? there’s surely not a wrong way to place lights on a tree." he replied, his eyebrows raising. "Besides, this is creative expression, you should appreciate it."

"it's an assault on christmas trees everywhere." Percy gasped in mock offense, but he finally stopped whatever he was trying to do with the lights.

"Fine. You hang the lights, I'll stand here looking festive." y/n took the lights from his hands, her fingers grazing his for a second longer than they should.

"If by festive you mean that christmas sweater, it's ugly." this time, she couldn't help but smile a little when he gasped again.

"what's wrong with my sweater? it's festive!" he looked down at the red and blue christmas sweater that had little tridents all over it.

"horrifying, you mean." she mumbled as she put the lights around the tree.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine? I like your scarf, by the way." he replied, and even though he was always smiling, that moment his smile felt different, y/n didn’t want to find out why. "see how easy is to be nice?"

But the mention of her scarf, made her distracted for a moment as she looked down at the blue and green fluffy scarf around her neck. She still hadn't found out who was her secret santa, and since christmas was coming she wanted to know who was behind those gifts, but she had no clue yet.

She had already questioned her siblings, but no one admitted to being her secret santa and if they knew who it was, they didn’t give the name away even after she threatened them. She was sure of one thing, whoever it was, they had help because it wasn't easy to just sneak into her cabin without her seeing them at least one time.

"hey, Percy." she called absentmindedly, looking up from the scarf. "you pretty much know everyone around camp, don't you?"

"yes, why?" he asked, just as distracted as her because he was hanging some ornaments on the tree.

She hesitated, this was Percy. She didn’t like Percy, she shouldn't share anything about her life with Percy. "Nothing, just thinking about how many people will see you with that ridiculous sweater."

Percy snorted. "next time I'll get you one and we can match."

"I wouldn't wear one of those if my life depended on it, Jackson." and who could blame her if she laughed when Percy looked at her offended.

She also couldn't be blamed if, when the afternoon ended, she had an extra pep in her step. It was just because she was excited over her secret santa, it had nothing to do with Percy Jackson at all!

But it did have to do everything with the box with the blue ribbon placed neatly on top of her bed. It wasn't about the gift at all, no. For y/n, it was how thoughtful everything was. And when she opened the box, she knew she'd have to find who her secret santa was.

Because nobody had ever thought this much about her.

The beautiful bracelet full of small charms, as usual, came with a note. “Each charm has a story. I’ll let you figure them out. — Secret Santa”

day seven

— 22th of december

y/n had tried to make sense of the charms, figure the story behind them. She had been looking at the bracelet every moment she could for the past two days, she already knew the charms by memory: a wave, a heart, an apple, a sweater, a book and finally a star.

She thought that maybe, if she figured it out, she could at least get a hint of who his secret santa was. But she couldn't even guess who this person's godly parents was just because the many charms gave her misleading hints.

Shee was looking at it as she walked through camp, ready to meet Percy at the pavillion so they could finish their decoration for the party. She found him already there, waiting for her with a smile that only stretched on his face when he looked at her.

"Ready for today, boss?" she could've sworn his gaze flickered to the bracelet on her wrist just for a moment but then he was walking past her to pick up the box of decorations.

They ended up drinking some hot chocolate while they decorated just to shake off the cold from the day. These past days, y/n couldn't help but wonder if maybe she had judged Percy a bit too hard before, he wasn't as annoying as she made him out to be.

By the end of the afternoon, they were almost ready with their decorations, Percy was hanging some garlands, his back turned to y/n, who was balancing on her toes to hang a sprig of mistletoe above one of the archways.

She stretched as far as she could, grumbling under her breath. "Who even invented the mistletoe tradition? It’s just a parasite plant. And why is it always there at the worst times?"

Percy chuckled, his voice echoing from across the pavilion. "You’re the one who insisted on using it. Aphrodite's influence finally catching up to you?"

"Oh shut up, Jackson," she shot back, standing precariously on her toes. She was about to talk again when the tip of her shoe slipped slightly on the frosted wooden floor.

"Whoa careful!" Percy dropped the piece of garland he had on his hand and rushed to her.

She caught herself before she could fall, but Percy steadied her anyway, his hands instinctively landing on her waist. "Are you good?" he asked, his face closer than it probably needed to be.

She huffed, looking at the slippery floor before her gaze went back to him. "Can we sue Zeus for hazardous working conditions?"

Percy smirked, helping her regain her footing but keeping his hands on her waist just a second longer than necessary. "Good luck with that lawsuit. Let me know how it goes when you present your case to the olympians."

That’s when they both looked up.

The sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently above them. It swayed slightly in the breeze, almost as if it was mocking them. She blinked at it, her mind racing as her cheeks turned pink. Percy, on the other hand, looked frozen in place.

"I- uh," she started, but her words faltered when his gaze flicked down to her lips for just a second too long.

And when y/n noticed, she couldn't control her eyes as they copied his actions, her gaze going to his lips before returning to his own eyes. It took her a second to realize what she was doing, and she immediatly stepped back.

What was she doing? this was percy jackson!

"I think we're done here, don't you?" Percy only nodded, and for the first time, he wasn’t smirking or cracking a joke. He just stood there, wide-eyed, staring at her.

When she got back to her cabin, she was shaken and it wasn't because of the snow at all. She was so distracted with thoughts of Percy that she almost missed the gift waiting for her as she sat on the edge of her bed.

This time, a neatly folded sweater was placed on her pillows. And for a second, it reminded her of Percy, until she shook off the thought and reached for the note placed over the blue ribbon.

"a little bird told me you liked sweaters, this one might add some extra holiday sparkle to your already dazzling style. I just hope you won't want to burn it. — Your fashionable Secret Santa."

day eight

— 24th of december

y/n had stayed in her cabin as much as possible for the past two days. Now that Percy and her had finished with the preparations for the party, she wasn't forced to spend time with him and she planned on keeping it that way, so she avoided him as much as she could.

Yet, she couldn't keep thinking about him. And that's why she decided it would be best to just stay away from him, at least until her infatuation - and she was sure that's what it was, nothing else - would wear out.

So in the morning of christmas eve, y/n didn’t even went to have breakfast with her siblings, instead she stayed late in bed. She had dreamed about percy, again! and now, she was grumpy as she wrapped herself on her blanket.

It was his fault, for making her feel comfortable with him, for making her forget about how annoying he was, for running to catch her without even thinking, for looking at her lips with those eyes! those stupid sea green eyes she had been seeing every night in her dreams for the past two days.

Now, she would stay on her room, away from everyone. It didn’t matter if it was christmas eve, and damn her secret santa! if they wanted to leave something, they would have to do it with her there. Because she wasn't going anywhere.

Well, at least that had been her plan. Until noon when Grover barged into her room, startling her. "y/n we need you at the stables.. is... uh-" he hesitated. "we just need you, can you come?"

She was about to tell the satyr that he should really learn to knock, but since he seemed shaken and she wasn't doing anything but looking at the ceiling, she stood up from her bed and followed him.

She was wearing her pijamas and the sweater that had been gifted to her. It was truly ugly, with christmas colors and little cupids all over it. But she liked it and it wasn't because it reminded her of percy's ugly trident sweater. No. Nothing to do with Percy. She just liked that her Secret Santa had put effort into it.

As it turns out, Grover didn’t have any emergency or reason to take y/n out of her cozy bed, because there was nothing happening at the stables. The Satyr was acting strange and he told her that the pegasi just needed her, but after they were served food, there was nothing else to do but he insisted on her staying there.

"Grover i'm freezing, can I at least go back to take some gloves and a scarf?" she rubbed her hands against her sweater, trying to keep them warm.

"No!" he exclaimed loud enough to make y/n jump away in surprise. Then, he looked over her shoulder and his face relaxed. "I mean, you can just go if you want to, I think the pegasi are fine."

She looked at him skeptically. He was acting strange. But ultimately, she decided it wasn't out of the ordinary for Grover. "okay... I'll see you later?" she replied before she went back to her cabin.

What she didn’t expect when she walked into her cabin, almost running to her bed because she was freezing, was that her secret santa had worked while she was away.

The past week, she had stood in front of her bed opening all kind of thoughtful presents that made her smile, but this time she was speechless at what waited for her.

Fairy lights were hanging from her bedposts, and fresh flowers were placed in a vase on the nightstand beside her bed, but that didn’t compare at all with the gift waiting for her. As she carefully pulled the blue ribbon off, her eyes wandered through the star map. It was pretty, but the note that came with it was beautiful.

"One night at the bonfire, I remember how you looked at the sky and said 'If I ever get lost, I hope the stars lead me home'. This is a map that shows the stars the first time you came home to camp half-blood. The night I met you. — Secret Santa

PS. I know Christmas is technically tomorrow, but this couldn't wait. So happy christmas!"

y/n sat for a long time in her bed, reading the note over and over again. It wasn't until half an hour later that she realized something: Grover had taken her out of her room so whoever her secret santa was could arrange everything. Grover knew who her secret santa was.

She finds out

— 25th of december.

"I already told you, I have no clue what you're talking to me about!" Grover replied, very obviously trying to run away from her.

This had been going on for the past twelve hours or so, Grover refused to tell her the identity of her secret santa, and she had already tried everything to get him to tell her. He just didn’t budge.

She gave Grover a suspicious look as he hurried off, practically tripping over his own hooves in his attempt to get away. For someone who claimed to know nothing, he sure was acting guilty.

But whatever. She had bigger problems right now, like how her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest every time she read the note. And the star map? It was so thoughtful, so personal. She couldn't stop staring at it, wondering how her Secret Santa could possibly know her so well.

It wasn’t until she was alone in the Aphrodite cabin, looking at her closet while thinking about what to wear to the party, that the pieces started falling into place. She fiddled absentmindedly with the bracelet on her wrist, the charms clinking softly. Her eyes fell on one charm specifically. The book.

She had been so focused on making sense of the charms that she hadn't thought to connect them to the other gifts. There was a book charm and she had been gifted the book she had been wanting. She remembered she had been book shopping with Annabeth when she mentioned that specific book. But it surely couldn't be Annabeth.

Her brows furrowed together, trying hard to remember something from that day. But the only thing she could remember was that Percy had tagged along with them and she had been so annoyed with him, because he kept knocking down books and asking dumb questions and-

A gasp left her lips as the realization kicked in and she had to sit down immediatly, her hand desperately looking for the apple charm. How had she missed it? it had been right in front of her the whole time, the apple and the first time she came to camp.

Her mind wandered back to the note. “The first time you came home to Camp Half-Blood. The night I met you.”

The night she met him. The night Percy and Grover had found her wounded in the woods. The next morning, where Percy had given her an apple and then he had tried to make some joke that only worked to put y/n in a bad mood. He'd brought her to Chiron, and she hadn't thought about it ever again.

But now... now she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Or the bracelet. Or how every single gift felt like it was tailored just for her and connected to him somehow: the scarf after she had been complaining to him about the cold, the christmas sweater after she had teased him about his, the chocolates after that one time Annabeth tried to bring her some and she left the white ones to Percy, the blue candy cane after she had said so many times that she hated it, the chocolate chip cookies she loved because of couse Percy would burn them, the blue ribbon!

Her heart skipped a beat as she replayed every interaction they’d had over the past few days. The snowball fight, the way he’d caught her when she slipped on the ice, the way he’d looked at her under the mistletoe. How she’d sworn he’d almost kissed her.

It was him. All of this time, it had been him. And she had been avoiding him, so torn apart with her feelings that she hadn't realized what was in front of her.

Percy gets a gift back.

— 25th of december

y/n had to beg Leo to help her at the very last minute, but as she walked through the party with a little box in hand, she was glad that Valdez could literally turn trash into beautiful things, because now she had the perfect gift.

And the only thing that was left for her to do was find Percy. It shouldn't be hard, since the pavillion wasn't too big, but she was simply too distracted with her thoughts to find him at first glance. At the end, he was the one to find her when she bumped into someone and he catched her before she could fall. Again.

"Hey, you." he smiled, and now she could see the meaning behind the shine in his eyes. "I see you made it out of your cabin. I thought you were going for the ‘grumpy hermit’ vibe today."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness to them once she looked at him. He even looked surprised when she smiled. "Very funny, I actually wanted to talk to you."

He raised his eyebrows. "whats up?" y/n tried to ignore the way her heart seemed to slow down at how nervous she felt.

Instead, she extended the small box towards him. "I got you a gift."

Percy blinked, looking at her like she had grown a second head. "You did?"

She rocked back and forth on her heels as she looked down on the box, pushing it into his hands. "yes, consider it a... thank you gift."

His fingers brushed hers briefly as he finally took the box, eyeing it curiously. "Thank you? for what exactly?"

"for..." making me happy through the holidays. "oh you know, for helping me with the party and for not being completely unbearable."

She hated how her heart raced when he let out a chuckle. "just what any person wants to hear." he joked, but he was already distracted because he was opening the box.

She had made a point of placing a blue ribbon on top, but he didn’t seem to place the pieces together until he looked into the box. Inside was a bracelet, a simple leather cord with three small charms hanging from it, a star, a seashell and a heart.

He looked up at her, surprise evident in his eyes as he opened his mouth to talk, but she was faster. "I thought you'd maybe want to match." she said, raising her arm, the bracelet on her wrist jingling softly.

he was gaping at her, and for a moment he looked slighly panicked, his eyes darted nervously to Grover, who was standing nearby and immediately pretended to be interested in the food table. He had no choice but to look back at her. "You know?"

y/n opened her mouth to tease him, but the panic in his expression stopped her. Instead, she smiled softly. “Yeah, I figured it out. You weren’t exactly subtle, Percy.”

Percy laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, give me a little credit here, it took you long enough to figure it out." he paused, suddenly quiet. "did you like them?”

It was the first time y/n saw Percy acting shy instead of his usual confidence. “I loved them,” she admitted. “Even that horrifying sweater.”

"i'm just glad you didn’t burn it." he joked, his usual grin back on his face.

Percy looked like he was about to say something else when his eyes flicked upward, she followed his gaze and froze. There it was, for the second time in the week, the mistletoe she hung mocking hee yet again.

Even though it was freezing, her cheeks burned as she looked back at him. "Oh."

"Yeah" Percy said, his voice softer now. “Funny how these things just... appear.”

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the party fading into the background. Percy’s eyes locked on hers, his usual playfulness replaced with something deeper, something that made her chest tighten.

"Well" she said, trying to break the tension, "are you just going to stand there, or—"

He didn’t let her finish. Percy leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was sweet and hesitant but full of meaning. It wasn’t long or overly dramatic. Just a gentle, warm kiss that left her mind spinning. When he pulled back, he was smiling again.

"Well" he said, mocking her as he glanced at the mistletoe again "Maybe it wasn't so bad for you to put that thing there."

She blinked at him, momentarily stunned. Then she scowled, smacking his chest lightly. “don’t push your luck, Jackson.”

And he only laughed.

But as they walked back into the party, side by side, she couldn’t help the warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe Percy Jackson wasn’t so bad after all.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

dad!cowboy!rafe coming home to his wife and daughter after days of being away

MASTERLIST

You and your daughter laid on the old couch, soft snores leaving her mouth as you ran your hands through her hair. You slowly felt yourself drifting off as well, your eyes beginning to shut, and your limbs getting tired.

The slumber was short-lived, because a few minutes after, you heard the sound of the creaky door opening, your head shooting up, eyes opening wide. You stood up, getting ready to get the gun not too far away, but that was before you saw the familiar flashlight shining. You sighed in relief, your guard falling down.

You watched him shine the flashlight at you, you holding your hands over your face, before he turned it off. You practically ran over to him, wrapping your arms around him, him being taken aback with a quiet, raspy laugh.

“Hey, baby. I missed you.” He mumbled into the croom of your neck, taking his hat off with his free hand.

“I missed you too.” You sighed out. “You were gone for long.”

“I was only gone for a week.”

“Too long.”

He chuckled, moving his face so that he could kiss you, your hands now going to his face.

You both pulled away after a little, panting, your breath mixing together when you leaned in close to each other, foreheads touching.

“She asleep?” He asked you, pulling away, and beginning taking off the boots he had on.

“Yeah. She been refusing to sleep in her room since you left. Won’t listen to me when I say there no monster in her room.” You said with a small smile. “And then I tried to take her in our room but… according to her, there’s a monster there too.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright. I should check for those ‘monsters.” He joked, walking over to where she slept near the couch.

He picked her up with ease, throwing her over his shoulder and beginning to walk to her room as quietly and as softly as possible. He squinted his eyes as he walked through the dim lighting of the gas light, you following behind.

“Daddy?” He heard a little murmur come from her mouth when he put her onto the bed, him smiling and kneeling down next to her.

“Hi, princess.” He whispered quietly, her now having a small smile on her face.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you guys more.” He replied.

“Are you… gonna leave again?” She asked, her voice filled with sleep as she pulled the covers up to her body.

“I have to, sometimes. You know that.”

“But-“

“Let’s talk about this in the morning, yeah?” He leaned over, kissing her forehead. She sighed, nodding.

“I love you.” He told her.

“Love you too, daddy. Love you, momma.”

“Alright, goodnight.” He stood up with a sigh, and you following him into the shared bedroom.

“I feel bad.” He admitted while taking off his clothes to change, you laying in bed. You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Why?”

“Because… I keep having to leave y’all.”

“Rafe, it’s okay. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be able to live. Hell, we’d probably be living with your father right now. And we all don’t want that.”

He snickered, you smiling while he got into bed next to you, laying his head on you.

“We’re happy because of you.” You murmured while running a hand through his buzzed, softly scratching at his scalp.

That’s all he ever needed to hear. A content smile made its way onto his face, looking up at you for a moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now can we go to sleep? I’m tired.”

[sierrale8ne]

two words. crotchless panties. do what u will with this request 🤷🏾‍♀️

paige bueckers x fem!reader

nsfw // fingering, oral, bathroom sex, munch paige is back little bit of butt stuff, i got #carriedaway

kalena speakss 🪽! we on freak timing today guys! a lil fic to keep y’all happy until i drop chapter 12 of fdafn. enjoyyyy 🫂

She’s trying to kill you.

Well, not literally, but close enough because the Kith polo shirt and back slacks and those fucking loafers are making your knees fucking weak.

It’s big east media day, and as a media intern you were lucky enough to get the opportunity to fly out to New York and interview some of the athletes today.

You worked through some of the Marquette girls, the UConn team as well, but you had to keep away from her. From Paige.

Your relationship was complicated. Namely the fact that you were having casual sex. Paige was cool about it all, and so were you. However, the pressure of her staring at you and making your cunt soak in the confinement of your pants was not something you wanted in front of your peers.

You sit with your legs crossed towards the back of the group, getting a head start on some reports that would be waiting when you got back to Storrs, when Paige takes a seat next to you.

“It’s taken.” You mumble, eyes still glued to the small tablet.

“It’s not.”

“You know that how?”

“Been watchin’, ma. You and this tight ass outfit.” She mumbles the last part under her breath. Her finger darts out from her lap, running over your bended knee.

You’re wearing a brown striped monochromatic button up that hugs your waist, the black dress pants tight on your hips. You look good, as always, but it’s something about the business attire you have on that makes Paige’s mind travel to an otherwise dirty place.

You stand up, turning off the device and sticking it in your purse as you wipe off the back of your pants. “I have work. And so do you.” You mention, giving her a cunning grin as you begin to walk off.

She’s chasing after you, fast. “I’m all done for today. Why you ain’t interview me earlier? I was lookin’ forward to it.”

Fucking killing you.

When you look back at her, Paige is smirking, her long legs in stride as they catch up to you. Her diamond studs glisten in the light of Madison Square Garden.

“You’re a distraction, P. I have a job to do.” You mumble.

Paige hums. “You think I wasn’t distracted seeing you in this? Your tits are damn near falling out of this shirt.” She says under hear breath.

You’re immediately soaking again.

Paige has a way of making you forget all of your morals. You didn’t do casual, yet here you were with her. It’s how she convinced you to spend the night, or to let her eat you out in the back of her car. It worked every time.

And it always started like this: the teasing.

“Paige, c’mon.” You beg, trying to hold onto what was left of your sanity. You stop in your tracks, turning to face her with a pleading look.

“Let me.” She states, firm and serious. “Y’know Ion even need five minutes.”

That’s how she got you, convincing you to step into the closest bathroom. Your arm wrapped around her neck while the other tugged her to you by that chain. The cross on it nearly burns your hand as Paige’s lips slotted against your own.

“Can’t ever fuckin’ resist me.” She comments with a smile, hands holding onto your waist as she backs you into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

“Shut up. I’m givin’ you five minutes.” You breathe and your tongue prods at her bottom lip, slipping into the warmth of her mouth. It’s messy, saliva swapping between you both.

You allow her to back you into the sink, hands gripping at your ass and teeth biting at your lip.

The purse on your shoulder falls to the floor and you pull back, catching your breath while Paige instantly grabs at your waistband.

She undoes the button of your pants. Her fingers deliberately and delicately popping the button.

Her hand slips into the confinement of your pants, traveling further in search of your clit. When she finds it, and the lack of material that covers your sopping wet cunt, a moan tumbles past her lips. Loud and guttural and almost full of shock.

You’ve done a lot of things; nudes when she’s at practice, copping a feel under the table, even shameless makeouts at Ted’s. You two have done it all, but crotchless panties was wild even to your standards.

“Fuck, P.” You sigh and Paige applies more pressure.

“Fuckin’ slut. Y’showed up to work like this? You crazy?” She asks. Paige looks at you like a piece of meat, and that, combined with her middle finger on your clit does a terrible job at helping you keep your composure. “Been wantin’ me, yeah?”

You attempt a nod, “You like easy access, right?” You tease, breath shuddering as Paige pulls her hand away and you see the way your slick drips down her fingers.

She had barely even touched you.

“Hurry up.” You rush out, hands gripping the collar of her polo and pulling her lips to yours. This kiss felt necessary. It was eager and filled with emotion and excitement that you both carried. Her tongue navigated your mouth while she tugged down your pants down to your knees.

You try to gently pull away, but Paige pulls you back with a hand at the back of your neck. “In a minute.” She responded, each movement calculated.

You finally do pull back, breath deep and ragged, a string of saliva connects your lips. She licks it away and without a word she spins you around and bends you over the counter.

The air hits your cunt immediately, forcing a gasp from your throat. Paige’s hand follows, giving a sharp slap to your ass that makes you jolt.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

“Paige, I don’t have all d—”

“Unbutton, your shirt.” She instructed while sinking behind you. You watch that blonde hair, that is just a twinge of pink, travel behind you until the soft thud of her knees htting the ground follows. “Bra too.”

You try. You really do, but Paige’s hands shock you by spreading your folds apart. Her hands cold and a bit rough as they scissor you open.

“More. Fuck, more, please.” You whine, pushing your hips back against her.

“I did this shit to you, baby? You get all wet from watchin’ me answer a few questions?” Paige teases, pout obvious in her voice. You’re lucky she can’t see your face in the mirror, the obvious flush on your face would be too embarrassing to handle.

You don’t even get a chance to respond before the warmth of her tongue wipes away any other thoughts.

It’s criminal how good Paige is at this. How her tongue navigates through every line of your pussy like she’s made for it.

Her large hands press to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart to get better access to the depths of your cunt. Paige’s nails dug into the flesh while her tongue pushed in and slowly fucks into you.

“Oh! God, yes, P.” You groan, slamming your hand down on the counter to keep you stable.

“What I say about that shirt?” She grumbles against you, pulling back briefly to see just how good you look from behind. The curve of your ass and the slight pucker of your asshole, your cunt dripping and the juices trailing down your leg.

Those panties aren’t helping, hugging tight to your core and a darker shade of burgundy, from her own spit, than the one she saw a few minutes ago.

Paige dives back into you, humming as she suckles on your swollen clit.

You know better than to piss her off, so you unbutton the shirt, following that by popping the clasp on the front of your lace bra. Hushed moans spill from your lips as you grind back against Paige’s magical fucking lips.

She was so messy with it, her head shaking side to side. Her tongue stretched flat over the expanse of your pussy.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” Paige mutters, pulling back to spit down your backside. Her thumb trails through your folds, making you shudder, until it reaches your ass. “Lemme have you here?”

You think she’s crazy. Either sex deprived or pussy drunk but you still let her. You’re nodding, desperate for her to touch you again. Whether it’s her lips around your clit or her tongue in your ass.

“Hurry up, oh my God.” You groan, pushing back once more. Paige’s thumb circles your ass before she sinks it deep, hooking it inside of you and going back to wrapping her lips around your clit. Paige sucks on it like a fucking pacifier, running her tongue over the hood.

“Fuckin’ tight. You such a slut for it, huh?” She degrades with her mouth busy. Her thumb fucking into you at an ungodly speed.

Your breath hitches and your legs start to tremble. “Paige, I’m gonna cum.” You moan, that pit in your stomach feeling like fire. Your lip finds its way between your teeth in an attempt to quiet your moans.

“Hold it jus’ a lil longer, ma.” She commands.

Again, you know better than to disobey her, so you do. Your eyes bore into the mirror, watching her stand up behind you, her face completely covered in your arousal. It drips down her chin, some staining the top of her shirt.

Paige’s thumb finally leaves you, making you feel like you can breathe again. She reaches forward with her other hand, wrapping it gently around your neck, and pulling you into a kiss.

You taste very bit of yourself on her tongue as she kisses you slow. It distracts you from everything. Which gives the blonde a perfect opportunity to sink her finger into you.

“She’s so wet for me, ma.”

You try to hide the face you make at the stretch, your cunt opening up for her like that was its job. You pull away from her and your jaw falls slack, gripping the edge of the sink as she moves it faster.

The echo of your arousal is loud, probably heard by your peers out on the floor right now. But you don’t care. It feels incredible, like she was made for you. And Paige feels it too.

“So perfect, baby.” She whispered into your mouth before turning your face so you see yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, eyeliner on your lower lash line slightly smeared and your hair disheveled. “Jus’ sucking me in.”

A response built on your tongue, seconds away from traveling to her ears until she slipped another finger inside of you. You watch as Paige’s eyes slightly roll at the squelching sound.

“Fucking—shit, oh my God.” You moan, this time it’s too loud.

The hand that is splayed across your chin moves to cover your mouth. “I know it feels good, but you gotta stay quiet, baby.” She says, curling her fingers until they hit that one gummy spot and you’re nearly falling apart.

Paige looks incredible. Her lips pink and swollen, those crystal blue eyes drinking up every inch of your body through the mirror. It’s literally a scene from a movie. The lights dim and illuminating over every single detail of the both of you.

Your tits bounce with each thrust of her fingers, giving her more motivation to keep going.

Her hand leaves your mouth to knead one, pinching at your nipple and tugging it until her name spilled out of your lips like a broken prayer.

“Paige! Yeah, baby, just like that. Fuck!” You babble, head falling back onto her strong shoulder as she speeds up. And you’re gushing, all over your legs and all over her hand.

“You wanna cum for me?”

“Please. M’right there, P.”

“C’mon, mama.” She leaves a kiss to your neck, followed by a bite to the same spot. “You got it, princess. Let me have it.”

And that’s all it takes for the cord to snap as for you to let go on those fingers, a hushed cry leaving your mouth as your body writhes.

“Good girl. So good, look at that.” Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head at the praise. Paige’s finger’s finally slow as they work you through it, her other hand leaving your body to run a hand through your hair.

“Fuck.” You breathe. “I said five minutes.”

“I couldn’t help myself, those fuckin’ panties you got on. You knew better.” She defends, kissing your neck as her fingers finally leave you.