#a lot is missing cause it's just some idea

[zenmiren]

sypnosis: from friends to strangers to friends to lovers. you have known michael kaiser ever since you were kids, your cloud 9 friendship ended after he mysteriously stopped meeting up with you, and 4 years later, you meet again.

michael kaiser x reader

likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

— not proof-read, might be some mistakes

content: fluff, angst if you squint, nickname 'mihya' is used, childhood friends to lovers trope

saturday, 2:35 pm. berlin, germany.

— 3rd december 2007

8 year old michael kaiser sat by himself under a slide at the park that he went to often. he had been booted outside by his father once again, and with no where else to go, he fled to the park. michael had no friends, so usually, he just sat and watched people play, walk by with their dogs, etc..

until.. he spots a ball, old and rough looking. it clearly wasn't important since it was left behind, and maybe he could fit in with other kids if he had a toy of his own that he could play with.

he crawls out from under the slide and takes the ball. he threw it, bounced it and punched it around, but he was left wondering why his ball wasn't as bouncy as the other kids ones.

compared to his ball, which had pentagons and hexagons, the other kids had brightly coloured balls, and a few kids even had an orange ball with intricate stripes that they threw in a hoop. he tried to throw his ball high up in the air, to make it seem like he knew how to play too, and hopefully, the other kids would ask him to join... but instead.. a girl who was a bit shorter than him, but definitely his age approached him with a toothy grin.

"thats not how you play soccer" you pointed at him with your fat little index finger.

michael was.. awestruck, to say the least, he had never seen someone so.. soft looking, it gave him the urge to protect you, and he didn't even know your name...

"uh-uh.. what." what even was soccer? michael had no idea.

"soccer, you have a soccer ball. are you good at playing?"

"uh-"

"clearly not if you're throwing it around like that!" you laughed, unaware that you had made the boy a tad bit insecure of himself "but don't worry! i'm not very good, but still, i know the jist of it!"

michael simply nodded, letting you lead him along to a more open space. he watches you make a makeshift goal, using two sticks as the point you have to kick past before you strolled over to the ball and kicked it past.

"score!!" you happily exclaimed, cheering as you threw one hand up in the air, gripping the corner of your shirt and putting one leg ahead of the other [JUST IMAGINE KAISER'S MAGNUS POSE BUT LESS DRAMATIC.. cause ur not a try hard like michael is..]

you and michael had played until evening, and michael had quickly realised that he was a natural at the game.

the days after your first encounter, you hadn't shown up to the park in a bit, michael was disappointed, but had hoped you had returned. while you were gone, he practiced kicking the ball and doing tricks to impress you when you came back.

in reality, you were just sick with a fever and had to miss a few days of school and going out, which you were very upset about, but your mom made you just suck it up.

when michael finally saw you again, playing with your friends from school, he was so happy, yet so shy, and he didn't have the guts to approach you again. meanwhile, you were looking for the boy in the black hoodie that you played with before.

when you met eyes, michael felt relief when your face brightened, and you quickly excused yourself from your friends, running over to him and saying hi.

michael had a lot of fun with you every single day, for years. after your school, you would meet up at the park, it didn't matter how tired you were, you had to see him, atleast once a day. michael wasn't much of a talker, hangouts always usually consisted of you yapping about your day while he listened, hummed along and added commentary here and there. to you, it was perfect, you liked that michael listened.

your friends often wondered why you never finished all your food, and your mom found it strange that you always asked for extras whenever she packed your lunch. she summed it up to you just being a growing girl, and that it was most likely just cause you were going through puberty.

you would always just give your spare food to michael though.

you watched as michael scarfed down the remaining food in your lunchbox. neither of you talked, you both just sat on a small hill together. you laid on the grass while michael sat upright, since he didn't want to choke with how fast he was eating.

your eyes scattered around his body and face, he had taken off his signature black hoodie, showing off his forearms and all the bruises and scars that came with it. your gaze travelled up to his face, you always noticed his wounds, but never mentioned it, it must have been a sensitive topic. he had a busted lip, a black eye and a few bruises around his cheeks and forehead.

you sighed, before an idea came to mind.

saturday, 11:15am. berlin, germany

— 15th november 2014

the next day, you showed up to the park with a picnic basket, you had lied to your mom, saying that you would go out with a few friends, since she had no knowledge of michael.

"mihya" you hugged him from behind, effectively making him flinch in shock.

"hey, [name]..." his eyes drifted down to the picnic basket ".. what's.. that for?" he shrugged over to it

"oh! i brought some snacks for us"

michael's fat ass immediately got excited, and he watched as you set the picnic blanket down. you urged him to sit on the blanket, and when you opened the basket, it revealed a lot of snacks you brought, and a few medical items, like cotton balls, alcohol and gauze bandages.

you two made conversation, for a bit before you brought up the wounds. your hand gently cupped his cheek, softly caressing it.

"mihya.. let me clean your wounds, i'm not gonna ask how you got them, i just want to help.." you leaned in close, and michael felt his heart start to race... he hated how you were such a good person.

you ended up cleaning his wounds, only because you were so insistent.

as you used the last of your bandaids for a bruise on his cheek. you ended it off with a sweet kiss on his cheek, to which he flinched away before a heavy blush made its way on his cheeks. you giggled, and michael wished that he could save this in his memory forever. better yet, he wished this lasted forever.

you made him feel things that felt good, you were a safe space to escape everything else in his life. you were what heaven felt like, and michael hoped that he would never be separated from you.

he should have knocked on wood.

around a month after that day, michael mysteriously stopped showing up. not even a hint to why. you remembered clearly that the last time you both were together, he said "i'll see you tomorrow!".. and yet.

you, however, remained hopeful. michael isn't the type to just leave without a word, right? you waited for hours on end, every single day, and he never once came back. by the end of january, you had given up completely.

tuesday, 6:44pm. munich, germany

— (your birthdate) 2018

michael returned to his penthouse after practice. he was drenched in sweat, and his jersey stuck to his toned muscles. he sighed, kicking his shoes off, putting his duffel bag down and plopping down on the couch, manspreading before he whipped his phone out.

he needed a vacation, honestly. he scrolled on instagram, looking through his feed. he stumbled upon a collaboration post of a bunch of university students his age. michael raised a brow, and swiped to see the rest of the photos.

his blue eyes widened when he saw a familiar face, holding a cake. then it clicked, how could he forget? it was your birthday... michael mentally slapped himself, he thought of you every single day, and yet he managed to forget the most important day of the year, which was YOUR date of birth.

he was enamoured.. you looked so pretty, aged like fine wine, in his opinion, even though it had only been around 4 years.

his eyes went to the curve of your nose, the crinkle of your eyes as you smiled, the way your lips looked so so soft.. my goodness.

he set his phone down, his thoughts going on overdrive before he picked his phone back up, and looked through the collaborators on the instagram post, it was your birthday, so obviously you would be a collaborator. he clicked on your profile and mentally applauded himself when he found that your page was public.

he felt a small smile show up on his face when he saw what you were up to. you were a university student in munich, the same city he was in.. you went to a pottery class with a few friends just for fun, you had a part-time job working as a waitress at a 4-star restaurant. you had one cat, named misty, and your friend group over all had a good vibe to it.

michael was happy that you had trustworthy people to hang out with, however, he still wanted to be your number one best friend, maybe even more, so of course, he was a tad bit jealous.

he ordered a bouquet of generic roses to send to your university the next day. it came with a card that said 'send to [name] [last name]', so obviously you received it.

for a while, michael was fine with just stalking your social media and sending you gifts, without signing his name, but it all stopped once ness had come to practice with a familiar girl.

michael raised a brow, he remembered her from somewhere, but he just couldn't remember where.

"kaiser! this is eliza, a close family friend of mine!" ness beamed as michael glanced to eliza, who shyly waved.

eliza.. eliza... ah.. now he remembered.. michael had seen her name when he was scrolling through your followings.

ness had explained that eliza had invited him to a big meet up that was happening tonight with her friends and acquaintances, just for fun, and he wanted michael to come along, since for some reason, ness thought they were friends.

"is [name] gonna be there." michael blurted out, placing a hand on his hip.

ness tilted his head in confusion at the unfamiliar name, and eliza wasn't expecting that question.

"you know [name]? yeah, she'll be there" eliza nods

"then I'm coming."

".. right.."

ness didn't leave him alone for the entire day, constantly asking about who you were and how you knew each other. michael tuned him out. he was more focused on what he would wear, what cologne he would wear... what cologne would you like?

that night, he finished getting ready. he just wore something casual, since the gathering wasn't remotely fancy. ness had picked him up and as they drived, michael felt butterflies in his stomach, his knee was consistently bouncing and his hands felt clammy.

they met with eliza outside of the bar and when they went inside, michael was met with a few familiar faces, he recognised some as people you were following online, and some he didn't know at all.

his eyes shifted from face to face, before he saw yours. michael immediately started regretting coming here.. he was perfectly fine with just watching your life on instagram.. 'michael.. fucking idiot..' he mentally slapped himself. he should just leave honestly. michael was full of ego and confidence, and here he was, buckling his knees for a childhood friend.

he was just about to leave the bar, but you had already seen him, he swore he saw your eyes widen, just a little tiny bit before you excused yourself from your friends, just like how you did so many years ago at the park when you were children, and approached him...

"michael.." you addressed him

"hey." he forced himself to smirk, putting up his arrogant, usual facade.

"wipe that smirk off your face, asshole" you huffed, crossing your arms. "you have some explaining to do."

michael wasn't shocked when you returned to his penthouse with him that night... just to catch up, of course!

sunday, 6:30pm. berlin, germany

— 28th april 2025

you and michael were walked around your hometown, you had just gone as a 2 day trip, and soon, you both would be going to greece anyway, so you didn't need to go on holiday for too long.

you stopped by the old park you used to spend time in "mihya look!" you ran ahead, breaking your hand holding "hahah! this place barely changed!"

michael lovingly watched as you walked around the playground area ".. yeah.. it really hasn't.."

whilst your back was turned, he pulled out a velvet box from his coat pocket. he looked down at it, before looking back up at you, before looking back down at it again. he took a deep breath

".. mein liebling." he called out, gaining your attention. you turned over your shoulder, only to be met with the sight of your boyfriend down on one knee.

"...!!" you gasped and he softly smiled at your cute reaction.

".. let's get married?"

UGGGHHH TS SOOO BUNS 😞😞 it ain't proof-read either whay the heck

please pslpslspslspl ignore grammar mistakes

fic of THIS POST

TAGLIST:

@yvanllie @mrsitoshirin

borders by @dollywons and @cyberbeat

[crescenthistory]

I'm so excited to see you're having a celebration, congratulations on the followers lovely!!

could I get you to argue for the red strings of fate au with bartylus x fem!reader. Maybe Regulus can see the strings (not everyone can) and has at this point told Barty about the two of them (though i see him having been extremely reluctant to at first and getting all angsty about it). But there was always another string and they never figured out who it was while at school. Maybe they start new jobs as adults and Regulus realizes the third is getting pulled more often so they must be nearby, but they are constantly MISSING HER. Culminates in them meeting, yada yada yada

Okay, kind of a lot of details, I had thoughts lol. Feel free to trim or edit wherever you please ~

thank you so much my love, you are an angel<3 this one was the hardest to write for some reason, but wound up becoming one of my absolute favourites! so thank you for challenging me xx art by vidhic0re

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i will ARGUE for prompt 65 "red string of fate AU" with poly!bartylus

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: fem!reader, reg pov, established bartylus, suggestive scene, barty has abandonment issues (and thus is worried about a third soulmate), referenced mental hardship for them both, very fluffy, first-meeting

wc: 2.2k

Regulus had grown used to his life with an unknown string; comfortable, even.

When he met Barty at age 11 and could for the first time in his life see the end of one of his two strings, he had been too young to feel truly excited over it. Rather, it just became a fact of life for the two of them, something put aside for the time being and scheduled to be brought up again at a later point.

Barty couldn’t see the string, so he didn’t really get what Regulus meant all those years back when he mumbled “oh, we’re connected”. The scene he caused when someone explained it to him at a Yule Ball, and he barged up to Regulus, drunk out of his mind and confused, heartbroken and in love all at the same time, is one that still haunts them both. Just like untangling a knot, they talked it out in the hallway and then in the common room and then in the dorms and then in every other room they were in for the rest of their lives.

Because it was officially for life – and despite his jokes, Regulus would never have it any other way. 

The only thing that was left itching on his curiosity was this still-strange string. The one he had told Barty about, only to have him blow it off, calling it unimportant because “all I need is you, baby”. 

Regulus couldn’t disagree with that sentiment, but the curiosity still lingered. 

It lingered over months and years as they broke away from their families and bought their own – rather cramped, now without their money – flat in the boroughs of London. It lingered as they settled down in their separate lines of work and tried to make a life worth living. It lingered as the string would be taut or slack, almost as if their third was out there, swirling close and then away, just outside their periphery. He never pulled on it, even when his mind swam with possibilities.

Regulus climbed the ranks and became the manager of a new quill and parchment shop to rival Scrivenshaft's and Scribbulus, while Barty jumped from job to job, having a suspicious amount of commitment issues for someone quite literally tied for life to his boyfriend and some stranger. He had dabbled in everything from freelance bountyhunter that took too much enjoyment in hauling in extremist bloodpurists, to stand-up comedian that made himself laugh more than anyone else. It made Regulus roll his eyes, but Barty’s adventures truly were his greatest source of entertainment. 

Said entertainment was what brought them to a hotel room in Paris, lazily making out on the pristine white bed on the top floor. Barty had the wild idea of auditioning for a muggle circus there the day after – “just a momentary thing, Reg, c’mon, don’t you always call me a clown?” – and Regulus decided to make it into a faux couple's business trip to ensure his partner didn’t accidentally break the Statute of Secrecy. He told the higher-ups at his job that he was visiting their Paris branch for a few days to learn how to improve. Quite frankly, Regulus made them too much money for them to argue. 

“Be honest, you only came along because you wanted me all to yourself before I become a world star,” Barty teased against his lips, body sprawled out over Regulus’, tattooed hand resting idly around his neck.

Regulus let out a breath in between kisses, fighting an indulgent smile. “I want to make sure I get to keep you without your arse getting thrown in Azkaban.”

“What about my arse, hm?” Barty murmured, lips divulging on a path down Regulus’ jaw that was bound to turn his brain off.

There was but one thing that could break through the delicious haze of Barty.

His string pulled.

Regulus’ hands suddenly shot up to Barty’s face, gently but firmly pulling him away as his lips parted in shock.

Barty’s brows furrowed, concern beginning to seep in already. “Reg, wha–”

Regulus hushed him. His gaze was fixed, almost hypnotically so, on the shimmery red string that stretched out from his wrist, the one that only ever he could see or touch. The one that was currently drawn taut and shaking as if someone…  “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

“Spit it out, Regulus.” Barty’s face was still filled with concern, taking on the tone of no-bullshit that was reserved for when he was worried his boyfriend wasn’t communicating with him. 

Remembering himself, Regulus let his thumbs brush gently over Barty’s cheeks, soothing. “I’m sorry amour, it’s just… the string. They’re pulling on it.”

A wave of relief and slight frustration washed over his face. “Merlin, Reg, that’s it? You had me thinking it was something important.”

This brought Regulus’ gaze back to Barty’s again, and this time, it was his turn to furrow his brows. “It is important, B. They've never pulled before, never been this close.”

His boyfriend dragged his hands up and down Regulus’ sides, soothing in their own right, as if trying to reassure any emotive reaction out of him. “Well yeah, sure, it’s intriguing, but it’s not gasp-mid-snog-and-make-your-boyfriend-piss-himself important.”

Regulus couldn’t help but snort. He began to sit up, pushing a willing Barty back with him so that they were sitting facing each other on the bed. Tentatively, Regulus intertwined his fingers with Barty’s on the hand the strings were attached to, his free hand coming up to trace the strange string in the air.

It was hypnotising – even Barty, who couldn’t see the string, watched Regulus’ fingers tracing the air reverently with rapt attention. “They’re here, Barty,” Regulus whispered, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’m sure of it. That is important.”

For a beat, Barty didn’t say anything, eyes flickering back and forth between Regulus’ as he breathed out slowly. Then, he drew the air back in sharply between his teeth, as if pulling a decision in with it, and squeezed Regulus’ hand.

“Alright then – let’s go find the poor sucker.”

This time it was Regulus’ turn to be bewildered, trying to hold onto Barty who was already moving away from the bed, free hand reaching out towards the hotel door.

“I– wha– Barty!” Regulus all but hissed, trying to hold him back. “We can’t just– barge in, we have to think this through.”

His boyfriend scoffed and rolled his eyes, all while wearing his signature grin. He turned on his heel, dragging Regulus closer to him by their intertwined fingers so that he could caress his side all the way up to his face. The green in Barty’s eyes seemed to shine brighter as he gently cupped Regulus’ face, bringing their foreheads together.

“C’mon Reg. This is pretty straightforward. If we have another soulmate, that soulmate is close by and important to you. So I say we go find them. Yeah? No need to overthink or overprepare. Isn’t the point of a soulmate that they’ll like us for who we are? If not, then fuck them, yeah?”

Barty’s pep talks were always difficult to argue against, no matter how much fault Regulus found in his logic. Tonight he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he gripped the back of Barty’s neck and brought him down into a searing, deep kiss – one that Barty had no problem returning in an instant. 

When they parted, both were smiling and panting. Barty looked endearingly at Regulus’ closed eyelids before they fluttered open to meet his gaze. 

“Yeah, okay,” Regulus whispered. “Alright. Just– just let me grab my jumper.”

Barty released his fingers in favour of Regulus throwing on a jumper, feeling, despite his insistence, that he needed some layer of protection against whatever might face him outside this hotel door. An eternal love, a stinging rejection, or – perhaps worse – no end in sight.

Regulus’ fingers traced the taut string in fascination while his free hand grasped Barty’s once more before they spilled into the hallway, a many-limbed mythical creature of jittering nerves. 

“You lead the way, babe,” Barty teased, squeezing Regulus’ hand reassuringly.

With bated breath, Regulus began following the string. It was still just as tight, but it hadn’t shook or shown any signs of being pulled for a few minutes. He was beginning to worry he had imagined it.

Until he rounded a corner and there – there the string ended. The string led straight to the door labelled with 117, disappearing in behind it. 

Regulus stopped in his steps, making Barty almost run into him.

“What?” Barty whispered, sensing the change in tension.

“It’s that one there.” Regulus’ eyes hadn’t left where the string disappeared in between the cracks. “Room 117.”

Barty’s breath hitched and Regulus swore he could hear him whisper sick, but chose to ignore it.

With tentative steps, Regulus moved closer towards the door until he stood in front of it. There was a faint sound of rustling and some form of indecipherable melody seeping out through the door, and though it might have been placebo, he felt oddly at peace in front of it. Choosing to follow Barty’s sentiments – don’t overthink – he lifted his knuckles to rap on the door once, twice, thrice. 

Any sound behind the door ceased. 

Regulus remained staring at the silver numbers on the dark brown wood, holding his breath. The complete lack of sound from Barty told him that he was doing the same, but he couldn’t bring himself to check, too wrapped up in the consequences of this singular moment.

No sounds from the door – but the string pulled once, twice, thrice.

Regulus looked down at the fickle thing, heart pounding in his chest. For the first time in his life, he wrapped his hand around the buzzing string and pulled too. An agent of his own fate, he pulled three times himself. Unsure if that was what he was meant to do, wholly unaware of what else there was to do.

To his utter amazement and deepest fear, the string went slightly slack, almost as if the other person had let it go. Instead, the doorknob twisted.

With rusted screeching hinges, creaking wood and the screaming of Regulus’ heart, the door swung open to reveal – you.

You stood before them, in an outfit they would come to know as quintessential you, staring at them with slightly parted lips and wide eyes. When his gaze trailed down your every feature, they finally landed on what he never thought he would see; his final string reaching out from his hand and circling neatly around your wrist. Regulus’ eyes remained trained on that sight, digesting it.

“She’s beautiful,” Barty breathed out. Not one for silences, not even now. Your eyes moved from looking at Regulus’ own wrist to Barty’s and then up to his face, still equally rattled. Barty cleared his throat a little and Regulus looked up to see a spark in his green eyes that he had seen many a time but never aimed at someone else. “You’re beautiful,” he clarified, daring to smile a little at you. 

To Regulus’ joy, you let out a laugh. It was an airy, almost teary laugh, one that summarised every intensity of this very moment. 

“Well, thank you… erm, and, hi.” Your voice was melodic, creeping up over Regulus’ skin and into his ears. 

“Hi, amour,” he whispered back, squeezing Barty’s hand reassuringly at the usage of his pet name. He tried to open his mouth to say more, but the words got stuck. 

“I… I can’t believe…” You seemed utterly bewildered as a smile grew on your face, taking them both in rapidly. 

Regulus had never considered what it would mean for their third partner that he and Barty found each other so long ago, that she had been without them both for so long, waiting, hoping. It made him a little choked up. 

“This is the strangest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.” Barty’s declaration and accompanying laugh zapped Regulus of some of his remaining nerves. 

“Strange as in horrifying or… exciting?” Your voice was a bit small, but your expression was so encaptivating that Regulus saw Barty melting.

“Most excited I have felt in years. Certainly more than I will feel at the circus.”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped you. “At the what?”

Barty grinned – Regulus couldn’t help but do the same. “We have a lot to catch up on, love, but it… it would be an honour to do so. Mind if we come in?”

Your eyes shone with a glossy sense of endearment and mischief that Regulus knew would mould perfectly into their relationship. You took a step back and gestured inside. “Please do. Just don’t kill me.”

“Oh, he would never,” Barty said, already beginning to enter, suddenly more than eager to meet his last soulmate. He shot you a wink. “I might though.”

Regulus met your eyes as Barty’s hand dragged him in, milking the moment of eye contact for all its worth. “He won’t,” he whispered in passing.

“Oh, I figured,” you stage-whispered after him with a beaming smile.

You shut the door behind them, and a new chapter began.

[kenansslut]

a way back to each other

pairing: kenan yildiz x fem reader

Summary: just two people who will find their way back to each other

warnings: sad

a/n: look at me I’ve been posting a lot. please leave feedback!

It was a quiet afternoon, the sun setting in Turin and casting a soft glow through the apartment windows. Y/N sat comfortably on the couch, reading a book, with Ramos curled up beside her.

The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and she looked up to see Kenan walk in. “Kenan! You’re home later than usual,” she said, getting up to greet him.

Kenan didn’t respond right away; he just locked the door and dropped his training bag on the floor. “Y/N, we need to talk,” he said, looking serious.

Taken aback, Y/N nodded and sat back down on the couch, causing Ramos to shift to her lap. “What’s wrong, Kenan? You’re scaring me,” she said.

He sighed and sat next to her. “Look, baby, I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I’m not happy in our relationship. I really need to focus on my career right now.”

Y/N stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean ‘I need to focus on my career’? Am I a distraction?” Kenan opened his mouth to respond, but she continued, “Last time I checked, I did everything so you could focus on football! I clean, cook, and take care of Ramos while you’re busy with training and games. The reason he’s here and not with your parents is that I’m helping you out, even though I’m in school!”

Kenan looked hurt, knowing how much she had supported him. “Baby, please, you have to understand,” he pleaded.

“No, Kenan, you can’t call me ‘baby’ when you’re breaking up with me. If that’s what you want, fine. I’m leaving,” Y/N managed to say, her heart heavy.

She tried to walk away toward their shared bedroom, but Kenan gently grabbed her arm, making sure not to hurt her. “Y/N, you can’t go! You have nowhere to stay,” he said, his voice pleading. “Just stay here until you find somewhere to live. You can use the guest room for as long as you need.” His deep ocean eyes searched hers, hoping she would understand.

Y/N nodded, tears welling up in her eyes, not trusting herself to speak.

“I’m going to take a shower, but when I get out, we can order some takeout,” Kenan said, releasing her arm before walking into their room.

Once he was out of sight, Y/N waited until she heard the water running before she began packing her things into two suitcases and bags. She emptied their shared closet, leaving only Kenan’s clothes behind. She didn’t want anything from him; it felt like a clean break was the only way forward.

Once she had packed up everything she owned, she walked over to Ramos, who was sprawled out on the couch. He had no idea what was happening, but he sensed something was off. The moment Y/N approached him, he started licking her face, trying to comfort her.

“I’m going to miss you, buddy,” Y/N mumbled, tears streaming down her cheeks.

After a heartbreaking goodbye with Kenan’s dog, she grabbed her car keys and bags, walking out of the apartment and leaving the key to their once-shared home behind.

Y/N loaded her bags into her car, climbed in, and let the tears flow freely. Before driving away, she pulled out her phone and blocked Kenan on everything, feeling a mix of sadness and relief as she left their shared life behind.

When Kenan finally stepped out of the shower and walked into the living room, he was hit with an unsettling silence. The couch was empty, and his heart sank as he noticed that all of Y/N's things were gone.

"What the...?" he muttered, his mind racing. A wave of regret washed over him. He had broken up with her to focus on football, thinking it was for the best, but now it felt like the dumbest decision he could've made.

He sat down on the couch, staring at the spot where she used to sit, realizing just how much he missed her. The weight of his choice settled heavily on his chest, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had let something truly special slip away.

Kenan's heart raced as he grabbed his phone, desperate to hear her voice one last time. He dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail. Frustrated, he tried texting her, but every message bounced back.

“Why would she block me?” he thought, panic setting in. He felt a mix of anger and sadness, realizing that his decision had consequences he hadn’t fully considered.

Sitting alone in the quiet apartment, he replayed their last moments together in his mind, wishing he could take it all back. He knew he had to do something, but for now, all he could do was stare at the empty space around him, filled with memories of her laughter and warmth.

Five months had passed since Y/N and Kenan last saw each other, and both had been navigating their new lives in very different ways.

From Kenan's perspective, soccer had become his escape. He threw himself into training, trying to drown out the memories of Y/N. Every time he scored a goal, the rush of adrenaline felt good, but it was never enough to fill the void she left behind. He often found himself glancing at his phone, wishing he could reach out, but the reality of being blocked stung. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had lost something precious, and every game felt a little emptier without her cheering him on.

On the other hand, Y/N had transformed in ways Kenan could hardly recognize. She was thriving in school, her grades soaring as she focused on her studies. The honey-blonde hair framed her face beautifully, accentuating her brown eyes, which sparkled with newfound confidence. She had also taken up working out, and her body reflected her dedication and strength. While she missed the connection they once had, she was proud of the woman she was becoming. Each day felt like a fresh start, and she was determined to embrace her independence, even if it meant leaving Kenan behind.

As they both moved forward, the memories of their time together lingered in the background, shaping who they were becoming but no longer defining them.

time passed

It was a chilly Saturday night when Kenan arrived at his friend's birthday party, ready to unwind with familiar faces. He was laughing and catching up with everyone when he suddenly spotted a figure across the room. His heart skipped a beat—it was Y/N. He hadn’t expected to see her there, and for a moment, he felt a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Y/N had known Kenan would be there, but she was determined to stay cool. She had spent months building herself up, and she wasn’t about to let him see how much she still cared. As she approached the group, their eyes met, and the air felt charged with unspoken words.

“Hey,” Kenan said, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” Y/N replied, crossing her arms slightly. Her tone was steady, but there was a hint of frostiness. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me.”

“Of course I do. You look… different,” he said, gesturing toward her new hairstyle and fit physique, trying to keep it light.

“Thanks,” she replied, her expression unreadable. “I’ve been busy.”

Kenan nodded, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. “I’ve been focused on football. It’s been… good, I guess.”

“Good for you,” she said, her voice flat. The tension between them was palpable, but beneath it lay a flicker of the connection they once had. They both stood there, caught in a moment that felt both familiar and foreign, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

Feeling the weight of the moment, Y/N decided to excuse herself. “I’ll go grab a drink,” she said, turning away before Kenan could respond. She needed space to breathe and gather her thoughts, and the last thing she wanted was to dwell on the past.

As she walked away, Kenan’s teammates noticed the change in his demeanor. Dušan raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “What just happened, man? You looked like you saw a ghost.”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect her to be here,” Kenan admitted, running a hand through his hair. “We kinda… talked.”

Francisco chimed in, “Talked? More like cold war, huh? What did she say?”

“Just that she’s been busy, and I told her about soccer,” Kenan replied, a hint of frustration in his voice. “It felt awkward.”

Weston shrugged, “You’ve been talking about her for months, dude. Maybe it’s time to just be honest with her?”

Andrea nodded, “Yeah, it’s clear you both still have feelings. Just don’t overthink it!”

Nicolò added, “You gotta go after her! Don’t let this slip away again.”

Kenan sighed, glancing toward the crowd where Y/N had disappeared. “I don’t know, guys. What if she doesn’t want to talk?”

“Then you’ll never know,” Dušan said, giving him a friendly nudge. “Just go for it!”

With his teammates rallying behind him, Kenan felt a spark of determination. Maybe he could find the right moment to talk to her again and clear the air. After all, this party was just getting started.

As Kenan’s friends urged him to go talk to Y/N, they suddenly noticed a guy at the party leaning in close, flashing her a charming smile and laughing at something she said. Kenan’s heart sank, and a wave of jealousy washed over him.

“Dude, look!” Weston exclaimed, pointing discreetly at the scene. “That guy is totally flirting with her.”

Kenan felt a surge of possessiveness. “What the hell? I can’t believe this!” His fists clenched, and he shot a glare at the guy, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.

Dušan, sensing Kenan's frustration, quickly tried to diffuse the situation. “Hey, just breathe, man. You can’t let him get to you. Remember what we talked about?”

Francisco chimed in, “Yeah, you’ve got to make your move now! Don’t let him steal your chance!”

Andrea nodded, “We’re all rooting for you and Y/N! Just go up to her and show her you care.”

Nicolò added, “We’ll back you up. Just be confident, man. You’ve got this!”

With their encouragement fueling him, Kenan took a deep breath, trying to shake off the jealousy. He knew he had to act fast before that guy got too comfortable. “Alright, I’m going in,” he said, determination in his voice.

His teammates cheered him on as he made his way through the crowd, ready to reclaim his moment with Y/N and show her just how much she meant to him.

As Kenan approaches Y/N, he can feel his heart racing. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves. “Hey, Y/N,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Can I steal you for a sec?”

The guy glances at Kenan, a smirk on his face. “Oh, come on, we were just getting to know each other better.”

Kenan shoots him a look, stepping closer to Y/N. “Yeah, well, I think it’s time for you to move along. We have some catching up to do.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her expression cold. “Really, Kenan? You think you can just waltz in and act like everything’s fine?”

Kenan feels a pang in his chest but refuses to back down. “I know things haven’t been great between us, but I’m not giving up. I want to talk to you, just us.”

Despite her icy demeanor, Kenan stands firm, determined to break through her walls. He knows he has to show her that he’s serious about making things right, no matter how she’s acting.

Kenan looks Y/N in the eyes, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Look, I get that I messed up, and I can’t change the past. But I’m here now, and I want to fix things between us. You mean so much to me, and I can’t just stand by and watch you with someone else.”

Y/N’s expression softens for a moment, but she quickly masks it with indifference. “You think just saying that makes it okay? You hurt me, Kenan. I can’t just forget that.”

His heart sinks, but he presses on, desperation creeping into his tone. “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. But I’m willing to fight for us. I don’t want to lose you again, not to anyone. Please, just give me a chance to show you how much you matter to me.”

Y/N looks away, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s not that simple. I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

Kenan feels a lump in his throat, the weight of her words heavy on his heart. “I’ll do whatever it takes to earn that trust back. Just don’t shut me out. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

In that moment, the tension hangs thick between them, both feeling the weight of their shared history and the possibility of a second chance.

Y/N takes a deep breath, her heart racing as she processes Kenan's words. “I don’t know if I can just let you back in like that,” she admits, her voice trembling slightly. The walls she built around her heart feel like they’re starting to crack, but she’s scared.

Kenan steps a little closer, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I get it. It’s going to take time, and I’m willing to wait. Just know that I’m here, ready to listen whenever you’re ready to talk.”

She looks up at him, the coldness in her gaze slowly melting away. “It’s hard for me, Kenan. I’ve been protecting myself for so long.”

“I understand,” he replies softly, his heart aching for her. “But you don’t have to do it alone. I want to be there for you, no matter how long it takes.”

Y/N feels a flicker of hope, and for the first time in a while, she contemplates the idea of letting him in. “Okay,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try. But you have to promise me you won’t hurt me again.”

“I promise,” Kenan replies, relief washing over him. “I’ll do everything I can to prove it to you.”

In that moment, a tentative connection forms between them, and though it’s still a long road ahead, they both feel the possibility of healing.

[raiiny-bay]

some WIPs from the 80s AU i never finished

[cosmicredcadet]

Genuinely why do people think that Wagstaff created WX-78 when it looks like, from WX's own video, that they created themselves? Like their human form looks to have been the one who made the robot body and came up with the technology to transfer their conscious into the robot. the most Wagstaff did was probably wake them up or oversee the transfer? Why do people act like Wagstaff is some creator/father figure to WX when it seems like he barely played a role in their creation and was at most a business partner with them when they were human???

[quasieli]

I have a little less than a month til I'm gonna be headed to NY for my brother's bday and I'm gonna get to see my bestie for the first time since July. I'm so fucking excited to see her, but ya know what I'm even more excited about? Surprising her by just showing up to dinner one night because she has no idea I'm coming lol I can't wait 💙

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Italian Grand Prix - Rubens Barrichello & Jenson Button

[airawisteria]

[ID: A digital drawing of Sora from Kingdome Hearts wearing a black hoodie with red and white accents, a black shirt with a white butterfly in the upper centre of the shirt, white and grey headphones and black jeans with silver chains hanging from them. He has his signature crown necklace and is lying down in a green, grass filled place with some of the grass ending up on his body. He has his eyes closed and his hands are behind his head as tears fall down his eyes. There is some generic warm shading done to the drawing. The drawing is set in Quadratum in some grassy area.]

[faggotry-enjoyer]

one of my classmates is a messianic, post cancelled

hebrew 101 started today and my god is it a relief to finally be in a room of people who are Normal About Jews. saw quite a few magen david necklaces, i wasn't worried someone would be a dick about my bring them home dogtag, the professor said he's from israel and used to teach at tel aviv university when introducing himself and nobody was weird about it, class is off for rosh hashanah with nobody having to ask, he played us a song in hebrew and said it was made shortly after october 7th and the following silence was sad instead of awkward. i'm not even jewish yet but i didn't realize just how tense i'd been in most goyische spaces until i was in a jewish/adjacent one and it felt like i could breathe again.

[kianamaiart]

IDWTBAMG CHARACTER FUN FACTS

Well, some fun facts and mostly lore or character relationship stuff. Under the cut!

AIKA

Aika became the next Star Guardian at age 13. She’s 15 now

Aika’s want to help people and relentless positivity were part of the reason she was chosen to be the Star Guardian: Guardian of the Stars in the first place. While her love for the job has fizzled out, this aspect of her character still a core part of her.

She’s very kind and gentle person but that kinda goes out the window when magical duties are brought into the equation

Her and Hoshi care about one another but their relationship is currently a bit tense. They’re usually pretty quick to make jabs at one another

She struggled to get used to the platform shoes in her magical girl outfit

She LOVES food. And her eyes are usually way too big for her stomach leading to many a food coma

Aika and her teammates worked in secret for the most part, not really being allowed to “exist in the real world”. Because of this, with the free time she had, Aika would read a lot (she’s actually very book smart)

Aika loves extreme sports and is an adrenaline junky. However, rollercoasters freak her out for some reason

Aika drags Zira into lots of new eperiences. Zira usually ends up appreciating the experiences after the fact 

Aika’s a morning person

ZIRA

Zira is smart but doesn’t apply herself in school

They have a lot of artistic interests, particularly art, music and fashion

She likes the idea of writing fanfiction in theory but writing’s sooooo much work. Any ideas she has just kinda live in her head, causing her to zone out and daydream a ton

While shy for the most part, Zira can be very blunt and isn’t necessarily a pushover

Prior to Aika, she didn’t have a lot (any) friends at school but she’s mostly content doing her own thing

They’d hang out in Miss’ classroom a lot, either to show her Moon Sailor stuff against her will or just to have lunch

Zira loves playing video games and especially loves visual novels

Zira develops a crush on Aika pretty quickly. Aika’s kindness, authenticity and bravery is inspiring to Zira. Also Aika’s the only other person her age to really give her the time of day. And also she thinks Aika’s pretty

She thinks Hoshi’s really cool and since Aika doesn’t particularly enjoy talking about her job, Zira usually goes to Hoshi for magical girl questions. Initially Hoshi doesn’t trust Zira with that information but is really flattered to have someone who looks up to them and is interested in everything they have to say. So they indulge when appropriate.

Zira’s a night owl

HOSHI

Hoshi saved Aika when she was really young and has kept her safe ever since

Hoshi and Aika started off kind of like siblings but Hoshi then became her boss, making their relationship a bit strained and more complicated

Their role as a magical mascot managerial in nature. They make Aika and her team do their jobs, follow protocol, teach them how to use their powers, keep up morale, do timecards, etc.

While Hoshi oversees this team, their responsibility is primarily to the Star Guardian

Hoshi, much like Aika, used to be really chipper and a bit more goofy but Aika’s kinda worn them down overtime

Hoshi’s not a fan of Earth, but in an effort to better understand Aika’s feelings, tries out being a human and doing Earth activities

Hoshi takes a while to get used to their human form. They’re really clumsy in it

They have a hard time making hands for their human form. Their hands are slightly different every time but equally terrifying. They eventually get better at making them though.

Hoshi doesn't use their human form too much. Most people just assume their Aika's weird pet bird

Hoshi doesn't need to eat but discovers they enjoy the act of eating

ECLIPSE

Eclipse is one of the few humans that know that Aika and the other magical girls exist

He met Aika pretty early on in her magical girl career and he was immediately enamored with her

Since finding about magical girls, he’s obsessively tried keeping track of them, leading him to start acting out in order to get their attention. They only really care because he knows their secret and they play along

He and Devoid made his current outfit together. DeVoid wanted to make it black but Eclipse was set on making it very bright and showy

Eclipse currently resides with DeVoid. He gets on her nerves sometimes but they both do care about each other

Eclipse is a pretty good cook 

Eclipse isn’t particularly hateful but he’s really got beef with Zira for some reason

It’s hard to tell if Eclipse is really in love with Aika or if he just loves the concept of their nonexistent relationship

Eclipse has a lovely singing voice

His real name is Elio

LADY DeVOID

DeVoid was banished to space by a Star Guardian. For a LONG time she lived (unconsciously) as a sort of celestial being that would spit out monsters that the Star Guardians for many generations would have to face. While not ideal it was better than fighting DeVoid before she got to full power.

DeVoid finally wakes up in the present timeline, with no memories other than being banished by a Star Guardian and wanting revenge and knowing that she’s supposed to be able to create monsters. Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t remember how to use her powers. She doesn’t even remember her name, so she came up with “Lady DeVoid”

DeVoid loves human reality TV. Specifically competition shows. She loves how petty and evil people become

Reality TV is where most of her knowledge of humans comes from

Though DeVoid is pretty stoic, her ears are very expressive

DeVoid taught Eclipse how to do his makeup

She really likes Eclipse’s cooking

When she’s out and about she’s usually wearing sunglasses because it’s simply too bright for her

DeVoid does have to work a normal job in the human world and simply goes by “Dee”

People rarely question her appearance (because that’s just rude). But when people do ask what’s up with her horns she just says “it’s a condition” and that’s usually enough for people to just end the convo there.

MISS

Miss loves her job more than anything. She’s a very accomplished teacher and takes a lot of time to make sure all of her students succeed

Miss cares about Zira a lot. Always staying in her classroom just in case Zira wants to stop by for lunch, giving her advice or giving her extra tutoring as needed 

Because of Zira, Miss has become a closet Moon Sailor fan

Though Aika’s just started attending school, she and Miss have bonded quite a bit. Aika’s positive disposition and cheeriness bring Miss a lot of joy

Miss keeps her personal life (not that she really has one) out of work but finds herself opening up a little more than she’d like to Aika and Zira

Miss used to get really antsy during summer breaks, leading her to start teaching summer school to fill the time

Her workaholic nature was the reason for her and her ex-wife’s divorce

Miss has gone on one date since her divorce. The idea of having starting over is exhausting to her so she’s mostly okay just being single

Miss doesn’t really like coffee but she drinks a lot of it out of necessity

Miss has a ton of tattoos

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[pboogerswbb]

IN THE MORNING

Paige Bueckers x reader In which Paige is high off a great game and wants to celebrate by fucking you in her jersey. Warnings: sexual content (SMUT, FILTHY FR BEWARNED), strap, slight humiliation, breeding kink, language, etc etc Wordcount: 4K A/C: this is my 1K followers surprise for y'all! YOU FINALLY GET STRAP ik you guys been begging for it (freaks). anyway thank you so much for all of you for supporting me and reading what i write, i appreciate it a lot more than you guys even know. never thought i'd have 1k followers on here so tysm, ily all <3 now go have some fun reading (ok especially to my moots ilysm, i am so fucking happy i met all of you i love each and every single one of you so bad and i always always always got your back, ty for being the best people in the world)

-

“And it’s good, another three for Bueckers.”

“She's on fire. Been hitting those all night and making it look effortless too.”

“Seventh three of the night wow.”

The entire evening Paige had been like a sniper, shots going in with even more ease than normal. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her blonde ponytail, the wide shoulders nearly too big for the navy Uconn jersey, glistening with sweat as the fourth quarter comes to an end. 31 points. You couldn’t be prouder to call her your girlfriend.

The crowd stands up, you jumping up and down and clapping with them, the white jersey tucked into your bra to crop it, proudly carrying your girl’s name on your back. Another victory for Uconn, as your girlfriend allows herself a small smile after the extraordinary game she just played. You wait patiently. What feels like close to an hour of the blonde shaking hands, signing jerseys and giving out interviews she finally meets your eyes from the opposite side of the court, jogging towards you.

“Babyyy!” You gleam as she wraps her strong, sticky arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Seven threes is crazy,” you praise your girlfriend.

“Yeah?” Paige asks, a smug grin on her face as she pulls back and looks at you. “Missed two cause my girl look so fine.”

An involuntary blush spreads to your face as the girl’s blue eyes scam your body up and down.

“You like?” You ask with a sly smile, twirling for her. Paige lets out a low whistle, hand coming to hold your waist.

“Fuck you look hot in that jersey,” she murmurs, eyeing the way it sits on your body. You can see it in your girlfriend’s eyes - the way they were darkening in the way they always did when she needed you. 

Feeling flustered, you decide to change the topic, knowing she shouldn’t be eyefucking you in front of these cameras and fans. “So are we still going out with the team tonight? We should celebrate your big win baby.”

Paige laughs hoarsely, in that fuckboy way she does. “We ain’t going out mama, we going straight home.”

You know exactly what she means. Exactly what would happen when you get home. The idea is already making your stomach flip.

“Paige… It was a big night for you, we sh-”

“No disrespect but you need to shut up,” she sternly silences you. “You really think you’re gon’ look like this and not be folded in half in about an hour? Baby, c’mon.”

-

 “Paige stop!” You giggle, her hands holding your waist underneath the jersey, fingertips against your bare skin squeezing as she kisses your neck hungrily. Your hands are fumbling with the key, attempting to open the door to your apartment. Something you were finding extremely hard as the blonde behind you presses her hips into yours, sucking a dark red mark on your neck.

“Open the door,” Paige pants, her voice breathy and hoarse. It’s more a command than a request. Finally, you turn the key and the girl pushes you in with urgency, closing the door behind you.

Before you can say a word, the blonde is throwing you over her shoulder, making you squeal and giggle. 

“Put me down!”

“No ma’am,” she laughs, long strides heading towards the bedroom fast. With a grunt your girlfriend lowers you onto the bed, landing you on the soft mattress. Both of you are giggling as she eyes you on the bed, licking her lower lip.

“Wait here baby,” she coos, disappearing into the walk-in wardrobe. Once she returns, there’s an apparent bulge underneath the grey basketball shorts. Your imagination begins to go wild, heat growing between your thighs at the idea of what she had strapped on underneath. Paige had done it before, coming up behind you, the strap poking into your ass under her sweats to let you know what she was in the mood for. It drove you completely wild each time.

“Take your clothes off,” the blonde commands from the doorway, pulling her hoodie off and throwing it on the floor. You know what happens when Paige wants something and doesn’t get it, so you kick off the boots and denim skirt you’re wearing. Your girlfriend follows every move with watchful eyes, tutting once your fingers begin to tuck the jersey off.

“Leave that shit on,” Paige says, walking over to you on the bed. You lie on your back, watching up at her in the sheer white panties and white jersey and an unbearable ache between your thighs.

Paige’s shoulders look broad and filled out in the black sports bra she’s wearing, lower lip trapped between her teeth as her fingertips brush against the soft skin of your thigh.

“Look so fucking sexy,” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy. You needed her, badly. So you bring your hand to her core and just as you expected, feel the thick, purple strap underneath the fabric. Wrapping your fingers around the bulge, you rub it as if it’s her actual dick, just like the blonde liked to imagine.

Paige lets out a low groan, squeezing the skin on your thigh. 

“You want it?” She asks. It’s not a genuine question, she knows the answer. She can tell by the way you’re squirming, rubbing your thighs together. The way your brows are furrowed in desperation.

“I do,” you whimper, biting your lip and blinking up at the girl with round eyes in the way that drove her crazy. Works every time, and this is no exception, your girlfriend letting out a breathy sigh and throwing her head back.

“Yeah? How bad ma?” She asks, hand slowly inching closer to the edge of your panties, fingertips nearly sliding underneath.

“So bad baby,” you whine, arching your back, hand still working the strap through her shorts. “Just feel,” with a whimper, you grab the blonde’s hand teasing you and slide it inside your panties.

Both of you moan, your wetness covering her fingers the second she feels you.

“Fuck, you this wet just for me?”

“All for you baby,” you whimper. “Love watching you play.”

Paige grins, rubbing gentle circles on your clit already growing puffy and sensitive from how bad your body aches for her, the idea of her strap buried deep inside you making you eager, the wait nearly unbearable.

A sigh spills from your lips as the blonde pulls her hand away, her fingers coming to your mouth and slipping past your lips making you taste yourself. Your eyes flutter shut, lips wrapping around her long digits. Paige hisses, watching closely.

“That shit ain’t fair, I need to taste you too.”

With that, Paige is pulling you to the edge of the bed by your legs, kneeling on the floor face to face with your core. With a swift movement, the blonde’s fingers hook onto your panties and pulls them down.

“Holy shit baby I ain’t even fuck you yet, why you this wet?” Paige groans at the way your cunt glistens in the light, her arms wrapping around your thighs to hold you still for her. You could feel just how wet you were, your slick spilling out of you right under your girlfriend’s gaze.

“Couldn’t help it,” you whimper, attempting to buck your hips but for nothing. You weren’t going to be touched until Paige decided so.

“Yeah couldn’t help it cause you’re such a slut huh?”

The blonde’s lips roam your inner thighs, nibbling and sucking on the skin leaving behind little red marks as a reminder of the night for later. 

“Answer me,” she demands, but it barely registers, her hot breath on your core forcing goosebumps to form all over your skin. It’s driving you wild, every inch of your body on fire for her.

Suddenly a hand reaches to your jaw and firmly grabs it, Paige tilting your face towards her.

“Answer me.”

Suddenly even more flustered, your face turns red, needing her even more. “Only for you Paige.”

“Good girl, now lie down.”

The girl lets go of your jaw and suddenly her mouth is on you, tongue everywhere in your folds, licking you up like she’s been starved for life. A loud moan escapes your mouth, hands immediately flying to the blonde, soft hair of your girlfriend. 

She’s hungry for it, the victorious game leaving her starving. Her lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly, making you gasp and yank on her hair. But she won’t quit, hands coming to spread you further apart, trying to find a way to get closer in a moment of desperation.

“Oh… fuck baby,” you whimper, legs already shaking as she eats you, tongue swirling in your folds, moving from side to side. Paige hums against you, the sound vibrating against your cunt. She has you leaking like a faucet, not wasting a single drop as she kisses her way down, circling your entrance before her tongue slides in.

“P-paige,” you cry out, overwhelmed by the pace she was moving at, not giving your body time to adjust, leaving you breathless. But she couldn’t care less about your protest, eyes rolling back as she presses closer to you, the bridge of her nose pressing against your clit.

You’re squirming, legs shaking and eyes rolling back as you tug on her hair, whimpers quickly turning more high pitched.

“Perfect pussy,” she groans, practically just to herself. Her tongue presses flat against you in long licks along your slit. Biting your lower lip you look down at the blonde girl kneeled on the floor between your legs and for a moment your eyes meet hers.

With an arrogant smirk Paige brings her tongue flat onto your clit and shakes her head back and forth skillfully, knowing it drives you crazy each time. The glimmer in her eye doesn’t help, making your back arch and head tilt back against the mattress.

“Gonna fuck this pussy,” the girl murmurs against you, the tip of her tongue speeding up on your clit, flicking it back and forth. She’s determined to make you cum. And when Paige was determined, there was nothing that could stop her.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes and your entire body’s writhing under Paige’s mercy. She’s desperately eating you up, taking turns working you with her tongue and mouth, sucking and licking everywhere. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as her tongue circles your clit.

“You gonna cum ma?”

“Yes, yes, fuck baby.”

Your hands are tugging on her hair hard, but the blonde doesn’t mind. The moans spilling from her mouth reveal quite the opposite. The familiar pit somewhere deep in your gut begins to burn, forcing your back to arch off the bed. The jersey on your body hikes up, Paige’s hand scratching on your lower stomach as she keeps working tirelessly, like the strain in her jaw wasn’t there.

“Paige I’m go-”

“Cum for me mama.”

And that’s enough, the coil in your stomach snapping the moment her words register in your hazy mind. The heat from your core spreads all over your body, waves of pleasure washing over you. The room is filled with the sounds of your high pitched moans, and the satisfied hums of the blonde between your legs sucking on your clit. Sweat drips down the back of her neck but it doesn’t matter. She’s not even close to done. 

Paige stands up from the floor, leaving you trembling before her, still getting over your orgasm.

“Cmere,” Paige says, licking her lips hungrily and sliding her hand into her shorts to stroke the strap as if an extension of herself. Body still recovering, you do as you’re told knowing the blonde didn’t like waiting. Kneeling on the bed, your eyes flicker from the bulge under the fabric to her blue eyes looking down at you. They’re heavy and dark, her jaw prominent and chest heaving with need.

“Take em off,” she demands, your hands wasting no time finding the band of her shorts and pulling them to her ankles, revealing the purple strap underneath. Paige’s hands wrap around it and stroke, tapping the tip all over your face. Without much thought your mouth parts, eyes locked onto your girlfriend’s. 

“Push your tongue out, be a good girl,” Paige groans, brows in a deep frown as she tries to catch her breath but it seems impossible with the way your big eyes stare up at her with your mouth open. She’s dizzy with want.

The moment your tongue slips out of your mouth, Paige is slapping the tip on it and moaning as if she could feel it herself - your warm mouth wrapping around her cock.

“That’s it, fuck ma,” Paige hisses, watching your tongue circling the length of the strap. “Get it wet for me.”

Bopping your head forward carefully, you take more of the strap into your mouth, saliva quickly building up and dripping down the corners of your mouth. 

“Look so pretty baby,” the blonde coos, gathering your hair into her fist and holding it back for you. “You like sucking my cock?”

With a slight smile you nod with the strap still filling your mouth. The sight is enough to make your girlfriend moan, and her grip in your hair tightens as she forces the strap down your throat, making every inch disappear into your mouth. 

“Mmph,” you whine, tears quickly welling up in your eyes. The sound of you gagging mingle with Paige’s low grunts, your nails digging into her muscular thighs. Paige can’t look away, you look too pretty to look away. Finally pulling on your hair, she allows you a second to gasp for air before returning and guiding your mouth on her cock, never breaking eye contact until your eyes roll back. Surely the strap was wet enough already, spit spilling from your mouth all over its length. But Paige is enjoying this too much to stop.

“You wanna get that pussy fucked huh?” The blonde grunts, pulling your head back with a string of saliva dripping down onto your chest.

“Please,” you whimper, your cunt throbbing, begging to feel the plastic inside you.

“Think you deserve it? Think you deserve my cock?”

“Baby need it,” you cry out, letting Paige rub the soaked tip against your lips and face, messing up your makeup. She always thought this was the best you looked, desperate, eyes red and glossy, mascara flaking underneath your eyes and begging for her. She couldn’t resist any longer.

“Turn around,” she murmurs and you do as she says, facing the other way on your hands and knees.

“Should I take the jersey off?” 

“Keep that shit on ma,” Paige says sternly, hissing as she rubs the tip of the purple strap against your soaked folds. Already whimpering, you grip the soft sheets tightly, feeling the blonde’s hands caressing your ass and waist, lifting the jersey just enough to see your lower back. “Fuuuckkk baby,” she praises, watching as the strap begins to glisten just from the sheer wetness spilling out of you. “She crying for me huh?”

“Yes,” is all you can muster to say, stomach flipping as the tip teases your entrance, everything you wanted so close yet so far. Your slick is already dripping on the plastic, Paige letting out a shaky moan behind you at the sight. 

“Shit, this pussy loves me,” she groans, gripping your hips and at last sliding the length inside you. A loud gasp escapes your body, the stretch so intense and powerful. 

“Oh shiiiit,” Paige hisses, watching the way your cunt stretches around the strap, swallowing her up. The trembling of your body is immediate, the blonde leaning down and kissing over your shoulders and neck. “Feel good mama?”

“Y-yeah baby,” you’re still breathless, body slowly adjusting to the size. 

“You tryna get fucked?”

“Mhm,” you hum, needy for your girlfriend to begin moving behind you. But she remains still.

Her big hand grips your ass harshly, slapping the skin leaving you with a slight burn. “Work for it mama, show me how bad you want it.”

You immediately know what she wants, craving to have you whimpering and pleading before she’ll give you what you crave. Paige always had to tease you just a little further than you could handle.

So you begin to move forward and back again, slowly pressing your ass against her. The strap slips in and out easily, but the size keeps you overwhelmed, slick dripping onto the sheets as you throw it back for your girlfriend, arching your back just right.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, legs already feeling weak, hands balled into fists as your girlfriend’s hand slaps your ass again, the sound echoing around the room.

“Look at that,” she praises, letting out a shaky low moan as the vibrator against her clit buzzes. But you can barely hear, mind spinning and not a single coherent thought in your head anymore. “Such a fuckin’ slut.”

The nickname makes you whine, craning your neck to see the blonde behind you, eyes locked onto where your body is swallowing her strap up. Her mouth is wide open and cheeks burning red, she wants it just as bad as you do.

Her blue eyes travel up your spine to the jersey, grabbing a handful of your hair to hold up. To allow her to admire the way the jersey fits your body. Her name, her number on you as she fucks you. It’s enough to get her bewildered.

Meeting your eyes the blonde smirks, chest heaving with need. “You like that? When I call you that?”

You nod, maintaining eye contact as you grind your hips back into her.

Paige shakes her head in disbelief, hissing again as the vibrator angles against her just right. 

“Course you do, fuckin’ slut.”

Your upper body crashes against the bed, too tired to hold it up, ass remaining in the air.

“Paigeee,” you whine, begging for her to take control, legs too shaky to continue.

“What’s wrong mama?”

It’s almost sadistic, her tone. She knows exactly what’s wrong. But it wasn’t enough, Paige had to hear you say it, getting off on humiliating you just a little longer.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You whine again in frustration, wiggling your ass in the air. But Paige remains stern.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, making the blonde smirk and lick her lower lip.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

You nod in desperation, letting her pull your face up from the sheets by your hair, other hand coming to hold your hip.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” she leans down and groans into your ear. “Gon’ fuck you until you cry.”

With that, her hips slam into you, the intrusion so intense you can’t help the way your eyes roll back. You gasp, Paige letting go of your hair and standing back up behind you, both hands on gripping your waist, fucking her hips into you at such a pace it’s making you see stars.

“Ohhh shit,” the blonde grunts, watching the way your ass jiggles as her hips slam against you. The sound of skin clapping and the squelching of the strap deep inside you fills the room, only thing cutting through are your joint moans.

“Baby fuck-” you cry out, part of you wanting to push her away from how crushing her thrusts are, the strap buried deep inside your soaked pussy.

“Look at you takin it, fuck baby,” Paige groans, right hand smoothing over her last name on the jersey. Over the number she wears each game.  “Takin’ my dick while wearing my name. So fucking good f’me.”

Your cunt is throbbing, squeezing the strap making it hard to think clearly. You wanted more, wanted less, you weren’t sure. But you could feel your eyes growing wet against the sheets. Paige’s hand travels all the way up to your hair, grabbing it harshly and shoving your face into the mattress.

“You take it like a slut huh?” 

You moan, feeling your slick dripping down your thighs, surely covering Paige’s legs now as well.

“Your slut baby,” you whimper, upper body pressed snug against the soft cotton as the blonde pounds her strap into you.

“Aww fuck- good girl,” Paige gasps, the vibrations having her legs shaking. With a swift movement, the blonde manhandles you onto your back, placing your legs onto her shoulders, sliding the purple strap back inside you.

“Need to see your face,” she groans, eyelids so heavy they’re barely open as she keeps fucking you. “Need to see you cum on my cock.”

“Baby, so big,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the blonde kneels on the bed and leans forward, folding you over with ease.

“Take it so well tho,” Paige coos, bringing her face to yours, hand wrapping around your neck as she keeps slamming her hips into you. That athlete’s stamina could have her going like this for an hour. “Gonna cum inside this pussy.”

Her words leave you a moaning mess, your hands scratching at her shoulders leaving red marks behind. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fucking you so hard you’re gon’ have my kids.”

The squelching becomes louder, wetness dripping out of you as Paige’s strap hits deeper than before, making you gasp and scratch her soft skin harder.

“Aw- fuc- shit, ma that’s it. So deep in your guts,” she rambles, eyes beginning to roll back, trying to hold back on her orgasm. She brings her fingers between your legs, thumb beginning to rub lazy circles on your clit as the strap slips in and out of you, fucking into you at a rapid pace.

“P-Paige feel so good,” you cry out, gushing around the plastic desperately. Paige’s head lulls back and forth, fighting her orgasm. 

“Mama I need to cum inside you, needa fill you with my cum,” the blonde whimpers, voice growing more high pitched as she nears the edge, fucking her hips into you with such force you think you might black out. The familiar burn ignites at her words, pussy throbbing around the plastic, muscles beginning to coil in your stomach.

“Shi- baby I need you to cum on my cock,” she gasps, eyes squeezing shut, grip around your neck tightening enough to make you lightheaded.

“Paige I-” You cry out, Paige’s thumb pressing into your clit and the tip of the strap hitting the perfect spot with each stroke. 

“C’mon ma, lemme fill you up,” she whimpers desperately, legs shaking but never easing the pace. You can’t hold it anymore, letting go and allowing the fire to take over your body.

“Paige I’mma cum,” you gasp, the blonde letting out a moan of relief.

“Gonna cum inside you,” Paige grunts into your neck, as you lie underneath, helpless. Your back begins to arch off the bed, the blonde squeezing the sides of your neck and pinning you down, hips slamming into you. “Gonna fill this pussy aw- up- fuck.”

With that you’re both gasping, rolling over the edge as your climax takes over, pussy squeezing the strap tightly and gushing around it, all over the sheets and Paige on top of you.

“Oh shit-” Paige gasps, breath hot in your ear as she finishes, your mind blank as the ecstasy takes over your body, leaving you trembling underneath the girl, eyes shut tight.

“Holy shit,” the blonde murmurs, trying to catch her breath. Your chest is heaving and your face flushed. As your eyes flutter open, they’re met with the blue of Paige’s irises. She scooches both of you up the bed, crashing on top of you, the plastic still inside you, almost soothing. You wince as she pulls it out carefully, leaving you with an uncomfortable emptiness.

“You’re so great baby,” Paige sighs, resting her head in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms and legs around your girlfriend, pressing a gentle kiss onto her forehead. “My number one girl.”

“You really like this jersey huh?” You chuckle as her pink lips kiss your collarbone, neck, jawline and finally your lips.

“Let’s everyone know you mine,” she coos, nuzzling her nose into you and rubbing the skin on your midriff where the fabric has hiked up.

“All yours baby,” you hum, body worn and tired but heart fluttering with love.

“All mine ma.”

-

taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @bueckersfive @d3arapril @bueckersbitch @rosemariiaa @makethemhoesmad @xxloveralways14 @omg-imtumbling @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @thelightknight21 @vamptizm @ohmybueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @avvwritesstufff @authentic-girl03

[purplepri]

It's been running around my head the idea of Eddie and Wayne inheriting a house from like, a distant aunt or something, and then they move to a distant small town

It's nothing fancy, actually pretty much the opposite, what with it being abandoned for some time. The lawn is overgrown, the roof is falling, the plumbing is shit, but it's theirs and nobody can take it away from them.

They start working pronto, with Wayne assessing what they'd need to make it somewhat liveable until they could make it a true home. He sends Eddie on his way to the hardware store, where two bored employees were behind the counter.

Eddie nods at them, and grabs everything Wayne put on the list that he can find, then goes to the cashier to pay.

He smiles at the guy, who's looking at him a little wide eyed. Maybe he's never seen a metalhead before. He eyes the name tag pinned to his (very form fitting, very flattering) shirt.

"So, Steve. There's some stuff I couldn't find in store, where could I buy them?"

The guy clears his throat.

"Can I see what you're missing?" Eddie gives him the list, some of it crossed out. "Yeah, we can order it for you, but it may be a while until it's here ."

"Eh, I don't mind. My uncle and I just moved in, we're fixing up a great-great aunt's house, just down the street. I think it's okay for now, with what I have. I'll just order in and pay for what I already got."

Steve rings him up, throwing some discreet looks at him, then turning away and blushing lightly. Eddie finds him adorable.

"So, that house looks a lot run down, do you guys need a hand?" Steve says while giving Eddie his receipt. Eddie smiles.

"We certainly wouldn't mind a little help. Look, here's my number." He pulls Steve's hand closer to his, snatches a pen from the holder and scribbles down his number. "Bye, Stevie."

Eddie winks before walking to the door. He doesn't hear Steve answering a trembling bye, nor Robin's (his co-worker and best friend) slapping his shoulder.

"Steve."

"I know, Robin."

"Steve!"

"I know, Robin!"

"You're a disaster with any type of construction work!"

"I fucking know, Robin!"

She looks at him.

"You're a lost cause, doofus."

"... I know, Robin..."

[hurtspideyparker]

Part 3 of if Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together

Part 1 Part 2

-

Mission debrief:

Thor: Don't feel bad Banner, I mean is there anyone at this table who hasn't killed somebody?

Peter: *slowly raises hand*

Natasha: Don't worry you're still young

Peter: 😟

-

Steve: Has anyone seen my shield?

Clint: *points outside*

*Peter, Thor, and Bucky playing frisbee with it*

Steve: I guess I'm not saving those orphans today :/

-

Clint: Tony I said seedless watermelon, are you trying to kill me?

Tony: You're a big boy, you aren't gonna choke

Clint: No but it might... grow

Tony: Oh please don't tell me you still think watermelon seeds grow inside your stomach if you swallow them

Clint:

Pietro: Bro got a licence to kill but still has a Jack and the Beanstock level of education

-

2:34 am

Tony: *leaving Steve's bedroom*

Sam: *leaving Bucky's bedroom*

Tony:

Sam:

Tony: Let's never speak of this?

Sam: Yep.

-

Steve: Tony, you're the smartest person I know. You understand anything you set out to study, your passion is remarkable, innovation beyond anyone on the planet, and an incredible memory

Tony: Thank you thank you

Steve: So why do you STILL NOT CLOSE THE KITCHEN CABINETS

Tony: Uh

Steve: SOME OF US ARE TALL TONY. SOME OF US HAVE BRUISES ON THEIR FOREHEADS BECAUSE OF THIS NEGLIGENCE

-

Tony: Goodnight kid *tucks Peter into bed and kisses his forehead*

*Clint, Vision, Thor, and Dum-E waiting outside the room*

Tony: Oh come on. All of you?

*nodding*

Tony: Vision you don't even sleep. Dum-E I am not kissing you again you gave me chemical burns last time

Dum-E: *lowers head and whirs sadly*

-

Bucky: Don't sit so close to me

Sam: Why, cause I'm black 🤨

Bucky: No because you smell like ass sweat

Sam:

Sam: Why, cause I'm bl-

-

During training:

Natasha: *flips Steve and slams him onto his back*

Peter: Woah! I wanna know how to do that

Natasha: *flips Peter and slams him onto his back*

Natasha: Seems like you already know how

-

Tony: Okay Merida, you and me, darts for a hundred bucks. My suit vs. your freak self

Clint: I'll take that bet

*7 minutes later*

Tony: I have advanced AI targetting technology. SUPER. SUIT. How did I lose?!

Clint: It can do a lot of things Tony but at the end of the day it can't super suck this di-

-

Bucky: Sam's in medical so I'll do the mission debrief with you

Natasha: That was fast, I thought you'd still be coddling your boyfriend the rest of the day

Bucky: What. How do you know about us.

Natasha: I don't, it was a joke...

Bucky:

Natasha:

Bucky: Damn you really are good at interrogation

-

Bruce: I've taken up puzzles as a hobby. It's actually really relaxing

*Box is missing the last piece*

Bruce: *sighs, erases the 61 under the 'Days Without Hulk Incident' sign*

-

Natasha: Kings

Bucky: Go fish. Sevens?

Natasha: Nada. Fives?

Bucky: Shit. Here

Sam: I thought y'all were playing poker, are you for real playing Go Fish?

Natasha: Our pockets got cleaned out so we quit. The poker game is over by Steve

Peter: HAHA SUCK IT OLD MAN, AMERICA JUST WENT BANKRUPT *pulls giant pile of animal crackers to himself*

-

Steve: Do you want to play catch?

Wanda: What?

Steve: Um. Do you want to watch Hannah Montana?

Wanda: I don't even know what you're talking about

Steve: Maybe I could show you how to brush your teeth?

Wanda: Steve you're really scaring me

Steve: The article said to do it together! *shows phone*

Wanda: Are you getting parenting advice from wikihow? Did you even read it or were you just skimming the pictures

Steve: ...Well why'd they put toothbrushing in the photo if it wasn't a good bonding activity?

-

Sam: Why are your titties so bouncy man. Is it to deflect bullets?

Steve: What did you just say about my chest...

Sam: Hey I call em as I see em, and they're staring right at me.

-

Peter: Yo Mr. Stark wanna see a backflip?

Peter: Oh Cap come see my front handsprings

Peter: Natasha watch this aerial cartwheel!

Tony: Why did you tell him you were in the circus. Now that the idea's in his head all he does is jump around and cause noise complaints from downstairs

Clint: C'mon it's cute! He's talented

Bucky: I'm gonna tell him it doesn't count because he has superpowers and that he's a cheat

Tony: But that'll ruin his confidence

Bucky: God I hope so

[nereidprinc3ss]

stakeout

in which spencer reid and flirty!reader are stuck in a car together with nothing to entertain themselves but each other.

fluff! warnings/tags: fem!reader, they have little crushes on each other, some of you will not like reader, but spencer does, it’s all banter, lots of teasing, playful insults, jokes about handcuffing so suggestive jokes i guess, so cheesy, reader enjoys flustering spencer, written with earlier seasons spencer in mind a/n: bandages!reader and spencer are so back!! i missed them!! this is SOOO cheesy! cheesiest thing ever! thank you to the person who requested this!!! thank you for giving me an excuse to just write cheesy banter!!! yyyayyyy!!! ilysm

“I am so fucking bored. Am I allowed to say that?”

It’s exactly the kind of thing Spencer should expect you to say, and maybe when you first joined the team it would’ve made him squirm, but now as you drop your binoculars and give him a look, bored, head tilted to shoulder, like you're waiting to be entertained, he only shrugs. Your insouciance is one of the things you know he’s come to love about you and would probably never admit. 

“Who’s going to stop you?”

You bump his shin with the toe of your leather boot and he glances down only momentarily before he’s raising his own binoculars to pick up your slack. 

“You. You don’t like when I swear.”

Spencer makes a face that you can only see the bottom half of. His voice is strained with focus. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Where? The faces you always make. You’re a judgy little bitch, you know that?”

“I don’t judge you for swearing. Frequent and creative use of profanity is correlated with a broader vernacular and greater social intelligence.”

“Oh, shut up. Yes you do.”

“You’re punchy tonight.” The leather of your seat squeaks underneath you as you slide down and groan, loudly. Spencer grimaces as he reaches over, gently swatting your shoulder with the back of his hand. “You should try to be louder. They might not have heard you.”

Your jaw drops indignantly. “Wh—the house is like 300 feet away! They’ve been blasting music all night. And not even, like… good music.”

“What, you don’t like death metal?”

You give him a side-eye. “Do you?”

He shrugs, giving up on the binoculars. A strand of hair has fallen over his face. You fight the urge to fix it. “I don’t know. It’s loud. And grating. And incessant. It begs for attention shamelessly and tactlessly. I’m kind of used to it.”

“Watch your mouth,” you scoff. “It would be a shame if I had to ruin that gorgeous face of yours.”

Spencer smirks and shakes his head disapprovingly, cheeks dusted scarlet. 

“You just can’t help yourself.”

“Who could around you, baby? Look at the bone structure on you. And those sweater vests. Can’t believe you walk around like that. It’s distracting.”

“Baby?” He grumbles, like he’s utterly displeased, but the way he’s losing a fight against that smile tells you otherwise. You lean your head against the headrest, boring your eyes right into his profile and giving him the opportunity for some searing eye contact, should he take you up on it. But for some reason, he can’t seem to look away from the steering wheel. 

“Do you choose them just for me?”

There are those pretty eyes—on you for maybe a second before they’re darting away. He fiddles with the binoculars in his lap. It’s adorable how much he doesn’t know what to do with himself when you get like this. Morgan once likened it to a cat batting around a mouse. Don’t play with your food, he told you. Take a little pity on the poor kid. He doesn’t know what he’s up against. 

But Morgan’s not here right now. 

“What?”

“Do you pick out your little sweater vests because you know I like them? ’Cause, you know—I also like when you just do a button up. The blazers, too. Those are sexy. But if I had to pick, it would be the sweater vests.”

You reach over to straighten out the grey one he’s got on right now, and he entertains your fiddling for only a moment before catching your wrist in a considerate hold. 

“Alright, can you—can you behave? Please?” He laughs. Unfortunately it makes your stomach flip. 

“Probably not. You could try cuffing me.”

“Or,” he begins, carefully pressing your own hand to your chest, “we could keep our hands to ourselves.”

You pout. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Where’s the fun in getting yelled at if Hotch has to come and unlock you because I dropped the key between the seats?”

“So it’s a maybe on the handcuffs?”

He falls back, eyes fluttering shut like you’re exhausting him, and offering you the perfect vantage point to admire that jawline of his. 

“Alright. Five minutes.”

There’s no way he’s actually taking you up on this. 

“Five minutes of what?”

His head rolls over his shoulder and he gives you a look of his own. “Of silence. I’m begging.”

Oh. 

Well then. 

You settle back in your seat and swing your own binoculars around by the strap. 

“You know, you’d be bored to tears right now if it weren’t for me.”

“I count myself lucky every day,” he says. And despite the sarcastic tone, you actually believe him. 

A moment passes, during which the bubbly tension of your shared repartee fades into a sincere comfortable silence. 

You kick your feet up on the dash. “How about I cuff you? Is that more your speed?”

You’re already grinning when he answers, not bothering to take your eyes off the house outside. 

“You are… astoundingly inappropriate.”

“Well a girl has to try, Spencer.”

[arolesbianism]

Mark meeting ded is just gonna be him going btw have you heard of the music producer 8ballin' 👉👈? And ae is just gonna sit there like I've been in every wrong place that you can imagine for the past half a decade you tell me